by Gennita Low
“What do you want me to do?” she finally asked.
Triumph bloomed through him. He could crush her if he cared to. But not yet. She still had some use. “Eat,” he ordered, “then we will see how you can please me.”
***
Steve sifted through the folders. The intruder knew exactly what he was looking for. He wanted a certain laptop and had gone straight into the master bedroom instead of the one where Steve resided. T’s men had taken photographs of the man. They showed a well-dressed man in his thirties, with a briefcase in which to put the laptop. He looked like any other hotel guest, going up to his room. T’s men said they were still working on who he might be.
Steve looked through the documents he’d been studying the day before. With a gentle finger, he traced the circles Marlena had drawn using a black marker. Circles and arrows and bold underlines. The woman sure had a way with words. His small smile turned into a sober grimace. Lena. He mentally called out to her, as if that soundless desperation would get her to answer back.
Where was she? Was she all right?
If he hadn’t been yelling at her, they wouldn’t have been in the car like sitting ducks. If he hadn’t been consumed by jealousy, maybe Lena would still be here, teasing him. The anger directed at himself had been simmering since he woke up at the hospital. He refused to let it cross the barrier; it would impair his judgment again. Right now he needed to concentrate on finding out where Lena had been taken.
If they hurt a single hair on her, he would take them out one by one. The images of her tied up and injured tortured him every time he took a mental break. He slammed a hand on the table to break the tension. The violent sound was welcome in the air-conditioned stillness of the luxurious suite; he wanted to do violence. But not now. The documents with her bold lines caught his eyes again.
She had circled certain names, underlined other things, and her arrows appeared to cross-reference between names and information. What had his mermaid been thinking when she was doing this? He read the circled names. They were Task Force Two, including Harden and Cam. He grinned at the caricature drawn above Harden’s name, fingering it gently. Another secret his mermaid had hidden from him. She could draw very well.
There was the police report made out at Pierre du Scheum’s party, detailing what had happened and how the attacker was shot dead by the bodyguard. Here Marlena had underlined Birman’s name and cross-referenced it to a big black X. Steve started shuffling all the papers around, looking for a black X. He couldn’t find it.
Harden’s circled name was on three documents—the task force members, the police report Harden had somehow received, and Steve’s own profile called up by Harden through Patty’s department. Above the pages Marlena had written the word “Source” with a big bold question mark following it.
Source of what? Steve pondered, trying to decipher what Marlena was thinking when she read the data. He drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, willing some kind of pattern to appear. It dawned on him he was doing Marlena’s job, that this was how her mind worked.
When he had been looking at the same papers, he’d been mapping out the action, like any military man would. He’d tried to figure out the mole by looking for action. With his way, he’d concluded the inside job dealt with certain security lapses—the ease of information transfer from certain hands suggested unquestioned authority, a person such as Harden. But he couldn’t trace a tie-in between Harden and du Scheum and why Harden would want him dead. What did Harden have to do with the missing laptop?
However, now, looking at Marlena’s circles and arrows, he saw a different pattern. She thought like a mathematician, circling names and seeing how many times they came up, upping the probability of involvement. For the first time Steve felt a connection with his woman that wasn’t just sexual in nature. It was cool to actually see how her mind worked. He grinned again, then sobered just as quickly. Understanding her wouldn’t save her, damn it. Where was she? Why hadn’t she clicked on her beacon, or whatever it was she had in that purse?
Grimly he went back to his task, knowing that this was all he had at the moment, and Harden was just waiting around the corner. He hoped it was Harden who was the mole so he could fry his ass, but after that long speech his commander had given, he wasn’t too sure himself. That man was messed up but he didn’t sound like he was selling information. In fact, what he said only emphasized he’d spent the last few years rigidly following the code book and blindly ignoring anything that wasn’t under his jurisdiction.
Okay, where was he? Source. Source. Source of what? Who or what was Harden’s source? The word was on top of the members listing, the police report, and his profile. Who or what was Harden’s source for these pages? Okay. That made sense. Well, as operations chief of Task Force Two, he could call up this data with no problem, but why?
Steve frowned again at the underlined date and information on the top right-hand corner, printed by the computer to indicate day of request. “Info-request sent from office of the deputy director.” “Info-request sent to the office of the director.” That was a normal enough procedure. Of course the task force operations chief would send communications to his boss at TIARA, but...would the deputy director of TIARA send a profile of Steve to the O.C.? Why? If Harden wanted to, he could call up that information himself. Besides, Steve remembered, Cam had told him Gorman had interviewed all the members himself. Except for him. Was it a coincidence, then, that the deputy director read his profile and forwarded it to Harden?
Steve picked up the black marker lying on the table, and uncapped it slowly. Then, with care, he drew an arrow from Harden’s name to Marlena’s “Source” to the info-request data on the top right corner of the page. He paused, then added a large X above the word “Source.”
His profile. What was so important about his profile the deputy director would send it to his O.C.? Steve had glanced through it before but since it was about himself, he’d given it cursory attention. After all, he was chasing a mole, and he didn’t count.
However, his mermaid’s method counted him in. He could see it now, how she was weighing his name just like any other, as she underlined aspects of his profile. She had circled his name. Disbelief knifed through him. It was logical, but it still didn’t feel good. He glared down at the information about his age and height, all the bare facts of Steve McMillan. Did she see anything that would make her think him the traitor? Then he noticed how she had circled the word “SEAL,” his military record. The minx had drawn a picture of a seal above that. He relaxed. Her mind might have been working, but her little cartoon here told him she wasn’t totally being cold about all this.
“Okay, sweetheart, tell me what is it about this SEAL operative you find suspicious,” he murmured as he ran a finger down each page. A fast reader, he’d skipped most of the things about himself he had thought pretty obvious. But not to Marlena. She would be curious and interested, wanting to know more about him, so she had read closely. Here she’d underlined his transfer from his SEAL team. Then she’d arrowed to the date of transfer and then to the admiral. There it was—something he’d missed: he reported to the admiral.
Steve frowned. If he were Harden reading this, of course he would assume Steve McMillan was there to report to the admiral about Task Force Two. This ought to be the private profile that the deputy director kept for himself, especially if he was working with the admiral. Why would he send this to his task force operations chief?
He remembered Harden’s accusations that day during the meeting when he was taken off the case, after Marlena had been freed. It was Harden who had clued him in regarding the reason the admiral had transferred him. If Harden had just gotten this from Gorman, no wonder he was angry enough to remove Steve from the current operation. Knowing his O.C. by now, he wouldn’t want Steve to report about the failure and foul-ups of the Marlena-who-wasn’t to the admiral. Harden had made up his mind not to secure another black mark in his file. Which also meant he didn’t care if
the deputy director knew about the snafu, only Admiral Madison. Slowly and deliberately, Steve wrote down “Source” and an X above it with the black marker.
There weren’t any more marks catching his attention after that. Steve stretched and cracked his neck. His headache from the lump on his head had returned. Thinking would make that happen, he concluded wryly, as he gathered the pages that were the most important. He set them on the table, straightening the edges, as he tried to make sense of what he had been doing. What Marlena and he had been doing.
They were both heading somewhere but he wasn’t sure exactly where. Source. Movement of data. Harden. Maybe he ought to draw a diagram.
Steve turned the pages over to the back and wrote down “Source (director),” then drew an arrow down, then wrote “Data/Info,” then drew an arrow down, then wrote Harden’s name. He plucked his lip for a moment, then wrote down his own name below Harden’s. Then he drew an arrow sideways to show a side note, and wrote in “Admiral.” So where would he write the word “Mole”? How was the information leaking out through Harden?
He shook his head. The diagram was wrong, but he didn’t know exactly where the mistake was. Deciding to try again, he flipped to the next back page, and froze.
There, bold as could be, his mermaid had drawn a diagram with the X on top.
***
Marlena ate but didn’t taste anything. Training had taken over, and she took the opportunity to dissect and assess the situation. Her being in danger was irrelevant. Her main concern was Stash, whether he was a prisoner somewhere. He was useful as bait to get her to do things for Gorman, and she hung on to that fact like a lifeline. She couldn’t bear the thought that he was injured or...dead.
She smiled at Pierre when he refilled her glass with wine, and shook her head when he offered her some dish. There was a calmness to him that was very solid, as if he had full confidence that things would work out the way he wanted, and she used his quiet self-assurance for support. She would not dwell on Stash being out of reach; she would instead plan on defeating the deputy director of TIARA, who, she noted with satisfaction, didn’t like her friendship with Pierre.
As long as she could nurse that sore spot, she had some control of the situation. Time was of the essence. The boat had stopped, which meant T would be able to locate her signal. She sipped her wine and turned to Gorman, who had been watching Pierre and her with hooded eyes. “May I talk about you instead? Or would that be business, too?”
Gorman’s features relaxed a little at her attention. “At one time I’d planned it to be a combination of business and pleasure,” he told her, with the arrogance of someone who was used to people falling in step with his plans. “However, I don’t think it too wise now. You aren’t strong enough for me, my dear. You let yourself fall in love with someone who would betray you at the drop of his sailor hat.”
Marlena stopped herself from stiffening. She had to find out now. “Tell me what you did with Steve McMillan,” she said in a level tone, not lowering her gaze from his face.
“Ahhh, the meat of the matter,” Gorman said with a cynical smile, “but I thought you wanted to talk about me. Or maybe your mind really isn’t into this conversation?”
His enjoyment at having bested her was meant to diminish her own confidence. Marlena allowed a small smile. “Well, well, well. Who would have thought the great boss man of TIARA would compare himself to a mere sailor? Surely you’re not jealous?”
She heard Pierre coughing, probably choking back a laugh, but her gaze remained pinned on her opponent’s face. Gorman certainly didn’t find anything funny about her remark at all. Obviously he hadn’t considered she would see through his hatred of Stash as jealousy.
A man like Gorman didn’t like his weakness made public. Nor did he like it to be made fun of. Marlena ruthlessly pursued this theory, using information she’d curried from Steve’s pile of folders. “Surely you didn’t sit alone in that big office up in that building, pondering how to stop a mere SEAL transfer from finding out what is happening in TIARA! You didn’t think the inexperienced SEAL would actually be able to unearth anything to report back to the admiral, did you?”
Her amused remarks scored, because a telltale flush climbed Gorman’s neck to his face. She was sure it wasn’t from too much wine. Softly she continued, in the same amused, mocking voice, “I can just see it. You used your influence with Pierre to hook up the apartment with his electronic equipment. You used one of your CIA underlings to do it, so no one would know about your own camera access to my privacy. You’d thought to see me alone, for yourself, and horrors, that awful Harden sent in that SEAL boy after me and you found yourself comparing yourself with him!” Marlena laughed softly. Bingo. She had made a direct hit. “I’m flattered.”
Gorman slammed his hand on the table, causing the wine-glasses and plates to clatter noisily. Some food splattered, staining the white tablecloth with orange and red spots. “The admiral thought he could catch me by sending in someone as green as Steve McMillan,” he sneered. “He assumed that his man would be able to see things that other CIA operatives couldn’t, just because he was a point man in his little outfit. Funny, that point man couldn’t see past his erection, running around with you when he should be wondering who was behind everything. Please don’t insult me by saying you think he could have caught me. I don’t even exist in his thoughts. I made damn sure he never met me, and I also gave enough hints to Harden and some of the other men to stop them from bonding as teammates. Your Steve McMillan’s career in this kind of work, Marlena, is going down the tubes. My man Harden will help me destroy him.”
Marlena shrugged nonchalantly. Gorman didn’t know Steve had a new gig. She was, however, very interested in this thing with Harden. “So that’s your secret,” she said as she dabbed the napkin to her lips. “Rick Harden, damaged wing candidate. He knows you have power over his career, and so he’s willing to tiptoe around your orders.”
Damaged wings were operatives the agency no longer wanted because they weren’t of use anymore. Too much exposure. Psychological problems. Too much knowledge. These operatives were often put aside. Marlena knew the CIA and other high-profile agencies regularly culled these men from their rosters, some without any preliminary testing. Damaged wings were left to fend for themselves as prisoners in foreign nations or in public life, depending on the situation. Gray groups such as hers took in some of the luckier ones. Some turned into mercenaries. A man like Harden, though, she understood, would view that as failure, so he stuck to the rules in the belief it would redeem him. Unless, of course, he had the misfortune to be stuck under a man like Gorman, who would use Harden’s weaknesses against him.
Gorman’s smile was malicious and self-satisfied. “Why not? Men like Harden and a few well-chosen ones are easy to control. I have a whole special task force chosen specifically to maintain my kind of order. I didn’t appreciate the admiral’s transfer. He was pretty smart, though, because he somehow linked Task Force Two, and not any other of the other teams, to the leaks. I respect his instincts, but of course that only gave me more incentive to use my robot crew, as I fondly call men like Harden and Candeloro, and the rest of that task force. I interviewed them myself, you know—every one of them is without a backbone. Especially Harden, waiting for me to pat him on the back,” Gorman finished with amused laughter.
That was the very moment Marlena decided if she wasn’t rescued in time, she would take Gorman’s life with hers. Of all the things she detested most, the worst was a man playing with another’s life like a puppet. That came from personal experience, and she wouldn’t wish it on Harden, a pain in the ass though he was.
“You have profited on your own,” she pointed out, “so I don’t understand why the sudden need to get a middleman into your little world. I, as you know, eat up a lot of that profit.”
A server brought coffee, and Gorman contemplated the woman sitting there stirring cubes of sugar into her cup. Her blue eyes were mesmerizing, so deeply blue
that he sometimes forgot to be careful while talking to her. Indeed, she was a very dangerous woman. Men not only found her attractive, but for some reason they developed this urge to protect her, too. Even an old hand like du Scheum. He himself would have preferred a little less luxury. Perhaps instilling some fear into those pretty blue eyes would take away that female confidence of hers that bordered on arrogance.
The old fox had a point, though. “Why do that,” Pierre had pointed out earlier, in that cool and collected demeanor, “when you can use her still? She’s the best at what she does, no matter what you say, and the people you want to contact, for some reason, trust her. You already have the item you wanted, and I cannot help you get rid of it. It belongs to me, after all, and if it gets out that I handled the sale...well, you know the consequences.”
So Gorman had allowed the European businessman to persuade him. He already had seen the advantages, of course, but it was always good to let the other side think they were smarter. Of course he hadn’t expected the way the other man had fawned over Marlena when she appeared.
He wished he could change his mind and keep her alive, but she was too dangerous. Something in her eyes, those twin blue flames, told him that she was planning against him. Whoever she was, whatever she was, Marlena Maxwell meant to destroy him.
He drank his coffee, tasting its rich texture as the hot liquid slid down his throat. Regret added a bitter tinge to the flavor. He had nearly made the major mistake of taking a potent woman as a partner. As he continued studying her beauty, she raised one of those graceful brows in mockery. It made him think of how she would look at him in his bed. She took another sip of her coffee, obviously waiting for a reply.
“Why did I hire you?” Gorman said, still contemplating the waste of such beauty. “Well, you have garnered a very deserved reputation as someone who can take care of certain business. One of my men died unexpectedly, and I grew suspicious about certain...investigations. My drop-offs to other agencies were obviously getting some attention, what with the arrival of a transfer I didn’t request. I decided it was time to play the game a little differently.