by Lyn Stone
“I’ll finish out the day and leave tonight,” he told Jack. “Thanks.”
“No problem. That next weapons training session at Quantico doesn’t begin until the first of the month. You’ll need to be back for that.” He gave Joe a friendly slap on the shoulder and left.
A few minutes later, Will Griffin appeared. “Black, right?” He set down a cup of coffee just to the right of Joe’s mouse pad and didn’t stick around for thanks.
Now what had precipitated that? Joe wondered. Griffin stuck his head back around the door. “Good luck. Let us know how it goes, okay?”
“How what goes?” But Griffin was gone again. Joe sipped the coffee. Last night he had joined Will for a drink at Christa’s, a quiet little pub within walking distance of the office. It had become a sort of hangout when the work day was over and they had nothing else to do. But Joe couldn’t recall discussing anything important there with Will. What the hell was the guy talking about?
Holly Amberson, the one female member of the team, strode in with a sheaf of papers in her hand. She flattened them against her truly admirable chest and crossed her arms over them. “I don’t know you well enough yet to be giving you any advice, Joe, but don’t you be stupid.”
Joe sat up straight and stared at her. “Excuse me?”
Her black eyebrows climbed up to her perfect hairline and dark chocolate eyes pinned him with a warning stare. “You go see that girl, you hear?”
Joe stood, his chair rolling back and banging against a file cabinet. “Now wait just a minute—”
“No, you wait a minute,” she ordered, shaking her finger with its long crimson nail very close to his nose. “You don’t drag a woman through two countries, give her a quick squeeze, then cut her loose and leave her to the sharks. You go see about her. And play nice.”
Joe uttered a short cough of disbelief. Who did this woman think she was, his mother? She was younger than he was by at least four or five years. And what the hell did she know about Martine? He opened his mouth to tell her to buzz off. Instead he heard himself saying, “I’m going. I’m going.”
She smiled and slapped the papers on the desk. “Good boy. You’ll want to check this out before you go. It’s the final report on what happened after you left Colombia. Great work, Joey. Good to have you aboard.”
Joey? Nobody had called him Joey since third grade when he’d beat the hell out of Mike McCann for telling him Joey meant a baby kangaroo.
Did they all know everything about him, up to and including his sex life? Well, what did he expect working with a bunch of spies?
The whole bunch probably thrived on personal gossip since they couldn’t share any secrets with anyone else in the world. Joe wasn’t used to this, at least not at work. An agent’s private life was just that. Private.
He picked up the report Holly had brought him, but didn’t need to read it. That mission was history. So was his brief relationship with Martine. New life. New leaf.
Joe glanced around the six hundred square feet allotted to what they called The Vault. The room housed all the company’s electronics and was protected from the world by lead-encased walls, scrambling devices and the latest access mechanisms.
It contained no windows and was completely secure. Even the outer offices, Joe’s included, were invulnerable to intrusion of any kind except maybe a bunker buster. In the case of that, they would all be smithereens anyway.
He did like his office, never having had one all his own.
Sextant was six months old now, experimental, working better than anyone had reason to expect, so Mercier said.
Joe now knew that Jack had been with the NSA. His talent for organization and brilliant analytical ability had put him in charge. If anybody on the planet could construct a cohesive unit from alumnus of the FBI, CIA, DIA, ATF and DEA, it was Jack Mercier, the voice of reason, proponent of the big picture.
The Sextant team had become tight as a guy-wire. The five in place were already friends. Four men and one woman. One black, one Native American, and three WASPS. And now Joe, last hired, was the resident Hispanic. Holly had dubbed them the Crayola Kids and treated them all like children. Her children, though she wasn’t even a mother for real.
Sextant was a great concept, a dream team. On one level, Joe wanted to belong. On another, he clung to his status as a loner, a real master of surface relationships. Could he fit in here?
He closed his eyes, massaging them with his thumb and forefinger.
That’s when the picture appeared, clear as a well-focused photograph. One lone frame of the future behind his eyelids. Martine’s face. Covered with blood.
Joe tore out of the computer vault, the vision still filling his mind. Down the corridor, passing the offices, his only thought to get to the airport as fast as possible.
Eric Vinland caught him in a headlock, effectively halting him in the hallway. “Hey, what’s up?”
Joe struggled, desperate to fly to Martine, to save her. But Vinland held on, a forearm almost cutting off his air supply. It took a moment for reason to take hold. Martine was in danger, yes, but at this rate, he would kill himself getting to her.
He stopped fighting and Eric released him, even straightened his tie. “Okay, spill it, Joe. What set you off?”
“I’ve gotta go. I saw… never mind.” He shook his head and started to push past Vinland.
He felt a tight clamp on his arm. “A premonition?”
Joe was so stunned, he simply stood there, his mouth open.
“Yeah. We know.” Eric smiled, a benign-looking expression beaming behind innocuous round-rimmed glasses. A young Brad Pitt, the picture of boyish innocence in specs and Brooks Brothers. “I have a similar… talent,” Vinland admitted with a shrug.
Still Joe couldn’t speak. What the hell was going on here? Was this another damned government study he was getting sucked into?
“Do all of you…?”
“No, not really. We’ll talk about that later. Right now, I think you’re too worried. It’s the woman, right?” Eric guessed, his voice soft, cultured. Concern seemed out of place in this muscle-bound boy with the weird, steely eyes.
“Yes,” Joe answered in spite of himself.
“We’ll help,” Vinland said simply.
Humberto had now relinquished all hope of regaining anything resembling the life he once led. He replaced the receiver and put the telephone back on the nightstand, handling it very gently, afraid if he gave physical manifestation to his fury, he could never regain control. Things were worse than he thought. Much, much worse.
His sweat mocked the pitiful effort of the air-conditioner cranked as high as it would go. Miami might be considerably cooler than equatorial Colombia, but a much more dangerous heat, one more difficult to escape, had been combined with that of the climate.
Other than the relatively meager amount he had managed to shift to a recently established account in the Cayman Islands, his wealth was gone. He had expected Rosa to transfer funds from their bank in Bogotá to the one he had selected in Miami. He’d thought perhaps she would even join him there once he could safely bring her out of Colombia. She was, after all, the mother of his children, the daughter of the general who had recruited him and treated him like a favored son. But no. She would not come to him. And neither would she send money. The general knew everything. Including Humberto’s former fascination with the Duquesne woman.
He had lost Rosa, their life savings and all that he had invested. All of it gone. Transferred to her father’s accounts for her to spend at leisure. She had laughed so bitterly.
She had been told how he had kept the woman at the compound. He wished now that Rosa had good reason to accuse him of infidelity, since he was paying the price anyway.
He should have taken the Yankee bitch instead of treating her like an honored guest. But he had enjoyed the willing company of a beautiful, cultured woman. He had been the envy of everyone in the compound. She had enthralled him, tricked him and then betrayed him.<
br />
He did not have to worry that Rosa would divorce him. She would not have to do so, he had just been informed, because he was as good as dead.
Nowhere could he find protection. The whole organization had blown skyhigh. The fields were now useless, sprayed with glyphosate, a result no doubt of Corda’s revealing their precise locations. Corda and the woman had ruined him more completely than he knew.
His father-in-law had put a price on his head as if Humberto were a criminal to be hunted down and shot. Miami was no longer a safe place to be now that he had phoned Rosa.
The hatred he felt for Joseph Corda and Martine Duquesne increased tenfold. Using the families of his enemies to exact revenge seemed less than honorable to Humberto, but the time had arrived when honor was no longer a luxury he could afford.
Chapter 10
Martine jumped as lightning cracked nearby, followed immediately by a jarring rumble of thunder. The weather suited her mood. Gloomy. It described her future. Unpredictable. And it made her only more eager to leave Atlanta, a place that seemed worse than inhospitable in every respect at the moment.
She couldn’t believe she’d really been fired. Sebastian had been livid, much angrier than she could ever have imagined about her using her initiative. She had to admit that her reaction to his hadn’t been conducive to continued employment with Ames. Tempers had flared and now she was out of a job.
Matt’s loyalties were torn and he was threatening to quit, even though he agreed with Sebastian’s assessment that Martine was too impulsive and foolhardy to be trusted with field work.
On top of that, she still had to worry about Humberto surfacing unexpectedly. And worst of all, she had heard nothing from Joe.
True, she had told him a clean break was best, but she had secretly hoped he would be as awed by what had happened between them as she was and his resolve would crumble. But if that had been the case, he would have called her by now.
Joe had that undefinable something that simply set her on fire. He was the kind of guy she had always admired, a real honest-to-God hero who never bragged, just did what needed doing and never took a bow. She knew that mission in Colombia was only one of many thankless assignments.
Joe’s abilities and confidence in them had wowed her more than his good looks, but those sure hadn’t detracted from his appeal.
He could be exasperating, but that was to be expected with a personality as forceful as his. Maybe that was part of his problem with her. He didn’t want to compete for control constantly as they always seemed to do. Martine shrugged. For her, competition was a huge turn-on.
Joe might have felt the same thing she did when they’d made love. She had thought so at the time. It seemed as if they both had realized afterwards that sometimes love was just not enough.
He obviously thought she ought to give up the kind of work she was doing to prove how she felt about him. But she knew that if he couldn’t love her unconditionally, then it would never work as a long-term thing. She stared out the window at the rain. Well, she wasn’t changing herself for anybody, not even Joe.
It was probably just as well they had parted when they did. The longer she was with him, the stronger her feelings grew. The real problem was, now that they were apart, what she felt for him hadn’t begun to subside. Not even a little.
Her life was a mess at the moment. But she had plans. It was impossible to control everything in her life, but she didn’t have to settle for simply reacting to events. She had to be the one to make things happen.
Her resume was out there making the rounds again, and even if her experience was fairly light, her credentials were nothing to sneeze at. Her grades at university had been excellent. She had maxed all the extra courses Ames had funded. She was fluent in three languages, an expert with small arms, qualified in two disciplines of martial arts and her security clearance was up-to-date for government work. Somebody was going to want to hire her.
In the meantime, she was packing to move. None of the jobs she had applied for were located here in Atlanta. It was time for a change and she meant to be ready for it when it came.
The phone rang. Probably Matt. He had been checking on her several times a day since her altercation with Sebastian. But she checked the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number. Joe?
She snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“You got canned. It was my fault, wasn’t it?”
Martine clamped her mouth shut on a cry of glee. Patting her chest to calm her racing heart, she inhaled and released it slowly before speaking. “Hi, Joe. What’s up?”
“I just talked to Matt. I’m going to go speak with Sebastian Ames.”
“No!” she cried, then lowered her voice to a reasonable level. “That’s not necessary. Please don’t bother.”
“He needs to know just how good you are, Martine. I won’t overdo it like I did with Matt. I’ll just tell him how flawlessly you planned everything. How much I owe you. He’ll come around.”
“No, Joe. The truth is, it’s high time I made a career move. Matt will never see me as anything but a kid sister and Sebastian’s been like an uncle to me ever since we moved to Atlanta when I was twelve. I know they just want to keep me safe, but I have to get away and be on my own, you know?” When he didn’t answer, she changed the subject. “So, how’s the new job?”
She heard him expel a deep breath. “Iffy. Look, I had this… sudden feeling you might be in some kind of danger or something so I called Ames to see if you were okay. You are, aren’t you?”
“Sure, I’m fine. Are you calling from D.C.?”
“No, I’m in Atlanta. I just stopped by on my way to Florida.”
“Great! I’d love to,” she said, unable to hide her excitement.
Long pause. “Uh, Martine…”
“Sorry, Joe,” she said with a laugh, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and wriggling out a comfy spot on the sofa, “but you already invited me, remember? Twice, I think.”
Long silence. “Well, that was before.”
“So this is after,” she argued. “I’m not after promises or commitments, Joe. Just a week on the beach.”
Another pause. Her heart fell, collapsed like a pricked balloon. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry.
“All right, bad idea,” she said, making her voice bright, sunny as the day was dark. “You take care now, Joe. Enjoy your vacation and—”
“Be ready in half an hour.” Click.
She threw the receiver down and growled with frustration. He made her crazy. But a smile grew when she started thinking about retribution. She could make him crazy, too. She had done it once and now she knew exactly how. The red bikini would be a good start.
Joe settled into the narrow seat next to the aisle, wishing he had splurged on first class. Martine was gazing out the window, waiting for takeoff. The flight into Tallahassee would be short, fortunately, giving them little time to discuss much of anything. Joe wasn’t ready for any deep discussions.
He hadn’t even been ready to see her again. All he had meant to do was check with Duquesne, make sure adequate protection was still in place. What the hell was he thinking bringing her to Florida?
His mother and sisters would be planning the wedding before he set his suitcase down. Other than his girlfriends in high school, this was the first time he had ever brought a woman home with him. Well, maybe it was best this way. At least he could make sure she stayed out of trouble for a week.
He rested his elbow on the outer armrest and massaged his brow. Scrunching his eyes shut, he willed away the beginning of a headache.
Suddenly a swirl of white flashed behind his eyes, a face materialized. Oh, God.
“What is it?” Martine was shaking his arm. “Joe? Are you sick?”
He must have gasped or something. Joe opened his eyes and she was almost nose to nose with him. Her worried expression a direct contrast to the serene face she had worn in the vision. She’d had her eyes closed then as if waitin
g for a kiss.
Now her long graceful fingers grasped his forearm. Her subtle perfume threatened intoxication. He turned away.
No. That hadn’t been a vision, not really. Not Martine in a wedding veil. What he had seen had been brought on by that thought just before it. The one about his mother and sisters misunderstanding his motive for having Martine with him when he arrived. That was all it was. No way in hell was he destined to marry Martine Duquesne.
Maybe it only indicated she would be a bride soon. Someone else’s bride?
“I need a drink,” Joe muttered, pressing his head back hard against the headrest of the seat, careful not to close his eyes too tightly. That’s when he always got the mind pictures, when he forgot and did that. “Soon as they get this crate off the ground.” He felt her fingers squeeze his and looked down. When had he taken her hand?
They hadn’t even kissed or touched when he went to pick her up at her apartment. She had been on the phone with her brother when Joe arrived, telling Duquesne where she was off to and with whom.
Matt Duquesne must have been deliriously happy to have that information. Joe could just imagine his own delight if one of his sisters had called to tell him she was flying off to the beach with some guy he barely knew.
All that considered, he held on to Martine’s hand through the takeoff and after, his fingers laced through hers, their ambivalent relationship remaining as up in the air as the plane in which they flew.
What would happen after they landed was anyone’s guess. Maybe he should just live in the moment, enjoy the feel of her shoulder next to his, the warmth of her palm, the sound of her breathing. He turned his head to look at her, see what she was thinking.
“Excuse me, sir?” one of the hostesses said, leaning near, her voice little more than a whisper. “You’re Agent Joseph Corda, right?”
Joe snapped to attention, his first thought leaped to a possible hijacking. “Yeah, what’s the problem?” He was not carrying, but had registered his weapon with security and it was in his bag in the hold.