Fight Fire With Fire.

by Amy J. Fetzer

  She reddened a little. “The Company thought I was on vacation.”

  “I bet they knew. They always know.”

  “Not unless you tell them,” she said and wiggled her brows. “I can get around that because if the Company had its way, I’d have a handler and video link all the time.” She shook her head. “I do a job and live the life enough. I don’t need their noses in the only privacy I can grab.”

  “I want some of that privacy,” he said as he raised his arm to hail a cab. She ducked in first and he scanned the area, then climbed in beside her. The driver twisted in the seat, waiting for instructions.

  “The Orchard,” he said before she could. She eyed their bloody clothing, but Riley waved the driver on, then said in her ear, “Hiding doesn’t mean we have to slum it.” In Singapore and a few other countries, he went with the best security and that meant pricey. He supposed it was a bit paranoid— till now.

  “We still need to get to the airport.”

  He groaned. “Are you planning on leaping in front of his jet, or just shooting everyone?”

  She gave him a sour look. “I opt for shooting. Webber was lying.”

  “Should have beaten him up some more then.”

  “Barasa’s not going to Mindanao because Webber knows he can’t land. If he does, U.S. Forces will take him into custody. He lands only in countries where he can bribe or has government ties. He went to a lot of trouble to keep Vaghn. I’m betting the wheelchair and that he’s leaving are true, but Barasa doesn’t have connections there, not enough to set down an aircraft. Too many Philipinos want the Americans to come back after the volcano destroyed the bases.” She smiled to herself. “Love the Philippines. Best girls’ day out.”

  “Girls’ day?” He eyeballed her disguise.

  “Don’t look at me like that. This takes work,” she said, making a sweeping motion down her body.

  “Goody for me.” He lowered his gaze to the cleavage so wonderfully displayed.

  She reddened. “Fly in, get your hair done, nails, pedicure, even have a pair of shoes custom made. My girlfriend Calista is a chef at a resort there and its the royal treatment.” She looked as if savoring her favorite taste just then, and then her wistful smile faded as she focused on her bag of tricks.

  “I adore that about you,” Riley said offhandedly.

  Only her gaze shifted. “What?”

  “That you can shift gears and be at the top of your game.”

  Her expression fell. “I’m not, we’re not. People are dead and families are destroyed.” Her voice fractured a bit. “We need to outsmart them because they’re sure doing it to us.” Her words snapped, and Riley didn’t respond, thinking of Sebastian and was afraid if he let his anger go, he’d do more harm than good.

  “Airport,” she ordered the driver.

  Riley rescinded it, then met her gaze. “Base has a trace.” When she opened her mouth to protest, a given, he said, “Slow down a second. I guarantee you Barasa is out of the country by now. And we can’t get on his plane. Authorities aren’t going to board it without evidence, especially if he’s got a parliament official behind him. Let Base learn where it lands.”

  “We’ll lose opportunities.”

  Riley felt the energy and anger simmering through her. “We’re cut off, but Base isn’t. For the love of Mike, the car exploded. We still have Vaghn’s hard drive to open.”

  “That won’t make a difference right now.”

  He reared back and scowled. “Really? Thirty thousand were murdered last night along with my best friend. You don’t think we need to know how to anticipate it? Know your enemy and his tools,” he reminded. “Whatever he’s created, we haven’t seen the worst of it yet, and unless you’re a genius with explosives, we need another expert because ours is dead!”

  She flinched at the last word, and he turned his face away, staring out the window. After a moment, he rubbed his face hard, but still didn’t look at her. Sebastian’s image floated in his mind. Knowing he’d died horribly hurt more. He didn’t deserve this, no one did. Then she laid her head on his shoulder, slid her hand into his palm. He laced his fingers with hers and felt his rising grief slowly recede.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t forget. I’ve just never had to consider any opinion but my own.”

  “I was warned,” he said, then met her gaze. “Compromise with me, Safia. We’ve seen enough death for one day.”

  15 minutes earlier

  Private Airstrip, Changi

  Barasa stood at the hatch as the sedan skid to a stop on the tarmac. Rahjan hopped out and quickened to the jet.

  “I’m glad you were successful.” The engines were revving and he was just about to give the order to take off.

  “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Rahjan snickered, mounting the stairs, then stopped at the threshold and looked toward the water.

  Barasa followed his gaze and caught the spiral of smoke in the distance. “Excellent.”

  Rahjan stepped inside, and Barasa noticed the bandaged cuts, the fresh ones on his face. While Barasa was curious, he paid the man to take care of details. His pilot pulled the hatch closed and told them to take a seat.

  “The Geek tell you who they were?” Rahjan inclined his head to the rear and the men securing a blissfully comatose Vaghn.

  “No, and it doesn’t matter, as long as that marker isn’t in his ass and the trails are gone.”

  “It is, but the Feds aren’t dead.”

  He smiled. “Wouldn’t be any sport in it if they were.” Dead agents on his hands was considerably different than agents warned off. The technology in the dart shaped marker said the hunters had government funding.

  “The Professor won’t like the trail.”

  Barasa frowned. “I don’t give a damn what he wants, I’m taking the risks with that infant.”

  “You’re wanted in five countries,” Rahjan said, going to the wet bar and pouring himself two fingers of Jack Daniel’s. “They’ll find you.”

  Barasa frowned at the alcohol this early when he was still drinking coffee. “You seem pleased at that.”

  He glanced. “You pay me to head off the unexpected, but I’m not getting caught with you. They’re waiting for this.” He waved at the jet and their escape. “You land in Mindanao . . .” He shrugged, still holding the untouched glass. “I hope you like Adobo and leg irons.”

  “And what do you suggest?” Barasa freshened his coffee and took a seat.

  “Grow some balls and tell this Professor you’ll deliver the package in person or nothing at all.”

  “And you think I haven’t?”

  Rahjan frowned, thoughtful, then nodded approval.

  “I hand over Vaghn and I’ve got nothing. No weapon, and no leverage. So where he goes, we do. No pass off until we have what we paid for.”

  “Good. Because you were greedy enough to promise it before you had it, not me.” The aircraft taxied. “And I plan on getting paid the last installment.”

  Barasa raised his cup. “So do I, my friend. Because selling it will make us wealthy enough to retire.”

  Rahjan didn’t respond. He held the glass near his lips and muttered words Barasa couldn’t hear, then tossed his drink back in one swallow. Barasa had seen him do the same a couple times before, but he wouldn’t explain the ritual. He left the glass on the bar, then dropped into a seat.

  “Retire where? Nobody wants you in their country.”

  Barasa laughed and settled into the sofa as the jet lifted off the ground. “I’m sure I can find a nice island to buy. But till then, tell the pilot to head northwest.”

  Rahjan lifted a brow. “For how long?”

  “One hour. That should give the Professor plenty of time to understand our position.”

  Rahjan pulled out a web phone and thumbed keys, then met his gaze. “That’s Vietnam.”

  Barasa sipped. “Communist countries love me.”

  E Ring

  Pentagon


  The first pots of coffee were brewing by the time the Joint Chiefs were assembled, the scent of after-shave still fresh as Hank walked to the front of the room and dimmed the lights over the large screen.

  “We have the perpetrators from the RZ10 theft.” A murmur circled the room. “Tests confirmed the acid explosive used on the UK facility match the residue found on the bodies.” The picture of the dead taken by Agent Choufani filled the screen. “They are both former U.S. servicemen declared killed in action in Iraq four years go. Dossiers are in front of you. I regret that the trail ends here. They were paid two million, cash, unmarked. It was still in their possession when they were discovered by Interpol. However, the explosion in Singapore has the characteristics of RZ10, but it’s not confirmed. The canister was passed off in Turkey by the mercenaries yesterday. Which of course, means the Singapore blast was not RZ10 but something very similar.” His glance went around the room and he knew they understood. Not only were they still missing the canister with no trail to follow, someone was capable of creating something worse—and had used it.

  He relayed the details and ended with the bad news that the center of the blast was a CIA station. “We know the agent in charge is alive, but haven’t had contact. The agent was tailing an arms dealer suspected of international smuggling.” He put up the photo of Cale Barasa and from across the conference room noticed Major Beckham’s expression change. “Additionally, the information we have at this moment is in front of you.” The preliminary reports were thin, but would have to do.

  David had narrowed the satellite transmission to NRI and considering it was the company that created the damned explosive, Hank knew they’d found the source. He wouldn’t report to the JCS till he had concrete evidence and he had a mountain of information to read and some people to question before he could point fingers. But the burden of securing the RZ10 was his alone, and Hank shouldered the blame for letting it get away. The Intel leak could have come from his end or the UK side and plugging it up had all analysts working overtime.

  He crossed the room, stopping in front of Beckham. “You know that arms dealer?”

  Beckham met his gaze. “I’ve seen him before, when I was in Syria a couple months ago.”

  “He has Hezbollah ties.” He’d read the dossier. Barasa was a slick operator, skimming laws and selling weapons to anyone with the cash.

  “Then why is he still walking around free?”

  “Maybe this is our chance. I still need contact with the station agent.”

  “Hell, I can get you that.” Beckham stepped outside the war room. Jansen followed and away from the door, Beck-ham placed a call. “The station agent was on his trail then. She’ll know his shoe size.”

  Beckham let the phone ring several times and frowned, ending the call. “No answer. Not like her either.”

  Hank scowled. This puzzle was not shaping up fast enough. “Get Deep Six on it. Do what you have to. We need to talk to that agent now.”

  Singapore

  Safia took stock in her failures, wondering how she could have done things differently since waking in Riley’s arms this morning. Like a ritual, she forced herself to remember the details, imprint them in her mind and put them into her energy to keep going when things felt hopeless right now. From the wide balcony, she stared out into the city, the hot trade wind pulling at her hair. She reached for the rubber bands, loosened, then popped them when she heard the sirens heading to the damage area. The car explosion was on the local newscasts with a rehash of the accidents on the bridge, and the explosion in the station. We really need to get this out of Singapore. The people shouldn’t have to pay so dearly, she thought and pushed her fingers into her hair, then massaged her scalp. She’d pulled it a little too tight this time, and worked her eyebrows to get some feeling back. She’d already washed off the extra makeup and blood.

  She glanced into the hotel room. Riley leaned his rear on the desk, surfing TV reports and looking grim. She lowered her arms, sighing and for a moment, closed her eyes. The wind snapped at her loose cotton slacks, coasted over her bare arms and shoulders, her camisole top making her feel cool and lazy. She was glad Riley talked her into buying it from the hotel gift shop.

  He’d been right about other things, and she’d freely admitted it to his face. She liked that he didn’t gloat and just kissed her, but after a quick call on a public phone to Ellie, she’d learned Barasa’s jet had taken off quite easily from one of the private strips. Vaghn was caught on a surveillance camera being physically carried onto the jet. Sedated, she thought, and they’d seen the shooter board shortly after. She recognized the clothes, but not his face. No question about who ordered it, though the only part of Barasa to show up on the security cameras was his feet. He’d boarded from the far side of the craft, away from view. Yes, I’m watching you, she thought, impatient to get back to her technology. She was grounded from her Intel until Base assured them they weren’t pinpointed.

  Her comm-links were her only connection to the outside, to the real world, and not the dark and dirty. Without them, she felt incredibly alone and detached. Ellie had all the numbers to the fresh equipment, but Riley made Safia promise not to “battery up” to the point of rigging the devices so she couldn’t. A bit over the line, but she conceded when he downloaded the airport surveillance videos. His caution was warranted, she’d give him that. She was rarely the target.

  She suspected their hunters had taken the easy route and followed them, maybe a tag team, but getting past the alarm on the car to rig it on the ignition took a specialist. Northern Singapore station agents were fanned out and rousting contacts to learn who could have done it, but Safia didn’t waste the mental energy. They had other avenues to search.

  She turned back into the hotel room and went to the bag she’d left on a sofa, sitting, then pulling out her equipment. Riley groaned. “Stop,” she said. “It’s a part of me.”

  “More like an addiction.”

  “Yes, true. But it’s a lifeline. Other than the criminals and my assets, I rarely talk to anyone sane and good.”

  “I’m here.”

  She looked up, and thought, you are such an ass, Troy. You read people and can’t read him?

  He crooked his finger, and she threw her head back and laughed, left the sofa and crossed to him, sliding into his arms. “That would get most men killed, you know. Or at least a couple broken bones.”

  He ran his hands up and down her back. “I consider it a gift.”

  She met his gaze.

  “From you,” he clarified.

  “I know I’m a hard case sometimes.” His smile widened and she felt her cheeks warm. She blushed a lot around him, she realized. “Fine, all the time.” She put up a hand to halt any additions to her flaws, but she wasn’t going to whine that her job was solitary. She’d chosen it. “I’m not used to having people I care about around me while I do my job.”

  His smile softened and something in his eyes scared her a little. “I like you too.”

  She floated her hands up his arms, clasped them behind his neck. He’d entered her life briefly years ago and disappeared, but at this moment, she felt as if they’d never parted. It had nothing to do with the lives they’d led between then and now, but somewhere else, in a place only her heart seemed to recognize. She could feel it quicken, skipping faster as he lowered his head.

  “It’s okay, love,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  He paused, his lips a breath from hers. “This one I will.”

  “Prove it,” she said curling her hand behind his neck and pulling him down. She kissed him longingly, a mold of lips and tongue that sent desire pulling through her. It made her eager to be naked, and when his big hands swept her body in a wild ride, she wanted more, and nothing between them. She slid her hands under the hem of his tee-shirt, peeling it up his chest and over his head.

  Safia’s eyes widened at the slash of scars o
n his torso. “Riley, Jesus.” She stepped back, stunned.

  “Not as pretty as I used to be,” he said, self-conscious.

  “What happened?” He had jagged scars on his ribs, another surgical scar on his shoulder and down both arms.

  He sat on the sofa and said, “I was buying conflict diamonds off smugglers and it went sour. Not before the dam broke in Sri Lanka.” He shrugged. “I went with it.”

  Frowning, she remembered skimming an Intel report from Dr. Tom Rhodes on the Kukule Ganga Dam and the acres washed away with hundred of homes and lives. She lowered to the sofa beside him, and rubbed her thumb over a bullet hole near his heart.

  “This was point blank.” She could tell by the clean shape and from behind, the tear was large.

  “Yeah, he’s dead though, along with a few of his pals.” He leaned back in the cushions, throwing his arm over the back and told her about the dam explosions, and that he’d been in a coma for weeks. It had taken him nearly two years to recover. “I had to learn to walk again.” He knocked on his knee. “Lots of new hardware though.”

  She shifted on the sofa to face him.

  “If Logan hadn’t been there I’d be dead. Still dead,” he corrected, staring at his hands. “He revived me a couple times.” He met her gaze. “Kinda puts a lot of things in perspective.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m too old to be doing this.”

  She made a disbelieving sound. He was only about three years older than her. “Why, you’re fine. You kicked some heavy duty booty today.”

  “Belfast street fighting,” he said. “I don’t want to be doing this when I’m fifty.”

  “What do you want to do then?”

  She regretted asking when he said, “Hold my children, love a wife.”

  Her brows rose, and she stood quickly. “I hope you find that.”

  “Maybe I have.”

  She spun around, not at all happy about that suggestive look. “No, not me.” He smiled wide. “No! Are you nuts? We don’t know each other. God, Riley don’t talk like that.” She shook her head, rushing out of his reach. “Don’t.” She turned her back, staring out the window at the waning day. He doesn’t want me. She was too empty inside for a man like him. A man with a wealth of love and family showing in everything he did. She didn’t know if she had it in her to consider more than this mission.