Edge Of Danger
Page 31
“She live alone?”
“Looks like.”
Caleb found downtime redundant. Unlike his laid-back younger brother, Duncan, Caleb liked to be on the go all the time. But they’d insisted. Getting shot in the knee was a pain in his ass. Technically, he was supposed to be off duty for another three weeks. He’d never been real big on technicalities. All he needed was to be sent on an op now, and he’d prove to the team and control that he was in top form. Andthis wasn’t an op. It was a friggingconversation. And a short one at that.
No hauling ass to prove he could still outrun, outjump, outshoot the best of them.
Right now even watching a woman through binocs beat lying around on a sun-drenched beach somewhere doing nothing. Give him action and he was a happy man. An op relaxed him. Hell, a fast-paced op made him sleep like a baby at night.
Watching Heather should have been a step in that direction. But instead his body grew even more coiled and tight. He needed to get a grip.And not, he thought with a mental bitch slap,on that perfect body of hers. Still, the mere thought of running his fingers through her honey-colored hair, allowing his palms to slide over the gentle curve of her hip, either, both, was interfering with his assignment.
Time to focus.
Yeah. That.
He finished checking out Heather’s living quarters. The kitchen occupied one corner, an open door led to the bathroom, another door led, he presumed, to the stairwell. The bed, and folding table where she now sat, were the sum total of her furnishings. The small, sterile accommodations, after living the high life, must really cramp the socialite’s style.
She was seated at the table, some sort of small tool in her hand, prying a stone out of a piece of jewelry, or putting one in. She made and sold her own jewelry to local jewelers. That’s how she’d been found. Her fingerprints had been lifted from a jewelry store after a robbery there yesterday.
From there it had been simple to track “Hannah Smith” to this address. Even simpler to determine that Hannah Smithwas Heather Shaw.
She’d filled out some. The last photograph they’d had of her—some high-society thing in Hong Kong a year ago—had shown her looking almost skeletal. Now she had more meat on her bones.
Not that Caleb could see much of her, dressed as she was in jeans and a purple sweater. But her face looked softer, more appealing now. His heart, which had started up a peculiar erratic beat when he’d first set eyes on her, picked up more speed as he took in the creamy curve of her cheek, the silky sweep of her hair, the stubborn jut of her chin.
His reaction to her was…weird.
The accelerated pounding was the staccato beat of fear. Of excitement? Of premonition? Hell, he didn’t know what. Nor did he want to find out. Lark was the one with precognitive powers, not him. But every instinct in him flashed a big neon warning to keep the hell away from Heather Shaw. And in his line of work, Caleb trusted his instincts. They hadn’t failed him yet.
“Earth to Middle Edge? Humor me,” Lark said smoothly in his ear, snapping him out of his reverie. “Tell me what she looks like.”
Touchable. Dangerous. Trouble.“She’s not blond any more.” All the pictures of Shaw’s daughter showed her as a golden California blonde with about fifteen pounds of curls. Now the woman’s thick, stick-straight, honey brown hair hung to her shoulders in a shiny curtain. A nice improvement.
“Pretty?”
“Not particularly.” No, not pretty, Caleb thought,stunning. Appealing as hell. Her even features and lack of makeup made her appear younger, more…vulnerable, than her pub shots had. He didn’t believe in tarring the offspring with their parent’s brush, but the delectable Miss Shaw had run in her father’s very fast, very public social circles. Stood to reason that there’d be nothing innocent or vulnerable about her.
“Who cares,” he muttered, distracted by the way the lamp over the table brought out caramel highlights in Heather’s hair. She was making some sort of necklace, he decided. Something with swirls of silver and purple stones. Pretty and delicate. As pretty and delicate as the slender hands holding it up to the light.
Her hair spilled over her shoulder as she tilted her head to inspect her work. “We have her. Send someone in for the interrogation. My work here is done.” He was annoyed that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Shaw’s no-longer-missing only child. Surveilling her was one thing,ogling, for God’s sake, quite another. Yet, for some weird and completely mysterious reason, he was drawn to this woman in ways he hadn’t experienced in years. Years? Hell.Ever.
“Not so fast, Hopalong. This is now your op.”
He frowned again. While he’d love an op right now—save him from more hydro-treatments, ultrasound tissue massages, and all the other crap—this wasn’t it. Too low-key. Too mundane. “Questioning Shaw’s daughter doesn’t necessitate a psi operative. I found her, now I’m ready to hand her off. Who are they sending? I’ll hang around until they get here.”
Theybeing T-FLAC proper. His particular talents weren’t needed. He’d just happened to be in San Francisco when Heather’s fingerprints had popped up on the T-FLAC fingerprint database.
Gotcha.
“I’m assigning Shaw’s daughter to you. Use your rakish charm to get that intel ASAP.” For an extremely Goth-looking young woman, Lark Orela’s no-nonsense tone always came as a surprise. This afternoon it brooked no argument.
It made no sense, but Caleb figured since he was there, he might as well save someone the trip. Fifteen minutes and he’d be done. He’d report in, results in hand, then pursue Lark in person for a mission. Areal one.
“Yeah. Sure,” he told her easily. “I’ll give you a shout when I get the father’s location.”
“Good luck.” Lark sounded…odd?
Caleb’s frown deepened at the strange inflection in her usually well-modulated voice. “What am I missing?”
“Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness?” On that cryptic note the phone went dead.
Caleb stared at it as he snapped it closed. Trust Lark to be enigmatic. She was a cross between a wizard, a mother figure, and a pain in the collective asses of her operatives. But as a control she had no match. Lark could juggle from one to twenty-one operatives simultaneously. Caleb would stake his life on the fact that Larkcould see the future. She never spoke of it. Ever. But the ability had saved many an operative’s ass, no doubt. Her advice and direction were always sound and spot-on. No one argued.
When Lark Orela said jump, intelligent people asked how high.
Caleb didn’t bother glancing around the commandeered apartment to make certain he hadn’t left anything behind. He hadn’t. He’d shimmered in. He’d leave the same way. Sight unseen.
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
EPIGRAPH
AUTHOR’S NOTES
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
ALSO BY CHERRY ADAIR
EXCERPT OF EDGE OF DANGER
PREVIEW FOR EDGE OF FEAR
DON’T BE AFRAID . . . TAKE YOURSELF OVER THE EDGE!
COPYRIGHT PAGE
le(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share