by Vicki Hinze
“I’ve worked with her for five years, and I’ve never known her to make an idle statement or empty threat.”
Gibson’s face leaked all its color.
Ah, she’d threatened to kill him, Max deduced. Glad her anger wasn’t squared on his head, he nodded at Gibson. “Better get a move on. Commander Conlee is waiting.”
“Wish me luck.” Gibson rolled his shoulders, shook off some tension, and then took off down the hall.
“You got it.” Not envying him the next half hour of his life, Max watched him go and then walked in the opposite direction, down the hallway, and into the conference room.
Gabby stood near the far wall, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes closed, her chin tilted to the ceiling. It was her classic pose for on-the-job meditating to harness her temper.
Max gave her a moment, then spoke up. “Still terrorizing the troops, I see.”
“Only when it’s necessary to keep them from killing others, Agent Grayson,” she answered in a tone stiffened with mock formality. “Perhaps one day, you.” She stood behind one of the hard-backed chairs. “I’d hate to lose my favorite absentee husband over a trainee with an attention deficit.”
“I’m sure you would.” Max nodded, letting her hear his sarcasm. Their marriage was part of their cover: a common means of keeping backup available on undercover, covert missions. “Especially considering how much you rely on your husband in your missions.”
She rolled her gaze, moved to his side of the table. “You’re essential to me, Max.”
“As a friend, yes. But as a partner? No way.”
A sigh heaved her shoulders. “Are we going to fight about this again?”
“We’ve fought over it for five years without resolving anything. My guess is, it’ll be on the agenda for some time.”
She crossed her chest with her arms and cocked her head. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah.” He smiled just to annoy her. “I’m nuts about you, too.”
“Then show a little mercy. I’m pretty much beat.” She swiped at her chin and leaned forward against the chair. “Bitching out trainees isn’t nearly as much fun as it used to be.”
Max laughed hard and deep. “But, honey, you do it so well.”
“Someone’s got to do the dark and ugly around here.” She shrugged, serious but sparkling mischief. “Can I help it if I have a talent for it?”
“I suppose not.” Figuring he’d get slammed for his next comment, he crooked his arm close to his side and braced. “You do have a knack for exposing a mean underbelly.”
She slid him a sultry look, stroked his tensed arm. “Baby, I have a knack for exposing a mean everything.”
Heat sank into his skin from her trailing fingertip. Pretending to be unfazed by it, he rubbed a fingertip to his temple. “Actually, you’re a tad short on a sweet disposition.”
She feigned disdain. “You want me to breach my cover?” A smile touched her eyes. “I do try hard to honor my covers, Max.”
He bit his lip to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t talking about her cover; he was talking about her life. Yet Gabby saw them as one and the same. “In that case, you’re safe.” Venting her temper on Gibson and bantering with Max had left her face flushed. It looked good on her. He caressed her cheek. “As Queen Bitch, you reign unchallenged.”
She studied him, clearly looking for sarcasm, and found it. Laughing lightly, she gave him a hug. “That’s what I adore about you, Max.” Her voice muffled against his chest. “You’re so appreciative of my finer qualities.”
He closed his arms around her. “Isn’t that a husband’s duty?”
“It certainly is.” She patted his back and then pulled away, still smiling up at him.
The lightness left his voice. This time she’d scared him. “You were gone too long, Gabby.”
“No choice, really.” She lifted her hands. “But I’m here now.”
“You up for dinner?” He cocked a teasing brow that was more than half serious. “Conjugal rights?”
“Only in my dreams, darling.” She sighed, checking her watch. “I’m in hustle mode.”
“Now why is that always the case when it’s your turn to pick up the tab?”
She hiked a cocky brow and suggested, “Great karma and a phenomenal streak of luck?”
“Unquestionably.” He grunted to let her know what he really thought of that remark. “If you don’t want sex or suds, then why the summons?” They’d often shared dinner and drinks, never had sex or shared more than hugs, though Max sure as hell had thought about it plenty and Gabby had made it clear she could be interested. Yet the idea of losing their easy rapport had both of them avoiding those “highly combustible” complications. They hadn’t discussed it, just sort of come to an unspoken understanding of how things would be between them.
Half the time Max thought that understanding was clear, sound thinking. The other half of the time he stood in cold showers, swearing he’d lost his mind.
“Commander Conlee thought it would be a good idea to brief you on the Four Grande operation before I fly back to Florida.”
Max nodded. Gabby had been undercover in Florida for the past seven months, investigating judicial corruption claims involving a suspected cell of extremely effective mercenary assassins known as Global Warriors and their connection to a local judge named Abernathy. The Four Grande operation was a secondary high-risk mission she’d taken on. Max hadn’t thought much about it—simultaneous missions were common to seasoned SDU covert operatives—and Gabby habitually requested assignment to every one classified “high risk.” Why, he could only speculate. But missions with ten percent survival odds stacked up against you fast. Max sat down across the table from her. Was it the rush? The woman was definitely hooked on danger. Why else would someone so vibrant and alive court death?
“Max.” She sidled over, slid a hip onto the tabletop, and snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Are you listening to me?”
“Totally,” he lied. “Go on.”
“Succinctly put, Four Grande is in the mop-up stage. I turned it over to the FBI late yesterday. They’ve handled the resulting arrests.”
SDU worked totally behind the scenes. Overt agencies handled the public aspects of all missions. “How many arrests were there?”
“Three.” She shifted, sat on the table, and swung her dangling leg. The heel of her shoe brushed against his slacks. “All senior members of Four Grande, in the U.S. to buy arms through a phony charity they’d set up on the Web. That’s been shut down and the FBI is tracking all transactions back to their points of origin. Homeland Security’s all over it, so we’re done.”
Another success—and a hollow victory because she’d achieved it without him. “Excellent.” Max admired her—not for her devotion, all SDU operatives were devoted—but because as hard as she was on everyone else, including Gibson, she was harder still on herself. Max respected that, and all of SDU respected her work. Who could argue with her stats?
Gabby shrugged, resigned that he intended to ignore her brushing his slacks, hinting for a foot rub. “I would have liked to dig down another layer in their organization to make sure we’d totally disrupted their operation, but they were within forty-eight hours of taking delivery on dirty nukes. Couldn’t risk it.”
“Good call, in my humble opinion.” On rare occasions, she consulted with Commander Conlee or Assistant Commander Westford, but she didn’t bother with anyone else, including Max.
“Thanks.” She managed a nod. “So, we delivered. Close your file on Four Grande.”
“You delivered, and I never opened a file on Four Grande.” His jaw clamped tight and he crossed his arms over his chest. “If I had, it’d be empty.”
“Max, please don’t get pissy about this again.” She lifted a pleading hand. “If I’d needed help I would have activated you. I swear.”
“Funny, I’m hearing everything in this briefing except how you were nearly killed by one of the men
arrested. You should have activated me to cover your back.” He pointed a finger at her chest. “You keep shutting me out and you’re going to wake up dead, woman.”
“You’re being melodramatic.” She frowned. “Who briefed you? Gibson?”
“Gabby—”
The skin between her brows furrowed, deepening her frown. “It wasn’t that close.”
“It was extremely close,” he countered with a level look. “You’re a lousy liar.”
“Actually, I’m quite an accomplished liar—being undercover more often than not does that to a woman—but it really wasn’t that close. The guy was a lousy shot.”
“Lousy?” Max raised his voice. “Jesus, Gabby. He missed giving you a Mohawk by three inches.”
“See?” She hiked her shoulders. “Three whole inches. The man couldn’t hit a barn door on a good day. My back was fine.” She cranked her neck and stared at the ceiling, then turned pleading eyes on him. “Don’t raise hell, Max. I know the lecture by heart, okay?”
That comment earned her a solid frown—and he held it so she wouldn’t miss it. “I don’t know why I waste my breath.”
“Me either, but I forgive you.” She pinched his cheek and again checked her watch. “Probably because you’re gorgeous, and now and then you give a really good foot massage.”
“And you give me gray hair and shut me out.” She drove him nuts—and left him scratching his head. How the hell did she twist him up so much? Regardless, she’d won another battle in their ongoing war. “Okay, great.” He consoled himself with a resigned sigh. “You lived—this time—and I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
The wistfulness in her tone warned him something was off, and he really looked at her. Gabby was his age, thirty-five, and five-eight, though she had long legs that made her appear taller. Her blond hair hung long and loose down past her shoulders, framing her classic face. She commanded double takes, and even the most critical man couldn’t consider her anything but beautiful. The whole package was striking, but it was her earthy sensuality and distinctiveness that made her compelling—qualities that helped her play a wide variety of undercover roles. She was complicated and, combined with a steely exterior—induced by either a sense of duty or a protective shield; only God knew which—very sexy. He understood exactly why men felt drawn to her and told her their secrets. At times, Max had felt compelled to spill his guts, too. The woman was also incredibly sharp and flexible and fast on her feet. And, blessing or curse, her work was her life.
Unfortunately, work was his life as well, which added a whole new dimension to the challenge of being her shutout partner. “I take it your investigation is going well down in Florida?” Max asked, relatively certain it must be since the commander hadn’t told him otherwise. Though Max wouldn’t bet his career she kept Conlee up to speed twenty-four, seven.
“Our investigation is fine,” she said. “Complex. Moving at a snail’s pace, but fine.”
Pouncing on that deliberate our, Max opened his mouth to ask if he could help with anything, but she stayed him with a raised finger. “I’ve got it all under control. There’s no need to pull you off your missions here to assist me there.”
So much for our—and for her needing him. “You know, a guy could get a real complex partnering with you, Gabby.”
“What kind of complex?” Glancing up at him, she turned serious.
“Feeling about as useful as gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.”
“That’s absurd.” She tossed his comment aside. “You’re priceless.”
“Yeah, right.”
“To me, it’s a fact, Max.” She glanced at her watch again and frowned. “We’ll have to finish this fight later. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss my flight.” She snagged her purse. “Unless something significant breaks, I’ll catch you up on developments in two weeks, when I come back to bust Gibson. We’ll have dinner and a couple drinks. Hell, I might even dance with you.”
“Be still, my heart.” Thumping his chest with a flat hand, he glanced toward the ceiling and slowly rolled his eyes.
“Okay, okay. Two dances, dinner, and a couple drinks. My treat. But I get a foot rub.”
“What about conjugal rights?” He openly challenged her. “I’m priceless, remember?”
“Honey, they’re amazing.” She shot him a look that was deadpan serious. “As real and fulfilling as our marriage.”
The dreamy lull in her voice held promise.
“Oh, yeah.” She cast Max a wicked whisper that could steal a man’s sense. “Stretch your imagination a little, darling. We’re very … creative.”
Flooded with vivid images, he growled. “Get the hell out of here before you miss your plane and I have to feed you.”
Laughing, she turned toward the door, headed back to Carnel Cove, Florida, to the Global Warrior/Judge Abernathy corruption case. Back to her primary cover assignment as a judge.
“Gabby?” Max stopped her, wondering if his assessment could be totally off the wall.
“Yeah?” She paused, looked back at him.
“Is Gibson that bad?” She’d said she’d be back to bust him.
Sparing Max a groan to signal he should know better, she slung her purse strap over her shoulder, walked back, and pecked Max on the cheek. “No, darling. He’s that good.”
“Of course.” Max bit back a pleased-with-himself smile. He had a lot of faith in Gibson. “You wouldn’t waste your time ripping a lousy trainee a new ass.”
“I wouldn’t?” Near the door, she slanted Max a sly glance back over her shoulder.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Max knew how her mind worked. “You’d just shoot him.”
She didn’t smile, but she did look tempted. Walking out of the conference room, her heels clicked on the ceramic tile. “Try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone. I’m in no mood to be a widow, and wearing black would be torture. It’s sweltering hot in Florida in July. The humidity is murder.”
“I’ll do my best not to inconvenience you by dying.” She looked fabulous in black—and sweltering. “Same to you.”
The echo of her steps grew faint, and Max smiled. “I’ll be damned.”
For the first time in five years, Gabby Kincaid had expressed a professional interest in his survival. Did he dare to hope she was getting used to the idea of having a partner? Not a chance. For five years, she’d been direct about not wanting one, and when he’d had the audacity to suggest he could be helpful to her, she had flatly reminded him that she always worked alone.
Max rocked back on his seat. In the sheen of the copper wall, he remembered their first conversation after he’d been assigned as her partner under the absentee-husband cover, which was standard operating procedure on Special Detail Unit missions, and he’d had the temerity—some would say, bad judgment—to offer to help her.
Unless Commander Conlee orders you to put a bullet through my head, don’t interfere on my missions. Any of my missions. Actually, it’ll be best if you just stay out of my way. SDU missions carry high stakes and higher kill rates. If I die on one, it’s going to be because I screwed up, not because some partner I don’t even want got me killed. Now, let’s go get a beer and you can tell me all about your love life. It’s got to be fascinating—you’re gorgeous.
Flabbergasted, Max had stuttered, Excuse me?
Gabby never missed a beat. When you get your ass in a jam and I come rescue you, it’ll be as your wife. I need to know details.
She’d been fired up, loaded for bear, and deliberately pushed every one of his buttons.
To get around her aversion to having a partner, Max had worked at making her his friend. He’d succeeded, which was both blessing and curse—Gabby wasn’t the easiest woman in the world to figure out and trying often left him dizzy. Yet she continued to refuse his professional assistance and it had taken a while for Max to shake off the feeling that by refusing his help on missions she was slamming him and his personal worth. Commander Conlee had sworn her atti
tude had everything to do with Gabby’s view of Gabby and nothing to do with Max. When it came to SDU covert operations, Conlee had said, Gabby Kincaid was top-notch and knew it. She trusted only herself.
In time, Max had come to believe that. Professionally, she had earned his respect and, more than once, his admiration. But in SDU, working with a partner without trust was a mark for certain death. Between Max’s reluctance to die and Gabby’s shoe-scum professional treatment, Max had no choice but to concede that she did work best alone.
Even if it would eventually kill her.
Chapter Five
Carnel Cove, Florida Friday, August 2
“Sources tell Fast-Track News that, while the timing of the biological contaminations of U.S. crops in Texas and Florida has sparked a wildfire of speculation and suspicion, there is no evidence these incidents were terrorist attacks. After extensive testing, authorities are confident the incidents are unconnected, natural occurrences.
“An authority, speaking on the condition of anonymity, says the Texas contamination happened as a result of two separate incidents that occurred near the same time. The first involved fruit imports that arrived from South America, tested clean, and were shipped to grocery stores before the infestation manifested. Flies likely acted as carriers and introduced the infection to the food chain. Already, flies, mosquitoes, birds, squirrels, and other wildlife are testing positive as carriers. The second incident occurred on Independence Day, when a cruise ship full of passengers returned to Texas from Mexico, where the infestation is prevalent.
“As we previously reported, the ship’s medical officer said no passengers had reported feeling ill or symptomatic at departure, yet during the first forty-eight hours after the ship’s return to the United States, twenty-seven passengers died. Today, over two hundred passengers and fourteen health care professionals, all of whom treated the first wave of passengers to arrive at local hospitals, remain hospitalized in serious to guarded condition.”
Standing in his kitchen, Judge Andrew Abernathy stilled the knife covered with mayonnaise he had intended to spread on two slices of bread for a turkey sandwich. He held it in midair, praying his gut instincts were wrong, and listened to Jade McDonald, the pretty redheaded reporter whose image filled the TV screen.