Aces High

Aces High
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2015 Loveswept eBook Edition

Copyright © 1989 by Kay Hooper

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

L
OVESWEPT
is a registered trademark and the
L
OVESWEPT
colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Originally published in paperback in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, in 1989.

eBook ISBN 9780804181105

Cover design: Caroline Teagle

Cover photograph: © CURAphotography/Shutterstock

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The conversation had been going on for some time, and Hagen was beginning to lose what little patience he possessed. Although he gripped the phone with fingers that were tightening slowly, he managed to keep his voice even and calm as he spoke.

“What about Siran?”

“Michael's unavailable.” The cool voice at the other end of the line belonged to Daniel Stuart, director of the FBI, and from his tone it was obvious he wasn't in the mood to be helpful. “I've done some restructuring, you know, Chief. Michael's heading my old agency, and he has his hands full.”

Hagen found it difficult to contemplate Daniel's recent appointment without gritting his teeth in rage that he himself had been passed over for the directorship. Now he relaxed his jaw and tried to be polite, not his strongest trait. “Congratulate Michael for me. How about one of your bright boys?”

“Sorry. Can't spare any of them.”

After counting silently to ten, Hagen said, “You pulled your people off the surveillance I needed a while back and never gave me your reasons for doing so. Is that why I'm having such a hard time now, or am I imagining things?”

Daniel laughed shortly. “I told you why then. I owe those ladies, and I'll be damned if I'll help you snatch Josh Long for one of your devious plots.”

“I've altered that plan,” Hagen announced.

“Good for you.”

This time Hagen counted to twenty. It didn't help much; when he spoke his voice held a definite snap. “I don't give a damn about Long or any of that group. I need one man, Daniel, just one good man.”

Daniel's second laugh was one of genuine amusement. “Well, you know, Chief, your reputation's growing. Except for a loyal few that
you've
managed to lose, most of the agents who've worked for you swear they'll never do it again. I'm not sure if they're afraid of getting killed or getting married, but they're quite definite about avoiding you.”

Hagen ground his teeth. “I've only lost two agents to marriage: Raven and Kelsey. The rest were onetime volunteers. And Derek, of course, but that wasn't my doing. Sarah still works for me and Michael was always your man.”

“Ummm. Still, your name's become synonymous with matchmaking. You've also gotten just a bit too well known for your habit of sending agents into situations with sketchy or deliberately false information. Agents don't care for that, Chief, it makes them nervous.”

“Daniel—”

“Look, I don't see your problem.” Daniel's voice was sardonic. “Simply draft yourself a few people who haven't heard of you yet. There must be some out there.”

Hagen didn't bother to count. He was reluctant to disclose exactly why he needed an experienced man since he always disliked—and generally avoided—sharing the limelight with anyone, but this time he was driven to it. “Daniel, I have good reason to believe I can finally capture Adrian.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Daniel spoke slowly. “You always wanted him, didn't you? Even though terrorists aren't, strictly speaking, your field.”

“I mean to get him this time,” Hagen said flatly.

“Where?”

“Daniel—”

“You want one of my men?”

Hagen swore. “Gigi's place.”

Daniel seemed to consider the matter. “That's a hell of a big place. A lot of people could be hurt. Maybe I should—”

“It's my trap,” Hagen told him, “and I'll spring it. I just need one of your men, Daniel.”

Daniel argued. In fact, he argued for a good ten minutes, hotly at times. But he finally gave in, saying, “Well, I have one agent who hasn't worked with you yet.”

“A good man, Daniel.”

“Oh, he's good. He spent some time in Europe, but I've had him on the domestic payroll for a few years now. But you treat him like a pro, Chief, or he'll likely put a bullet in you.”

“I don't need a hothead.”

“He isn't.”

“All right, then.” With an effort Hagen kept the triumph out of his voice. “Send him to me.”

“He's on his way.”

Hagen hung up the special scrambler phone and sat alone in his office, smiling. But he undoubtedly would have lost the pleased expression if he'd been privileged to overhear the conversation going on in a Washington, D.C. office.

“Well? Did he take the bait?”

Daniel leaned back in his chair and grinned at the man sitting in his visitor's chair. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

The water level was rising, and Skye Prescott wasn't happy about it; he was a bit feline about water and strongly disliked the clammy sensation of wet clothing. Still, he waded out into the man-made lagoon, cursing under his breath. His eyes probed the sparkling water, scanning the blue-tinted fiberglass bottom. In an hour or so this theme park would open for the day, and phony log boats would enter the lagoon after a manic descent down a chute, sheeting water in all directions. He had hoped to avoid the deeper water in the area under the chute, but he realized now he had no choice. Reluctantly he circled closer to the chute, his eyes still fixed on the bottom.

The water was up to his knees, and the bottom was slippery; he had left his running shoes on, and they weren't getting a good purchase on the slick fiberglass bottom. His jeans were soaked above his knees by the time he reached the area near the end of the chute. As far as he could tell, the water was clear, nothing hidden, nothing suspicious. However, he couldn't see beneath the chute; he guessed it was the danger point.

Swearing, he slowly moved toward it. He was suddenly aware of noise as a number of the rides and exhibits in the park were readied for visitors, and that evidence of activity brought a new curse to his lips. If this ride were started up, water pouring out of the chute would make it impossible to search the water at the foot of it.

Skye reached the end of the chute, and just as he bent to his task heard the sounds of water rushing toward him. Instantly he moved back. He wouldn't have been too concerned if his single glance upward hadn't let him know that a large blunt-ended fake-log boat was hurtling down the chute.

He managed, barely, to get out of the way, and as soon as the boat shot into the lagoon began moving toward it with a number of blistering words leaping from his tongue. But the moment he got a clear look at the occupant of the boat he went utterly still, the clash of emotions inside him closing his throat so that no words could escape.

He had forgotten how her long curling hair caught the sunlight in a vibrant explosion of red; he had forgotten that her big eyes, slanted like a cat's, were so unusual a shade of amber and so thickly lashed; he had forgotten that she had high cheekbones that could have earned her a fortune as a model, along with a perfect nose, and a mouth shaped for kisses and dreams.

Skye knew he was lying to himself. He had forgotten nothing. It was just that he hadn't allowed himself to remember.

“Katrina,” he whispered.

She was as still as he was, as shocked. Dismay showed in her eyes, and old shadows of pain, and she had gone so white that the three freckles on her nose stood out starkly.

“Skye.” Her faintly husky voice was almost without accent. “What…what are you doing here?”

He found his voice. “What am
I
doing here? What are
you
doing here? The last time—” He stopped abruptly, then forced himself to continue. “You were in Germany.”

She hesitated, then quickly swung her long legs over the side of the lazily floating boat and stood up in the water. Without looking at him she began making her way toward the side of the lagoon. “I work here now,” she murmured.

“That's impossible,” he said tautly. “Unless—” Again he broke off.
I can't go through that again!
he thought with a savage kind of bitterness. He followed her stiffly and stood facing her when they both reached the pavement. “Who are you working for, Katrina?”

She was silent for a moment, looking up at him—and she didn't have to look up at many men, since she was five ten without shoes. Her slender body was clothed for summer in green shorts and a yellow tank top. She slid her hands into the pockets of her shorts and replied finally, “I'm working for Gigi. Here at the park.”

He stared at her, feeling a sudden sick tightness in his chest, conscious of his heart throbbing. Yet despite everything, he knew he still wanted her. Just as he'd wanted her for six long years—and had hated himself for it.

“I've been here for almost five years,” she added quietly.

Skye tried to think clearly. How much did she know about Gigi Fargeau, the manager of this theme park? Did she know that the older woman headed a branch of an international intelligence agency that was based here in the southern United States? And did Gigi, shrewd and experienced as she was in the intrigue game, know who and what Katrina really was? Before he could frame any of those questions, Katrina spoke flatly, seemingly reading his mind.

“I defected, Skye. I don't work for them any longer.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Without his volition, the bitterness he had thought long gone flung a taunt at her. “You were good, Katrina, too good to quit. Unless you were running from something. Was that it? Were you slated for punishment because of your failure with me?”

She drew a deep breath, and the amber sheen of her eyes hid her thoughts well. Softly she said, “There was no assignment with you. None. What happened between us—”

“Was a mistake I'll regret for the rest of my life,” he told her harshly.

Katrina took a step back from him, almost as if he had struck her, and for a brief moment hot emotion leaped at him out of her eyes. Then she was calm again, but the three freckles on her delicate nose stood out even more clearly. “I know that. You made it perfectly clear before you left Germany.” Her voice was steady.

He felt a pang, knowing he had hurt her, and was furious with himself because he cared. He shouldn't care, he reminded himself, he shouldn't give a sweet damn whether he hurt her.

“Ask Gigi. She knows all about me.” Katrina sounded tired, and she was gazing at the pavement between them as if she didn't want to look at him.

Skye didn't move. Six years before, the bitter agony of her betrayal had nearly destroyed him; he had been a long time in healing and he quickly realized that merely seeing her again had reopened those terrible wounds. He wanted to lash out at her now as he had then, to hurt her as she had hurt him. But he was older, wiser, and the professional experience he had gained these last years was nagging at him.

There was something wrong here. Communist agents did not defect to become agents for the other side; but if she was
here,
working for Gigi…“Do you work in the park?” he asked abruptly. “Just in the park?”

Katrina lifted her gaze and met his eyes calmly. “I work for Gigi.”

“You know what I'm asking.”

She nodded. “I know. And I've answered. I work for Gigi.”

His thoughts tumbled, clashing together as he tried to make sense of what she'd said. “That isn't possible unless she isn't what she's supposed to be. Or—”

“Or I'm not?” Katrina's smile held the first sign of bitterness he'd seen in her. “If you had listened to me all those years ago, you would have had the answer then. But you didn't. Now that it no longer matters, do you want the answer?”

Skye held his voice steady and made the words blunt. “I'm here to do a job. I have to know if you're a threat.”

“That answer is simple. No. Just as I was no threat to you six years ago, not intentionally. You jumped to conclusions, Skye. I understand, and I did in Germany; in our business, survival always depends on being suspicious of everything and everyone.” Her voice wavered a bit on the last word, then steadied as she continued. “But you never asked me if what you had discovered was the truth. You believed it instantly. Until then I had thought you trusted me.”

“Get to the point,” he bit out.

“Very well. You believed I was a communist agent. Not so surprising, they believed it too. They were supposed to believe it. But I was working for the other side, Skye. Your side. I was a double agent.”

“Hello, you two!”

Skye turned stiffly to respond to the greeting, feeling curiously numb. He couldn't think, and he didn't dare try. “Gigi,” he said in a voice that surprised him because it sounded so normal.

As a child, Gigi Fargeau had carried messages for the French Resistance. By her early twenties, she had commanded a small but highly effective intelligence-gathering organization operating out of her native Paris. At twenty-six, she had married an American military man who had survived Korea but who became one of the first U.S. casualties in Vietnam. After accompanying her husband's body to his homeland, Gigi had chosen to remain in the States.

At a distance of several feet, the petite woman, vibrant with energy, looked twenty years younger than the fifty-eight she cheerfully claimed, but a closer scrutiny revealed that while her face was as smooth as a girl's, her blue eyes were old and wise with experience and loss. She had bronze hair worn short and beautifully kept hands.

“You have met?” she inquired briskly, her sharp gaze moving between the two standing before her.

“Yes,” Skye replied, offering nothing else.

One of Gigi's delicate eyebrows rose, and though she was clearly aware of the tension in the air, she chose to ignore it. “Trina, did you check the boats?” she asked, her voice almost without accent after twenty years in America.

Katrina nodded. “They were clean. So is the top of the chute, and all the controls work properly.”

“And the lagoon?” Gigi asked Skye.

“Nothing. I'll have to check the entire length of the chute, though. There's no time today, but I'll look at it tomorrow.”

A series of loud whistles echoed through the park then, and Katrina turned away from the other two. “The gates open in ten minutes,” she said. “I have work to do.”

Skye watched her walk away, conscious of his body's response, as if six bitter years hadn't passed and he were back in Germany, watching her and wanting her with a desire that had been powerful and greedy and total. He turned his head finally to discover Gigi looking shrewdly at him.

“She's one of your agents?” he asked in a voice that was strained now because his mind had begun to work again and the conclusions he was reaching were like knives.

Gigi nodded. “My best. Even years ago, when she was little more than a girl, she had a natural talent.”

“Years ago?” His mouth was dry.

“In Germany.” Gigi's voice was suddenly deliberate, her eyes steady on his. “I recruited her, you see, while she was still in school. She had an unusual maturity, and she had grown up staring at the wall dividing her country. She hated it, hated what it represented. She was more than willing to make the necessary sacrifices. At least until…”

Skye waited, staring at her.

Gigi smiled a little sadly. “A young woman of twenty-two may be very mature, yet still bound to follow her heart. Trina fell in love, and had no way of knowing her man was an American agent; he hadn't told her, you see, just as she had kept her own double life a secret from him. It was a tragic thing.”

Skye cleared his throat. “Tragic?”

“How could it not be? By the time she discovered what he was, it was too late for her. He had left her, convinced their involvement was only an assignment to her and no doubt horrified himself at having loved a woman who according to all the evidence should have been his enemy. And the KGB, which had believed she was one of theirs, captured her before she could escape. They threw her into an East German prison. It was a year before I could arrange to get her out.”

Skye felt his heart stop. “A year?”

Gigi didn't appear to notice his reaction. “Trina couldn't return to West Germany, of course. It was best to bring her here. She is strong, and has put that other life behind her. She smiles now. One day she will laugh. Then that other life will be vanquished.”

Skye had forgotten his professional reasons for being at the park, and it was only the second time in his career that he had so lapsed. The first time had been when he had met Katrina. “Where is she?” he asked now, not caring if he were giving himself away.

“When the park is open,” Gigi told him, “Trina works in the hotel; she manages it for me.”

Without another word, Skye turned and headed down one of the paved paths that led to the hotel. He had a map of the park in his head, and knew where he was going.

Gigi gazed after him for a moment. To herself she said, “Almost, I begin to believe in fate. What a strange world this is. So you were the one who left her, Skye. And what now, I wonder. What now?”

Fantasyland was a major theme park in the Southeast, set on hundreds of acres and divided into a number of individual sections dealing with particular fantasy themes. There was the Old West, Seafaring Days, the Space Age, Wonderland—boasting the subheading
For Children of All Ages
and containing characters and exhibits from fairy tales as well as from other well-known stories for children. There was the Circus and other minor sections, and in the center of the park all the traditional rides—roller coasters, the log ride, a huge Ferris wheel, a carousel….

There was a large and beautiful hotel for those visitors wishing to spend more than a day at the park, as well as a golf course, swimming pools, and tennis courts. An outdoor theater provided ample seating for the nightly concerts featuring nationally known singers and groups.

Skye walked past the various sights without a glance, his attention focused on the hotel he was nearing, vaguely aware that the park had opened and that the level of activity had increased sharply as the crowd of visitors began pouring in.

“All right?” a low voice asked suddenly from his left.

Skye halted, but didn't turn. He stood gazing at the hotel, aware that a big man decked out as an antebellum riverboat gambler waited for a response. “No,” he answered finally.

The gambler stepped closer, though he remained in the shadows of the decorative shrubbery that lined many of the concrete paths. His wide-brimmed white hat kept most of his face shaded, but beneath a neat black mustache his firm mouth looked a bit grim. “What is it?”