Facing Fear (7 page)

He knew now how tiny her waist was and his subconscious had called back each detail of her near-nakedness. Her head was thrown back, revealing the graceful curve of her neck, riveting his attention to the half-exposed breasts above the unknotted towel. Her quick, shallow breathing had loosened the terry cloth even more, and just when he had reached out to pull it away, he came awake.

A man knew when he was being jerked around by his dick. Rick remembered it well—it had been his downfall, after all. He had always hated this recurring nightmare, but now, he wanted it back.

His gaze drifted back to the petite, and seemingly unthreatening woman in his office. With high cheekbones that made those solemn dark eyes tilt up slightly, she echoed another woman in his past who had come to him with a wicked grin. But that wasn’t what was appealing about Nikki Taylor because she certainly hadn’t shown the same attitude his wife had. He couldn’t decide if the calm reserve she exuded was real, or if somehow she knew he wouldn’t have gone for a flirt with bold hands.

No, they knew this new act would intrigue him even more. Quiet, with a hint of nervousness. Waiting for him instead of making the first move. Keeping him guessing about what she was after. And despite his misgivings, here she was, in his office, ostensibly doing what he wanted. All an illusion, of
course. There were layers she was hiding from him and he was the one doing things her way. One dangerous package.

“Have a seat.” There were three chairs on the other side of his desk. She chose the one in the middle, directly across from him. There were shadows under her eyes. “Did you have a good night?”

The tip of her tongue flicked out, moistening her upper lip. “Yes.”

“Liar,” he mocked. Maybe she had dreams, too.

Her brown eyes were smiling. “You didn’t ask whether I had a restful night. I did have a good night.” Her own mockery was gentle, as if her amusement was self-directed.

“I see I have to be very specific with you,” Rick drawled, and watched her cheeks tinge pink. “Are you ready for our interview tonight? The personal one we agreed on.”

The tip of her tongue appeared again. “Yes.”

She was a woman of few words. So was he. He wondered how she was going to get him to talk. “This recruiting class—what do you want me to do once I get you in there? Do you want them to pick you for testing? Or is there a specific department you want to test into?”

His quick change of direction was meant to keep her out of balance, but she wasn’t at all fazed. “I just want to attend as an observer for now. No special preferences. I know they’ll run the usual background checks and I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.”

“That’s why you need me,” Rick said, cocking a brow, “to smooth things over, just in case they look too closely and find out that your fingerprints don’t bring up anything.”

She looked up, eyes steady. “The daiquiri glass,” she murmured. When he didn’t say anything, she nodded to herself.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, needing to know everything on her mind.

“It was a delicious daiquiri,” she said. “I hope next time you will get me one without having to pay for the glass too. It can get very expensive, me and food.”

He remembered how much she ate. And how much he en
joyed watching her. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he said, softly, “to feed you.”

But first things first. He rose, pocketing his beeper and cell phone. Today I.I. had given him a stack of questions and demands for files. He knew that was just the beginning. It had occurred to him that with Nikki there, they might be trying a two-edge attack. Perhaps they thought he would be distracted.

She stood up, waited for him, then stepped back just as he reached her. She didn’t want him too close. It was a small, almost undetectable gesture, but it annoyed him. Was she just afraid of him or was it done on purpose?

“That’s what I intend to do, you know,” he said as he opened the door for her. When she met his eyes inquiringly, he continued, “I intend to feed you tonight.”

R
ick was watching her from somewhere. Nikki could feel his lingering gaze as she went through the doors into the recruiting conference room. She also had the speculative attention of the agents taking attendance. That was expected since she didn’t have the proper papers and appointment.

There were about forty applicants in the room, all in their mid-to late-twenties, dressed conservatively. A couple looked to be in their thirties. She sat in the back, listening to the introductions, remembering when she had gone through Career Training Program.

She had been eager to learn the ins and outs of intelligence and counterintelligence, going through the mandatory testing, and after being accepted, she was put into training based on her tests. She was here because she wanted to see the whole starting phase with new eyes. Now that she understood the weeding out process, and how each applicant was valued as a potential asset, everything had a new meaning. Under the right conditions, someone high up could pick out who would go out on the field and who would be left behind.

The first agent introduced was Robert Sutton, in standard dark blue suit and gray tie. “First, there are different directorates,” he began. “I work for the Directorate of Operations, which recruits people.”

Assets, Nikki corrected. Assets. She knew what they were looking for. One who could live a lie, pretending to be some
one he or she wasn’t, and sometimes, break the laws of the country. Not a job for everyone.

The intellectual ones went into planning. Those with street-smarts were trained in certain covert programs. She listened as each agent stood up to give a short lesson on his respective directorate. She recognized two of them as Agent Erik Jones and Agent Denise Lorens. Nikki looked at the woman. And there were other kinds of assets.

Agent Jones was his usual disarming self. “I just transferred into the Directorate of Administration,” he told them, with a grin, “because I was told I’m good at details. We basically take care of the other directorates—shipments, any kind of travel arrangements, paperwork. We support the different agencies by supplying computers, security, necessities. So nobody gets a pencil without my approval. Now that’s power.”

That last line earned him some laughs from the applicants. He sat down, and it was Agent Lorens’s turn. She was a striking woman—tall and sophisticated, with beautiful classic features. She was, Nikki noted, everyone in the room’s concept of what a spy would look like. Her voice was low and confident as she introduced herself.

“The Directorate of Intelligence,” she explained, “analyzes information gathered by the others. It takes a lot of practice to be good at analysis because there is so much information to process. It takes a sharp eye to see the most important thing and it also takes an experienced operative to make sense of it for her superiors.”

She looked up, and her eyes met Nikki’s for an instant. Nikki had expected retaliation for what she had done to the woman the other day. She wasn’t at all surprised at the combative vibes she was getting from across the room. Denise Lorens didn’t seem like a person who liked her plans upended.

“We bring together information from all sources,” Denise continued, “such as satellites, human spies, foreign broadcasts, computer bulletin boards, to name a few, and we present a coherent picture of the data. Basically, if you are recruited, everything you find out will be given to me. I’ll
then make conclusions about what your information means and pass it along to different intel task forces.”

Such as TIARA’s Task Force Two, Nikki mused. All Gorman had needed was an ally in that department to facilitate certain leaks. An asset who had been chosen to manipulate instead of compile information could easily hide the leaks until it was too late. Such a person could be culled from a Career Training group such as this, someone who fit the background and scores they had in mind. Nikki didn’t blink as Denise continued challenging her silently even after she returned to her seat.

The last representative was from the Directorate of Science and Technology, which determined military capabilities through satellites and radars. The supplier of James Bond equipment of the spy trade, as her agency jokingly called it. She should know how important it was; this was where she had started as an operative, where she had studied the armament race and had been part of different teams sent out with the newest gadgets. And—she shifted her gaze back to the woman in the front of the room—a total opposite of Agent Lorens’s job. Her type of analysis did not include certain kinds of sacrifices.

“So,” Robert Sutton said, after the initial overture, “what do you want to know about gathering intel for the government of the United States? We’re here to answer any questions, so don’t be shy.”

“I see you everywhere. You’re not following me, are you?” Agent Jones asked after the recruiting class.

Nikki smiled. “I’m doing a bad job, then. You’re not supposed to know you’re being followed.”

“What brings you here? Are you interested in working for us?”

He was trying so hard. “It’s for my book,” she told him. “I need to know what a recruit feels like. This way I get a basic course, too.”

“So, was it interesting? Is your heroine going to apply for a job here and then head on to one of the directorates?” He
pointed to himself. “She should go into Administration. That way, she’d know exactly where everything is going and what everyone is doing. She discovers a discrepancy, then falls into the enemy’s trap because she has something they want.”

Nikki laughed. “It sounds like you have a story to tell yourself, Agent Jones. Perhaps you should write it.”

Laughter gleamed in his eyes. “Call me Erik. And I have a better idea. Why don’t I tell you this plot and you write it? I know all sorts of stories from my department. That way we can share the profits and I don’t get into trouble for writing what I know. It would be easy for you, too—less research.”

A woman’s voice interrupted them. “Getting all the information you need for your book, Miss Taylor?”

Nikki turned to face Agent Lorens; she had been waiting for the other woman. It was to be expected. It was always bad karma to stand between a woman and the object of her desire.

“More than I expected,” Nikki answered.

“You needn’t research the basic recruiting procedures. I’d have been glad to help you with any questions about intelligence gathering,” Agent Lorens said, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s my specialty. Career Training Programs don’t really cover everything that we do. You’re looking at the wrong places.”

Nikki smiled back. She didn’t want to fight, she really didn’t. “That’s my specialty. I find those are the most interesting places for my stories.” She looked around the conference room. “A different angle shows different perspectives.”

“Oh sure, there are different styles, but good operatives would come to the same conclusions, wouldn’t they, no matter which angle they are coming from? So it’s a matter of how efficient they are at their job, and how good they are at supporting their conclusions with research. Don’t you agree?”

She was being told that she was wasting time, that her conclusions would be the same as Denise’s. The gleam in the other woman’s eyes was supercilious, confident that she would be proven right.

“Agent Lorens, I have barely even started my research,”
Nikki pointed out. “Besides, from what I have learned today, isn’t Intel about observations and not conclusions? That you can draw a certain trend from the observations but the conclusion is best left for the task forces?”

She shouldn’t have quoted back verbatim what was said in the recruiting conference. It was like adding fuel to hot coal, which was kind of funny, since the room temperature seemed to have dropped down to freezing. She felt Denise’s anger at her and wondered at its intensity. There was more to this than being bested.

“Is that where you would be researching next, the task forces? And would you be going over all of them, or just specifically one? Perhaps I can fill you in with what you need to know.”

There were times when noise was just noise, and there was no sense to it. Nikki didn’t understand the anger but she could dissipate it. She had done it many times when she was interrogated. Round and round they went until the victim gave in and said whatever needed to be said. Sometimes she told them what they wanted to hear, just to gain strength for another day. As always, in tense situations, she gave herself a gentle reminder. She was a free woman now, and no one was going to hurt her.

She looked up at the taller woman and nodded. “If you like,” she said simply.

As she expected, there was nothing left for Denise Lorens to say to that. Like those others who wanted something, she would be back another day, and maybe by then she would have some time to think about this underlying anger.

Watching others. Catching them watching others. Finding out what they are looking for. And making sure he was the one with the information first.

It wasn’t even a challenge anymore. Rick glanced away from the television screen in one of the many viewing rooms reserved for observation and checked the time. He had instructed Greta to buzz him when Harpring from I.I. arrived at his office, and it shouldn’t be too long now. He should be
making preparations for the grilling that was sure to come, and not wasting time here monitoring Nikki Taylor. He had purposely brought those three together—Nikki, Denise, and Jones—so he could see for himself how they interacted.

His lips curled up derisively. He supposed someone else in his shoes would enjoy the power of having the security clearance to see whatever he wanted. It would be so easy to succumb to it. Knowledge was power, and power in the wrong hands could manipulate lives.

He had seen what that had done for Gorman before he became too greedy. Strange that he never envied the man, just hated him for it. Yet Rick didn’t live under the illusion that he was the better guy. In many ways he was just as dangerous as his former deputy director. After all, he had stood by and let all this happen, hadn’t he? And what did that make him? He didn’t like what he had become but there was no going back.

Unless it was of the highest national security, there was a camera looking in on most of the conference rooms. It was a way of life everyone in the building didn’t even think much about. There was not much privacy around but those who worked there long enough knew where the safest places were.

At his level, there weren’t many things Rick couldn’t find out. This was his domain, even though no one saw it that way. In the last decade Gorman had taken credit for the successes, and Rick hadn’t cared. Instead he concentrated on rebuilding his file. In those days, after his demotion, no one had wanted Rick in his department, and his only option was Gorman’s offer.

Looking back, he should have walked away. Instead he had shaken hands with his enemy, knowing full well that he would be used and tossed away. He had been arrogant and foolhardy, believing that he could just prove to everyone that he was a changed person, that he could transfer out when people saw him as a yes-man, someone with whom they could work. And so Hard On emerged from the ashes of his dead-end career. Bureaucrat instead of operative. Paper Intel instead of field cowboy.

That thought filled him with self-disgust. His gaze returned to the screen to watch Nikki with Agent Jones and Denise. He had used that power to manipulate the three of them together. There was a connection between them somehow, and he meant to find out what it was.

Watching Denise suddenly stalk off, he wondered what Nikki had said to cause the woman to betray herself with her body language so easily. After all, she was a trained operative, and not easily flustered by words. Even in the throes of passionate sex, she hadn’t given away her cover. Nikki had gotten a reaction without even raising her voice.

Power. Rick pondered the word as he studied the small figure on the screen. There was a woman who pretended to watch but had made enough moves to put someone like Denise to shame. In the last week Nikki Taylor, had gotten closer to him than any of these other agents I.I. had thrown at him. She hadn’t taken him for granted, hadn’t bought into his yes-man image, and certainly hadn’t been predictable.

He drew the cell phone from his pocket and punched the numbers without taking his eyes off the screen. A few seconds later he watched Nikki pull a cell phone from her purse, a small frown on her face.

He was tired of watching. Once upon a time, he had been a doer, a man of action. This investigation might be his final battle, but he would not go down as a damn bureaucrat. Nikki Taylor was the key. Her fear of him was the key. And he would push her into giving him what he wanted.

“Hello?” Her voice was clear and had a calming effect on his raging emptiness.

“You know you look like her, don’t you?” he said to the woman in the screen, and enjoyed the small start she gave at the sound of his voice. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “You’re going to ask me questions about her, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Rule number two. I get to ask you personal questions afterward. Since you are into balance, I should have a right to your private space too. And since I’m helping with your research your way, you have to answer my questions my way.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And if I refuse?”

“But you wouldn’t.” Just like him, she was after something, too. “I take it the silence means yes?”

“Yes,” she said, so softly he could barely make out the word.

The way she said it tugged at something inside him, causing him to give her one chance to escape. “You have talked with Agent Denise Lorens, Nikki. I expect she told you what kind of man I am, that I enjoy certain things. Here is your chance to back out. There will be no turning back once this starts.” He lowered his voice. “Nikki, are you still coming to my place?”

He held his breath. For her sake, he wanted her to refuse. Yet the darkest part of him urged her on silently, tempted to capture this elusive butterfly.

“Yes.”