HeatedMatch (3 page)

He strode down the hallway and headed to the pool. He padded
silently along the corridor, enjoying the cold that penetrated his overly fancy
suit. Cold felt good after the day’s scorching heat. He’d grown up with DC’s
summer humidity but never learned to enjoy it. At least now he lived in a place
with a pool. The Beltsville, Maryland compound boasted an Olympic-quality
indoor and outdoor pool for resident use. The best he had in childhood had been
an open hydrant on a dirty city corner.

Adam looked up to see Xander, his best friend, ambling up
the corridor. Xander rarely moved faster than a controlled, steady gait, but
when he did, look out. Adam thought of him like a jaguar. Sleek, deceptively
lazy and mean as hell.

Xander took one look at Adam’s mug. “What’s eating you?”

“You mean besides fucking up on the job and letting a kid
get kidnapped?”

A trace of a smile flashed on Xander’s face. “Yeah, besides
that. Everyone’s talking about it. No one can believe Mr. Perfect screwed up.”

“Thanks. Don’t call me that.” He frowned. “They want me to
lead our cohort in signing up for the breeding program.”

Xander winced in sympathy. “Shit, they tapped you? I’d heard
rumors.” He smirked. “You think they’ll ever ask me? I already have a tux for
the wedding.”

The only reason Xander owned a tux was to fit in at fancy
parties on assignments. Plus rental tuxedos didn’t come with hidden pockets
designed to hold a Glock. Adam snorted. “Yeah, Shep wants to reproduce your
genes like he wants to hold a press conference on our latest mission.”

Xander nodded, unhurt by Adam’s assessment of the truth.
“I’ve heard it’s cool though. You go crazy for the female, some kind of
pheromone thing. I wonder what that would be like to want a woman more than you
want your next mission.”

Adam kept walking, ignoring the warning signs and flashing
lights in his brain telling him he may have made that connection with last
night’s dance partner. It may have been a connection, but it was nothing he
could or would follow up on.

Xander slowed his gait, staring off into the distance, and
then gave his head a shake. “Or you could end up like Ryan,” he said, naming
the poor bastard whose wife had exposed the Program to the media last week. She
was currently on lockdown on campus. Rumor had it Ryan had her chained to their
bed in retaliation for her betrayal.

“Come on. I can think of one cure for all ailments. Skip the
pool, let’s hit the gym. Now.” He eyed Adam’s dark suit. “Go get padded up. I
want to work on my takedowns.”

He fell into step alongside Xander, grateful his best friend
knew him well. A little martial arts challenge was exactly what he needed now.
Xander was one of the few soldiers who could pin him and keep him down. Each
guy had a specialty—knives, sharpshooting, you name it. Adam prided himself on
being a true renaissance man. He excelled in all forms of combat, but he
favored close-contact hand-to-hand. The pair walked along the corridor and
exited the main office in companionable silence. They passed by the pool deck.
Chase’s whoops permeated the humid night air as he shot off the diving board
for a cannonball.

“Man, I don’t get that guy,” Xander said.

Adam understood Xander’s comment. He wanted to know how
Chase had managed to shake off the events of the evening and be caterwauling in
the pool with his buddies by midnight. All of the soldiers faced death on a
regular basis, both as a target and taker of life. For most, the responsibility
weighed heavily. They were prone to seeking isolation and quiet in their off
hours. Some went to a monkish extreme like Xander, but Chase took it to the
opposite degree. Adam shrugged in response to Xander’s comment. He had his own
head to wade through without delving into Chase’s too.

“Where are you two lovebirds headed?” A shout came from the
pool deck. “Get your butts over here. We have many beers with your names on
them.”

Xander ignored the catcalls and continued next to him in
silence. Adam felt his responsibility as team leader. He was a model for both
missions and downtime.

“Going to spar,” he called back, but did not slow down his
gait. He hoped the others would take the hint and give them privacy. Impromptu
matches often became rowdy competitions with money thrown down. He wasn’t in
the mood. He sought quiet and concentration for sparring with Xander. His hint
didn’t take. He heard the sluice of water and the slaps of wet feet on concrete
as Chase and crew exited the pool. “Shit, we got company,” he muttered to
Xander.

“Let them watch.” Xander shrugged. “Unless you’re scared of
losing your authority when they see me wipe the floor with your pretty face?”

“My money’s on Adam.” Someone’s voice carried through the
night air.

He continued walking toward the gym. He was anxious to feel
the cool bite of air-conditioning and get started before the audience grew
larger.

“Adam’s good, but Xander could best him,” Gavin said.

“No shit?” Amazed murmurs filled the air. It sounded like
some of the college-aged kids were home visiting for the summer.

He wasn’t surprised. Xander kept to himself and rarely
fought. He stayed in shape running the trails alongside the Potomac. If he ever
left the Program, he could open his own martial arts training studio. Most of
his cohort knew of Xander’s prodigious and mad-scary skills. They took one look
at his blank, icy-blue eyes and knew to stay back at least fifty feet. Only
Adam got close and caught rare glimpses of Xander’s emotions and offbeat sense
of humor.

When necessity forced Adam to leave his mom and move back
into the Beltsville compound at age fifteen, he’d met Xander, who had arrived
two weeks later, escorted by his heavy-handed, demanding father. They’d been
stuck together as dorm mates, both outsiders. The room remained as quiet as a
morning following a snowstorm for the first three months of living together.
The two boys spoke only when necessary. Adam hadn’t been sure Xander even knew
his name.

But then his quiet roommate had done the unexpected. Xander
had covered for him when he’d taken an unauthorized off-campus jaunt to visit
his younger brother and mother. But he’d been caught and both boys had been
slapped with kitchen duty and an extra five-mile daily run as punishment for
lying. One morning while up to their armpits in carrot peelings, a strong bond
of friendship formed. Sure, they’d never gone girly and shared their innermost
thoughts. Xander didn’t know Adam had a younger brother. No one did. And he
only had hints of Xander’s early life with his dad. They operated on more of a
need-to-know basis.

Adam eyed his friend with a sidelong glance as they reached
the gym’s steel doors. He shook off his maudlin thoughts and swallowed the
anger that the administration wanted him to match and mate. Usually there was a
choice, or Shep went about it more stealthily. Part of him was relieved his mom
was no longer alive to see him strong-armed into matching. After all the
trouble it had caused her, she’d be tormented the system was still in place and
affecting her eldest son.

“Ready?” Xander flung open the door with a gleam in his eye.

“Bring it on.”

“Let’s do it.” Xander jogged over to the far side of the
room and perched on a metal bench to untie his shoelaces. Then he crossed over
to a cabinet and threw it open. He pulled out some headgear and large,
rectangular pads with straps on the back. Adam headed for the locker room to
pull on his sweats and cup. He knew Xander would go full contact. No sense in
getting injured. Though at the moment, getting a few groin kicks seemed as good
excuse as any to avoid kicking off the next generation of Program soldiers.
Even if he agreed to reproduce, there was no guarantee his kid would sign on to
the Program at age eighteen. There was always a choice, unless Shep planned on
removing that too.

Xander joined him in the locker room and lifted a faded Jane’s
Addiction t-shirt over his head and dropped it where he stood. Then he pulled
on a plain black t-shirt. “Let’s go.” He gestured with his head toward the door
then headed out.

Chapter Two

“You’re right, Steve, it was unprofessional and
irresponsible,” Loren said for what felt like the millionth time that morning.
If he was going to fire her, she wished he’d go ahead and do it already rather
than force her to listen to his harsh, repetitive lecture. She struggled not to
yawn, but she’d been up all night fighting an edgy restlessness alternating
with peaks of arousal.

“If you had only stayed until the party ended,” her boss
said, and now Loren fully understood his anger. They’d been scooped. Big-time.
By several party guests with cell phones. If they were keeping score, it’d be
bloggers—one, credentialed journalists—zero. Well he couldn’t possibly be
angrier with her than she was at herself. If only she had stayed, she’d have
had a great view of the kidnapped birthday boy from her stance in the back of the
room. Maybe she could have even stopped the kidnapping and saved the parents
from heartbreak and the terror they had to be feeling now.

“I did see something,” she said yet again.

“You saw nothing. Two guys walking out to the balcony.”
Steve finally calmed enough to collapse into his chair. “That proves nothing.
They probably just went out for a smoke.”

“Really? Two male guests, one with a possible blood-stained
shirt, strolled outside arm in arm? That doesn’t strike you as odd?” She
quailed under the exasperated look he threw her and knew she was grasping at
straws. She’d messed up and was going to have to pedal harder and faster to
prove herself once again as worthy of writing for the paper. If only she could
shake off the weird antsy feeling she’d carried since her dance last night.

“No odder than a
Washington Post
journalist leaving
five minutes before the guest of honor is kidnapped.”

Finally she stood. “Steve, I’ve apologized and I’ll keep
apologizing, but now time’s a-wasting. Do you want me to go clean my desk out?
Because I will, but I’d prefer to go back to my desk and get to work.”

She and Steve held a staring contest for another few seconds
before her boss sighed and shrugged in defeat. “Fine. Go find Derrick. I’ve
assigned him the Christenson kidnapping. See if he needs an assist.”

“Thanks,” she said with a conciliatory smile. “I promise you
won’t regret it.”

She strode back to her desk to delay finding Derrick until
she could catch her breath and find her composure. She pretended to check email
until a pair of manicured male hands settled onto her shoulders in a mockery of
a massage. She craned her neck to see Derrick Bloom, top
Post
reporter
standing behind her. They weren’t the hands she wanted on her. There was no
comparison between last night’s dance partner’s strong hands on her waist and
Derrick’s almost effeminate hands.

“What are you doing, Derrick?” she asked, shrugging her
shoulders.

“Helping you relax. Heard you got reamed for last night’s
screw-up.”

She scowled and turned back to her monitor. “I didn’t screw
up that badly. My job was to report on the food, the power couples in
attendance and the gossip. How was I supposed to know the poor kid would get
snatched the moment I left?”

Derrick strolled to her desk and perched his skinny ass on
the edge. “You couldn’t have known it, but
I
would’ve stayed until the
party ended.”

She gave a snort. “Free champagne, caviar and society
matrons in skimpy dresses? Of course you would’ve stayed.”

He grinned affably, reminding her in full force why he was
popular around the office. As a previous Pulitzer Prize nominee, he accepted
adulation from lowly female beat reporters and researchers as his due. It
didn’t hurt that he was handsome in a Patrick Dempsey, pre-
Grey’s Anatomy
sort of way.

He’d made it clear he wanted more from Loren, but she wasn’t
ready to take it to the next level. Sure, he was great as a plus-one for
parties. What girl didn’t want a go-to for a Saturday night movie? But he
didn’t make her sizzle, and her mom was always reminding her to wait for the
right man, a man who could make her toes curl.

“Lori, listen. Steve told me to use you to assist covering
the kidnapping case, and I’m willing to help you get back on your feet.”

She swallowed angry words at his arrogance. “Call me Loren.
I told you I hate Lori.”

“Sorry, baby, I forgot. Listen, I can’t stay long, I have a
lead on the kidnapping. Big. Huge. Pulitzer Prize big.” He paused for dramatic
effect and looked around to make sure the other cubicle grunts were listening.
He began in a stage whisper. “Check this out.” He leaned over her to enter a
URL into her internet browser.

A small black screen came up while the video loaded. Loren
watched the grainy, now-famous video of two men in all black run down a city
alley and begin to brawl.

“What’s so important about this?” She looked up at Derrick.
“Everyone in the world saw this last week when the genetically enhanced soldier
story broke.”

“Right,” he said. “Wait for it…” He paused the video and
pointed. “There, see?”

She leaned in with narrowed eyes to examine an image of a
man lurking in the alley watching the fight. “Um, what am I supposed to see?
Another man is watching the fight. So?”

Derrick popped a flash drive into her computer. “This is a
copy of the surveillance video from last night’s party.”

“How did you get that?” She craned her neck to stare up at
him.

He grinned at her. “Two words. Pulitzer Prize, baby.”

“That’s three,” she muttered and watched as the jerky,
poor-quality video flashed onto her monitor. They watched in silence until
Derrick slammed down on her mouse button to freeze it.

“There.”

Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip when she saw he’d
paused at the dance between her and the handsome man. “That’s me.
I
didn’t kidnap the baby.”

“Not saying you did. Look closer at your dance partner’s
face and now look at the guy in the alley.”

She squinted and examined the two figures with a sudden,
sinking feeling. They were…

“The same guy. He’s one of them, a Program freak, and he
clearly likes you.”

“No he doesn’t.” She shook her head, shocked that the
handsome, sexy man with whom she’d spoken was a genetically enhanced fighting
machine. He’d seemed harmless holding that champagne glass. Well, not harmless
exactly. He’d certainly done dangerous things to her imagination. “Keep watching
the video. I left the party, and when I returned, he was walking outside with
his arm around another man.” She shifted in the chair and leaned her chest
against the edge of the desk, hoping to alleviate the sudden burning and
tingling in her nipples. What was wrong with her? As soon as she had a free
moment, she was heading to a drugstore to pick up some vitamins, anything to
quell her heated blood.

Derek’s calculating grin flashed. “I can’t watch the rest of
the video. It cuts out shortly after this. Someone knew what he was doing. The
whole hotel lost video surveillance at 8:22. Three minutes after you walked
away from the freak party guest.”

“Who’s obviously not a guest, but there for security.”

“Right. Christenson hired the Program to act as guards.” He
snorted. “Who said they were the best? The kidnapping happened right under
their noses.”

Loren stared at the monitor’s image of her dancing with the
man until it was burned into her brain. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to the press conference MPD is holding. You’re
going to head to the Program’s compound out in Beltsville, Maryland. Go find
your Romeo and don’t leave until you learn everything he knows.”

She stared at him, thrilled and breathless at the idea of
seeing her mysterious dance partner again.

“Rumor on the street is it’s a training facility and
breeding ground. There’s a Commander Shepard. You’ll also want to find him to
interview.”

She frowned for a moment, working out the logistics of
getting to Beltsville with no car. “Will
The Post
cover a taxi?” she
asked, hoping he’d authorize the expense. There’d been no budget for nearly
anything lately.

Derrick looked nonplussed for a moment. “The Metro doesn’t
go out there?”

“Well,” Loren capitulated. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll rent a car.
Breaking this story will be worth the expense of the car rental.” She grinned
at Derrick, grateful for the opportunity on such a huge story then paused. Had
Derrick always been pale and pasty-looking? Her glance darted to the tan, tall
man on screen, but she quickly averted her eyes. The hot man was a total
unknown, not a good date for a Saturday night.

“Smart girl.” He ruffled the top of her head. “I knew I
could count on you. Get back to me by Sunday at the latest. If you get dirt of
the caliber I think you’ll get, we’re talking byline for you, Lori. Front page
stuff.” He ruffled her head again, ignoring that it was in a ponytail, and now
looked like a rat’s nest. “Okay, I’m off.”

She scowled at his back then called after him, “It’s
Loren
!”
She fumed for a moment and decided Derrick Bloom was never getting inside her
favorite Gap boot cuts and was hereby cut as her plus-one. She turned back to
her monitor to look up Beltsville on a map. Derrick made it a habit to dump his
basic research off onto young
Post
talent, but she knew this was a huge
lead. Despite his pompousness, he was a really good journalist. If helping him
meant a possible byline shot then she’d haul ass out to Beltsville, and if the
prospect of coming face-to-face with her tall, sexy man from last night got her
tingly, so be it. She was a professional.

* * * * *

“According to Adam and Chase, the man with the gun was an
invited guest.” Shep stood next to a whiteboard at the front of the crowded
multipurpose meeting room. Jumbled codes and words in green and blue marker
filled the white space haphazardly. Adam leaned back in his chair, fiddling
with a pen. He studied the hastily typed data sheet of last night’s debacle and
racked his brain for anything he’d seen that had been out of the ordinary. The only
thing that came to mind was Loren in her little black dress.

Gavin met his eyes from across the table and made a hand
gesture that had Adam choking back a laugh. Then, feeling others’ eyes on him,
he put on his game face, stood and strode to the front to add his comments to
Shep’s meeting.

“We were a target at last night’s operation. Whoever took
Christenson’s kid knew we’d be there and acted accordingly.” He paused while
unhappy hisses and grunts popped up from around the oval conference table.

“Yeah, yeah. It sucks. It’s a whole new ballgame out there
now that the world knows about us. No more ops with the quick in and out.”

“Speak for yourself, Blacker,” Chase called. “Personally,
I’ve never gone for the quick in and out.”

He barely resisted throwing a marker at Chase. Adam stepped
closer to the whiteboard and picked one up. “There’s a reason Christenson hired
us. Local police or private security could’ve done the job, but he very
specifically wanted us. Why? I think he’s hiding something, and I want to know
what.” He scrawled out a bulleted list of two or three ideas for his cohorts.
“Anything else anyone wants to add?”

“Yes,” Chase said. “I also want to know why Christenson
wanted us as guards. It’s not our usual job, and if you ask me, something’s wonky
about the whole thing.”

Shep stood and nodded. “Christenson is a powerful
international ally, which is why I agreed to the job, but my neck’s been itchy
ever since we took it. Most parents are protective of their children, but he
seemed overly anxious when we spoke on the phone.”

“Had he received any kidnapping threats?” Gavin asked and
typed something on his ubiquitous laptop that seemed to be glued to his
fingertips.

“No.” Adam had gone over Shep’s file on the job numerous
times this morning. It all seemed straightforward. Wealthy ambassador wanted
elite bodyguards for his son despite no previous threats. In an effort to make
nice with the public, Shep had agreed to do the job, despite it being different
than their normal mission. Now the whole thing had gone FUBAR and they looked
like incompetent assholes.

* * * * *

Loren rolled slowly along Baltimore Avenue in the heart of
Beltsville, Maryland. Gas stations, fast food joints and appliance stores lined
the four-lane road. Had she missed the Program compound? She decided to U-turn
it and roll a two-mile stretch of it again. As she turned around, she noticed a
tall chain-link fence farther down the side road.

She shifted the car back on a straight trajectory and drove
to investigate. There was no manned guardhouse at the entrance like at the CIA
headquarters in Langley. Instead a small call box stood next to a sliding iron
gate. She put the car in park and hopped out to investigate. A tiny sign hung
on the gate.
Property of the United States Government. No trespassing.
Scrawled in blue permanent marker below the official block letters were the
words
We shoot to kill
. A hard swallow took the lump in her throat down
to her chest. Looked as if she’d found the now infamous site. Pulling her slim
silver digital camera out of her purse she took a few shots of the gate and the
sign.

Off in the distance, she could make out a series of
standard-issue low-slung government brick buildings. The nondescript exteriors
could hide anything from computer databases, to administrative offices, to
nuclear weapons. Even farther than the buildings, Loren saw teenage boys
kicking around a soccer ball.
Damn, they run fast.
She snapped more
photos of them. They looked like average teens and nothing indicated their
genetic enhancements unless you counted the speed at which they ran and the
distance they kicked the ball.

* * * * *

Adam’s team continued to call out observations and theories
about the kidnapping. Xander spoke up, but Adam’s attention was caught by a
movement on a security TV monitor in the corner of the room. A woman stood at
the entrance, snapping pictures with a digital camera.