Missing Lynx (21 page)

W
hat’s the plan today, Lynx?” Gater asked as we finished our coffees. “We’re going to get dusty. I’m working on the Hervas case. I need to go over to Spyder’s storage unit and do a little digging. I’ll probably need your brawn to move a bunch of stuff around.”

“I’m game. Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for?”

“Sure. I want to see if I can find the files I was working on when Spyder took off.”

Gater stalled with his breakfast burrito seemingly forgotten in his hand. “Marcos Sylanos? You’re kidding. You’re thinking this Consuela girl’s caught up in all that? That’s bad juju.”

“Very bad juju. She’s married to one of the key players.”

“How’d you figure?” Gater asked.

I smiled smugly.

“Damn, girl.”        

Pawing through the boxes in Spyder’s storage unit, I wished Striker were here with me. I liked that his calm and steady played antithetically to my bristly and electric. He was like a metronome set to four-four time while I danced an emotion-filled fandango around him.

Gater was a great guy, and I loved him dearly. It’s just our relationship was different. I couldn’t show my soft underbelly around Gater. I was his team mate, and I wasn’t about to be seen by my team as a weak link.

Gater and I hefted and sorted, rubbed dust into our clothes, and sneezed violently. Now we were sitting on the cold cement with our backs to the wall, stacks of files at our feet.

“Hey now. Looky here!” Gater waved a thick manila folder at me.

I reached for the file and looked hungrily down. Boom. Page one, a photograph of the spider web of string leading from name to name stuck to my bedroom floor back at my old apartment. Life was very different at the time of this photo. Mom was alive, Spyder and I were partnered, I hadn’t met Angel yet. He was still alive, too. I was so innocent then. It wasn’t long ago, a year and a half, but it doesn’t take long for life to swing wildly out of control.
My
life certainly proved the point.

“Good job.” Sadness colored my voice, and Gater cast a perplexed look at me.

I offered him an artificial smile. “I’ll have to look at these in the Puzzle Room for security. But, listen Gater, I would really appreciate it if you didn’t mention our outing to anyone. You know — that I have this.” I waved the file at him.

Gater’s expression clouded. “Do you mean Striker?”

“Um.” Did I mean Striker? I thought for a minute – I’d never ask Gater to hide something from his Team Lead. “No. I mean anyone outside of the team. I have to play this close to the vest. I need this information to puzzle with, and I’m afraid Command would take this data away from me if they found out I had it.” I wasn’t sure I understood all of this “on a need to know basis” business. They were using me to draw out information, which made me bait, and quite frankly, that meant I needed to know.

Gater looked uncomfortable. “Is that an order, ma’am?”

Surprise shot my eyebrows up to my hair line. “Do I have that authority?”

“While Striker’s gone, yes, ma’am. You’re Team Lead on this case.”

Shoot, who knew? “Well then yes, it’s an order.”

In my office, I verified Julio Rodriguez as the guy I thought he was – definitely in Sylanos’s inner-circle, and I even found information on Maria. Her name in the file was Castillo; that must be why Spyder had said Maria Castillo and not Maria Rodriguez. Okay. One mystery solved.

Julio seemed to be attached to Sylanos through his shipping route in some way, and yes indeed, when I reviewed the shipping information I found triangular stops — Columbia, US , Honduras.

But some of Julio’s information didn’t fit…seemed strange. Julio was an educated man with a Master’s degree in computer software design from the University of California. Why in the world would he get involved in shipping a Colombian weapons dealer’s merchandise from East Coast ports down to Honduras and then to Colombia? Hmmm, “curiouser and curiouser,” as Striker liked to say.

As I flipped through the file, I came upon the picture from Mrs. Agnew’s desk. On the back, someone had written in black pen. “Honeymoon in Costa Rica, Julio and Maria” — with a heart around drawn around the names — “with our new friends, Amando and Beth Sylanos.” A shiver ran through me. Amando Sylanos? Was he related to Marcos? I needed to do some more research - this time in the Colombian vital stats. But exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders. I needed to go home.

I called over to the barracks. “Gater?”

“Yeah?” His voice rumbled, thick with sleep.

“It’s 1:30. I had no idea I had worked so late. I’m going to bed down in the barracks tonight. Go back to sleep.”

“K.” He hung up.

My mind played on fast forward. I lay in bed, tossing around, trying to find a position that made my body feel restful, hoping my brain would get the hint and let me fall asleep.

Around three in the morning the girls popped their heads up, but they weren’t barking, then the door opened and softly closed. Striker must be home. I let go of my stress with a big sigh. A giddy smile tickled my lips as he walked softly to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He came into the guest room where I was snuggled under the covers, and he burrowed in beside me, pulling me into his bare arms. The smattering of his chest hair tickled my back. His sweatpants rasped my thighs.

“Hey, welcome home. How did everything go?” I rolled toward him and could just make out his smile in the dim light from the Cheshire Cat moon outside my window.

“Pretty well. Things are moving in the right direction. I’m bringing in some data that needs to be puzzled. I’m afraid I have to get you to put your other cases on hold while you focus on this. It’s time sensitive and serious. We’ve got competition, too.” He kissed me lightly.

“Who?” I reached up my hand and traced his full lips with my finger. He had beautiful lips.

“Bunch of the agencies. Everyone’s stepping on everyone’s toes.”

I moved my hand to his hair. Mmm. Silky. I kissed him sweetly; he tasted like mint toothpaste. He smiled against my lips.

“It’s pretty fierce - you’d think they’d get themselves together and cooperate.” He kissed the tip of my nose “…then they could pull it off. But then Iniquus wouldn’t have a mission.” His mouth moved to my neck just below my ear.

I giggled. “Do I need to go over now?”

“No, first thing tomorrow will be fine.” He moved his kisses to my throat down to the v of my clavicle. I angled my head to give him better access. “We can’t move until we get an updated file and the info isn’t coming in until eight,” he murmured, his words tickling my skin, making me squirm. He gathered me in his arms and pulled me tight against him.

“So, why are you climbing in bed with me?” I whispered into his ear.

“I have the heebie-jeebies.” He chuckled, rolling me onto my back and hovering above me.

“Cute.” I breathed in the clean smell of his body wash — just like in bed at the safe house. But at the safe house I had to fight against desire and here…now…

“It worked for you,” Striker kissed my lips softly as he adjusted his knees underneath him. His hand explored down the length of my body. Edging my silk camisole up fractionally to expose my belly, he lay soft kisses in a tantalizing line across the top of my panties. I groaned and arched toward his mouth. Striker stilled, and I felt him smiling against my skin and the heat of his chest against my thighs.

He gathered my camisole in his hands and slowly lifted the pink silk up and off. His fingers trailed down my breasts. My nipples hardened as he rolled them between his fingers and then with his tongue. I needed more of him and tried to pull him to me, but Striker was not to be rushed.

Very slowly, he dragged his fingers lightly over my skin, waking up my sense of touch, making me tremble. “Please.” I gasped my need. His mouth found mine his kisses serious and demanding, our tongues dancing and exploring. His thigh moved between my legs his erection pressed against me.
He wants me
. The thought worked as a powerful aphrodisiac. He eased his other leg between mine and my knees came naturally up on his sides, opening me to him. My body hummed - greedy for his attention.

Somehow he was naked. His silken erection brushed down my inner thigh as he moved over me, tormenting me.

“Please.” I gasped. His fingers hooked my panties, easing them slowly, slowly down my hips and off...

“Striker?” My voice sounded small and quivery. He moved back up; hovering over me, he looked down into my eyes and waited. I gulped. “I love you touching me.” I said on the exhale.

He smiled and kissed me.

“Striker?” 

He opened his eyes to look at me again.

“I want you to make love to me. . .but…”

When I said ‘but’ he lowered his forehead to mine. He had to regroup, shift gears. So did I.
Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m such a freaking prick tease!
But could I do this? Body and mind were in full out battle.

“But what, Lexi? Tell me.” His voice had the gruff and lusty quality to it like in Miami.

“If we make love, we’ll keep making love. We’ll be lovers.”

“Yes.” He smiled. He seemed to like the idea.

“And that means we’ll be in a relationship.”

“Chica, we are in a relationship just an unusual, undefined relationship.”

“Being lovers would define us. We’d be a couple. I’m not there, Striker. I’m not ready to be in a new defined-couple relationship, yet.” There it was — my truth — no matter how my body longed for him, I wasn’t ready.

“So, being in bed with me leaves us undefined. Making love defines us. You’re okay with me sleeping with you. The line comes with making love?” Mirth shone in his eyes along with…wariness? Frustration? 

“I guess so.” Guilt, love, loneliness, contentment, deprivation…I was full to overflowing with clashing emotions. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t just be your lover. I’m not wired like Amy. I
don’t want
to be your Amy.” My voice rose with conviction.

“
Amy
? What has she got to do with us?” He asked quietly brushing my hair from my face, looking down into my eyes in the moon light.

“Well, here she is wishing for a relationship, and she gets sex and Gater’s emotional leftovers instead.” I lifted my hand to caress the beginnings of his morning stubble. God but Striker was breathtaking. He was everything - everything I ever wanted, but I wanted it all. Not scraps. My thumb outlined his lips, hoping the right words would come out of his mouth - whatever they were. . .

“I’m not asking you to be my Amy, Chica.”

Oh? “Then what exactly are you asking me to be?” I held my breath and mentally crossed my fingers.

Striker paused for a long time. I didn’t say anything. I understood my question was a complex one, and if he’d had a response readily at hand, he’d already have shared it with me.

“I can’t answer you. I’m sorry. My love for you doesn’t seem complicated until I try to think in practical terms.”

“What a mess.” I whispered, softly running my fingers along the planes of his face.

He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss into the pulse point on my wrist, then laying my palm on his heart. “No, not a mess, Chica. Everything’s alright.” Striker lay flat on top of me then rolled to his side with me still in his arms. “We’ll figure this out. And until then, I’m trying to understand your sleeping parameters.” I pillowed my head on his bicep. He nuzzled against my ear. “Can you tell me how far I’m allowed to go?” He ran his warm hand along my naked side, fingers grazing my breast. I loved how the roughness of his callouses made me feel ultra-feminine. “Is this no actual intercourse, but maybe a little fooling around kind of sleeping?” His hand slid between my thighs and rested lightly. He nipped my shoulder playfully.

“One would kind of lead toward the other wouldn’t it?” I asked. “I’m feeling guilty here about saying no to you, and that adds some pressure.”

“I’m the transmission. All you need to say is, ‘shift gears’ or ‘back up,’ and I will. No pressure, Chica. Really. None.”

His reassuring kiss was light, friendly, warm — definitely no pressure, I noted with a little disappointment.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he asked.

“All right,” I sighed. “But if you snore, I’m going to get Beetle and Bella involved.” When I said their names, my girls stuck their noses up over the bed to see if a command would follow, and when it didn’t, they plopped back down on the floor.

“I missed you,” Striker whispered as he tucked his knees up to spoon.

“I missed you, too,” I whispered back.

With another kiss, he settled the covers over us and fell asleep, his arms holding me possessively against him.
He deserves better than me
.

Twenty-Two

A
few hours later, the team assembled in the Puzzle Room waiting for Jack and Striker to brief us on the case and give us our assignments.

“Gentlemen and Lynx, we are up against a short time frame. Tomorrow evening, at twenty hundred, a plane will leave Reagan International for Abu Dhabi carrying Andrew Brennon and two of his associates. Once he’s on the plane, we will have lost our opportunity to bring him to justice. Our job is to put together a strong enough case to keep him on American soil. He’s wealthy. He’s well-connected. He has a pile of get-out-of-jail free cards in his pocket. We have to craft a solid, irrefutable, case.”

“What charges are we looking at?” Deep pulled out a chair and sat down at the evidence table with his coffee mug.

“Espionage, cyber-terrorism, and blackmail for starters, and anything else we can possibly pin on him,” Jack handed out photos of Brennon.

Striker continued, “We believe his first attack was a test balloon - a five-second computer anomaly interrupted a single Wall Street purchasing algorithm. It seems simple but in that five seconds there was what they call a ‘flash crash’ and 9% of the Dow disappeared. Intel indicates Brennon recently uncovered another hole that opens the door for a second attack. His intent, according to our sources, is to play games with the stock market undermining US financial security. He’s a megalomaniac after the triumvirate — power, money, and prestige on the world terrorism stage.”