Operation Sheba (9 page)

Four: take on the shadow CIA.

All in a day’s work.

Chapter Eleven

God, he’s good. Moves around just like a cat on silent feet, bringing me coffee in his continuing quest for my help
.

Conrad’s voice whispered through her memory.
Passive aggressive wins the war.

Smiling, she wrapped her hair in one towel and dried her body with another. She heard dishes clang against the kitchen sink.
He’s even washing the dishes. Next he’ll be making my bed and offering to pick up my clothes from the cleaners.

Hanging up her damp towel, Julia took a sip of the black coffee and then began rubbing lotion on her arms and legs. The memory of Conrad’s hands doing the same thing sent a jolt of heat to her face.

Precious time had slipped by since she’d stepped out of the shower in her Paris flat to find him sitting on the window seat, a beer in hand, his dark eyes like melted chocolate as they skimmed her wet, naked body.

He had set the beer down, taken the towel from her hands and patted her skin dry. Then grabbing the bottle of her lavender-scented lotion, he’d smoothed it over her body in long, gentle strokes, letting his fingers linger in certain spots until she could no longer stand it. She’d pulled him into her bedroom, his husky laughter over her impatience like velvet on her bare skin.

A pan banged in the sink in the other room, jarring her from her reverie. She looked at her blurry reflection in the steamy mirror. Damn, she had to quit thinking about the past or she’d jump his bones before she even started her own secret investigation of the shadow CIA.

Pulling open her cosmetic drawer, she applied a touch of taupe eye shadow and a couple coats of mascara to her eyes. She dried her hair and pinned the bulk of it on top of her head. To the strands that fell around her face, she added a few curls from her curling iron. Then she set it all with hairspray. Last, she added her lip gloss and smoothed it into a perfect pout.

Throwing on her terrycloth robe, she opened the bathroom door to peek out. The apartment was silent. She stepped out into the hallway. Still nothing. She padded down to the kitchen.

The dishes were washed and stacked to dry in the dish drainer. The table and countertops were clean. Two pieces of dry toast sat on a plate next to the full coffeepot.

Conrad was gone. She felt keen disappointment swell inside her. Even though her past relationship with him had been an exercise in emotional bungee jumping, she had always respected him, always loved him to her core. He had pushed her to meet his expectations, both in their personal relationship and in their jobs because he expected only the best from her.

And she gave it to him, because she expected no less from herself. She always gave one hundred and ten percent.

Sitting in a kitchen chair, Julia stared at the tulip still in its vase on the table and sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. There was so much at risk, all of it mired in emotions. She was in love with two men and, without a doubt, she was going to have to choose between them somewhere down the road.

Before that, she had to prove Michael was innocent even though the best spy in the business had a ton of evidence proving he was guilty.

But she still had to help that spy and his current partner-in-crime. Conrad and Smitty had been, were still, her friends. Friends who had put their lives on the line for her. They were good men and even if they were wrong about Michael, they were right about the shadow organization. It had to be stopped. Those involved had to be brought to justice.

Unfortunately, Conrad and Smitty were now rogue agents who would probably end up in prison if the CIA’s mole and his associates weren’t revealed. Julia too, if she was caught helping them.

Deal with the shadow organization first, Julia. Then deal with your feelings for Conrad and Michael. Keep your poker face on and don’t give anything away to either side yet. Be Miss Mary Sunshine on the outside and Mata Hari underneath.

Julia smiled to herself. Playing Mata Hari was certainly more fun than playing Abigail Quinn. She just had to be sure she didn’t end up in front of a firing squad.

“Well?” Smitty asked, slicing a banana over his bowl of Wheaties.

“Well what?” Conrad stared vacantly at the contents of the refrigerator before snagging a gallon of milk.

Smitty watched as he poured a glass of milk and drank it down. “What you mean, ‘well what’? Is she going to help us or not?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” Conrad set the glass on the counter and ran his hand through the disarray of hair on top of his head. “She’s playing games with me. I guess she’s still pissed.”

Smitty took the gallon of milk and poured some of it over his cereal. “Did you apologize?”

“Of course I apologized. Weren’t you listening? She told me to get out.”

Smitty was grinning and shaking his head. “I shut off the receiver and went to bed as soon as you left. I assumed she’d forgiven you when you didn’t come home.” He walked past Conrad and set the milk in the refrigerator.

“Yeah, well, you can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Smith. If Julia refuses to help us, I’m sending
you
in to bug Stone’s house.”

Genuine fear showed on Smitty’s face. “You know I suck at that cloak-and-dagger stuff. You’re the overachiever in the covert operations department. I’m the behind-the-scenes guy who makes you look good.”

Conrad rolled his eyes. “Right. How could I forget?”

Picking up his bowl and a cup of coffee, Smitty walked to the table and sat down. “Maybe you should let me talk to Julia. She might feel less defensive with me.”

Before Conrad could answer, there was a soft knock on the door. Pulling the HK from his waistband, he edged down the hall. Smitty concealed himself by the kitchen doorway, motionless.

Conrad looked through the peephole and visibly relaxed. “Speak of the devil,” he said under his breath as he unlocked and opened the door.

“Good morning, Conrad.” Julia shot him a warm smile, breezing by him in jeans and a loose-fitting red leather jacket.

Her fresh-from-the-shower lavender scent followed her, wrapping itself coyly around Conrad’s head. He caught himself inhaling and had to force his voice to sound normal.

“Morning.” Closing the door, he returned the gun to its spot in his waistband. Good was questionable.

Julia followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen. She nodded at Smitty, and he smiled at her as he resumed his seat at the table. “Cups are in the second cabinet.” He pointed with his spoon before dipping it into his cereal.

She pulled a clean cup down and poured coffee into it, catching sight of Conrad in her peripheral vision. He was scowling at her from the end of the counter.
I’m Miss Sunshine,
she told herself.
I’m here to follow orders.

Of course, she was always better at giving them than following them.

Turning around, she leaned casually against the counter, resting her focus for a moment on the tiled floor. “So what’s on my to-do list today?” she asked, glancing up at Smitty.

He stopped in mid-chew and looked at Con, then back to Julia. Swallowing his food, he frowned. “You mean in terms of helping us?”

She smiled at him over the coffee cup. “Unless you’ve suddenly realized how asinine this plan is and have decided to go to Michael with your information.”

Conrad snorted. “God
damn
. You are amazing, girl. After all the evidence we’ve shown you”—he rapped the countertop with his knuckles—“you have the balls to stand here and tell us our plan is asinine? Suggest we pay Stone a visit? Michael Stone—remember who he is? The man who gave you up, Julia.
The man who sold you out
.”

Julia straightened on an inhale, and she cut her eyes to him.
I will not let you get to me. I’m
Mary Find-the-Mole Sunshine.

Forcing her eyes away from Con’s scowling face, she returned her gaze to Smitty. Smiled again. Then she repeated the question with exaggerated politeness. “
P
lease
explain to me what I’m supposed to do to help you.”

Smitty grabbed his coffee cup and stood up. “Let’s head into the living room.” He motioned her forward and shot Flynn a look. “Con was just heading to the shower, so I’ll go over the plan with you.”

Conrad placed his hands on the counter and kept his head down as Julia walked past him. She knew he wanted to reach out and grab her, shake some sense into her, or maybe just kiss her again like last night, and the thought of him wrestling with himself made her smile. Pushing her, trying to force her to do and think the way he wanted wouldn’t do any good. The harder people pushed her, the harder she pushed back. The people in her past who’d been stupid enough to tell her she couldn’t win, wouldn’t succeed, never saw what hit them.

Conrad knew from experience that under the soft sweaters and sweet perfume Julia was a pit bull, just like him.

And pit bulls went for the jugular.

Chapter Twelve

The hairs on the back of Michael’s neck were standing straight up. His stomach was tense. The easy gait he’d usually affected by this point in his run was absent. His legs were feeling a push of adrenaline. He tried to ignore the flight response his brain was sending them.

Jesus, Stone, you’re getting paranoid.

He glanced at the Rottweiler running a few paces ahead of him. No paranoia there. Pongo was in full dog-mode, sniffing and spreading his scent on every bush and rock within shooting distance.

But he felt it. Someone
was
watching him. They weren’t nearby or Pongo would have picked up the scent. That meant they were probably using a scope.

Holy Mother. Scopes usually came attached to rifles. Was there someone out there who wanted him dead?

At one point in his life, Michael had been trained to expect and react to such a scenario with the calm and self-assured manner of a U.S. Marine. However, those days were long gone, and right now he felt more like a sitting duck than a trained solider. He was stupid not to have his assigned security guard running with him these days, but a running partner cramped his freedom, his morning peace.

So, what was he going to do? Hide?

Trees sparsely populated the path to the lake, not one of them big enough to conceal his six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame.

Scratch that idea.

He casually scanned the area, eyes and ears on full alert. There was nothing beyond the birds and the sound of his running shoes on the path and a rustle of grass as Pongo zeroed in on another tree. He attempted to reassure himself that if someone was really out there and wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead. Whoever it was was simply watching him.

But should he run,
really
run?

Don’t overreact, Stone. Stay cool.

Why would someone be watching him?

Because of Julia. Ryan Smith warned you they might come for her.

Michael frowned. If the group Flynn had infiltrated had wanted Julia’s head on a platter, they would have found her long before now. It had been close to a year and a half and even with her name change and the other security precautions they had taken, a determined party could have found her within a few weeks, maybe a month or two tops.

On the other hand,
he
had previously been the director of the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center and now was the DO in charge of the CIA’s spies.
That
would be the obvious reason someone might be watching him. Terrorists, mercenary vigilantes, Republicans—there was always someone who wanted to get his nuts in a sling.

Unh-uh. It’s Julia.

Ah, Christ.

Michael double-timed his pace.

Conrad rocked slowly in the chair and stared at the far wall, feeling Julia’s presence in the room even though she was miles away, zooming up the George Washington Parkway to another day of work at CIA Headquarters.

Conrad Flynn was scared. Scared shitless to be more precise.

It wasn’t an easy thing for him to admit, but it was hard to ignore when it was slapping him in the face. He’d felt fear plenty of times before, but this time he was unprepared for it. Not that he was unprepared for what he was doing. He was mercenary-trained, had more field experiences than even he cared to admit, and pegged the top rung of physical and psychological fitness. He was confident about his skills and about the mission he was on. There was no doubt in his mind who the responsible party was and he was only days, maybe hours, away from getting the proof he needed. He could feel it in his gut. Stone was the man it would end with.

And Julia was obviously in love with him.

God
damn
. Didn’t that just frost his balls? In his overall master plan, he’d somehow missed that contingency.

That’s what had him scared shitless.

He stopped rocking.

But if Julia was in love with Stone, why was she willing to go after him? She’d agreed to bug Stone’s house and was going to attempt to bypass his laptop’s security and download any files and e-mail correspondence that confirmed or even hinted at his involvement in the shadow operation. It was dangerous for her, but she could handle it. She’d performed similar operations before.

It was her sudden cooperation that was bugging the crap out of him. After her reckoning with him the night before, he was completely surprised at the morning’s change of tune. Julia was not a Jeykll and Hyde personality. If she really believed Stone was innocent, she would have told Conrad to go to hell without batting an eye.

In the beginning, when Conrad had first learned about the sellout, he had given hard consideration to the idea of following the trail on his own and simply putting a bullet in the head of whoever was responsible. He’d been furious and dangerously close to losing control. However, Smitty’s common sense brought him back from the edge. They had to be clever and thorough, Smitty advised, to make sure they flushed out everyone involved.

It had never been part of their original plan to involve Julia. They had figured it would take them less than six months. Then they would walk in, reveal the rogue operation and bring the traitors to justice. But the trail was not as easy to follow as they had expected. It had taken months longer to track all the evidence back to its source.

And they’d never planned for Julia’s involvement with Michael Stone.

Operationally, it was a gold mine to have her so close to the source. Like having an agent on the inside of a terrorist cell, it should have made his job easier.

Yeah, right. He should have stuck with his original plan. Put a bullet in the responsible party’s head. Maybe not as thorough, but definitely more satisfying.

There was a faint noise behind him. The click of the door handle. Conrad was out of the rocking chair, stilling it with a hand and concealing himself against the near wall in one fluid movement.

“Con!” Smitty called, barely above a whisper.

“I’m here.” He pushed off the wall and strode into the hallway.

“You better come quickly.” The shit-eating grin was back in place. “She’s talking to you from the car.”

Traffic was horrible, inching along in spurts, thanks in part to an early morning accident. Julia hit the brakes yet again and lowered the volume of the Audi’s CD player.

“Hope you enjoyed that selection from Creed,” she said to the invisible ears of the car. “It’s called ‘Who’s Got My Back Now’, which brings up an appropriate subject for us to discuss this morning. So, get yourself a cup of coffee, Con, and take a comfortable seat. I have a few things to say to you.

“I appreciate how you’ve been watching my back since your, uh…pseudo death. And I’m considering accepting your apology, however”—she slapped the steering wheel with her hand—“I’m still mad as a hornet that you lied to me. That you left me behind, ignorant of your game, so you could use me down the road for this sting operation. You had no right to play God with me, Conrad, but as usual, you’re too busy trying to save the world to care about the consequences of your actions. Did it ever occur to you the world is too screwed up even for the Great Conrad Flynn to save?”

Julia could feel eyes on her and she glanced to her right across the passenger seat. Stopped next to her in a hearse was a young black man, a red and white striped knit cap pulled down over his rowdy hair. After meeting her gaze for the briefest of seconds, he looked away, a faint smile on his lips.

Yeah, I’m talking to myself. Big whoop.

She returned her attention to the car in front of her and continued her lecture. “I know what you’re saying to me right now. I know how you’re trying to justify your actions.”

She lowered her voice, doing her best imitation of him. “Jules, you know I couldn’t turn my back on what was happening and let this group of traitors ruin what you and I and dozens of others have worked for. Traitors are cut from the same cloth as terrorists and murderers. You know I have to fight them, Jules.
We
have to fight them. If we don’t, who will?

“Well, I guess on an intellectual level I understand that, even agree with it. But right now, I don’t give a rat’s fat ass about the
logic
behind your actions. For all your integrity and honor, you still suck. You let me down, Conrad.

“And, from here on out, I don’t want to hear any more justifications, and I don’t want you bristling around with anger at me for refusing to jump on the Let’s-Crucify-Michael-Stone bandwagon. I’ll make my own decisions and draw my own conclusions as soon as I have all of the evidence. But let me be clear about one thing. Even with what you’ve shown me, I’m not convinced Michael is responsible. I know him. He’s…” Her voice trailed off and she smiled to herself imagining how her next words would send Con straight up out of his chair. “He’s a lot like you.”

She let the words hang in the silence for a moment before continuing. “So for now, I’m going to help you and Smitty, but I want you to know I really hate…”
you
. Damn it, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“I hate this whole big, fat lie.” Okay, not quite as effective, but… “I hate what you did to me and I hate what you’re making me do to Michael. If he finds out I’ve helped you, he’ll never forgive me. And by the way, I have a polygraph test this morning. You’d better pray I don’t fail it. If I do, Michael’s going to be asking questions and I swear to God, if my butt ends up on the line, I’m going to tell him everything.
I will not take the fall for you, Flynn.
”

She felt the eyes watching again and let out a sigh. Pulling her sunglasses down on her nose, she flipped her head to the right to look at the man, shooting her eyebrows up.

What?

This time he held her gaze for a moment longer and she experienced a twinge of recognition. His face was an open book and he looked at her as though she was familiar to him.

He glanced away again and she studied his profile for a second as she pushed the sunglasses back up on her nose. Damn, was that…? No. Couldn’t be. Conrad wouldn’t have Ace Harmon tailing her, would he? The man was a mortician for heaven’s sake. Access agent or not, Ace wouldn’t know the first thing about tailing someone.

Traffic began to move and Julia watched the hearse pull into her lane several cars back. Shaking her head, she chuckled to herself.
That’s a first.
I’m being followed by a freaking mortician
. Absently, she turned her focus back to driving and eased the Audi forward.

Now where was I?

“So, having said all of that, I also want you to know…” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

There. It was out.

She released the rest of her breath.

Accelerating as the traffic in front of her moved forward, she kept an eye on the hearse moving behind her.

“Oh, and one more thing, Flynn.” She glanced in her rearview mirror as she opened the Audi up. “I really hate it when you call me ‘girl’.”

She reached for the volume knob, “And now back to our regularly scheduled program.”

I’m glad you’re still alive…

Conrad closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, bringing his hands behind his head.

While it wasn’t exactly an admission of her undying love, it was good enough. Julia was glad he was alive.

Life was good.