The Spy Who Loves Me (24 page)

“So the question is, what do we do?” Amber looked at both men, unconsciously including Finn in the planning. “How do we stop this?”

“Drake said they got in through the back door,” Finn said. “If we can find the programmer ourselves, maybe we can do an override and close the door.”

“I found him,” Brandon said.

“Who?” Amber asked.

“He was right under our noses the whole time. Bernie Waterman.”

Amber couldn't have been more surprised if he'd slapped her. “But Waterman's a clerk. He does data entry.”

“Someone must have known he'd attract attention and reclassified him.”

“Let's go get him,” Finn said.

“He's gone,” Brandon said. “And his apartment has been ransacked.”

Amber nodded, remembering Diana's comment on the plane about their so-called cargo. “They've got him on the island.”

“So we go back,” Finn said.

Amber shook her head. “Look, Finn. I can tell you're going to be useful in helping us plan this operation, but there's no way I'm knowingly taking a civilian back to that island.”

Finn opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Brandon spoke up first.

“Let's just blow the fucking thing out of the water.”

“And sacrifice Waterman?” Finn asked.

“Collateral damage,” Brandon said.

Finn didn't look pleased, but neither did he argue.

Amber licked her lips, considering the possible scenarios. “We can't do it,” she said. “Not without help. You and I don't have access to the weapons, and we don't have the authority to scramble fighters.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I'd wanted to keep a lid on this. There's a leak in the Unit,” she added, directing the comment to Brandon.

“I know,” Brandon said. “So we'll go through James. He's back, you know. And worried about you.”

She nodded. James understood discretion. If they moved fast, they could blow the island out of the water before sunrise. And even if someone other than James got wind of their plans, the mole wouldn't have time to warn Drake—not without revealing himself. “So we take care of Drake, take a deep breath, and then figure out who the son of a bitch is who's leaking Unit secrets.”

“Exactly,” Brandon agreed.

“Okay.” She picked up the phone and dialed the Unit's access number. “Go secure,” she said when the operator answered.

She heard the familiar click, and then the computer generated voice, “Identify.”

“Two seven niner dash niner.”

“Password?”

“Tribeca.”

“Invalid.” The line went dead.

“What the fuck?” Amber stared at the phone, shook her head, and tried again.

Still invalid.

She licked her lips, a cold chill settling in her bones as she was struck with the direness of the situation. “I've been disavowed,” she said, her eyes meeting Brandon's.

“Bullshit,” Brandon said.

“Your mole,” Finn said.

Brandon ignored him, but Amber silently agreed with Finn. She passed Brandon the phone. “You're going to have to pull this one off,” she said.

He nodded, then dialed and went through the same process. Then he paled, and she knew the second he heard the flat voice speak that one, telling word—“Invalid.”

Brandon slammed the phone down. “Shit.”

“So what does this mean?” Finn asked.

“It means we're shit out of luck,” Brandon said, pacing the room.

Finn stood up. “There must be some way to get help. Another agency. Hell, the White House.”

Amber licked her lips.
“Disavowed,
Finn. Brandon and I are traitors and liars now. No one's going to believe us. Hell, if we went in, they'd probably arrest us. Or worse.”

“Then I'll go,” he said.

She and Brandon exchanged glances.

“What?” Finn asked.

“You were with me,” Amber said. “Congratulations. You never even made it into the CIA and yet for all practical purposes, you've been disavowed, too.”

“You don't know that.”

“Not for certain, no. But call it an educated guess.”

Finn's glance cut to Brandon. “You agree?”

“I'm afraid so. We're on our own now.”

“On our own?” Finn asked. “You mean shit out of luck.”

“No,” Amber said. “I'm not letting Drake get away with this. All I mean is that we're going to have to do this the hard way. No outside help. None.” She took a deep breath. “We've got time,” she said. “We go in, we stop the satellite at the source.”

“Looks like we don't have a choice,” Brandon said. He stalked to the door, his vile mood practically dripping off him. She understood completely.
Disavowed.
The Unit was her life. And now, in the blink of an eye, her net had been pulled out from under her.

“Get some rest,” Brandon said. “We'll regroup at oh eight hundred.” He turned to leave, stopping at the door to look back at Finn. “Go back to your room, Finn. The lady needs her rest.”

“No,” Amber said, facing Finn. “Stay. I need to talk to you.” The words were out before she had a chance to think, but she knew it was the right thing to do. They needed to clear the air.

Brandon raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything. And as soon as the door shut, Finn returned to his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Sure,” she lied. “All part of the wonderful world of espionage.”

“Find the mole,” he said, “and you'll be reinstated.”

She couldn't help her smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate your concern. But right now I need to worry about Drake.”

“One battle at a time,” he said.

“Exactly.” She licked her lips, realizing that the conversation had shifted subtly. There was one other battle she had to face. It was the reason she'd asked him to stay, but now it seemed almost more difficult than returning to the island. She drew a deep breath and jumped in. “Everything I told you about myself was true,” she said. “I just left a few things out.”

“Misrepresentation by omission,” he said. “It's still fraud.”

“Don't play lawyer with me, Teague. I'm as well trained as you are. And it's only fraud if there's a duty to speak. Believe me. Duty required silence.”

“At first,” he said conceded. “Maybe. But later?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Amber, I was as deep into all of this as you were, risking my butt right alongside yours. You should have told me in my cell, and you damn well know it.”

“There wasn't any need,” she said. “Telling you would have been pointless.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed then, taking her face in the palms of his hands. “Pointless? Is that really all I was to you? Someone you confided in on a need-to-know basis and someone you fucked on a need-to-fuck basis? Because, goddamn it, you mean a hell of a lot more to me than that.”

She flinched. She didn't want to mean anything to him. So long as she'd simply been having a good time in his arms, she could wash away whatever feelings she had for him.

And she
did
have feelings. As much as she wanted to avoid it, he'd snuck into her heart. His humor, his resourcefulness, his reluctance to take the backseat. She admired and respected him.

Hell, she was falling in love with him.

So, yes, she definitely had feelings for the man. And her only hope was to ignore them. To not let them grow into something wild and dangerous. To beat them back into one of the dark, hidden chambers of her soul. That was her plan, at any rate. But if her feelings were reciprocated…

She shook her head, not wanting to think about that. And then she took a deep breath. She was analyzing too much. “It was the circumstances, Finn,” she said, speaking gently. “There's nothing real between us and there never will be. We were tossed in a cell together with the sure knowledge that torture or death was facing us. That's not real. That's adrenaline.” She spoke to convince herself as much as him.

“There was no adrenaline on the cliff,” he said. “There was just you and me and this thing that's between us.”

“Thing?” she repeated. “That
thing
was certain sex. You knew damn well you were going to get laid.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice hard. “I'm well aware that I was the subject of your mission. But you have to admit there was more to it than that.”

“I don't have to admit anything,” Amber said.

From his grin, she could tell he knew she was avoiding the unspoken question. “We're good together, Amber. I knew it on the cliff, and I think we proved it on the island.”

“You didn't even know me on the cliff.”

“So I've been told,” he said, his voice cold.

“I'm supposed to break an oath because you say we feel some connection?” She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “It doesn't work that way, Finn, and it never will.”

Any other man and she would have told him to just get the hell out of the room. But she wasn't saying that to Finn. She didn't want to hurt him any more than was necessary, because the frustrating truth was that she did want him. In some other life, she wanted him with all her heart and soul.

But not this life.

James's voice seemed to echo in her ear, reminding her of the duties she'd undertaken and the oaths she'd sworn.
“Your loyalty is to your country, your team, and to this Unit. Everything else is extraneous. Everyone else is expendable.”

And he was right. She'd given the Unit her life, and she'd never once regretted it. Not once, that is, until now. When Phineus Teague had stumbled into her life, and she'd started to wonder what exactly she might be missing.

“Amber.” He took her hand, his touch a plea, but she couldn't answer. Couldn't even try.

“Just go,” she said. “Go, and let me sleep.”

For a moment she thought he would argue, but in the end his concern for her health won out. “This isn't over,” he said.

She nodded, knowing what he said was true. But even though it might not be over, and even though a part of her wanted to curl up with Finn and never let go, she knew what the end would be.

This was the life she'd chosen, and it was the life she loved. For now, and for always.

M
ay I help you?”

The harsh female voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and Finn almost dropped the carafe of orange juice he was liberating from the refrigerator. He turned to face a tall woman with silver gray hair pulled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a business suit, carried a clipboard, and looked like she belonged in a boarding school whipping obstinate teenagers into shape.

Finn put the carafe back and offered his hand. “Mrs. Digby?”

She looked him up and down, then sniffed. “There is no need to rummage through the kitchen,” she said. “Go. Sit. I'll bring you breakfast momentarily.”

“I really just need a gla—”

“Go. Sit.”

Finn went into the dining room and sat. Less than five minutes later, Mrs. Digby appeared bearing a tray with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a tall glass of orange juice. She slid it onto the table in front of him, then turned back toward the kitchen without a word.

“Wait,” he called, not completely sure what prompted him to speak.

She turned, her brow riding high above the bifocals she wore. “Do you need ketchup, Mr. Teague?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No. No the meal is fine. Great. What I need is information.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “I don't suppose you'd join me?”

For a moment he thought she'd turn him down, but then she nodded briskly. “You have questions, of course,” she said, taking a seat. “I don't know that I'm authorized to answer them, but you may ask.”

“Thank you,” he said. He found himself sitting straighter than normal, the woman's oh-so-proper demeanor making him feel like a knight at court. “Have you spoken with Amber this morning?”

“Of course,” she said. “She and Mr. Kline are discussing their options.” She looked down her nose at him. “I presume that if they wanted you to have access to any of the details of their conversation, they would have invited you to participate. I won't, of course, divulge anything they discussed in my presence.”

“Right,” Finn said. “I was just making conversation. What I really want to know about is Amber. Have you known her long?”

Mrs. Digby blinked, then took off her glasses and set them on the table. “Yes,” she said, her voice somehow warmer. “I've known her since she was thirteen.”

Finn leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his breakfast forgotten. If what Amber had said was true, she was recruited by the Unit when she was thirteen. “What was she like? How did you know her?”

“She was hell on wheels, that girl,” Mrs. Digby said, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “And a cocky little twit, too.”

“How—”

“I trained her, Mr. Teague. I was the Unit's first female operative, and I was responsible for, shall we say, softening some of Amber's rougher edges.”

“She mentioned someone named James.”

Mrs. Digby nodded. “James Monahan. Second-in-command of the Unit. For a few more weeks, anyway.” Finn must have looked confused, because she added, “He's retiring, you see.”

“But who is he? I mean, to Amber.”

“Her boss and her mentor. I may have helped her along the way, but he was like family.” A thin smile graced her lips. “A family proficient in the use of small weapons and trained to assassinate dissident leaders, of course.”

“Right,” Finn said, not entirely sure what he should say to something like that. “Has Amber—”

“Certainly.”

“Right.” He supposed he should have expected the answer, but with Amber he never quite knew what to expect. He took a sip of coffee, then decided to start at the beginning. “She told me James got her out of some trouble with the law. But she didn't tell me what.”

“A number of things. But I believe the specific charge against her when the Unit brought her in was murder.”

Finn frowned. “She killed someone? At thirteen?”

“Felony murder,” Mrs. Digby clarified. “She didn't pull the trigger.” Finn nodded, remembering the doctrine from law school, as Mrs. Digby continued. “She and two men—boys, really—set out to rob a liquor store. They had plastic guns—thought they were being smart and avoiding a weapons charge—but the clerk didn't know the guns were plastic. He pulled a rifle out from behind the counter and shot one of the boys. Killed him instantly. Amber, of course, was charged along with the other boy.”

Finn licked his lips.

“That's the woman you've fallen for, Mr. Teague. Does that change your assessment of her, knowing all this?”

“No,” Finn said automatically. “But how—”

“I have eyes, young man.”

Apparently so. Finn just nodded, wanting to know more—hell, wanting to know everything—but not knowing what to ask next. Finally, he concentrated on Mrs. Digby herself. “If you were an operative, why are you here? Serving breakfast, I mean?” He held up his hands, realizing how that sounded. “I don't mean to be rude, but it just seems odd.”

“I worked as an operative for ten full years,” she said. “And then I met another Unit agent. He became something of a distraction to me, as I did to him.”

Finn shook his head. “I'm sorry. I don't understand.”

“Field operatives in the Unit cannot be involved in a relationship. Any relationship.”

“Why not?”

“A number of reasons. A love interest can provide an unneeded distraction. Or a vulnerable spot, a weak point upon which the enemy can apply pressure. Also,” she added with a smile, “agents are sometimes required to use
all
the means at their disposal to discern important information.”

“Yes,” Finn said dryly. “I'm aware of that.”

“Spouses tend to react negatively toward their mate sleeping with another simply to gain information.”

“Can't argue with that,” Finn said. “So you were kicked out of the Unit?”

“Out of the Unit, no. Out of the field, yes. Patrick and I were both assigned to the D.C. Bureau. After he died, I was assigned as Amber's liaison officer. When I retired, I came to live here. I take care of her house while she's away. Which, as you might imagine, is quite often.”

Finn glanced around the dining room. Like the rest of the house, it was sparse, but still homey. “Amber didn't strike me as the domestic type.”

Mrs. Digby raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think she is?”

“Well…” Finn trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “This house, I guess.”

“Mmm.” Mrs. Digby got up and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with the coffee pot. “She didn't buy this house so she could escape to some bit of domestic bliss,” the woman said. “She bought it so that she would never have to leave.”

“I don't get it.”

“Her work is very trying. As a result, the Unit imposes mandatory vacation time. Amber comes here.”

“Because…” Finn said, prompting.

“The house is quite well equipped,” Mrs. Digby said. “She can access the Unit computers, download the language-learning software, monitor ongoing missions, do any number of tasks. During her last sabbatical, she taught herself Japanese. And, of course, there is no other house around for miles, so the woods provide a good area for honing survival skills, not to mention target practice. And, of course, I work with her on her martial arts skills.”

Finn kept his face impassive, but in truth, he was impressed. Never in his life had a job stirred such devotion in him. This one, though…Well, he could both understand and empathize with Amber's commitment. A spark of envy flared in his gut and he tamped it down. He'd made his choices, however much he regretted them. And this peek into a life he coveted was just that—a peek. But while he was here, he intended to make the most of it. Soon enough he'd return to the real world.

Assuming, that is, he survived the week.

A buzzer sounded in the kitchen, and Mrs. Digby rose. “It's been lovely chatting with you, Mr. Teague, but I need to go upstairs and see what Amber and Mr. Kline need.” She nodded toward his plate. “Do eat. I'd hate for your food to get cold.”

Finn didn't care about his food. Instead, he tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling. He wanted in that room. Wanted to know what Amber and Brandon were planning. “Do you think she'll tell me?” he asked.

Mrs. Digby just shook her head. “Amber prefers to work alone.”

“She's working with Brandon,” Finn said, hoping he sounded curious rather than jealous.

“Out of necessity. Besides, she's known him since she was thirteen. They can practically read each other's thoughts.” She aimed a hard look at him. “Brandon's not a distraction.”

“And I am,” Finn said.

Mrs. Digby nodded. “Yes, Mr. Teague. I believe you are.”

 

“How's my houseguest?” Amber asked, the moment Mrs. Digby stepped into the room.

“Curious,” Mrs. Digby said. She crossed to the bed to check Amber's IV, then gently pushed her forward and pulled aside the tank top Amber was wearing to inspect the wound. “The stitches are sloppy, but the wound looks much better.”

“I was in a rush,” Brandon said. But the expression he turned on Amber was apologetic. “Sorry, kid. I should have waited for Digby here.”

“I picked an inconvenient time to run into town,” Mrs. Digby said, an apology in her voice.

“We've got better things to worry about than my scars,” Amber said. “Brandon and I are going to launch an operation. Try to destroy their connection to the satellite. If we're lucky, we'll even get Waterman out alive. I don't want Finn running loose while we do that. Are you okay keeping an eye on him?”

“I don't see why that would be a problem,” Mrs. Digby said.

“Good.” Amber knew Finn was resourceful, but she had no doubt that Mrs. Digby would make good her word. “We leave tomorrow.”

“Anything else?”

Amber shook her head. “Let Finn know I'll be down soon. Brandon and I are almost done here.”

Mrs. Digby aimed a stern look over her glasses, her gaze aimed first at Amber, and then at the bed. “Down?”

Amber stiffened, feeling a bit like a reprimanded child. “I don't need the IV anymore, Delia,” she said. “Don't be a mother.”

Mrs. Digby didn't answer, but Amber was certain she saw a flicker of amusement cross the woman's face as she headed toward the door.

“You need rest,” Brandon said, the moment the door closed behind Mrs. Digby. “Let Teague entertain himself while you get some more sleep.”

A finger of irritation trailed up her spine. “I've already got Mrs. Digby fussing over me,” she said. “I don't need you, too.”

“You need to be worrying about two things,” Brandon said. “Getting back on that island and getting well. Finn shouldn't even be on your radar.”

“He's not,” she lied.

“Bullshit. I was here last night. The air between you two practically crackled.”

Amber opened her mouth to argue, but no argument came out. Brandon knew her too well, and she respected him too much to lie. “The truth?” she said. “There's something about that man. Something that gets me. Right in the gut, you know?”

“No,” Brandon said. “I don't know.” He looked her in the eye, his expression serious. “Are you in love with him?”

“No, of course not,” Amber said, the lie coming automatically to her lips. “It's just that there's something about him….” She trailed off, unable to find a common point of reference. Brandon had repeatedly told her he'd never been in love, never even come close, and she had no reason to doubt him. So how did she explain the way Finn made her feel?

Brandon just shook his head, like a disappointed older brother. “You couldn't do it,” he said. “Walk away from field op status. Not in a million years.”

“That's not even on my radar,” she said, and that was the God's honest truth. “And even if I were in love with him,” she said, stumbling over the word, “I know better than to think he feels the same way. He's just thrill-seeking anyway. I'm the embodiment of everything he wants to be. He wants to
be
me, not have me.”

Brandon just crossed his arms and shook his head.

“What?”

“You're talking like a woman scorned,” he said.

“Fuck you,” she retorted.

Brandon laughed. “That's better. That's the Amber I know and love.”

She sighed, a long slow exhale. “Don't worry about me. I'll admit to wanting the man in my bed, but that's all I want.” She met his eyes, determined to convince him—and herself. “Really.”

“The last thing you need is to be burning off energy between the sheets,” he said. “We're heading for the island tomorrow morning. I want you sharp.”