True Honor (2 page)

She looked around the grounds and knew she could use some divine wisdom for the next project on her list. How could she take out that dying evergreen without taking out part of the garage roof? At least while there was work around the house and grounds to fill her days, she could ignore the fact that she still battled boredom when rain or delays in supplies left her with hours to fill.

The phone in her jacket pocket broke the silence. She was tempted to ignore it. The morning was peaceful and hers to schedule. There hadn’t been enough such days in her life. She reached for the sheepskin-lined jacket inherited from her grandfather that she’d draped over the fence post and tugged out the phone. “You found me.”

“Mornin’, dahlin’.”

She smiled at the Louisiana drawl that made the words sing. “Does your wife know you still call me that, Gabriel?”

“Marla knows that I reserve it for my one and only partner who saved my life.”

It hadn’t been much of a rescue. Three years ago someone had driven by and shot at them in Bulgaria. She’d shoved him back into the hotel, picking up a bruised elbow for her efforts. “Flattery this early in the morning?”

“You live too far away. What’s North Dakota got that Virginia doesn’t? You move all the way out there, and I never get to enjoy your funny face anymore.”

She rested her back against the railing and enjoyed the rising sun on her face. “I miss you too.” There wasn’t much she missed of her former life, but she did Gabriel. “The world blowing up somewhere, friend?” The Central Intelligence Agency had fingers everywhere, and Gabe owned the globe from Europe to the farthest time zone in Russia.

“Have you seen a paper lately?”

“Can’t say that I have. I try to avoid such things as news these days.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been able to go cold turkey.”

“It’s not that hard when it’s no longer my responsibility to know what, where, when, and how to fix it.” She’d retired from the CIA two years ago with an Intelligence Star for Valor. She’d solved enough of the world’s problems for one person to tackle in a lifetime.

“I need you.”

She finished her coffee. “Now, did you have to go and say that?”

“Sergey wants to talk and he asked for you.”

What did Sergey Alexandrov have to share that could only be done in person? He was many things: a former KGB station chief in London, a decorated cold war veteran, a spymaster. He’d advanced to number three in the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service before his own retirement last year. He was a worthy adversary. After a decade of competition between them, she’d call it a draw. She straightened. “Is he going to defect?”

“Doubtful. He’s got a nice place in Spain, and he winters in the British Virgin Islands.”

“Anyone missing on our side?”

“No.”

She leaned back against the fence again. “Then I really don’t want to fly halfway across the country to hear about a coming coup, a missing weapon, a renegade agent, or something else equally nasty that means I’d be working for more than a weekend.”

“Darcy, you should see some of the new crowd around here. There’s no way I’m going to send one of them to see Sergey. He would laugh and send them back to day care. If you can’t go, I will, but this request came through their embassy. Sergey asked for you by name.”

And that meant there were . . . rules of the trade in play. The spy agencies of both countries were designed to distrust each other. They built trust on the procedures they agreed to follow, even if they didn’t always trust the contents of the passed message. If possible, the Agency needed to honor this request, even if it meant asking her to come out of retirement.

Sergey understood how to handle sensitive information. He wouldn’t make an extraordinary request for a face-to-face meeting without good reason. The Russian president trusted him. It could be a private message that needed confidential delivery or information that unless delivered through trustworthy hands would be discounted as not credible because of its unusual contents. Sergey, too, had been called out of retirement. “One weekend and I’m back by Monday?”

“He asked to meet Sunday night at a hotel in Florida. I’ve got a typed sheet of details. He did his usual meticulous job of laying out time and location.”

She accepted her answer was going to be yes and shifted to logistics. “Let’s keep this low-key. I’d rather not advertise I’m going to be on the East Coast. Courier me the information and send a guy to check the hotel the day before. I’ll make my own travel arrangements between here and Florida. Sergey’s news may be time sensitive. See if there’s a military flight that can be arranged from Florida, say out of Eglin Air Force Base, on Sunday night so I can bring whatever Sergey has straight to the Agency.”

“You want a backup team?”

“I don’t think so. Sergey will follow protocol and come alone. I’ll get to the hotel early enough to look around, make sure I’ve got a bolt-hole. If it looks like I need company, I’ll call the Miami office. I’d rather not have my name in the system unless it’s really necessary.”

“It’s nice having you back on the job, Darcy.”

She’d promised Gabe to give it five years before she wrapped up her cover identity and presence on the East Coast and made a permanent retirement to North Dakota. She was only surprised that he had given her two years before he called for something more than a question, her opinion, or an hour to shoot the breeze. “Let’s see what Sergey has to say. I’ll see you in a few days.”

One

* * *

SEPTEMBER 9

Sunday, 8:20 p.m.

Destin, Florida

Sam Houston strolled toward the hotel outdoor pool carrying a soft drink and tugging at his tie, leaving behind the laughter of the banquet room. His buddy Tom Yates was married, and the reception was breaking up now that the bride and groom were safely away on their honeymoon. A huge weight had just lifted from Sam’s shoulders.

The breeze from the Gulf brought the smell of sand and sea. Sam paused at the steps going down to the boardwalk. Florida was good to its visitors. Miles of beach and luxury hotels stretched to either side. He smiled as he contemplated his upcoming days off. Maybe do some deep-sea diving and treasure hunting—something challenging and adventurous. It wouldn’t compete with his last deployment and getting shot at for an adrenaline rush, but it would do.

The past few months peacekeeping in Turkey had put him near a shooting war and turned him a little too serious for his own good. His temporary homeport with SEAL Team Nine was Little Creek Naval Base, Norfolk, Virginia. And while diving in the Atlantic could be fascinating, it couldn’t compare to the vast treasures around the Gulf. A little diving, a little getting his priorities back in sync— He planned to enjoy life, not just live it.

“Now you look like a man at the end of a good day.”

He glanced to his right and felt a spark of interest. A lady sitting alone by the pool was watching him. He didn’t think she’d been a guest at the wedding—he had tried to meet everyone—but Tom and Jill had more friends than he could hope to keep straight. The thick closed book in her lap, the plate set aside on the nearby table, suggested she had been comfortable there for some time. He walked her direction. “Good food, good friends: the definition of a very good evening.”

She tipped her head back as he approached. He liked her smile. Her glasses were interesting: oval-shaped with gold frames and a little star in the corner. She slid them off and set them on the table, and he could see through the glass without distortion to read the print on the magazine cover. She must use them and that little star to detract attention from her eyes—no one would forget those baby blues if he got a good look at them.

“You’re with the wedding party? I heard the music.”

“Best man.”

“That explains the tux and the too tight tie.”

He tugged it the rest of the way free with a rueful smile. “Hazards of the day.” Making a decision, he dumped his jacket on an empty chair and took a seat on the lounge chair near her, turning up the cuffs of his white shirt. Despite being a chief petty officer, he could’ve used an instruction book for how to give advice to the groom, keep rambunctious buddies in line, troubleshoot problems, and keep track of more guests under the age of ten than he could remember names for. It felt good to be done and able to consider time his own again. Blue lights shimmered up through the water, inviting a late-night swim. “It’s a little dark for reading.”

She clicked on a penlight. “Five hundred and ninety-six pages—I’m going to finish it tonight and find out
whodunit
if it kills me.”

He laughed softly. “A committed reader.” He liked the sound of her voice and the relaxed humor in her answer.

“I’m recently retired and trying to make up for all the books I missed.”

The ice in her drink had melted. His drink was getting low. “Like a refill?” He caught the attention of a hotel employee. He requested a second Coke for himself and she asked for a pineapple ice slush.

It was odd that she thought of herself as retired. He put her age at maybe thirty-five, forty. A glance showed a ring on her right hand, but her left was bare. The watch looked expensive, as did the dress. This wasn’t a cheap place to vacation.

“I’d ask, but that looked like a private thought.”

“It was.” He was single, no kids, with life insurance from the military to bury him. He had a lifelong habit of giving extra money away. Buying stuff just meant it had to be packed and shipped to the next base. But he admired the effort it suggested to be able to retire young. She’d had a plan for catching up on her reading. What other plans had she made for herself now that she set her own schedule?

Their drinks arrived. He signed the slip, putting them on his room tab.

She sipped hers. “Thanks. I love these fruit things.”

“My pleasure. The only place where you can get a better one is in Hawaii.”

“Really? Have you been there often?”

He nodded. “With work. They’re beautiful islands.”

“I’ll have to go someday. I want to see the fish along the coral reefs, the lush greenery that goes forever. I hear it’s good honeymoon country.” She lifted an eyebrow.

“They went to the Caribbean on a cruise. Tom and I are Navy buddies. He married a sweetheart in Jill.”

She tilted her head. “Did you send them off with a walk under raised swords?”

She had some knowledge of military life; he tucked that observation away to come back to later, even as he smiled. “Our team of SEALs did the honors.” The last man had slapped Jill’s behind with the flat of his sword in the best tradition of Navy weddings.

“She’ll have great wedding pictures.”

“I hope so. The photographer certainly took enough of them.”

She laughed and the sound was rich, warm, and bubbled. When she spoke he heard a trace of the West and home. He wished he had met her years before. “I’m Sam by the way. Chief Petty Officer Sam Houston.” He offered his hand, belatedly realizing the oversight.

“Darcy St. James.”

He was careful as he took her hand. His bore rough rope burns from the work he did and had the strength to crush the bones in hers. He found her hand had an unexpected strength. “Pretty name.”

She smiled and let the compliment pass, not breaking eye contact but merely not reacting beyond that slight smile.

That simple fact had him slow to release her hand. Those eyes were the unfathomable kind, as clear and deep a pool of blue as the ocean when it both welcomed and yet hid its treasures. He had never been one to miss a treasure hunt. “Listen, would you like to get a piece of wedding cake? There’s plenty left.”

“Actually I’ve been waiting for someone, but he’s running late.”

That was either a gentle
not interested
or a simple statement of fact. He held her gaze and what he saw convinced him it was worth taking the optimistic view. Besides, he admired the loyalty and patience she showed in waiting for her date. Too many people in life were impatient, and he’d long ago learned that the best things in life often involved an indefinite wait. “Have a number you could try?”

“I wish I did.”

“Then while you wait, let me bring the cake to you.” He got to his feet. “White or chocolate? A lot of icing or a little?”

Her hesitation was so slight as to be barely noticeable. “White with lots of icing.”

“I guessed that.”

She grinned and he got the feeling he’d just made an unexpected friend. Sam walked back toward the ballroom to get the cake, intrigued with her and that tantalizing hint of the West in her voice. If her date didn’t show up, he’d enjoy an hour of conversation with her. And if she was interested in learning to dive . . . her company would be welcome. He could hang with the guys anytime; Darcy would be much more interesting.

* * *

Darcy watched Sam walk away, leaning forward in her chair to catch a last glimpse of him as he disappeared around the decorative planters, his purposeful stride and posture signaling soldier even in his tux. She wished she weren’t working at the moment. She’d enjoy walking into the reception with him for a piece of that wedding cake and a chance to meet his friends. If there were a few SEALs still walking around in their dress uniforms carrying their swords . . . She shook her head and forced herself to lean back and not follow the thought.

Sergey was late. She could continue to sit here alone and read with her light, but she would be noticed and remembered by passing guests. Sam was her solution. A couple didn’t attract a second glance. And if one of them was remembered, it would more likely be him.

Sergey hadn’t lost his tradecraft skills. A wedding was beautiful cover. She’d bought her dress in New York the day before and it fit her profile of a guest at this hotel: expensive, elegant blue, cut in classic lines. Sergey would appreciate it.

She shifted the leather portfolio in her lap and reopened her book. It wasn’t like Sergey to be late, but she could give him another fifteen minutes. She had contingency plans and a bolt-hole arranged. The contrast of a wedding and the possible danger she was in just sitting here was stark. She didn’t want someone making an attempt to collect that bounty while she was focused on her meeting with Sergey. She made herself relax. She’d said yes to this mission, and she was committed to seeing it through.