Into Danger Part 13

Cam made a tsking sound, but his grin was lopsided. "That's not teamwork, Stevie. You're supposed to work with us, not against us."

"He's against me for some reason," Steve accused.

"What do you want to do, Steve-stop this? How?" Cam asked, turning his back to Marlena so he could study Steve closely. "The O.C. is doing his job. He gets the order from the deputy director to monitor Marlena because of her presence in this city. You know, we do have many important people congregating in a small area. She's known internationally for certain incidents that left several political and influential deaths, so of course our O.C. is antsy about stopping her. Last night's incident, perhaps not ironclad with evidence, was a good excuse to jolt her timetable, if nothing else. Who knows how long she could take this? Harden is a thorough bureaucrat. He does his job by the book, so unless she tells him something to convince him she's not in town to do anything other than shop, he'll continue doing his job."

Cam's long speech made sense, but Steve's gut was telling him otherwise. He tore his gaze from Marlena, who was fluffing her hair in the mirror. "I know she didn't do this one. And if you help me, it's teamwork, isn't it?"

Cam gave a long dramatic sigh. "I knew it. I knew you would drag me into this."

"I just want to think things through logically. Remember when I said I wanted to look at her old files? I want to see patterns and her victims, as far back as possible. I want to know how she worked besides what you told me. For example, are there any incidents that echo the one last night? Where are the files you promised me, anyway?"

"They're still on request, probably."

"Can we get there right now, and read them right there? You know those people better than I do. And can we also pull up anything about the dead perp last night?"

Cam sighed again. "You're going to owe me again," he warned. "Come on then, we don't have much time, if you need to find a strategy to talk to Harden."

"I'm ready," Steve said. He badly wanted to go to Marlena, but all he could do was give her a backward glance. The law of inertia, she had said about her job. Something started in motion keeps moving. Steve nodded at her, finally understanding. He said aloud, "Unless stopped."

"Huh?" Cam asked at the door.

Steve joined him. "Something left by itself will remain constant. Something started in motion keeps moving, unless stopped," he repeated. "That is one of the laws of inertia."

"Uh-huh. That is going to carry over real well when you lay that theory on Harden."

But Steve's mind was already on Marlena's past. What if she had meant to tell him that whatever was set in motion was started way before this D.C. foray? That she couldn't stop it herself? That didn't mean an outsider like him couldn't try. One way or another, he would make up his mind whether he was right about this woman.

Marlena balanced the empty gla.s.s on her index finger. Isolation. Then boredom. She knew what would come next. Bait.

Unless, of course, the TIARA operations commander had undergone more than basic training in textbook interrogation. If he had, he should already guess that she was testing him as well. He was difficult to read, with his indirect questions that moved back and forth from what he wanted to know to what he suspected. She had deliberately given him certain answers, watching him surrept.i.tiously. Except for that last reaction, he was surprisingly tough to gauge. Which led her to conclude that he had more than the basic training. And maybe, just maybe, her gamble would pay off.

The gla.s.s tipped over. The loud clatter when it hit the table echoed thunderously through the carpetless ten-by-ten room. She didn't have much time to waste. She had been in similar situations before and had never lost an a.s.signment because something unexpected cropped up. She didn't intend to mar her record. Unlike a gambler, she had other chips to fall back on. There were a variety of ways to get out of her jam, the easiest of which could also be her death warrant. Admit what she was on record. That would really be the end of her.

Not that she feared the end. In fact she had once contemplated it, thinking that she could just recede into oblivion, like some famed mobster. However, admitting defeat wasn't her way. If she had to go, she would end it on her own terms, not because she was cornered.

And she was far from being cornered yet.

Pus.h.i.+ng with experimental fingers, Marlena sent the stationary gla.s.s rolling. The desk, she mused, must not be level because the gla.s.s glided back to her. She repeated.

She had done this dozens of times. Set things in motion. Used them to her advantage. It was her job. Sometimes she accidentally set things off that she hadn't meant to start. Like this thing between Stash and her. Right from the beginning she had felt that he was different. Her body responded to his like a chain reaction of sensual atoms colliding. And yielding to temptation was a mistake on her part. Making love to him once only made her want more of him; she had caught herself daydreaming about him once too often. She couldn't afford that kind of reaction to anyone, any man.

She couldn't feel him on the other side of the mirror any longer, but during her interview she could have sworn she felt his anger. That touched a raw nerve, knowing he was mad for her sake. She didn't blame him. After all, they both had a job to do, no matter how unpleasant. If only she hadn't been weak last night, giving in to her heart instead of listening to her head. Knowing that he'd had an ulterior motive all along left a flat taste in her mouth.

He was probably being debriefed right now. Something twisted inside her. She wondered whether he would include the more intimate parts of last night's activities, besides his part in saving Pierre du Scheum. She willed away the little nudge of pain. Been there, done that. She had gone through this before. Hadn't she sworn that she wouldn't be used this way again?

Granted, it was an entirely different situation, but the consequences were still the same. The man she'd thought cared about her had given information to others to expose her, with the twisted naivete that once they knew who she was, she would retire from the job and live a quiet life with him. He had bugged their conversations, willingly imparted clues to her whereabouts so that she could be followed and monitored. Not for money, but for love, he had claimed later.

Fortunately for her, he had contacted the wrong person, someone who had, in turn, moved in quietly to save the day. She'd never met him to thank him for saving her life, but he and his group were now working closely with Tess.

Everything had worked out. She hadn't died. Marlena Maxwell was, however, alone again after that. As she ought to be. Tess had even fallen for one of these men, and look at her sorry state now. Like her, back to square one.

She sighed. There were more urgent matters to think about, and here she was behaving like a rejected lovesick teenager. Stash-Steve, she corrected with a sharp grimness-was out of the picture right now. He had probably been taken off the case and rea.s.signed after having done his job. Gotten close to her. Searched her belongings. The weapon charge was just an excuse, she knew, to get her in here to answer questions. There would be no charges. She looked around her. This was no local law enforcement holding facility, after all. Oh yes, he did his job well.

Well, let him move on then. That should make things easier. Out of sight, out of mind. She was getting too lackadaisical as it was. Oh, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n. Her lips twisted in self-derision. Now she was beginning to sound like Tess and her word games, which reminded her...

Marlena picked the gla.s.s up and balanced it on her finger again. When she was powdering her nose, she had activated the call on her compact cell, a secret code that should have reached Tess by now. She had no idea what her friend would do to help her, but if Rick Harden didn't do something soon to get her out of here, she was sure Tess would.

"Welcome to the Gatekeepers' Place," Cam said as they entered the Records department.

Steve let Cam lead, since he had no idea who was in charge in here. The middle of the room was a long aisle cutting the s.p.a.ce effectively in half. On each side of the aisle were narrow tables about eight feet long, with breaks between for walking s.p.a.ce. There were envelopes and files, stacks of folders, boxes, all of which Steve noticed had names marked clearly in thick black ink, and arranged in alphabetical order down the tables. At each corner of the room there was a desk and an operative working, all four ignoring the people walking up and down the middle aisle as they looked for their names. Cam cut through one of the s.p.a.ces between the low tables and headed for a desk.

"Watch this," he whispered to Steve.

A woman sat with her back to them, typing at a furious pace. Her back was ramrod straight. Her ash-brown hair, pulled back neatly in a French twist, was a stark contrast against the crispy white of her silk s.h.i.+rt. She didn't turn around to greet them.

Cam reached down and moved the in box an inch to the right. Then he pushed the out box an inch to the left. He gave Steve a wink, then gave a fake cough.

The woman ignored them, continuing to type. Cam opened the candy jar and picked something out before offering Steve the container. Steve shook his head. Cam unwrapped his candy and popped it into his mouth, scrunching the wrapper loudly and dropping it on the desk.

The woman stopped typing. She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if to look for help there. Steve watched her back expand and constrict as she took in what looked like a calming breath before turning around.

Expressive gray eyes behind gla.s.ses peered up at both of them. She didn't return Cam's big smile. Gingerly she picked up the candy wrapper with two fingers and threw it into a wastebasket. She moved the in box back an inch to the left. Lastly she rearranged the out box to its original position. She looked up again, clearly not going to say anything as she waited.

Cam didn't seem perturbed by the telling look she directed at him. "Hi, Patty, miss me?"

"No, since I'm not in the mood to shoot." Her voice was frosty and polite.

"Oooh. Ouch. Ouch." Cam patted his chest and turned to Steve. "Do you see any holes, buddy? I think I've been hit."

Steve shook his head. Clearly the woman didn't like Cam at all as she continued looking at them without smiling at his antics.

"Meet Patty, Gatekeeper of Details n.o.body Cares to Know Anymore. Old unconverted cla.s.sified files. Dead people. Missing links. Ask Patty. She will make them magically appear. Patty, this is Steve from Task Force Two, here to beg a little favor from the G.o.ddess."

Patty looked annoyed at Cam's introduction, but she gazed at Steve with mild interest. "You're the new guy," she said. "The Kisser of the Millennium."

d.a.m.n. The Internet was a gossip line. He was never going to live that name down. "Yes," Steve answered, keeping it simple. He didn't have time for small talk. Not that-he looked at the name plaque on the desk-Miss Patty Ostler looked like the flirting type.

She looked exactly like a woman in charge of details-the carefully drawn-back hair revealed intelligent eyes under a wide forehead, a standoffish expression on a face that had a stubborn square chin, a mouth that she pursed into a straight line. The impeccably clean white of her s.h.i.+rt, with the little b.u.t.tons all the way to her neck. The way her pencils were arranged by length. The exact s.p.a.cing of everything on her desk.

"See?" Cam leaned a hip on the desk, pus.h.i.+ng the in box out of the way, oblivious to Patty's frown of displeasure. "Told you how good she is."

"You did say Gatekeeper of Details n.o.body Cares to Know Anymore," Patty pointed out, looking at Steve wryly. "Judging by the avid postings in the naval grapevine bulletin board, that is one detail everyone cares about."

"Yeah, well. I'll just have to kiss him one of these days to see whether it's true," Cam mocked. "But we're here for other more unimportant things. I'm trying to help Steve out. I put in a request for some older cla.s.sifieds, and knowing how long it takes to rummage through records, I thought I'd come straight to the G.o.ddess herself."

"Agent Candeloro, if your stuff isn't out there on the long table, it's not ready. Everyone wants to bypa.s.s the system so they can get their stuff. If I help one out, then everyone will want me to do him the same favor. Now why would I make my life more miserable than it is?"

"Because deep down, you really want to go out with me. And if you get me those files, I'll take you out to dinner next weekend." Cam reached for the candy jar again.

Patty smacked his hand away. "Leave my candy alone."

"Never," Cam said, with a wicked smile.

Patty glared and turned to Steve. "Tell him to leave my stuff alone, and I might help you."

Steve shrugged. He needed Patty's help right now. "Leave her stuff alone, Cam," he said.

"See how soft other men are with you, princess?" Cam said, somehow managing to snag the candy jar. Opening it, he picked out another candy. "Me, I don't fall for your charms so easily."

"You, too, can be trained," Patty warned.

"Next week. Dinner. You can train me all you want."

She shook her head. "You're hopeless."

"Please, Miss Ostler, I need those files as soon as possible," Steve interrupted the tete-a-tete. "It's important."

Patty studied him for a few moments. Steve returned her gaze as Cam crunched on his candy noisily. "Very well," she finally said. "But only because it's for you."

"Ouch. Ouch. Now she's stabbing me," Cam said with his mouth full of candy.

"Thank you," Steve said.

"My break is coming up in five minutes. I'll meet you at the back room then. Ask Agent Candeloro to take you there, if you can stop him before he dies from sugar shock."

Cam got off the desk, moving the name plaque as he did so. As they walked away, Steve watched Cam glance back at Patty Ostler putting everything back in place. A big grin of satisfaction spread on his face.

"That's not the way to get someone to like you," Steve commented.

Cam shrugged. "She never paid me any attention until I found her weakness." He pointed to another door to exit.

Following him, Steve asked, "What's her weakness?"

Cam opened the door, his grin becoming a smirk. "She can't stand me."

"Oh, a good foundation for a relations.h.i.+p," Steve said, walking past Cam.

Cam sniffed as he went in after Steve. "Oh, Kisser of the Millennium, lackey of the century, Dr. Ruth of Task Force Two." He laughed at the rude name Steve called him. "Well, I bet Marlena is calling you exactly that too, buddy. And if you find what you want, both of you owe Patty and me a dinner. Out at someplace fancy. No home cooking please."

Poker-faced, Steve sat quietly as his commander looked at the copies he had gathered quickly to make a file. The other man's expression was remote as he read, occasionally flipping back to review previous pages. He took his time. Finally he looked up. Steve waited.

"And how do you feel about this discovery?"

Steve looked back coolly. He should feel elated. Exhilarated. His instincts had been right after all. Instead, a ball of anger sat heavily in his stomach. He was having a hard time digesting the bitterness of being played for a fool.

He hoped none of what he felt showed on his face. "I guess, as surprised as you are, sir."

Harden's lips quirked up at one corner. "Then you're not surprised at all."

Steve's interest sharpened. "You knew?"

"I spent five hours in intense interrogation with Miss Maxwell, remember?"

"But she didn't answer anything." That was the only thing left in the puzzle. Why hadn't she just cut to the chase? She didn't have to pretend anymore at that point.

"Oh, but she did." Harden looked down at the papers in the file again. "She had extensive lessons in what the CIA calls NOPAIN training. She isn't a probe, but someone taught her this skill well."

"NOPAIN?" Steve queried.

"Nonphysical persuasion and innovative negotiation," Harden explained. "There is a select group of contract agents who specialize in NOPAIN. The CIA pays for their services occasionally, as well as other of Uncle Sam's covert agencies. I'm sure naval intel uses them, too, now and then."

Steve had never heard of them, but then his SEAL team used direct confrontation. However, his cousin dealt with more covert work in his SEAL team. He made a mental note to call Hawk up for information later. A sudden thought struck him.

"If Marlena has this training, that suggests she is a contract agent."

Harden paused a moment, then nodded. "She said as much in her code words to me. She tested me several times before letting me know that she was more than what she appears to be."

The ball of fury inside Steve grew tighter. "Whom does she work for?"

"That I don't know. She refused to give more than the required code words that only a few select operatives understand." It was clear Harden wasn't going to elaborate. He tapped the small stack of papers lightly. "But here is clear evidence that it's true, at least."

Steve glanced at the report-his fast and furious handiwork-that he had hurriedly put together into a coherent file so that he could run it off to his operations chief. And all along Harden had known. All along that woman continued playing her stupid game.

Harden pushed the open file across the table. "You didn't waste your time," he said, reading Steve's mind. "She isn't ever going to tell anyone about what she is until truly necessary. Even I don't know exactly what's going on. It's good we didn't arrest her through the legal channels, or there would have been red tape from h.e.l.l to deal with. This file helps to explain things if the top bra.s.s wants an answer for her disappearance and it gets sticky for us."

Steve stopped himself from jerking out of his chair. Somehow he already knew the answer. "She's gone?"

Harden tented his hands, tapping his fingers as he studied Steve. "Yes."

"How long ago?"

"About an hour."

He sacrificed considerable pride to ask the next question. "Did she leave a message?"

Harden's pause was deliberate. Stone-faced, Steve stared back unblinkingly. "No. Did you think she would? She has work to do and we were all in her way." The glint in the older man's eye matched the sarcasm in his voice. "Women like her work outside the system and think they are above the law. And they don't last long, McMillan. They are corrupted because they are loners, easily used by and used up in their short careers. Their ultimate downfall lies in the fact that they don't understand the concept of teamwork."

"Why are you telling me this?" His commander's a.s.sessment of Marlena left Steve cold and even angrier. Harden portrayed her as a cold-hearted b.i.t.c.h, but Steve didn't defend her. What could he say? After all, hadn't she been as calculating and cunning as described?

"I think you're in over your head, McMillan. Emotions are easily played with, and you've obviously been a victim to Marlena Maxwell's charms. I suggest you watch your back the next time you let one of her kind close. She might not be as generous-she could feed you to the wolves, leave you to pick up the pieces of your career because you stood in her way."

Steve maintained a calm composure. There was a lot more going on here than a dressing-down of a subordinate by a superior. "We're not exactly talking about me being the victim, are we, sir?" he asked quietly, watching the other man closely.

If possible, Harden's expression became even more shuttered. He folded his hands flat on the desk. His mouth was a straight slash on his expressionless face, but Steve noticed the tiny tic on the side of his jaw. "We are," he answered in a flat tone, "talking about teamwork."

"I'm a navy SEAL, sir," Steve pointed out, wondering what it took to get under that immovable distrust of him that his leader barely concealed. He chose his words carefully. "I know what it takes to work within a group, in whichever mode, whether it's mobilized or undercover infiltration. Covert is covert. And while I admit that past experiences play a factor to make one a better operative, I cannot let them color each operation until there is no room to make adjustments. Just my opinion, sir. Are there any other orders, sir?"

If his commander was persuaded by Steve's argument, he didn't show it. "Not for you. There's nothing we can do till we hear from the top, McMillan. We all report to our superiors and wait. Maybe the admiral and TIARA top bra.s.s will have an idea where to proceed once they look at our findings."