Deadly Little Secrets (18 page)

“Nothing solid that would lead me to believe I'd hit a nerve with anyone. You know what I mean.”

Gates scowled at them, then said, “Your computers got hit, then you got shot at, then we got shot at when we were together. It's all connected somehow. We didn't know you till you reopened the case. I think you've turned up something someone doesn't want unearthed.”

Pretzky looked a bit uncomfortable, but laid it out on the table. “We need to work together on this. I'd like to keep everyone alive. I have to tell you gentlemen, my agent was very lucky yesterday. No bulletproof glass in her car.” She leaned back, looking everywhere but at Ana. “One second later or earlier, a different angle, and we'd be having this discussion without Agent Burton.”

Gates cut his eyes sharply to Ana. “It was that close?”

Pretzky nodded, saving Ana from answering. It gave her the willies to think about the bullet in the headrest, without discussing just how close it had been. She still hadn't processed the whole incident, and obviously, based on her breakdown yesterday with Gates, she wasn't going to deal with it well.

“Bullet lodged in the headrest, but only because Agent Burton inadvertently rolled forward.” The image of that obviously shocked everyone, since the silence was profound.

“Well, I made it through,” Ana said, breaking the tense moment.

“Holy crap,” the detective said. “And you're here? Hell, I'd still be out getting drunk to celebrate being alive.”

She had to grin at that. “Considered it, but got busy when someone hit our computers with a bug before I could even process the whole shots-fired thing. I got through today okay, then…” She paused, processing it as she said it. “Round two.”

“Very dedicated, our Agent Burton.” Pretzky smiled tightly. “None of us realized she'd nearly been hit until after she'd jumped in and helped shut down the virus. We have a very talented resource in Agent Burton, and I, for one, want to make sure we figure this out so we don't lose her to someone else's stupidity.”

You could have knocked Ana over with a feather at the words, and it was a struggle not to let her mouth drop open in surprise. Pretzky'd been better, more friendly in the last two days, but that kind of approbation wasn't what Ana expected.

“Thank you, Special Agent,” she finally managed.

“Very commendable,” Dav interjected, and Ana could have kissed him, she was so grateful for the diversion. “I have to confess, I would like to quit getting shot at as well.”

“Third incident this month,” the detective growled, shifting restlessly in his seat. “Gettin' annoying.”

“Tell me about it.” Gates's reply was just as much a growl. “Not to mention how irritating it is to get the glass out of your shirt.”

“Don't be such a fashion priss, Bromley,” the detective complained. “You're gonna give us a bad rap.”

The exchange broke the tension. By the time they were done hashing things through, it was after ten.

Pretzky stepped out to make calls and came back to the room to say, “Agent Burton, your apartment's been checked and cleared. A security detail's on standby over there.”

Great. More people to feel responsible for. “Thanks. That's good.” It wasn't, but she had to express some gratitude.

“Agents.” Baxter shook hands all around. “I'll forward you my files on these incidents. We'll compare notes.” He headed out, and Pretzky left as well. The three of them, Gates, Dav, and Ana, stood looking at one another for a heartbeat.

“This has gotten a great deal more complicated than we could have thought when we chatted about this yesterday,” Dav said on a sigh. “Gates, you'll see Ana home?”

“Of course,” Gates replied, and Dav smiled. He kissed Ana good night, an airy touch on both cheeks. “Take care, Ana-aki.”

They rode in silence through the dark miles back to the city. As they pulled into the entrance to her complex, they saw a marked police car sitting near her building.

“I should go speak to them,” she said, turning to thank Gates. “I want to—” she began

Before she could get the words out, he'd drawn her close, kissing her with a pent-up passion that rocked her to the depths of her body, to the very center of her soul.

Holy cow.

Holy cow.

Then she had no thoughts as her mind spun and she responded to his kisses, to the power of his embrace. She never wanted to stop kissing him. She wanted to drag him into her apartment and have him. All of him. Now.

“Ana,” he said, smoothing the damp hair curling around her face. She was overheated, ready for more. “You make me crazy.” He kissed her as he said the words. “But I don't want to take advantage. It's been another roller coaster of a day,” he said, pressing kisses to her cheeks now, easing away, letting the cool night air slide between them.

“You're right, you're right,” she agreed, hating every bit of it, from her own conscience, and ethical issues because he was part of a case, to the irritating, wonderful, crazy buzz of sexual frustration that jangled her nerves. “I'm going to get out, go say hello to the officers before I go in.” She didn't look at him as she added, “Before we go in.”

She opened the door, stood for a moment so the uniforms could see her. She recognized the instant they noticed her standing by a stationary vehicle and went on alert.

Still, Ana didn't move. She didn't look back at Gates, sitting behind her on the seat, waiting. She hesitated, then said, “Gates? Is it just because…” She waved her hand, used it to encompass the whole crappy couple of days.

“No,” he said, simply. “It's you.”

“You missed, Jurgens,” he said, still in a state of disbelief.

“Ja.” Jurgens's anger was burning through the phone line, cold and dangerous. “Luck only, for her. I will not be missing again.”

“No, don't kill her. I think we were about to make a strategic error there. Maybe this will work in our favor. She's involved with Gianikopolis now, and his security expert, Bromley. Did you know someone took a shot at him the other night? After your miss this evening, and the attempt on him, they are quite distracted. I hear as well that there's been gunfire up at Mr. G's estate. With all these attempts, anything we do will be washed away in the larger effect. Also, I believe our former rivals weighed in yesterday.”

The surprised silence on the other end of the phone made him chuckle. Jurgens was far more manageable when he wasn't furious. It was always a balancing act utilizing something like family history and college bonds to keep his hired killer leashed.

“Yes, yes, someone else took a shot at our girl.” He laughed when Jurgens responded with only a growl. “Now, now. We may have competed for the lovely works that we craved nine years ago, and we obviously had different methods of disposing of loose ends, but when it came down to the finale, our New York rival worked with us to avoid detection. Since Perkins hacked into Agent Burton's files—” he began.

“Foolish,” Jurgens interrupted.

“Yes, it was, wasn't it? However, stupid as it was, I'm grateful. It's going to be useful when it comes to covering our tracks. So, as I said, it's a nice cover that our rival shot at the lovely agent.”

“Hmmmmm.” The hum of interest and, perhaps, satisfaction erased the last of the fury he'd heard in Jurgens's voice. “Possibly.”

“So, what we must do now is discover who is targeting Mr. G. Only by understanding that can we use it. I do believe we're going to have to more carefully monitor our rival as well. Do you have someone who can take that task on? I'm not having much luck in that department, you know.” He grimaced in annoyance. “My last attempt in that area obviously was a serious fail.”

“Perkins.”

“Exactly,” he said on a sigh. “He wasn't any use unraveling our New York rival's new name or status. So, thoughts?”

“I have a man for one job. I'll find another.”

“Excellent. Good work. I've put half the deposit in the account.”

“
Neh,
job isn't done.”

“But it's started. Consider it a good faith advance. I know you'll find me what I need, so,” he shrugged, even though Jurgens couldn't see it. “It'll be there.”

“Ja,
gut.
Same number?”

“Sure. We don't have to dispose of these phones quite yet. Tomorrow?”

“Next day.”

“That works. I don't want too much time to pass before we finish this up; however, we do need to work our efforts into the overall scheme. It is nice of them to be so conveniently shooting at all our targets,” he said facetiously. “So thoughtful.”

Jurgens gave a short barking laugh and hung up.

 

Where was she?

Agent TJ Michaels paced the room. This wasn't working the way he'd planned it. Nothing had. He'd really screwed up in Rome, and both Miller and Stanley had paid for it with their lives. Had he gotten what he wanted? Sure. He never expected the cost to be that high, though.

He was trying to make it right, wasn't he? Trying to be sure that no one else took a dive for his stupidity. At the same time, he had to be sure that Ana continued to help him. She was his only hope of getting out of this tangle alive. She'd known something was wrong in Rome, but the data had said otherwise. She'd gone with the data, just like he knew she would. She trusted it more than her gut. It was her one flaw.

“Facts don't lie, right, Ana?” he asked the computer screen, wishing he had an e-mail from her. “Where are you, gorgeous? Don't let me down.”

He paced some more. It wasn't like her not to return his e-mails promptly. He had to know what was going on, and these phrases were key to it. He had a hunch that there was more to the scenario than met the eye, but all this stuff, stuff that didn't translate word for word, was making him crazy.

His inbox pinged, and he clicked it open immediately, sagging with relief when he saw that it was her.

Hey dude!
she'd written. He could almost hear her saying it out loud, so he smiled.

God, if he could only tell her. Maybe, if he could…

He thought about it for a moment. No. He'd already put her head on the block with his fuck-up in Rome.

He hit R
EPLY
and typed back.

He was actually in White Plains, New York, but neither she, nor anyone else needed to know that.

He sat back, comparing the two sets of translations. Both of them were warnings to stay away from other women or the wife would exact revenge.

Wives. Families. Warnings to stay on the straight and narrow. What the hell did it mean?

“Warnings. Warnings. Warnings,” he muttered. He got up to pace again. Wives. Mistresses. Two wives. A mistress.

“Oh no, you didn't,” he said, as an idea, a crazy idea, shot into his mind. Racing back to the keyboard, rearranging data, moving the translations around in his timeline, he ignored the rumble in his stomach, the sweat plastering his shirt to his back. He powered through the info, shifting things, and in the repositioning, a new pattern emerged.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, knowing the issue had now escalated beyond all reason.

“You stupid, crazy son of a bitch.” He leaned back in the chair, seeing the full pattern for the first time. The idiot target was a bigamist. Each of his wives had become aware of another woman in his life. Both fathers-in-law were issuing warnings. Added to that, the idiot was seeing a third woman in California as well.

He got back up to pace. “How the hell does he have the stamina? Not to mention the time.”

Obviously, his target liked strong women, and couldn't stay away from either the two wives, or the other woman he'd met. He'd been so hooked, he'd married both the Greek in New York and the Italian in New Jersey. Idiot.

“Neither family is going to let him get away with cheating on the only daughter,” he muttered, sitting back down to make more notes. The two wives seemed tolerant to a degree—he thought of them as pragmatic. However, after a year of this, both women were becoming suspicious and territorial. Both had powerful families who were pressuring the target to stay home more. Both families were exerting pressure on the target in their own way.

Slimy bastard spoke both Greek and Italian, ran with both major families as if he were the prodigal son, and juggled the wives and the families so carefully, so easily and cheerfully that you had to admire the sheer brass
cojones
of the guy.

“This one is so gonna get dead,” he said as he made notes. “He's gonna get so dead, one way or the other. Either one of these women is gonna shoot the hell out of him, or one of their brothers or dads.” He sighed and mocked, “Nobody treats daddy's little girl that way,
capiche?
”

He wasn't sure what the Greek equivalent was, but he was pretty sure the Greek father-in-law felt the same way. Soon his freight-flying target was going to get himself dead. Problem was, this guy was the keystone to what had gone down in Rome, so TJ needed him alive, and talking.

“You can't get dead, dude,” he said, returning to the keyboard. “Not yet.”

It was time to do some serious work. He snagged a cold piece of pizza and popped open a warm soda, cracked his knuckles, and got down to the business of hacking.

 

Ana strode purposefully toward the patrol car, stopping about ten feet away. Both officers were rigidly attentive, watching her every move.

“Officers, I'm Agent Ana Burton, CIA,” she stated, keeping her hands clear of her raincoat, well away from her body. “I just wanted to let you know I was in for the night. And to thank you for your service.”

“You're welcome, Agent, now get back in the car. You're a target,” the driver replied.

She nodded her thanks, pivoted, and got back in the car. Damon took the vehicle smoothly up the drive and parked outside her building. He made no move to open her door, so she turned to Gates.

“Come in,” she said, making it a request, not a question. “I don't think Dav expects you back tonight.” She opened the door herself, drew him out. “Come in.”

With a smile, he tapped the driver's side glass. “Thanks, Damon. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Very good, sir,” he replied, never taking his eyes off the steering wheel. “I'll wait till you get in.”

Ana skirted the back of the car and went up the steps, feeling Gates right behind her. It was like he was a furnace at her back, heat radiating out of him, warming her, making her feel safe. She fumbled with the keys, but only for a moment.

“Ana?”

“It's okay.” She opened the door, took his hand to draw him in. “I want this. I want you.”

“I can just be here,” he said, pulling her close, leaning them both against the closed door. Keeping it light. “If that's what you need,” he murmured into her hair, kissing her forehead like he would a child's.

“Gates,” she whispered, feeling powerful, feeling as if nothing could touch her here, in his arms. “What I need is you, touching me, making me feel alive and whole. You touch me.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “You touch me, and it's like I want to explode right there.”

He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her chin slightly so he could see her eyes in the dim light. “You're sure?”

To answer him, she dropped her things to the floor, unfastened her coat, and let it slide away. Pressing him into the door with her body, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, just as he had kissed hers earlier, a whisper of a touch.

“I'm sure.”

He groaned and dragged her mouth to his, plundering and taking all she would give.

Just as eager, she fumbled with his belt, jerked the tail of his smooth dress shirt from his pants so she could run her hands up the heated skin of his back. He groaned into her mouth and pressed her into his body, imprinting the feel of his erection on the softness of her belly.

“Here,” she muttered, pulling off his suit jacket, tossing it toward her dining room chair as they moved backward together in a blistering sexual tango. Her own blazer followed, and he somehow managed not to pop the buttons on her shirt as he wrenched it open to feast on the curve of her neck, slide lower to press feathery kisses to the high mounds of her breasts that showed over her conservative bra.

“Your bed,” he demanded, picking her up, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.

“There, down the hall to the right,” she gasped, bending now, from her higher vantage point, to kiss his neck, push his shirt as far off his shoulders as she could in order to taste him, scent him, feel the pulse hammer in his throat. That rapid-fire beat only fueled her desire for him.

His need, his almost frenetic pace was a balm to her soul; it filled some empty place inside her she hadn't known existed. Feeling it, she could slow down, savor, touch.

“Shhhhh,” she soothed as he turned to lay her gently on the bed. God, he was strong, to lift her so easily, set her down with no strain or stress. “Come here, come to me,” she murmured drawing him with her.

They knelt, face to face in the center of the bed, stopping to caress and appreciate as they stripped one another, peeling away the layers of the everyday that stood between them and the primal urges that drove them both. “You're so beautiful.” He pulled her close, matching them perfectly from knee to breast. “So soft.” He caressed her cheek again, leaving a trail of warmth and comfort that made her want him more than ever.

“You're beautiful too,” she said, locking her gaze to his, feeling the passion rising faster between them, faster than she could—or wanted to—tame. She laid a hand on his heart, let the pulse of it excite her. “Oh, God, you are so sexy,” she said, sliding her hands up to fist in his hair, bring their mouths together, lock them irrevocably into this passionate spiral. “Touch me, touch me everywhere.”