Dare Me (7 page)

An anxious tremor ratcheted through his system.  Just a
decade ago, a meeting such as this would have been unheard of, but Dante had
decided after receiving the urgent communiqué from T-45 that the time had come
for change—especially under the current circumstances.

As far as Dante knew, Abercrombie Marshall had not returned
to the States since he’d left the Arm.  Though Dante had never met the man, he
had the highest respect for him—not only because of his impressive dossier, but
because he’d not only gained Macy’s high opinion, but he’d also been the one to
finally give the woman her due.

Macy was the reason Marshall had come in person.  Their
arrangement had been unorthodox, especially with a possible terrorist strike at
stake.

Marshall entered the room without hesitation, barely waiting
for the agent assigned to open the door to move out of the way.  Tall and broad
shouldered, Abercrombie Marshall wore his hair sheared short, without a single
sprinkle of gray at the temples.  His eyes, dark and assessing, crinkled at the
corners and his full-lipped mouth melted easily into a friendly smile.

He held out his hand, which Dante accepted.

“Mr. Marshall,” Dante said.  “I’m honored to meet you.”

“Probably more like shocked as hell, but I hear your manners
wouldn’t allow you to speak so freely.”

Dante released the man’s hand after a hearty shake, and then
directed his guest toward one of two comfortable leather chairs in front of his
desk.  “My manners have been exaggerated, sir, I assure you.  Plain speaking is
simply a lost art in our business.”

Marshall sat.  Dante took the chair next to his.  He had no
reason to try and show superiority by sitting behind his desk.  He wouldn’t be
fooling anyone if he did.

“I want to speak with my agent,” Marshall said.

“I’ve done nothing to block communications with you.  She’s
sent regular updates.”

“Which you’ve monitored,” Marshall pointed out.  “Is she a
prisoner?”

Dante didn’t hide his surprise.  “Absolutely not.  She’s
working hard, though with frustrating results,” Dante said, privately noting
the double entendre.  What he and Macy had shared over the past two days had
given new depth to the word
frustrating.
  “You may see her immediately,
of course.”

“Good,” Marshall acknowledged, with a gleam in his eye that
told Dante that at this point, he’d see Macy if he wanted to, with or without
Dante’s permission.  “And I will.  But first, I have a private matter to
discuss.”

Dante shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the
Marshall’s tone.  He sounded less like the head of an international spy agency
and more like a concerned father.

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.  You probably think this old
black man has come here to make sure Macy’s heart doesn’t get broken through
your deal, whatever it is.  I don’t give a damn about her heart.”  He leaned
forward, his large, long-fingered hands braced on his knees.  “For all I know,
Macy doesn’t have a heart.  And if she didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn because
she’d probably be a better agent for it, not that she’s lacking in any way. 
But this mission is critical, and I won’t allow one of my agents to have her
will broken as a consequence of working with the Arm.”

Dante frowned.  Under Dante’s direction, the Arm had not
used the type of tactics Marshall spoke of—at least, never with someone like
Macy.  He had created a scenario where she’d been forced to comply because he’d
had no other option.  And only he had known that he planned to give Macy access
to the house, even if she refused their deal.

Though he’d like to think that deep down, Macy understood.  His
entire career, he’d put national security above everything else—including her. 
That’s how he’d lost her—though she didn’t know this yet.

“I assure you, sir,” Dante said, clearing his throat before
continuing, “I’d never authorize any type of mind control with Macy.  She means
a great deal to me.  You must know about our past.”

Marshall’s gaze didn’t waver.  “Vaguely.  She’s never
volunteered specifics.  I know you were once lovers.  I know that you did
something that royally pissed her off.”

To say the least.

“In her eyes, I betrayed her.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

Marshall sat back into the chair, his hands casually draped
on the armrests.  “So you’ve used your position as head of the Arm to
manipulate a mission and win her back?”

Dante winced.  Sounded so much worse when spoken by someone
else.  “It’s because of my loyalty to the Arm that I lost her in the first
place.  I want her back.”

Marshall’s eyes narrowed.  “As an agent?”

“I couldn’t care less about what organization Macy gives her
allegiance to.”

“She can’t work for T-45 and be personally involved with
you.  I respect Macy and I trust her with my life, but that’s a conflict of
interest no organization can ignore.  Understand one thing, Mr. Burke.  If Macy
returns to you emotionally, you’ll be asking her to give up her career.  She’s
poised to take a leadership role within T-45, a job she’s deserved for a long
time.  Are you promising her something in return that is worth her giving up
her life’s dream for?”

Little by little, the air deflated out of Dante’s chest. 
What exactly was he offering Macy, other than a slow roll in the hay as opposed
to the fast ones they’d shared in the past?  He’d attempted to show her how
much he’d changed, how much he wanted to pamper her, pay attention to her,
concentrate on her and her needs.  But she’d need much more than a couple of
nights of great sex before she’d chose him over her career.

And he wasn’t entirely sure he had anything that valuable to
give.

“Your point is well-taken, Mr. Marshall.”

“Good,” Marshall said before his face dissolved into a mask
of dire seriousness.  “Now, on to the real reason I’m here.”

* * *

Macy stretched, waiting until every disk in her spine had
popped before she released a guttural, frustrated groan and threw down her
gloves in defeat.  She’d had such high hopes for the billiards room.  Though
the housekeeper had reported that Bogdanov hardly used the room while he’d
lived in the house, the nature of the room invited images of numbers, patterns
and shapes, all of which could be used to successfully hide a counter-code. 
With dark, hand-carved paneling and numerous photographs of homes from all
around New Orleans from the French Quarter to the Garden District on the walls,
she’d had a thousand sound possibilities about where the scientist might have
hidden the sought-after sequence.

Unfortunately, none of her theories had held together.  Her
best shot had been a combination of the addresses and street names of the
houses pictured on the wall, but no matter how many times the computer ran the
data, a successful match to the characteristics of known counter-codes would
not emerge.

The clues had been so promising, she’d nearly questioned the
accuracy of the software—until she reminded herself that Bogdanov had written
the program himself long before his mind had started to wither away.

So she’d worked from sunrise to sundown exclusively in this
room, skipping her nap and putting off her search of the library until
tomorrow.  Now hungry, tired and teetering on the edge of surrender, she
flopped onto the overstuffed couch, threw her head back against the cushions
and allowed herself to think about Dante for the first time today.

She slipped back to the moment, shortly before dawn, when
she’d heard the lock click open on the bedroom door.  Awakened by the sound,
she’d kept still beneath the covers, regulating her breathing so she appeared
asleep.  Luckily, she was on her side so he couldn’t see how her nipples had hardened
at the mere possibility that he’d enter the room and finish what he’d started last
night.

Several silent, still moments later, she’d finally realized
he wasn’t coming in, no matter how much her body ached for him.

The disappointment had rolled with her out of bed in a rush,
causing her to jam her arms back into the robe with more force than necessary. 
She had to give the man his props—he’d succeeded in getting under her skin.

For the first time in years, she wanted to know why he’d
betrayed her.  Up until now, the fact that he’d ruined her career to further
his own had been enough to keep her from ruminating about the past.  What was
done was done.

But maybe she’d done them both a disservice by taking off
without asking for his side of the story.  The promises T-45 had made to lure
her away from the Arm had been an irresistible salve for her personal pain.  With
her choice of assignments, she could travel the world, pocket impressive financial
rewards and gain access to the world’s most advanced technology—all without the
red tape and old-boy network so prevalent in the CIA.

In her anger, she’d blamed Dante for her lack of advancement
in the Arm, when, in truth, he couldn’t have stonewalled her on his own.  And
why would he have?  The powers-that-be would never have tapped her for a
leadership role over him.

She was good, but he was better—so much better that he’d
managed to force himself back into her life and make her face the truths about
their past through eyes unclouded by raw emotions, righteous indignation or
rage.

She loved her new life.  She had no regrets.  In many ways,
her leaving Dante—and the Arm—had been best for both of them.  Nine years ago,
neither she nor Dante had been ready for a real relationship.  They’d been too
young.  Too ambitious.  The man she’d known then couldn’t have been able to be patient
or gentle.  The woman she’d been then wouldn’t have known what to do with a man
who could orchestrate a seduction with the same precise detail as a covert
operation.

He’d changed.  And so had she.

Damn him.  Damn them both.

She hadn’t wanted change.  She’d found peace in her new
life—or at least, she’d found a niche she could fit snugly inside of—a niche
that left little room for a real relationship.  She wasn’t even sure she knew
what that was anymore.  The nature of her job would keep her from ever having a
normal marriage like her parents had.  Her dad owned a car repair shop and her
mother took care of the books.  Their love might have been tested over the
years, but never by forces who were trying to save the world.

Slapping her hands on her thighs, Macy sat up.  Lack of
sleep and frustration over the elusive code had addled her brains.  Why was she
thinking of the words “Dante” and “relationship” in the same context?  If
nothing else, they worked for rival organizations.  Except for a brief affair
to burn away the ghosts of the past, they couldn’t be anything more to each
other than former lovers.

But the time had come to lay their cards on the table.  All
of them.  The new ones, the old ones and all the cards in between.  Maybe she’d
end up with a winning hand, but if nothing else, the terminable game would be
over.

She dashed to her tiny bedroom in the back of the house,
showered, changed and returned to the billiards room.  She grabbed some fruit
from the kitchen and munched while she arranged the furniture to her liking.

Night had fallen.  Where was Dante?

In the floor-to-ceiling mirror, she’d checked her bold, red
lipstick and tore her hands through her hair so that her auburn waves flashed
around her face in wild disarray.  A touch of black eyeliner around her eyes and
she’d recreated the woman Dante once hadn’t been able to resist.  In skinny black
jeans and tank top that zipped up the front, she looked casual, but sexy.  She
loosened the clasp so that her breasts nearly spilled from the material.  Now
she looked
sexier
.

Her plan was simple.  She wanted to know why Dante betrayed
her and why he wanted her back.  If his words rang true, she’d make him an
offer he couldn’t refuse.

It might not be what he thought he wanted—a real
reconciliation—but it was all she could give.

And then they’d be through.

She was on the brink of tapping on the lens of the camera
mounted above the fireplace to get Dante’s attention when the double doors
swung open.  Dante stepped in, his brow instantly arched over curious eyes. 
She stalked toward him with her sultriest strut, but stopped dead when
Abercrombie Marshall came up behind him.

“Abe?”

Macy froze, trying not to guess what her boss thought about
her seductive appearance.  His  stare was so hard, she immediately zipped up
her blouse and stood ramrod straight.

“Macy, we have a situation.”

He gestured toward the couch, but Macy remained standing.  She
couldn’t imagine her boss would reprimand her for her liaison with Dante.  He’d
known, if not specifically then by inference, the price she’d had to pay for
access to the house.

No, his expression denoted something more serious—something
deadly.

“The terrorists have taken a silo?” she guessed.

Abe nodded.

Her eyes flashed to Dante, who confirmed Abe’s report with
the stoic set of his jaw.

“Where?”

“Silo 887, in the Kun-Lun Mountains in Russian South
Siberia.  The area is incredibly remote and travel to the region is
treacherous.”

“The Russian army?” she asked.

“Unable to reach the target area at this time,” he replied.

Dante stepped forward.  “The Arm has sent in special ops,
but initial reports from satellite photos indicate that the terrorists have booby-trapped
the pass leading to the silo and have anti-aircraft capabilities.  Chances are
slim that we’ll reach the area before zero hour.”

The impact of her failure knocked her in the gut.  Agents
with more experience than her—even Abe—had warned her that a counter-code might
not exist, but she hadn’t wanted to give up so easily.

She still didn’t.