Elite Metal-ARE-epub (45 page)

Setting the coffee cup down, he keyed in his access code and requested the view switch back to the lobby. He caught the tail end of her. No way it wasn’t the same sashaying hips. The outfit was different. Hell, the hair was different, but he recognized the walk. She wasn’t alone this time. A mountain of a man strode at her side, tall, imposing and exuding an aura of menace over the grainy standard digital feeds.

He’s bad news.

Fingers flying over the keys, Gabriel tried to switch the angle of the cameras, then settled for activating the camera in front of them. The twist time took way too long and afforded him only a brief profile.

She looked completely different, but he’d bet money it was Sex on a Stick Walking from Miami.
What the hell is she doing in Nigeria? And what is she doing with that guy?

Leaving the desk, he headed downstairs. He wanted to waylay the pair for a couple of questions. By the time he reached the consul hall, however, they were gone and the Marines on duty had the door blockaded.

Flipping open his ID, he nodded to the men. “I’m Danvers, CIA. I need to see the consul.”

Neither Marine budged. “He’s unavailable at this time.”

Unavailable?
Gabriel frowned, but he didn’t try to shove his way past them. Marines assigned to consulate and embassy duty were trained and restrained, but he didn’t doubt they would put him down. One-on-one, he had a chance, but there were two of them.

“Fine, can you alert him that we may have a security threat in the building? A man and a woman who were admitted a couple of minutes ago.”

“We’re addressing the security threat, sir. Please step back, and return to your station.”

Neither Marine gave an inch. Swearing, Gabriel headed to the intelligence desk and placed a call to Washington. By the time he cleared the switchboard and got authorization, somebody could have firebombed the consulate. Making a mental note to add the experience to his report, he spent his time on hold pulling up the video surveillance. He wanted copies this time, since he’d never managed to capture a photo of the woman in Miami.

After discovering Jennings’ body, they did a person-by-person search on the floor, which extended to later encompass the entire building. She’d been conspicuously absent. When he’d requested the security tapes for the elevators and lobby entrance, he found they’d been scrubbed.

Copying the first entrance video of the consulate, he downloaded it to a thumb drive. The second video of the consul hall was gone before he could pull it up. When he returned to the first video, it was gone as well.

Swallowing another oath, he pulled the thumb drive. He had some proof, and he didn’t plan on having this one scrubbed. More convinced than ever, he took his authorization and evidence to the consulate commander’s office and, with a Marine escort, headed in to see the consul.

The ambassador in question greeted their entrance with a dour expression and denied knowledge of the presence of the two, even with the photo Gabriel produced as evidence. No one had seen them, they hadn’t been there. The diplomat lied through his teeth, but without any other proof, Gabriel had nothing on him.

By the time he bordered a plane for the U.S., he considered trashing the thumb drive. Whoever she was, she was good. She had to be in the business, how else did one explain her access and disappearances?

Not my monkey. Not my circus.
He closed his hand around the drive and tucked it away for safekeeping. His life of lies and putting lives on the line was over. Agent Danvers was retired, and she was just one more mystery he could put to bed as unsolved.

Still…curiosity followed him home. If he started a file and did a little research, who would be the wiser?

Chapter One

A hushed shuffle-step on the carpet sent adrenaline surging through her system. Rolling over, Sachi James extracted the gun from beneath her pillow, flipped the safety off and had it pointed at the door before her sleepy-mind fully processed what she’d heard. The odor of sour garbage, sweat, and grease assaulted her nose. The sensory information triggered relief, and she flipped the safety on even as a mountain-sized shadow filled the bedroom door.

Smothering a yawn, she lowered the gun and pointed at the bathroom. “Your shit’s under the sink. Take a shower, and we can talk in the morning.” A glance at the digital clock said it was three a.m. Groaning, she rolled onto her back and set the gun on the nightstand between herself and the bathroom. Merc didn’t always crash with her, but the weapon lay where they could both reach it. He was awake, which meant she could sleep. He never let her stay on the side of the bed closest to the door anyway, no matter where they slept.

Sleep tugged at her, but she curved an arm under the pillow and snuggled to it as though it were a person. Preferably the same person whose shirt she currently wore. Nothing smelled like Brad anymore, his scent erased as if he hadn’t existed. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she shoved the melancholy thoughts back into the mental vault and slammed the door.

Without enough liquor, she had no intention to sort through the agony of those memories. Better not to think about them at all. She had a place—Elite Metal—and a home—a house on their compound—and her family, or what she could call one, with the guys. It was
enough.

The urge to punch herself began to wash away the oblivion of sleep she desperately craved. Water sputtered, then began to flow in the bathroom. The shower had been turned on. If Merc showered, he planned on staying.
End of watch for me…
Her body and mind, too programmed from years of training and shit situations, obeyed the signal and she burrowed deeper to the pillows.

A half hour later, the bed dipped and Merc stretched out next to her. He didn’t bother with the covers. Gone were the sour odors of refuse, replaced by the plain, simple scent of friend, brother—home. Her last thoughts before sleep reclaimed her were of safety and security.

Sachi “Copper” James signed off and slept.

Snapping awake before the alarm went off, she rolled off the bed and onto her feet. She tucked the blankets on her side in and tight as a matter of course. Merc’s eyes were open, but he didn’t say anything. Smart man. She didn’t talk before shower and a cup of coffee unless a sergeant at inspection demanded an answer.  The coffee maker in the kitchen hissed the sound of nirvana. Padding into the bathroom, she stripped off Brad’s shirt. After hanging it on the door, she turned on the water and stepped into the frigid shower.

The icy cold water beat the sleep out of her. By the time the hot water warmed her skin, she was ready to shampoo and scrub. Showering never took her longer than ten minutes—and only that long if she needed to shave. After rinsing off, she killed the water and grabbed a towel. She spent another ten minutes brushing her teeth, running a brush through her damp hair and inspecting her face. Far from vain, she made sure no distinguishing marks appeared or set her apart. Blending in required either standing out as unforgettable or being utterly unremarkable. Blessed by genetics, she was a mutt and could enhance or downplay her skin tone, eye shape, and bone structure with a handful of cosmetics and attitude.

It worked for her.

Satisfied, she found clean clothes in the closet as well as the black trash bag with Merc’s filthy things stowed away for safekeeping. Pulling on sweats and a t-shirt, she stuffed her feet into running shoes before carrying the bag with her out of the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, Merc wasn’t in bed and the scent of eggs, bacon, and toast drifted on a wave of fresh coffee.

Pausing in the laundry room, she upended his things into the washer, dumped in some soap and turned on the machine. The gag-me smell was only slightly better than the Nigerian river they’d had to swim for three klicks to dodge a search party once. In the kitchen, Merc stood at the stove and flipped bacon on the griddle. Scrambled eggs were piled in the center of a plate nearby.

The coffee pot hadn’t been touched, but two mugs were waiting. The man cooked before he had coffee. Damn, if he wasn’t a fine Marine. After pouring both mugs, she slid his toward him and caught the toast as it popped up. She fired those over and he didn’t glance at her as he caught them and dropped them on the plate.

Dry for her. She reloaded the toaster and then tipped up the mug to drink about half of the scalding coffee, black. It peeled off the last dregs of sleep and her stomach lining at the same time.

Better.
“Morning.”

He grunted. John “Mercury” Thrace was 6’3” of pure, rock-hard muscle, the biohazard tattoo on the back of his head a warning to everyone. Too bad she tended to ignore warning labels, since they were for people too stupid to live. His back rippled when he flipped the bacon. Most wouldn’t see the brilliant mind locked behind his mule-headed stubbornness. Since he was her best friend, brother, and one of only a handful of men she ever trusted to have her back, she ignored his grunt and drank the rest of her coffee.

After pouring cup number two, she found humanity agreeable again. Pacing over to the window, she pulled open the blinds and studied the compound. She’d memorized the layout on her first day at the property. By the end of the week, she’d mapped three exit strategies.

A black masked figure stood a dozen yards away with a set of binoculars in his hand. Raising her coffee cup for a drink, she gave the masked figure the finger before snapping the blinds closed again. Fucking ghosts creeped her out. She never saw their faces, only their thuggish ski masks, yet they were always around.

Always.

They’d been in her place, too. At least twice, she’d woken to the sound of movement in the house—hence the gun. Chrome said they could trust the bastards, and she trusted her commanding officer, but that didn’t give the fuckers the right to be in her quarters.

A plate slid across the table toward her. “Eat.”

“Me Tarzan, you Marine. Eat.” She stuck her tongue at him, and his stern face gave way to the barest hint of a smile.

“You bitch. Me hungry. Shut up.”

Laughter wormed its way through her sour mood, and she tucked into the food. Meals could come few and far between in the field, so they didn’t waste precious seconds on chatter. After they’d finished, she took care of the dishes while Merc drank his coffee.

“Up for a run?” Ten miles might take the edge off, and Merc’s presence usually dissuaded her thuggy escorts from trying to follow her.

“Later.” He drummed his fingers on the table. Like her, he’d been kidnapped back into the fold. At least she’d managed to break the finger of one of the ghosts who’d grabbed her—right before they pumped her full of an anesthetic and knocked her ass out. Ice blue eyes focused on her. “What’s wrong?”

She drained her second cup of coffee. “Not a damn thing.”

“Yeah, you can show that face—or whichever face you want—to everyone else, sweetheart. But I know you, I fucking
know
you.” Quiet, raw words uttered in a tone which commanded attention.

Rolling her eyes, she let her shoulders relax and her expression soften. Leaning toward him, she blinked with precise slowness, once for every two beats of a man’s heart. “But, you complete me…” At his narrowed gaze, she coughed and straightened. “Okay, yeah, that doesn’t work. I think I just threw up in my mouth.”

“That’s what you get.” A smirk curved the side of his face still able to hold an expression.

Too early for bullshit and games. “Here’s the thing. You’re toxic. I’m wasted—or at least I would be wasted if I went for that kind of thing. Together, we’re Toxic Waste. Kind of like peanut butter and jelly, only with a hell of a lot more kick.” They had been, ever since the first time he’d dragged her off a bully at their foster home. A kid had spit in her face. Since he’d been twice her size, she hadn’t slowed down. She’d actually broken her hand hitting the other boy, then kept pounding and flailing until he went down. John was four years older and about fifty pounds heavier than she’d been at the time. He’d dragged her off the kid and set her on her feet. When the other boy tried to hit her, John had bloodied the only part of his face she hadn’t bruised.

They’d been family ever since. John looked after her; she looked after him. They’d been lucky. In a system that fucked everyone, they’d somehow managed to stay in the same homes. At least until the day he left for MIT.

Bastard
.

By her seventeenth birthday, she’d had enough and joined the Marines with her foster mother’s blessing. Two years in, and they’d been assigned to the same team. Funny how their lives worked out. That was then—“Too bad I can’t carry a tune. We could be our own band.”

“You don’t have to carry a tune. There’s karaoke in hell.”

Not snickering, she retrieved the coffee pot and refilled their cups. She’d done without it before. One was good enough, two an indulgence, but three cups in the morning? Yeah, she was living the fucking life. “Yeah, karaoke and fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them.” Life on a beach with absolutely nothing to do? “I think it’s time to go straight. I don’t want to go to that hell.”

Hell was for other people. She’d visited when an explosion consumed Brad and the rest of their team in a fireball. She had the fucking t-shirt burned onto her soul.

“There's a hell you want to go see? Do they give guided tours?” He shook his head. “Besides the ones we've already seen, of course.”

“Eh, we're a hard sell. Maybe we need to get laid, because this is pathetic.” She gave him a speculative look. “You're sexy. You got dark and brooding down. I'm not too bad, I know how to bring it. Why aren't we getting laid again?”

"Besides the fact I look like Frankenstein's monster?" He motioned to the scars on his face that she never seemed to see. "We're different from them, the sheep we're supposed to herd and protect. And they know it. Even you, Copper, as lovely as you are. We're off. We're wrong. Or maybe that's just me. Maybe they're all a bunch of pussies who're afraid if they get too close to you, they'll find me under their bed like the devils they feared as children." He laughed. "Make no mistake, I will be there."