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 1
Ahushed 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 wasenough.
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.
Snappingawake 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 a 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.