is Mark Alexander, everyone,” Deborah Martine announced as she took a seat at the head of the scarred table.
He was actually using the name she had known him by. Not a good sign that he was undercover. But then, she was using hers, too, though it was necessary in her case.
Deborah inclined her head at Renee. “Meet Renee, our explosives expert.”
Deborah’s lazy gaze swept on to the slender, shifty-eyed thug on her right. “Piers, provisions.” Then to the beefy Neanderthal at the far end of the table. “Etienne, muscle.” She offered a secret smile before turning her attention to the rest of the group. “Mark will handle the security systems for us.” Her left eyebrow rose as she addressed him. “That is, if your credentials are in order.”
Renee’s eyes again locked on the newcomer. Her first instinct had been to shoot him where he stood before he could say a word. Protect the mission was a mantra she lived by. Self-preservation was an even stronger motive. She figured he probably entertained similar thoughts of eliminating her as a threat, but had no weapon.
Either he had flipped at some time during the past two years, or he was working an op for SIS, the old MI-6. Problem was, she knew nothing about an ongoing operation in Paris involving the Brits. However, given the dearth of official information exchanged by intel agencies who worked for the same government, it was reasonable that she’d be in the dark about a foreign one. Why would the Brits inform the U.S. when infiltrating a terrorist cell in France?
Since Alexander hadn’t yet opened his mouth, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. If he revealed who she was, he would expose himself. Same with her. She raised a brow and offered him the ghost of a smile. He returned it, just a small quirk of his lips. Nice lips they were, too. She remembered them well. Their texture. Their taste. Their hunger that had fueled her own. A spike of warmth shot through her. Make that heat.
One kiss, mind-blowing as it had been, did not provide a basis for putting her life in the man’s hands. That killer body of his could be just that, the body of a killer. The memory of how her wayward mind had wandered directly to him the morning after that kiss, as she hovered between sleep and wakefulness, disturbed her even now. She had clearly visualized him, standing in the shower, soaping himself, his head thrown back, exposing his strong, corded neck as if he invited her to put her mouth there and feel his quickening pulse. Her own body had hummed.
Renee shook her head. The vision firmly engraved on her mind might have been buried, but hadn’t lost its clarity.
Renee straightened and pushed off the wall, taking a seat on one of the overturned boxes that served as extra chairs. “Where are the others?” she asked, ignoring Alexander as best she could.
“Checking the perimeter. Sonny and Beguin will be up in a few moments. Tonight’s the night we get down to business,” Deborah announced.
Finally. Renee kept her expression bland. She knew the job, in general anyway, and hoped to find out where the strike would occur so she could get people in place to prevent it. This was yet another planning session. Deborah seemed to get off on having rendezvous in secret locations, the seedier the better.
Sonny’s last job had been an attempt to abduct a
U.S. senator’s son. It had been foiled by the Secret Service and Renee’s team, COMPASS, one of the civilian special ops teams formed under Homeland Security. The giant, more commonly known as Sonnegut, had escaped capture and fled here to France, doing a bang-up job of covering his tracks. But Renee had located him.
Her stated mission was to identify Sonnegut’s affiliation, find out who was behind the kidnapping attempt and determine what they had been after. Indications were that the motive had been political. So far, she had tailed him until she could befriend one of his cohorts and work her way into this little gang.
It was a start. Deborah Martine was Sonnegut’s lover. Renee had begun to suspect she might also be the person in charge. The question was whether or not she reported to someone else, higher up. Unfortunately Renee thought she might have to abandon her primary mission in order to throw a monkey wrench into the strike the cell was planning. But first she needed to discover how the group was financed, and, most important, the target and timing of their strike.
Renee had struck up an association with Martine, gaining her trust in the guise of a French-Canadian expatriate whose father owned a demolitions business based in Calgary and who had taught his only child everything he knew about explosives, hoping she would carry on.
Her cover contained a great deal of truth, but there were no records available to prove or disprove it. She had told Deborah at the outset that her father had disowned her and she had intentionally “erased” herself. Martine had professed to admire her precautions and apparently accepted her story.
Demolition was a handy skill in the underworld, much in demand. Credentials weren’t required. The proof was in the execution, so to speak.
Renee glanced again at Mark and saw that he was assessing her, no doubt wondering if she had switched loyalties. Neither of them had any option but to play this out, at least until they could talk in private. And even then, would either dare admit why they were really here? As far as he knew, she could be exactly what she appeared to be. And so could he.
Every tenet of her training demanded that she erase any threat to her mission. So would his. They had trained together in the life-or-death black ops field, after all.
Two years ago, the FBI had hosted an international working seminar on nontraditional methods of dealing with terrorists. Fifty elite agents from as many organizations had attended. No operative had been identified other than by name, no countries or organizations revealed.
At the time, Renee had figured Mark represented the U.K. because of his accent and surname. And that polite reserve of his had seemed distinctly British to her. Maybe her assumption had been wrong. Ordinarily she knew better than to assume anything, but it hadn’t really mattered back then.
Even at first glance, just as it did now, her heart had raced with both fear and fascination. Aside from the wide shoulders set on a body that wouldn’t quit and a face that boasted intriguing features, her attraction to him surpassed the physical. There was something dark about Alexander that went deeper than the fathomless eyes that seemed to peer right into the very soul of her. He made her feel exposed…vulnerable…hot. What’s more, he made her like it. Dangerous, indeed.
When she’d known him then, just as now, she had needed her entire focus to remain on the job. Renee had staunchly kept her distance. But she’d sensed a definite reciprocal interest, proved beyond doubt when he had impulsively acted on it. And kissed her. Afterward, they had avoided each other and only spoken in passing when paired off in a shooting match.
Even so, she’d hardly been able to concentrate whenever he was in the vicinity. And the vision of him naked that she hadn’t consciously sought, yet couldn’t seem to dismiss hadn’t helped. Renee had vowed early on that until her career was well established and she had proved her worth, a personal life would be out of the question. Apparently Mark’s goal hadn’t been any different.
Avoidance had become a game until their schooling was over and they parted company with merely a couple of satisfied nods, wordlessly acknowledging their shared battle and mutual success.
In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have been so hell-bent to deny any interaction. At least then she might be able to guess something about his mindset now.
Sonnegut
