pictures,” Abbot confirmed. “The Tates are supposed to be camera-shy recluses because they fear kidnapping attempts. But there are some fake bios in the records and the lab results from the tests Fletcher’s staff ran on you earlier this week. Plus, there are probably some extensive background checks that Fletcher had done.”
Tessa’s eyebrow lifted a fraction, the lift apparently aimed at Riley.
“I’ve studied the mission folder,” Riley volunteered. “I know what I’m supposed to do.”
“I’m sure you do,” Abbot interjected, pausing barely a second. “Neither of you will be able to carry a weapon or a communication device inside the clinic. With Fletcher’s extensive security measures, it’d be too risky. But we’ll have a team in the area monitoring you, and if something goes wrong, they’ll respond as needed.”
In other words, evasive measures. And there was absolutely no guarantee that those evasive measures would be effective, enough, or in time. If their cover didn’t hold, it could turn ugly.
Just as it had the day Colette was murdered.
That reminder was like a sucker punch. Riley quickly shoved it aside to concentrate on the briefing.
“Any indication that Fletcher is suspicious of us?” Tessa asked.
Abbot shook his head. “Just the opposite. From what we can tell, his people have dug no further than the records we provided.”
That was something at least. It meant they weren’t walking into a trap.
“While you’re at the clinic, Fletcher will arrange a time for the second appointment that should happen within the next seventy-two hours,” Abbot went on. “Well, hopefully he’ll do that. For that appointment, Fletcher will take you to an unspecified facility where we believe he’s been performing the medical procedures.”
Not a simple in vitro or insemination for couples having trouble conceiving. Oh, no.
During these medical procedures, Dr. Barton Fletcher would supposedly manipulate the DNA to get the made-to-specs designer babies that rich, self-absorbed couples wanted.
And it was that made-to-specs part that made what he did highly illegal.
If Riley couldn’t pin a murder rap on the doctor, then he’d see how long he could put Fletcher behind bars for performing illegal medical procedures.
“One more thing,” Abbot added. “Riley will be the team leader for this assignment.”
Okay. Riley hadn’t thought there’d be any more surprises today, but obviously he’d been wrong.
Tessa pulled in a hard breath. “But—”
“Riley’s had more experience in deep-cover ops.” There was an unspoken “I won’t budge on this” at the end of Abbot’s comment. “And deep cover is exactly what I want the two of you to maintain once you leave headquarters. Remember, after you arrive for your appointment this afternoon, Fletcher will almost certainly keep you under tight surveillance.”
In other words, continue to play the part of the loving couple. No easy task since they were practically at each other’s throats.
“Questions?” Abbot asked, standing. “Doubts? Concerns? Complaints?”
As if they would actually voice any of that to him. They’d both already fulfilled their complaint quota for the day. Maybe for their entire careers as federal agents.
Tessa and Riley shook their heads.
Abbot closed the laptop, got up and headed for the door. But then he stopped and turned back around. He aimed his attention at Tessa.
“The chief is still considering your promotion. I’ll make my recommendation to him after this mission.”
With that, Abbot made his exit and the door swished closed behind him.
“A promotion?” Riley mumbled. “And it probably hinges on this ops. No pressure there, huh?”
Tessa was already reaching for the mission folder, but her hand stopped in midreach. “And do you think that makes this ops more, or less, important to me?” she countered, throwing his own words right back at him.
Riley couldn’t help it. He had to smile. “Dare I use the P-word? As in personal? Seems to me that you have a problem with agents going into an ops when there’s something personal at stake.”
“This is a mission,” Tessa informed him, sounding very much as if she were trying to convince herself. “And I don’t bring personal issues into a mission.”
He was betting she would this time.
Tessa and he had both been friends with Colette. That made it personal. Added to that, they had to spend the next few days in close, intimate quarters pretending to be a loving, married couple.
And they had to do it with a killer watching their every move.
Oh, yeah.
That was just about as personal—and as dangerous—as things could get.
Chapter Two
Thanks to some road construction, the limo was crawling through the congested Dallas traffic. The stop-and-go snail’s pace didn’t help the tension that had settled in the back of Tessa’s neck. Of course, she couldn’t blame that tension solely on the traffic, the circuitous clandestine flights they’d taken from D.C. or even the mission itself.
No.
That tension had a lot to do with the man in the black cashmere sweater who was seated shoulder-to-shoulder with her.
Her partner.
Her husband.
And the absolute last agent she wanted to be paired with for this mission.
Tessa had planned for a lot of contingencies, but Riley McDade sure wasn’t one of them.
She wanted a quick in and out. No complications. Nothing to extend the length of this ops.
And especially nothing to interfere with its success.
With his renegade tendencies, personal chip on his shoulder and badass attitude, Riley McDade put all those things in question.
“The fictional Aston Tate was born in L.A.,” she heard Riley say. Not to her. He was obviously going over the undercover identity info stored on his PalmPilot. “He’s twenty-nine—just two years younger than me, so I shouldn’t have a problem with that. He collects Civil War memorabilia—I’ll have to fake that part. He’s a huge L.A. Lakers fan—won’t have to fake that. And he’s a jackass.”
Tessa glanced at the PalmPilot he had cradled in his hand. “It says that in the file?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s my opinion. Anybody who’d go to these lengths to have the perfect heir is a jackass. He should be satisfied with what Mother Nature intended him to have. Or not have.”
