than the pleasure of your company this evening.”
“The crew stays at the Captain Cook. I’m expected to join friends for dinner at the Crow’s Nest—the restaurant on top. I could get free, though.” She paused, eyes sparkling. “If necessary.”
He tilted toward her on the balls of his feet. “Think of me as a necessity. Please.”
She smiled again. “You got a date, Texas. And by the way, I wouldn’t be too confident about catching the flight out of Fairbanks in time, what with this awful pipeline disaster thing. Everything’s a mess. Pipeline people and investigators out the gazoo going north and south. The captain says they even caught one of them.”
Not good. If the media were already reporting that authorities were holding one of the terrorists, a security breach must have occurred. Joe whipped his pen and a business card, the card that said he was an IBM representative, from his left breast pocket. “Let me have your phone number.”
“Honey—” she was writing in large, flowery curves “—you’re the best-looking Big Blue representative I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving.” He pocketed the number and then turned toward the arched exit. Rita’s soft voice followed him out the door. “I sure will be looking forward to that call.”
The Flight Arrival display indicated that his contact’s plane should arrive in thirty minutes and was on time. He sauntered to the Alaska Airline’s lounge, dropped into a chair, leaned forward with elbows on knees and wished he could shuck the dreads and doubts that clung to him like a cheap, tight-fitting suit. His new partner was female.
Certainly nobody appreciated women more than he. But he had worked his first assignment alone. He’d liked it that way. Then came last night’s call. “You’ll have a partner. She’s highly trained. Very experienced. In fact, when you’ve been with the Company a while longer you’ll learn the Dove is legendary. She has the Deputy Director’s full confidence and will be in charge.”
The caller had made that very clear. He had a partner. She was senior. A woman, code name Dove, would be in charge.
Once again Joe checked his watch. Ten minutes or so and she should arrive. A man seated opposite seized Joe’s attention. Only one side of his face moved. The other side was dead, lifeless.
The flight at the next gate was called and the man rose and disappeared through the loading door.
Joe checked his watch again. Her plane was now late. He stood, paced, sat. If they didn’t make the Fairbanks connection, they’d arrive later, finish later and he’d be back in Anchorage too late to see Corpus Christi’s Miss Halloran.
He heard the high whine that hovers around big jets on the ground. The twenty-odd people waiting with him stirred. The door to the plane’s entry ramp opened. He scanned for “a fair-skinned woman with straight black, Asian hair to her shoulder blades.”
He was still seated when a woman matching the description emerged with the first-class passengers. Tall and slender, she wore black slacks and a green silk shirt. And damned if she wasn’t wearing black cowboy boots. This was his partner, all right.
He snatched his bag and coat and waded through the emerging passengers.
“I’m Joe Cardone.”
His words came out automatically, which was helpful since the thinking part of his brain suffered a brief short circuit. Her face was pretty and feminine, but her eyes were striking. Like a cat, his mind said as it jerked back into action. Green eyes with the merest, really no more than a subliminal hint, of almond shape. Twisted jade earrings the color of her shirt framed uncommonly fair skin.
Passengers streamed around Nova as she sized up her new partner. The flight had been long and bumpy, but the excitement of her newest mission hadn’t faded.
Agent Joe Cardone was good-looking, but young. Maybe her younger sister’s age, twenty-six. And while she might have expected him to be giving her a thorough going-over, too, he seemed to be captured by her eyes. She couldn’t resist a slight smile. She extended her hand. “Nova Blair. Glad to meet you, partner.”
His grip was warm and firm. He said, “We’ve got to hustle to make our connection. They’ve called the flight twice.”
“Let’s hustle then.”
They stooped to pick up her bulging bag at the same moment. She said, “I can handle it.”
She caught a frown from the kid, as if he felt she’d rebuked him. Let’s hope Mr. Cardone isn’t going to be uncomfortable taking orders from a woman.
“Yep,” he said, a cool edge on his words. “I bet you can handle it just fine.”
He spun on his heel and led the way at a fast clip. At the cockpit of their next flight, he paused. “Carrying?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. You?”
“Never when I’m in my IBM disguise.”
“IBM,” she said, and smiled. “Interesting cover.”
Most seats already held warm bodies. They had a window and a middle seat in row twelve. The aisle seat was already occupied. Her partner shoved his overnighter and coat into the overhead bin, climbed over the man on the aisle, and sat in the window seat.
Nova stashed her things overhead, and slid past the man on the aisle seat and sat in the middle.
Nova listened as her partner quietly flipped through the pages of a magazine. She wondered why they had paired her with someone so young rather than an old hand. She guessed Agent Joe Cardone could not yet have had more than a couple of assignments. Perhaps this was his first.
Fairbanks met them with a light drizzle, a low, leaden sky and a chill wind. They deplaned and hurried across the tarmac, the wind licking up the edges of their overcoats. They had privacy enough now for her to talk freely to him.
“Any other luggage?” he asked right away.
“No,” she said. “This is it.”
“We’re supposed to meet our Company man at city hall. That’s where the FBI has set up its Area Command Center. He’ll drive us to the hospital.”
She frowned. “I don’t know when you were in contact last, but I called in from Seattle. I was told the terrorist is in really bad shape. He might not make it.”
They entered the main receiving area. From long habit, she did a thorough visual sweep of the room as she continued talking. “Also,” she continued, “the Alyeska man may be—probably is—the only survivor from any of the pumping stations. It’s questionable whether either will be around much longer. We’re to observe the FBI’s interrogation, absorb what we can since the terrorist is the hottest lead we have. Apparently there is evidence of foreign involvement, in which case the Company is going to be brought in and they want eyes and ears here right now. I say we don’t waste time picking up our man. I’ll rent a car and get directions. You call and tell our contact to meet us at the hospital.”
She sensed him tense. Just the merest straightening of his shoulders gave him away. And the slight smile he offered was stiff. She was quite sure that he wasn’t used to taking orders from a woman—or perhaps might resent it. Only
