Nameless (3 page)

She fought the trepidation tugging at her composure. No more beating around the bush. “We’re wasting time. You’re either going or you aren’t. If you want to help that little girl, then I would suggest that you get dressed so we can get this done. Otherwise,” she added, her temper temporarily overriding her good sense, “get out of my way. I don’t have time for the macho methods you evidently consider charming.”

He didn’t move. The fear that she had pushed too hard—that she couldn’t handle this man—welled … clawed at her, but she kicked it back, refused to submit to it. She wasn’t about to let him see that he could get to her so effortlessly. If she gave him that inch, he would take a mile she didn’t have to spare. She might lack his experience, but she was the one with the badge. And the gun.

His haughty gaze dropped to her mouth. “I gotta tell you, Grace, you got some great lips.”

Enough. She flattened her right hand against his chest, pulled her lapel aside with her left, leaving her weapon in plain sight. “Back off.”

One corner of his mouth tilted shamelessly, but he straightened away from her, his hands lifted in mock surrender. “No need to get testy.” He dropped his arms back to his sides and all signs of any amusement or smugness vanished. “What kind of transportation do we have?”

The sudden turnabout had her grappling. She reached for calm, couldn’t find it handy, so she settled for quietly furious. “Private plane. It’s waiting at the airport in Marathon.”

Surprise lifted his brows. “Well, that’s traveling in style.”

“Mr. Byrne insisted, considering the time crunch. The Learjet belongs to him not to the Bureau.”

McBride considered her a moment, stretching her patience to the limit, then said, “I’ll need to shower first.”

He was going.

The overwhelming sense of relief was almost more than she could hold inside. She shored up her professional deportment by hanging on to a little of that fury he’d ignited. “Make it fast. Our time is limited.”

He acknowledged her order with a nod and walked away.

She wanted to kick herself for watching. For admiring the way his jeans gloved his lean hips. That he got to her on that level was not only infuriating but startling. No one ever got to her that way.

As if he had felt her gaze on him, he hesitated, turned back once more. “Just so you know, Grace, I’m doing this for the kid. Not for you. And definitely not for the Bureau.”

He swaggered off, leaving Vivian struggling with emotions she couldn’t begin to label—she was grateful for that small mercy. It was better not to know.

Keeping former Special Agent Ryan McBride under control wasn’t going to be an easy task. The man he had become was far more than a loose cannon.

He was dangerous.

CHAPTER THREE

5:00 P.M.
1000 Eighteenth Street
Birmingham, Alabama
18 hours remaining …

Three floors. Bulletproof, sound-insulated tinted windows. Without a doubt, state-of-the-art security. Metal detectors, X-ray machines, maybe even facial and retinal scans. Gaining entrance to the building was more complicated than getting past the most stringent security measures at any of the nation’s international airports. Accessing the damned parking lot wasn’t even permitted without authorization.

Welcome to today’s FBI.

McBride moved his head slowly from side to side. What the hell was he doing here?

Temporary insanity.

No more tequila for him. Better to stick with the devil he knew.

As Agent Grace’s silver Explorer came to a necessary stop at the gate, he scanned the block. An iron fence contained the entire area, including the guard station. Though downtown, the location was somewhat isolated, giving the impression of a small upscale prison. He imagined some of the agents inside felt that way from time to time whether or not they said so.

So this was where Vivian Grace worked. During his decade with Quantico he’d never had the occasion to consult with any of the Alabama offices. He turned his attention to her as she flashed her credentials for the guard, who promptly opened the gate allowing her to enter the sacred compound. Even in profile those lips were something special. Seemed wasted on such an uptight chick.

A strand of glossy brown hair had slipped loose and draped against her cheek. His fingers twitched at the idea of touching that smooth skin. Grace had the kind of pale complexion that would age well, with those high cheekbones a woman either had to be born with or envied her whole life. Too bad she was one of
them
.

She jammed on the brake hard enough to engage the lock on his safety belt. “Do you have a question, McBride?” The glare she aimed at him provided a major clue to just how pissed off she was.

Busted.

“Just one.” He met that furious glower with unrestrained curiosity. “Do you have a problem with men in general, or is it just me?”

She pointed her fury forward, rolled into a parking slot, and shoved the gear shift into park without so much as a kiss-my-ass. He would take that as a “no comment.”

The lady had a hang-up about her looks or about men looking at her; the question was, why? Was she really an ice princess or was the attitude a defense mechanism? Maybe the boys in the office gave her a hard time. He could definitely see her working more diligently than the rest to garner the respect she deserved. Hey, maybe that was the reason she’d ended up with this low-man-on-the-totem-pole transport job. Her SAC probably figured that sending her versus one of the guys would prove a better incentive for cooperation.

McBride couldn’t deny he was curious about the lady, but like he had told her, he was here for one reason. To help the kid. Admiring Grace’s numerous physical assets and giving her a hard time was just something to pass the time.

He opened the door and climbed out of the SUV. The hellacious headache was gone thanks to Grace, who had insisted on hitting a fast food drive-through before going to the airfield in Marathon. At the time he could have cared less about eating, but now he was glad he had. Between the food, a handful of aspirin, and a nap on the plane he felt remotely human. But the tension contorting deep in his gut right now wasn’t going to be relieved so easily.

What he really needed was a drink, but that wasn’t happening for the next nineteen or twenty hours. A smoke would have to do.

He pulled out the pack, tamped loose a Marlboro, then dipped two fingers into the pocket of his jeans and fished out his Zippo. Lighting up, he inhaled the comforting nicotine, instantly relaxing a fraction. The dozen or so vehicles he counted in the lot told him that most of the staff was still on duty. A field office this size wouldn’t likely employ any more than that.

“Looks like your colleagues are all on hand for your big coup.” He felt a little like the trophy African buffalo at the end of a safari. What was the prize, he wondered, for bringing in the beast?
Respect or sympathy?

Grace stepped out of the smoke’s path, her nose wrinkled with distaste. “As certain as I am that everyone here is anxious to have your assistance and will be honored by your presence, no one’s going home until Alyssa Byrne is found. Standard procedure. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how things are done.”

She just doesn’t know how far I’ve fallen.
He stared at the entrance, his tension spiraling out of control way too fast. From day one of his Bureau career he had been assigned to the Child Abduction Unit at Quantico. He’d been damned good. The best, as Grace said. But that was a long time ago. He had forgotten more about this business than most people ever hoped to know. And why wouldn’t he forget? He had stopped expecting to get called in on a case two years ago.

If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still see the face of each child for every Amber Alert issued that first year following his termination. After that he had stopped watching or listening to the news. Eventually, when he had learned just how much Jack Daniel’s was required to get the job done, he’d passed the point of caring.

Yet, here he was.
Definitely a case of temporary insanity.
A trip over the edge that he was sure to regret.

He was here for the kid, he reminded that cynical voice nagging at him. One final drag from his cigarette, then he flicked away the fire and shoved the snuffed-out butt into his pocket. “Before we go in, I need one thing from you, Grace.”

Even though there had been time on the plane, they hadn’t discussed the logistics of how this would work. He had taken a seat and had promptly closed his eyes for some much needed sleep. When he had awakened, Grace had been dead to the world. Probably the first shut-eye she’d had in more than twenty-four hours. He remembered how it was.

“What’s that?” The grim set of that gorgeous mouth warned that she was suspicious of anything he might ask.

“Whatever goes down … no matter what your SAC says, or what you think of me, you back me up. If I can’t count on at least your cooperation, I’m outta here. Do we have an understanding?”

The slight flare of those wide brown eyes told him he had hit a nerve, saddled her with a heart thumper. Going up against her SAC wouldn’t look good on a performance evaluation, but he wasn’t backing off on this one. This was every man for himself and he wasn’t going in there without at least one ally.

“We have an agreement,” she conceded, “as long as backing you up doesn’t jeopardize rescuing Alyssa.”

That was a condition he could live with. He indulged in one last, lingering survey of his new partner. “Good,” he said just as anger, motivated by his flagrant ogling, sparked in her eyes. “Let’s do this thing.”

She led the way into the lobby.

Sprawled across the marble floor was the FBI emblem found in all Bureau offices. The same emblem that had once inspired great pride in him. Now on seeing it the only thing he felt was animosity.

“Afternoon, Agent Grace.” The security guard, Charles Williams according to his nametag, set two plastic containers on the counter. “You know the drill.” The guard’s welcoming smile dimmed a little when he turned to McBride. “I’ll need to see some ID, sir, so I can check you into the visitor’s log. Please empty your pockets before moving through the scanner.”

McBride dug out his driver’s license and passed it to the guard. He emptied his pockets, dropped his wallet, a few coins, his lighter, and an unopened condom into one of the provided containers.

Grace shot him a look. “Always prepared, I see.”

“Just like a Boy Scout.” He might not have any respect left for himself, but he didn’t take chances with anyone else’s life.

He followed Grace through the archway scanner then reclaimed his belongings, along with a visitor’s badge bearing his name. Once Grace had retrieved her purse and weapon, she thanked Williams and headed for the elevator. If she dropped her purse and the contents spilled across the floor, what would he learn about the woman beneath the badge? Did she use a Datafax or PDA? Did she like sucking on an Altoid or chewing Dentyne? What flavor lip gloss did she use on those sexy lips?

Finding out those answers was about as likely as winning the lottery.

The elevator doors parted and Grace stepped inside and selected floor three. She lingered as close to the control panel as possible to wait out the ride. Keeping her distance, was she? Was that because she was afraid of him? Or was she afraid of herself
with him
? Interesting thought.

McBride leaned against the rear wall and took advantage of the opportunity to study her ass. She didn’t have to know that his fascination with her kept him from obsessing on the idea that he was here, in a federal justice building, about to try resurrecting a past he had worked extra hard to kill.

He shifted his gaze to what he could see of her profile as the elevator bumped into motion. “I had you pegged for a stair climber, Agent.” Judging by her toned calves and that nicely rounded behind the lady did some serious working out.

She kept her stare steady on the display where the digital one became a two. “I took the elevator for you.”

Touché. He moved up behind her, appreciated again that subtle feminine scent she wore, just as a ding announced their arrival on three. She braced to make a run for it the instant the doors opened. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Grace,” he murmured. She shivered. As hard as she tried to hide the reaction, he saw it, relished it—one of the few pleasures in life he still enjoyed. “I prefer saving my energy for other, more satisfying forms of physical activity.”

The doors opened and she burst into the lobby like a racehorse charging out of its chute. Taking his time, he followed her.

The third-floor lobby boasted another of the widely recognized FBI emblems, this one a part of the royal-blue carpet. As they passed, a secretary glanced up from her desk. Her gaze stabbed into his back until he moved out of her visual range.
Nothing like being the traveling freak show.

The corridor Grace chose was flanked by closed doors but the double doors at the far end stood open, waiting.

The conference room.

An invisible wall jumped up in front of him … bringing him to a jarring halt.

Reality check.

“Hang on, Grace.”

She stopped, reluctantly swung her attention to him. “What now, McBride?”

For nearly three years he hadn’t cared what anyone thought of him. Not one damned little bit. Even as he reminded himself that he still didn’t give a damn what she or anyone else in this place thought, he found himself searching for something besides the too plentiful disapproval and impatience in her eyes.

He was a fool. But even fools had their moments.

“They’re waiting,” she reminded, that impatience multiplying like an unchecked virus even as he watched.

“I’m going to need coffee.” He hesitated, not sure he should trust her with this admission. The people waiting in that conference room were going to be watching him, anticipating even his most minute misstep. Consciously or unconsciously, all of them would seek confirmation that the Bureau had been right to oust him. No way was he giving them the pleasure of watching him stumble. “Lots of coffee. To do this right.”