Night Shadow (3 page)

she’d even completed her first op. The only thing that could make it

better, could possibly salvage the damage she’d likely already caused, was

if she took herself out of the equation. It would be so easy. Just one foot

over the edge.

The overwhelming desire to step off that damned building in a freefall to

the ground below and the realization of how close she’d been, just a

heartbeat away from acting on the impulse, now made her insides twist

with revulsion.

Before tonight Lexi had never had a suicidal thought in her life. Thank God

the dark thoughts were gone and she was back to her normal, pragmatic

self.

What was up with
that
?

She’d had a psych eval a month ago. She’d tested sane, rational, and

extremely wel adjusted.

Perhaps the dark thoughts happened to all new operatives their first time

in the field? Lexi thought that through, then shook her head. “Bull. There

hasn’t been
one
report, not one, of any such thing happening.” Of course,

an operative wouldn’t broadcast their diagnosis, and the medical staff

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Night Shadow

would get handed their heads on a plate if they divulged private

information about a patient.

Stil , she hadn’t heard any rumors about new operatives being suicidal or

committing
suicide. And the research department heard just about

everything, true, false, or rumor.

Logically, Lexi knew she had nothing to be concerned about. An

aberration, then. An aberration brought on by adrenaline, fear, cold, and

the damn headache from hel .

It took a few minutes of deep breathing—in through the nose and out

through the mouth—to col ect herself enough to stand up and remove her

coat. Adrenaline stil surged through her system at breakneck speed. If

operatives felt this way after every confrontation, it was a wonder they

didn’t all keel over with heart attacks before they turned thirty.

She leaned over and turned on the shower to get the water warm—

research told her water was rarely
hot
in Russia—then went back into the

room to hang up her coat in the curtained-off closet space and col ect a

change of clothes. Alex’s black duffel, nearly identical to hers, was on the

floor near the bed. The difference was, his bag was battered and beat up,

hers was pristine and new.

God, just how pathetic had she looked to him, busting into the room, shot

up without LockOut on? Mortified, she briefly squeezed her eyes shut,

then told herself to buck up.

He’d taken a bottle of her water and consumed half of it, then left the

open container on the table next to the head of the bed. The room

smel ed like him. Which was patently ridiculous; operatives used nothing

containing fragrance for obvious reasons. Yet there was something

indefinable about Alex that clearly left his imprint on the room.

Lexi lifted the lumpy pillow from its crushed position at the head of the

bed and pressed it to her face, inhaling deeply. It smel ed of fresh air and

. . . Alexander Stone.

Asinine.

Her,
not him.

With a curse, she tossed it back onto the rock-hard single bed, then

stared at it. He’d know she’d moved it. She leaned over and tried to re-

create the way Alex had smashed the pil ow under his head. He’d claimed

the only bed in the room.
And just where does he think he’s going to

sleep?
she thought, annoyed with her foolishness.
With her? Not in this

lifetime.

Section C, paragraph v, subsection 1 stated that
Operation team members

are expected to share quarters as necessary to accomplish mission

objectives when safe houses are in use.

The room. Fine. But she’d be damned if that regulation would mean she’d

share a
bed
with him too.
Really?
A little voice in her head taunted.

Disinterest is why I fol owed his every op. Why I learned languages he

was learning. Why I know just about everything about him including his

underwear choice and size? Boxers. Medium.

A crush. A small case of hero worship. That was all. Proximity and her job

would nip that foolishness right out of her.

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Night Shadow

Her shoulder burned like fire. She needed to tend to it and take that

shower before he got back. She also had to get her story straight so she

didn’t trip herself up.

The lock on the bathroom door wouldn’t keep out a determined child, so

she took a straight-backed chair into the tiny bathroom with her. Not that

he’d invade her privacy if he returned and found the bathroom door

closed. He wasn’t a man who had to go out of his way to pick up women.

His thick dark hair, dark green eyes, and body, buff enough to make

grown women weak in the head, ensured he was never lonely. Rumor of

his conquests were bul etined all over the research department like a

weekly soap opera update.

In her department, all the women wanted to date him, and the guys

wanted to
be
him. Her coworkers thought Alex was
the
most charming,

amusing, hot, dedicated operative they’d ever worked with. The women’s

emphasis was on the charming/amusing/hot portion of his program. They

rhapsodized about his sexy mouth. His great body. His naughty smile and,

oh God, those bril iant green eyes. They laughed off the fact that he was a

rule breaker and a renegade.

Whatever.
Al he was to Lexi was a pain in the butt.

And the fact that she and Alex had names that were almost identical

amused their coworkers as much as it confused human resources.

Lexi
thought it all embarrassing, especially the part about their names.

He’d received her paycheck seven times in the last five years. When she’d

accidental y received his,
twice,
Lexi had put it in his mail slot
unopened.

When he’d returned hers, he’d not only opened the damn envelope, he’d

written some irrelevant comment across her pay stub. It was an invasion

of privacy.

Just like now. He was here. Instead of Paris where he was supposed to be.

The man was annoyingly unpredictable. And in her neat, tidy world,

unpredictability equaled liability.

Lexi stripped as steam fil ed the bathroom. She suspected only the frigid

air had produced steam from water barely above room temperature. Using

the single threadbare white towel, she cleared away a circle on the mirror

and tried to see how bad her shoulder was. Hard to tel with al the blood

smeared on her skin. She’d look again after she washed it off. Right now,

it felt as bad as it looked. The bul et had only made a four-inch furrow in

the fleshy part of her shoulder. She shook her head as she tested the

temperature of the water.

Only.
Twelve hours on the job, and a bul et wound was
only.

Feeling like a fool was a new and annoying experience. Alex was right.

She’d had no business not wearing LockOut under her clothing. The T-

FLAC Protocol Manual was crystal clear on the matter.

Chapter One Section vii , paragraph 1 on uniforms. LockOut suits must be

worn as appropriate on all T-FLAC sanctioned operations. Injury resulting

from the lack of a LockOut suit will result in disciplinary action.

But I only went there to
watch,
dammit. How was I supposed to know

what would happen?
Then she shook her head. It was her job to know, to

be prepared.

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Night Shadow

Damn. Not a full day into her first black op and she’d already violated one

of the basic rules. Not good. Not good at all. The excruciating pain in her

shoulder served her right. The write-up was going to feel worse.

Gritting her teeth against the pain that had grown into agony, she climbed

into the tub, pul ing the mildewed curtain across the opening. The thin

spray stung her chil ed skin and she shifted out of the way to adjust the

temperature before stepping back under the three pencil-thin, limp jets of

water reluctantly shooting out of the antiquated showerhead. The once-

warmish water was now tepid.

She made it quick. One, she had no idea when Alex would be back. She

didn’t want to be in here, naked, when he was out there, knowing she was

in here, naked. Two, she wanted to dress the bullet crease. And three,

she’d run out of tepid water; it was now a few degrees above cold.

“How many did you say there were?” Alex yel ed through the door just as

she stepped onto the bare linoleum floor. No bath mat, and she wasn’t

going to use the only towel.

Lexi covered her breasts with one hand and her pubes with the other as if

Alex had X-ray vision. Which he didn’t. At least she didn’t think so. It

wasn’t in his file. His powers were the ability to null psionic fields,

temporal acceleration, and she’d heard rumors that he was amphibious.

He might have several more improbable talents that she didn’t know or

want to think about.

Al , as far as she was concerned, contributed to being a T-FLAC operative

the
easy
way. The psi unit had so many tricks up their col ective sleeves

she wondered that they didn’t rule the damned world.

There was the easy way, and then there was the right way.

She grabbed the ratty towel and started drying off. “Six.” She didn’t have

to raise her voice; the door was hol ow and paper-thin.

“I didn’t see anyone, alive or dead. You say you got five of them? Where

are the bodies, and where’s the sixth guy? Did you miscount?”

Reaching for her panties, Lexi rolled her eyes. Blood dribbled down her

arm and she had to mop that up before she put on a bra. “I don’t

miscount,” she told him, making a pad out of the damp towel and laying it

over her shoulder so she could pul on her tank top. “One . . .

evaporated.”

Silence.

Lexi pulled jeans over her damp skin. “Alex?”

“Evaporated?”

The vision of the men vaporizing into clouds of black dust against the

white snow was clear in her mind. “More like disintegrated.”

“Which is it?”

“Disintegrated.”

“Know who these guys were?”

God. She hated tel ing tel him this part, she really did. It was

embarrassing. “They fol owed me from the railway station.”

“
Belorussky
station?”

His voice was neutral, but she winced anyway as she moved the chair out

from under the handle and opened the door. He was leaning against the

13

Night Shadow

jamb and she walked right into his hard chest. “Yes,” she muttered

shoving him with the flat of her hand. Surprisingly, Alex stepped back.

He wore black pants and a close-fitting black sweater over his LockOut.

She saw the edge of it at the neck of his sweater. Wel , big whoop-de-do.

Give the man a freaking prize. For once, he’d fol owed the rules, which

was all the more grating on her nerves as she held the towel to her

bleeding shoulder. An injury she wouldn’t have had if she’d done the

same.

He fol owed her as she retrieved her duffel from the floor of the closet.

“And you were there—why?”

She slammed the bag down on a rickety table, and yanked down the

zipper. “I’m an operative now, if you must know. I went to
observe.
” She

took out her own personal first-aid kit. The one given to field operatives

was excel ent. Hers was better. Better if she could get the darn thing
open

one-handed.

“Here.” Alex stepped in and removed the small soft-sided kit from her

hand. “Let me do that before you break a damned fingernail. Sit.”

Lexi parked her butt on one of two straight-backed chairs. The other one

was still in the bathroom. She held up her hand. “As you can see, I don’t

have long nails to break, in accordance with Chapter One, Section vi i,

paragraph four on uniforms in the protocol manual, regarding personal

grooming. If you’d just ope—”

“Got it. You talk. Start anywhere.” Alex’s green eyes glittered as he

opened the kit and started assembling items next to her on the table.

“Actual y,” Lexi said smoothly, “I was on a T-FLAC jet en route to join you

in Paris. In flight, we received intel that tangos were holding several

hundred people hostage at the station. The plane was diverted here.”

He removed the bloody towel from her shoulder. Lexi felt the heat of his

body on her cold skin. She wanted to crawl into his nice thick sweater with

him; for warmth, of course. That would heat her up fast. She imagined his