Singed (3 page)

Alex regarded him with that intent stare, but there was no bullshit or challenge there. “Not at this time.”

“And if she does at some point in the future? Whose jurisdiction does that fall under? NSA? FBI?”

“If the need arises, we’ll take care of it.”

Not the clear answer he’d been looking for, but he chose to let it go for the moment and gave the other man a nod of assent.

“Okay then, let’s start dividing up everyone’s responsibilities.” Alex handed out more paperwork.

Gage snuck another glance over at Claire. She was scribbling something into the folder on her lap, studiously ignoring his existence even though he knew she’d been listening carefully to that last exchange. At least his questions had served their purpose and she knew he was not only aware of the possible threat, but that he intended to make sure she was given adequate protection against it. Whatever her feelings about him now, he needed to ensure she was safe. It was the least he could do.

Evers and Tom stood and Gage realized the meeting was over. He gathered his papers and pushed up from his chair, suffering a moment’s hesitation when Claire went to step past him and froze. She kept her head bent to avoid eye contact, standing close enough that he could smell the light citrus scent of her perfume and see the pulse pounding in the side of her throat. Either she couldn’t stand to look at him or she was afraid to. She might as well have kicked him in the gut.

“Go ahead,” he offered, gesturing for her to go first. She swept past him without a word and walked through the door, disappearing down the hall on the way back to what he presumed was her cubicle.

As he was exiting the room, Alex called out to him. “Hey.”

Gage paused to look back at him over his shoulder.

“I don’t take threats against any of my people lightly,” Alex said. “Whatever happens, I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. You have my word.”

Gage nodded once. “I appreciate that.” Stepping out into the hallway, he shut the door behind him, let out a breath and met Hunter’s watchful gaze. The guy had just shacked up with Khalia, the love of his life, and knew all about Gage’s shitty ending with Claire. At least there was no pity in the amber eyes staring back at him. “Helluva way to start a new assignment, huh?” he said dryly.

Hunt clapped him on the back and turned to walk toward the elevators. “Never a dull moment, brother.”

Not in Gage’s life, apparently.

As the elevator doors slid closed he looked to the hallway Claire had walked down. She might not have anything to say to him, but that was just too damn bad because if they were going to work together they had to clear the air enough to at least be civil, and fast. He’d take care of that right after she got off work tonight.

Chapter Two

Stepping out of his apartment building into the late September sunshine, Mostaffa walked down to his favorite neighborhood coffee shop on the corner. The sunlight felt good on his face as it filtered through the scarlet and gold leaves of the trees he passed, transforming them into blazing pieces of jewel-toned stained glass. Though it was warm out now, the temperature overnight had been chilly and a lingering dampness hung in the air.

The heady scent of freshly roasted coffee beans hit him when he opened the door to the shop and held it for a woman carrying a to-go cup in one hand and leading a toddler with the other. She smiled her thanks and he carried on to wait in line.

At the counter, the barista smiled at him. “Morning, Mo. Usual today?”

“Two of them, please. To go.”

“You bet.” She took his money and he walked around to wait by the side counter for his drinks. He filled the first one with a good amount of cream and laced the other with four packets of sugar, fit on lids and left the shop.

Partway down the first block on his walk home, his cell phone rang. He stopped to set one of the coffees down and dug the phone out of his pocket. “Hello?”

“Peace be upon you, Mostaffa.”

The familiar greeting in that soft male voice punched his heart rate up a few notches. He instinctively glanced around before answering, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. The few people walking near him weren’t paying any attention to him at all. “And upon you, peace,” he answered, a strange mix of excitement and dread filling him. What did they want?

The man switched to Pashto, signaling this was a business call. “We have need of your trusted services. In regard to recent events we have discussed before.”

He meant the events surrounding the John Patterson incident and everything that had happened since in the Pakistan operations. “Go on,” he replied in English, so as not to draw unwanted attention. Not that he was really worried about that. He didn’t stand out at all here even in this quiet part of town. No one would ever suspect what he was involved in, not even his closest friends.

“There is an envelope in your mailbox which details everything we need, and all the information you require. Once you read it and take the necessary measures, you will need to inform me of your decision. Call me at this number.”

“I understand.” He disconnected, thinking of all the preparations he’d made over the past two years in order for the chance to be of service to the organization. To his fellow Muslims.

He was so lost in thought he’d taken two steps toward home before he remembered the second cup of coffee he’d set down earlier. Retrieving it, he continued down the sidewalk and turned right at the next corner instead of going left back to his place. Under the glorious blaze of red from the towering Japanese maple planted near the edge of the park, a lone figure lay on the park bench beneath it.

Mo’s feet crunched in the dew-damp leaves that had fallen overnight as he approached the bench. The man beneath the woollen blanket stirred at his approach, cracked an eye open and sat up with a wan smile on his scruffy face. Mo nodded at him. “Morning, Neil.”

“Mo,” the homeless vet answered, eyeing the steaming cup in Mo’s hand. “Is it Saturday then?”

“Friday.” The holiest day of the week. “It was cold overnight so I thought you could use this.” He held out the coffee. “Lots of sugar, the way you like it.”

Neil accepted it with a nod of thanks, eyed him with a sideways look. “Why do you do things like this for me? God knows no one else ever does.”

“Charity is one of the most sacred tenets of Islam,” he explained with a shrug. “The Quran compels us to give to those in need.” Over the past few years he’d become more devout in his practices. It drove him crazy that so-called “Christians” walked past this man each day without giving him a second thought, let alone help of any kind. Though he suspected Neil didn’t accept charity easily. He seemed too proud for that.

Neil shook his head and wrapped his gloved hands around the paper cup, inhaling the fragrant steam that rose from the hole in its lid. He was probably somewhere in his late thirties, but life on the street had aged him far beyond that. His dark hair was long and greasy-looking, and those dark eyes were filled with ghosts of the terrible things he’d seen and done in the name of service to his country. “Gotta tell you man, after my tours overseas I never thought I’d be friends with a Muslim.”

“I understand.”
Perfectly.
The irony of their situation wasn’t lost on him, but despite his radical beliefs he was first and foremost a devout Muslim and this man was as deserving of help as any other. Glancing away from him, Mo nodded toward the bright sapphire sky and changed the subject. “Nice day today, but it’s going to get cold again tonight. You should find a shelter to sleep in.”

Neil took a sip of hot coffee, his bearded face transforming into a blissful expression as he savored the mouthful. Swallowing, he said, “Just might do that. Thanks for this. You have a good weekend, Mo.”

Dismissed, but not in a rude way. “You too, Neil.” The small charitable act boosted his mood even more. He took a shortcut through the park on his way back to his place, walking quickly up the street to his historic brick building. Mrs. Grandham, the elderly lady from the apartment across the hall from him was struggling with the front door when he arrived.

He took the paper bags of groceries from her and opened it with his own key to let her in.

“I hate getting old,” she huffed. “Enjoy your youth, Mo. It goes by way too fast.”

“It does. How’s your kitchen sink these days, by the way? Still draining okay? I can come by and look at it again later today if you need me to.” Being the building’s superintendent had its perks, including giving him the perfect cover. No one in his building would ever suspect him of being involved with a terrorist organization.

“It’s perfect, thanks to you.” She beamed up at him as she took the bags with a murmur of thanks and headed for the elevator without looking back.

The mailboxes were on the left hand wall of the foyer. Unlocking his he found a few flyers, the few bills he didn’t pay online, and a white envelope with only his name typed on the front of it.

Glancing around to make sure he was still alone in the foyer, he tore it open and pulled the two sheets of folded paper from inside with nervous fingers. The first page listed several addresses for him to check out. Two were close by, in outlying suburbs of Baltimore.

As he got ready to examine the second sheet, he was aware of his pulse thudding heavily in his throat and his palms growing damp. The anticipation was heady, a sensation he wanted to savor. He’d been waiting a long time for this moment.

He took a deep breath and turned the page. The second sheet had a high resolution photograph scanned on it. His target. Interesting, he thought as he studied the image. Not what he’d expected at all. Bigger, more important and complicated than he’d imagined. And below the image, in English,
Eliminate by whatever means you determine necessary
.

Relief crashed over him, so strong it made him dizzy. It wasn’t a suicide mission then. Not unless he chose to make it one.

His blood pressure equalized and he tucked the papers back into the envelope. He’d have to burn them once he memorized the information and studied that photograph until it was burned into his brain.

The elevator dinged from down the hall. The old lady was still standing there, waiting for the ancient doors to open. He tucked the envelope into his coat’s inner pocket and jogged down the hall, excited to embark on his first true mission and prove himself worthy of the cause. “Mrs. Grandham, wait up. I’ll ride up with you.”

****

Claire checked her phone for messages on the way down the elevator to the lobby and found a curt text from Danny.

I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.

Sure he was, she thought with a spurt of annoyance, not about to believe him. She’d already planned to go over and see him, but that seemingly innocuous message threatened to suck the remaining energy out of her. She’d had a hard enough day already without dealing with one of her brother’s moods.

Coming over.
Be there soon
, she responded and put her phone away. What she really wanted was to climb into her car, drive to her favorite takeout place and bring dinner home so she could curl up on the couch for the evening in front of a good movie. But family duty called, just as it always did, so the takeout would have to wait.

Outside the sky was lit with streamers of orange and vermillion, the sun painting the undersides of the clouds in blazing red as it sunk toward the horizon. The air was cool, the breeze rich with the scent of damp fallen leaves. She breathed it in and rolled her head from side to side to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. As she straightened she looked over the rows of cars for her silver compact SUV—and came to a halt so abrupt she had to grab her purse strap to keep it from sliding off her shoulder.

Gage was leaning against a black SUV parked beside hers, his ridiculously sexy tattooed arms folded casually across his muscular chest. To anyone who didn’t know him he probably looked like a thug. In reality Gage was a people person with a good heart and a strong sense of loyalty, which was why he’d had such a successful career as a Green Beret. Apart from being some of the best soldiers in the world, they were first and foremost teachers who worked with local populations and trained foreign forces. People naturally gravitated to him no matter where he went, men and women alike. And lord knew, all the ladies loved Gage.

The dark shades he wore prevented her from seeing his eyes but she knew he was watching her intently. She could feel the weight of his gaze from halfway across the lot and it sent an unwanted frisson of warmth through her. Which was the last damn thing she needed.