Chapter Three

Right on schedule at nine fifteen the next morning, Andrea felt a slight jolt as Mr. Brisbin’s eight-passenger jet touched down on the tarmac of Miami International. The wheels squealed as the aircraft braked down the runway. Once slowed, it taxied past the main terminal and a cluster of small hangars. She remained seated until the jet stopped moving, the engine noise wound down, and the pilot announced, “Okay, the area’s clear.” Then she gathered her backpack and stood.

As she deplaned, warm and humid Florida air touched her face. She squinted in the bright sunshine. Snow had been in today’s forecast when they’d taken off from Boston, and the change of climate was a sharp reminder that her world was quickly turning upside down.

She didn’t have time to get philosophical about the weather. A Brisbin operative met her at the bottom of the steps and quickly ushered her into the backseat of a nondescript car before getting behind the wheel. “I’ll be undercover as a steward on the Stone plane. Ms. Stone is already on board. We’ll switch you with her, then take off for the VI as soon as we finish our preflight checks. One of our men who’s undercover as a crew member on the yacht will meet Stone’s jet in Saint Thomas and drive you from the airport to the marina. Your partner, Mitch Weaver, and one other operative will be on site when you arrive.”

“Why is Karli here on the plane? We were supposed to switch at her condo.”

“She refused to follow our advice and wait at home, insisted on meeting you here to save time since her bodyguards would be bringing her out to the airport anyway. You’ll walk on and switch clothes with her, then she’ll walk off and they’ll fly her to wherever they’ve decided to hide her.” He handed her a bundle over the seat. “Your disguise. We have to assume someone is watching.”

She removed the clothes from the bag and discovered a two-piece drab-green uniform with a food service logo on the pocket. Turning her back so the man in front could see little if he watched, she slipped off her T-shirt and pulled the threadbare tunic over her head. Then she wiggled out of her jeans and tugged up the drawstring pants. After she had them adjusted and changed her shoes, she positioned the dishwater-blond wig over her hair and put on the wire-frame glasses.

The car pulled inside a huge hangar and stopped. The driver pointed at a food cart loaded with cartons sitting off to one side. “That’s your cover. Roll the cart out to that private jet where the crew are loading that mountain of suitcases.”

“Is all that luggage Karli’s?”

“Yes, but for this particular trip, most of them are empty.”

Andrea stuffed her traveling clothes in her backpack. At the food cart, she carefully concealed it between two large boxes, hoping no one would see it and question the contents. She hadn’t been specifically told not to bring her standard-issue Glock .45 or her personal weapons. And rather than reveal her plan to be proactive, she hadn’t asked permission.

Her pulse jumping with excitement, she wheeled the cart to the plane. At the bottom of the set of four steps, she gathered the cartons and backpack and boarded.

When she was inside and out of sight, she put down her load and lifted her hands to remove the wig. Her jaw dropped and she froze, staring at the woman who stood and stepped down the aisle toward her. Karli’s distinctive mole had been obscured by makeup. Andrea felt as if she were looking into a fun-house mirror. Their resemblance was uncanny.

“You must be Andrea,” the woman said.

Andrea regained her composure and shook the proffered hand. “Yes. Wow, we really do look alike.”

The other woman’s hand was soft as a newborn baby’s skin. An obvious sign of a pampered and privileged life. Andrea dropped her hand and moistened her lips, embarrassed by her toughened and chapped skin. She should probably wear gloves when she shot targets and lifted weights, but worries about having feminine hands had never been her top priority.

Karli chuckled. “The resemblance is lucky for me. Not so lucky for you.”

“I volunteered for the assignment. I’m happy to take your place.”

Karli glanced around, probably checking to be sure they didn’t have an audience, then started unbuttoning the front of her designer shirtwaist dress. “I feel like a coward letting you fill in for me. However, Dillon insisted, and I’ve learned to let him have his way in most circumstances. I’d like to think you’ll be safe, but unfortunately, you’re not going to be able to stay hidden on the yacht. I can’t sit still for more than an hour, and anyone watching will know something’s off if you suddenly become a sedate homebody.”

“I want to draw out the men who threatened you. I have no intention of hiding.”

“Well, I suppose you know your business, and you’re used to doing this kind of thing.”

Andrea thought it best not to comment. She stole a glance at Karli while removing her tunic and pants and hanging each item over the back of the nearest seat. She shifted her weight self-consciously. Karli was wearing a lacy yellow push-up bra and tiny patch of matching silk panties. Standing next to her in plain white cotton underwear, Andrea felt like a prudish spinster. The sexy undergarments Karli wore were the type she’d often drooled over in Victoria’s Secret’s display window but never had the nerve to buy. Too frivolous. Too fragile to wear just because they were pretty. Plain whites had always seemed more practical, and they probably were. Still, for some reason she always felt a little sad when she walked away from the display without going in the store and making a purchase. And when she looked in her mirror and saw white cotton, she always felt like something was missing.

Karli handed her the soft-as-a-butterfly yellow print dress and slipped out of her matching three-inch high heels. “I have my hair done on the boat every third day, but I’ll be using a new stylist in Saint Thomas. She’s been recommended by a friend, Nancy Blair, who uses her occasionally while she’s in town at their villa. The stylist and I have never met, so she won’t know your texture or tendency to curl.”

“Will Ms. Blair be around?”

“No. She’s in the south of France.”

She stepped into the pants Andrea had removed, snugged the drawstring around her waist, and then picked up a sheaf of papers from a lushly padded seat. “This has all been pretty rushed, so I hope you’ll have enough information to know my preferences. I’ve written down my makeup routine, favorite nail finishes, appointments, and a few clothing suggestions. Most of my summer wardrobe is either on board the yacht or in my luggage. Feel free to wear anything appropriate. I’ll purchase whatever else I need wherever it is your associates are taking me.”

Andrea took the information from Karli. The last time before this morning that she’d had her hair professionally styled or her nails done, her aunt had coerced her into it, insisting she had to spiff up or she’d spoil the photos of her cousin’s wedding party. She tended toward the natural look and had always been a tomboy out of necessity. Her brothers’ jeers and peeks up her skirt the few times she’d worn dresses as a kid had convinced her girlie wasn’t her style. If she’d ever tried bringing nail polish or lipstick into their house, her brothers would have held her down and used it to paint her face.

Out of nowhere, she pictured the lace shawl she’d received as a thirteenth birthday gift from a cousin. She hadn’t thought about it for years. She’d loved the silky texture and delicate design of the lace, but she’d hidden it in the bottom of her dresser drawer and only sneaked it out to caress when she was sure her brothers weren’t home. The lace had been fragile, and when they’d eventually stolen it from her room and used it in a game of keep-away, they’d ripped the beautiful garment to shreds and dropped it in a puddle of mud.

She brushed off the image and the memory of her tears, then swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d never learned the nuances of makeup and found fashion downright intimidating. But she was going to make this substitution work, so she would bite the bullet, follow the cosmetologist’s instructions to the letter, and do everything she humanly could to be feminine. She’d also stay sharp. “Did you remember to leave your cell phone for me? The GPS could reveal your location.”

Karli pointed at a designer purse. “It’s in my bag.” She put on the tunic, wig, shoes, and dark glasses, looked around for a moment and said, “Well, I guess I’m ready. Good luck. Please stay safe.”

“Thank you.”

Karli surprised Andrea with a warm hug, then she deplaned, leaving behind a cloud of subtle but intoxicating scent.

Andrea sniffed the shoulder of the dress she wore and sighed. Roses and sunshine and the freshness of a newly bathed baby’s skin. A fragrance that might have come from the Garden of Eden. Or surround her mother. Its delicacy sparked a longing in her heart. She thought of home in the years before her Mom and Dad divorced. Sitting on Mom’s lap while a soft voice and a bedtime story wrapped her in security and love.

She shook herself out of her reverie. The scent was just an expensive perfume, and sentiment had no place in her work.

Andrea tugged the buttons shut on Karli’s gorgeous silk dress as she peeked out a small oval window. Her bust was slightly larger than Karli’s, and the top was more than a little snug. Hopefully the rest of her borrowed wardrobe included a few looser items.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she watched Karli push the food cart back toward the hangar. When Karli had disappeared from sight and was safely in the hands of bodyguards, Andrea refocused on her appearance. She glanced down at the death-trap high heels with the pointy toes and sighed. Women who wore shoes like these made themselves easy targets for attackers. No one could evade a mugger with spike heels on their feet, and kicking them off to run barefoot would waste precious seconds.

She slipped her foot into the right shoe and wiggled her toes. A little too big. But if she walked carefully and slowly, it wouldn’t fall off. Plus, big was better than small. The situation would be a lot worse if she had to cram her toes into the point. She slipped on the other shoe and took a couple tentative steps. With any kind of luck, she’d get used to balancing in the darned things before she twisted an ankle or tripped and broke her neck.

The man who’d driven Andrea between planes, and was undercover as a steward, boarded. He gave Andrea a once-over, then nodded. “Use your makeup kit to duplicate her mole and you’ll pass.”

The steward went forward. Andrea zipped open the kit. While the steward’s back was turned, she considered slipping her weapons out of her backpack and concealing them beneath a tray of makeup. No, there would be less risk of discovery if she left them where they were and found another way to sneak them aboard the yacht. Maybe she’d simply ask for a favor of whoever picked her up at the airport.

Satisfied she’d work something out, she positioned the fake mole. Then she worked on her eyes, putting on tinted contact lenses and applying eyeliner, shadow, and mascara. The acrylic nails that had been applied last night when her hair was dyed kept getting in the way. She scowled at her fingertips and twisted her mouth in chagrin. The nails were so long she could hardly make a fist without drawing blood. How would she ever get her finger to the trigger of her Glock in a hurry?

She checked her hair. Thank God, she’d been letting her hair grow, and Karli had recently had hers trimmed. Combed carefully, Andrea’s length was close enough to Karli’s that she didn’t have to wear extensions or a wig. Andrea repositioned some errant strands. The stylist had done a good job with the trim and dye. The dark mahogany color would take some getting used to, but anything was better than wearing a hairpiece that could go askew in the wind or fall into a bowl of soup.

The undercover steward said, “We’ll take off in a couple minutes. The exterior of the jet has been checked out. But Ms. Stone’s stubbornness and unexpected arrival messed up our routine, and we still have to clear the inside.”

Andrea stopped with Karli’s brush in midair. Clear? As in search for bugs, booby traps, or bombs? She wet her lips and chuckled at the shocked expression on her face in the mirror. Rangers were careful. A thorough search was merely a precaution.

The steward walked to the front of the cabin with a scanner in his hand and searched, working his way toward the back. She finished brushing out her hair and stowed away the makeup kit.

The steward was in the rear of the plane when he spoke into his communicator. “Bomb.”

She jerked to attention and spun to gape at him.

He waved the electronic sensor over a locker labeled Emergency Strobe. The sensor beeped vigorously. He spoke into his communicator again. “Send the truck.”

Andrea’s blood turned to icy slush. A bomb? A real bomb? How was it set to detonate? Air pressure in flight? The slightest movement? A timer that was ticking off seconds toward zero?

He opened the locker, frowned, and told her, “It’s small, looks rather amateurish, and might not even be armed. To be on the safe side, you’d best go into the cockpit and close the door.”

Not inclined to argue, she hurried away from him, turned, and wedged her butt between the pilot and copilot seats so she could face aft. She shut the heavy security door tight and peered through the circular window. Covering her mouth with her fingers, she watched the steward lift the box. Her pulse pounded at her temples. Did he know what he was doing? Had he handled bombs before?

He slowly trekked down the center aisle toward the exit door. She reminded herself he was only pretending to be a steward. He was an elite Brisbin Ranger trained to stay calm under pressure. Facing danger was his job. If he’d thought the bomb was about to explode, he wouldn’t have picked it up. He would have called for a robot and explosives team to remove it and insisted she evacuate the plane.

She held her breath. Trained Ranger or not, if the bomb exploded, he could die.

She could die.

Her mouth went dry. Oh God! Someone was trying to kill Karli, and she’d volunteered to step in and die in her place.

Smart move, Carnegie. You volunteered. Maybe Coach can etch that on your tombstone.

Andrea blinked and tried to breathe around the pressure in her chest. She was the bull’s-eye on some assassin’s target. What in the world had she been thinking? Sitting in that conference room, she’d been focused on convincing her superiors she was capable, so intent on winning the assignment that she’d blocked out what the assignment entailed. Now the reality was getting ready to explode in her face. Literally. It was time to wake up and look past her blinders.

She stared out the side window as the Ranger-posing-as-a-steward walked away from the plane. Keep your hands steady. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

The Ranger loaded the bomb into an armored vehicle with red flashing lights on the roof. Two men closed and locked the doors, then climbed in the cab and drove away.

Andrea squeezed her hands together to prevent them from shaking. In her rush to be acknowledged as one of the best, she hadn’t stopped to seriously consider the danger. These would-be killers were playing for real. Her life was in jeopardy. She blinked away an image of a sniper looking through a riflescope with the middle of her forehead in his crosshairs. Crap. She wasn’t ready to die.

The Ranger returned and finished his sweep of the interior. After he’d declared the plane bomb-free, the crisply uniformed pilot and copilot boarded.

The pilot swung open the cockpit door, tipped his cap, and said, “Good morning, Ms. Stone. Please go ahead and take your seat. The danger has passed. We’ll be ready to taxi out to the runway in about five minutes.”

She managed a polite smile as she squeezed by him. The situation seemed surreal. The danger hadn’t really passed; it was just beginning.

From the moment they landed, she’d be the prize in a high-stakes game. A game with a lot more to gain or lose than a lucrative endorsement deal or a Super Bowl ring. These stakes were life or death.

She’d always been a lousy liar. What had made her think she’d be a convincing actress? Impersonating a real person would be way more difficult than the months she’d spent working undercover arresting johns for vice.

Fighting off an urge to bolt out the door, Andrea swallowed the lump blocking her throat, sat, and fastened the seat belt. She had to stick with this assignment. No one could know she was shaking inside. If she let the least bit of fear show, the men in charge would write her off as weak, and she’d sabotage her future. She wasn’t a coward or a quitter; she was a winner. What if she never got another chance to demonstrate her talents? She’d volunteered and had the skills to pull this off. And she damn well would.

The jet’s engines roared to life, and the whine drowned out the sound of her pulse thundering at her temples. As the plane taxied away from the hangar, she chewed her bottom lip and wondered how she was supposed to both stay alive and find Karli’s would-be killers.