Thirteen

MAX BURST THROUGH THE SMALL OPEN DOORWAY OF THE plane carrying AJ in his arms. Emily ran to meet them, dragging a blanket with one hand and balancing towels with the other. She hadn’t known which of them would need whatever they were going to need, but she was ready. Barely. She’d had to take a moment to pull herself together after looking inside the cockpit.

From her vantage point inside the plane she’d watched, horrified, as AJ had taken a bullet seconds after Keiko and a large portion of brain matter had splattered on the ground. When AJ had crumpled to the tarmac, Emily’s heart had leapt with fear for all of them out there under fire.

“What can I do?” she demanded. AJ’s skin was almost translucent, she was so pale. Yet the only blood Emily saw was from a deep gash on the other woman’s forehead. Surely there would be more blood from a gunshot?

“D-n’t worry b—me. I’m o—” AJ’s eyes rolled back and she went limp in Max’s arms.

“She’ll be fine. She’s tough.”

“Not tough enough to stop a speeding bullet,” Emily pointed out, racing ahead of him to lower one of the chairs so AJ could lie flat. “Did you kill them?” She jerked her chin toward the closest window as she covered the redhead with the blanket, tucking it around her body.

Clearly furious, Max shook his head. “I heard the screech of tires. Whoever was shooting ran like a chickenshit as soon as they hit Cooper.”

“What about Keiko?” Emily asked, moving toward the open door.

Max grabbed her arm. “Get the fuck away from the door. Jesus, Emily, the sniper could have just repositioned or there could be more than one!”

She wasn’t anywhere near the open door; she was going for hot water to bathe the blood off AJ’s face. “You said—” that he was gone, anyway.

Holding her tightly by the shoulders, he crushed her mouth under his for a brief, hard kiss. When he broke away he looked almost feral. “I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you. Be careful, okay?”

“Yes,” she managed, shaken by the look in his eyes. She’d have to remember it, because she didn’t have time to analyze what Max could possibly be thinking right now. “Keiko?”

“Dead. I’ve got to get her body, and then we’re out of here.”

Just like in the Bozzatos’ house, Emily was momentarily paralyzed to find death so up close and personal. But she didn’t stay frozen in her own fear for long. Right now her priority was to see what, if anything, she could do to help AJ, and to stay out of Max’s way unless he needed her to do something. She crouched down beside AJ, blotting at the cut on her temple with a cloth dipped in warm water. It needed stitches. A lot of stitches.

“I hope you know how to fly. The pilot and copilot are dead, too.” She was appalled at how matter-of-fact her voice sounded. As soon as she’d seen them she’d wanted to throw up. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been time. Her stomach was still roiling, but she didn’t have time to indulge it.

“Fuck. Did you go to the back?”

“No time,” she said. “But the door’s closed.”

“Take this.” He reached over and flipped the blanket off AJ’s legs, then slipped a small gun from a holster on her ankle.

Oh, no, no, no. She so didn’t want the task of shooting someone. But she rose, dried her hands, and accepted the gun from him without comment.

“The safety’s off. Point and shoot.”

When this was over—and she prayed to God it would be over soon—Emily promised herself she’d go and take shooting lessons. It seemed as though she was the only one on the planet who didn’t know how to fire a bloody gun. Tucking the blanket back around AJ’s legs one-handed, she watched Max as he checked each bank of seats along the aisle and headed toward the door in back.

Cupping the grip with both hands, she braced her feet apart. Pretending to herself that she knew what she was doing.

The fact that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing scared her to death. She watched Max’s progress unblinkingly.

Gun first and with locked elbows, in swift, economical movements, he went all the way to the back of the plane and opened the door to disappear inside. Her heart stopped as she imagined all sorts of horrible possibilities.

Mimicking Max, it took both hands to hold the gun at eye level, but at least they didn’t shake. She sucked in a breath and held it, correcting where the barrel of the gun was pointing by a fraction of an inch.

A few agonizing minutes later Max came out of the rear cabin. “All clear.”

Emily let out her breath, but somehow couldn’t seem to lower her locked arms. For a little thing, the gun was surprisingly heavy. Or maybe it was the weight of responsibility. If there had been someone back there, would she have had to shoot them to protect Max?

Of course. There was no doubt in her mind that if anyone, or any thing, threatened Max, and she had the wherewithal to protect him, she would kill without hesitation. The thought stunned her. She would kill for this man.

He hesitated a second when he saw the raised gun. “Now’s not a good time for you to shoot me, sweetheart. But hold that thought.” He sent her a smile that zinged like an electrical current straight to her heart. She let her arms down slowly, unable to answer his smile.

“I’m going outside,” he said evenly as he passed her in the aisle. “Use the bulkhead to block your body from sight. Cover me. If anyone gets past me, kill them.” Then he bolted down the stairs.

Cover him? Mouth so dry it was hard to swallow, she did as he’d asked. Blocking her body from view, she held the gun palmed in both hands as she looked over the snowy landscape of the runway. Had anyone heard the shots? Probably not, if no one had come to offer assistance, or at least ask what the hell was going on.

She narrowed her eyes, and followed the slow arc of the barrel of the gun as she tried to discern what was shade and what was movement. The sun was setting, casting odd shadows and highlights on and around the dirty snow banked to one side.

There! Something moved in the shadows to the left, and she swung the gun in that direction. After watching the spot for several seconds she realized it was just a piece of paper blowing in the icy breeze. In her peripheral vision she saw Max pick up Keiko, then he was sprinting back up the stairs.

“Good job,” he told her, not even slightly out of breath.

“Except the part where I almost blew a hole in a newspaper,” she told him, not moving from her position. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that I didn’t have to shoot anyone.”

“The day’s still young.”

“God. Is this what working for T-FLAC means? Nearly being killed every waking hour?”

“No. The work I do means for every tango I kill, fifty people who don’t know of our, or their, existence can sleep safely in their beds at night.”

“I appreciate what you do,” she told him with utmost sincerity. “And thank you from all those oblivious people you keep safe. You’re a true hero.” No grandstanding or photo ops. Max and his team of T-FLAC operatives were the real deal.

Keiko had given her life to protect her. That made her feel sick. But with that nausea came a rebirth of her anger. She was going to help Max and do whatever it took to find these lunatics and bring them to justice. If it was the last damn thing she did.

“Bullshit. I’m no hero. I’m nothing more than an exterminator. I’m going to take her in back; will you go ahead and pull out a bed?”

Emily swiftly went to the aft cabin, and lowered one of the beds from the wall. Even though Keiko was dead, Max put her down gently, then covered her body with the blanket Emily handed him.

“You can put that down now.” He motioned to the gun she was still holding by her side in a white-knuckled grip.

“You do realize you just told a woman who’s held a gun exactly twice in her life to cover you?” He’d trusted her. He’d trusted her to protect his back. The concept was mind-boggling.

They went back into the main cabin, Max looking grim, and Emily feeling shell-shocked. Again.

“Life’s full of new experiences.” He glanced over at AJ. “How’s she doing?”

“I haven’t had a chance to really check.” And please, please, please, God, make it be a superficial wound.

“Can you figure out the door?” Max reached over, clicked on the safety and pried the gun out of her clenched hand.

“Yes.” And she could. Following the printed instructions above the latch, Emily secured the door. She watched him walk into the cockpit, and bit her lower lip as she remembered clearly what he was just now seeing. He cursed.

Yeah. She’d had the same reaction, after she’d about thrown up, at the sight of the two dead men in there. They’d both been shot in the back of the head at close range.

She was starting to get a marked aversion to all shades of crimson.

“Were you shot, too?” She’d come to realize that Max Aries was the kind of guy who’d have a bullet hole in him and act as though nothing had happened until he crashed and had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to the hospital.

“I’m fine.” He emerged from the cockpit carrying the pilot in a fireman’s lift. The man’s head was now covered in a blanket. Thank God. “Pissed, but fucking fine.”

He took the copilot to the back, and placed him beside Keiko on the bed. Silently Emily handed him another blanket, and mentally apologized for not even knowing his name. He must have a family somewhere. People whom he loved. People whose lives would be irrevocably changed by his death. People, she thought with a full body shudder, who considered him a hero.

Max didn’t go back for the second man, and she guessed that he’d just moved the copilot so he could have the seat. So he could fly. And he was willing to sit next to a nearly decapitated body for the duration of the flight. He must have a stomach of steel.

He picked up the submachine gun he’d brought in with AJ. “As soon as we’re airborne I want you to see what you can do for her. She’s wearing LockOut under her clothing, and that will have protected her from a body piercing bullet, but I suspect the hit broke a couple of her ribs. She might have internal injuries as well. Nothing you can do about those, but I’d like you to take a look at the gash on her forehead. There’s ice in the galley.”

She’d seen AJ dive to make a shot. That’s when she’d hit the bottom rung of the stairs. The LockOut suit wouldn’t have protected her if the bullet had struck her in the head instead of the chest. “I got some before you brought her back. It’s right there in the ice bucket.” She motioned to the table, where she’d set out a pile of towels, the ice bucket, a bowl of hot water, and several of the first aid kits. “I’ll take care of what I can. Go.”

“You’re going to have to apply pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding. You’ll be able to reach her even if you strap into the seat next to her.” Cupping her cheek he searched her face. His fingers were cool against her skin, but she welcomed his touch.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked, his voice steady while his hands, she was surprised to notice, shook slightly.

He leaned down and brushed a fleeting kiss over her mouth. Her lips wanted to cling. She wanted to cling, but she didn’t. She brushed his mouth with her fingertips. “Compared to the others, I’m terrific.”

“Keep it that way,” he murmured, stepping away. “Stay in that seat until we reach cruising altitude, then see what you can do for her. We’ll be at a medical facility in just over an hour.”

 

“YOU SHOULD STAY AND GET CHECKED OUT, TOO.” MAX TOLD EMILY as a medic wheeled a now conscious AJ into an exam room. They were down in the bowels of the earth in the T-FLAC headquarters building in Montana. Sixth floor down was the state-of-the-art medical facility as well as the labs.

She slung her tote over her shoulder, her chin and tone belligerent. “I wasn’t hurt.”

“Good.” He waved over the young doctor who’d been hovering nearby. “Then it won’t take long for them to give you a clean bill of health, will it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I want to help you find these people.”

It wasn’t a stretch to picture her doing so either. But Max had had enough of seeing Emily in the fucking thick of things. He wanted her safe and out of the way. She couldn’t get any safer than underground in T-FLAC’s highly secure facility.

For the duration.

And wasn’t she going to be pissed as hell when she realized that she wasn’t leaving here anytime soon?

Not until he found the tangos responsible, and not until all the dust—every single fucking particle of it—had settled.

“It’s too late to do anything tonight. Dr. Michael Yen, meet Emily Greene.” Max clasped the young doctor on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, Mike, I’ll be by to pick her up in—what? An hour?”

“Like a package at the lost and found?” Emily asked sweetly.

“Like a date,” Max responded before strolling off, hands in his pockets.

He was going to give her a night to remember before he walked away from her.

Again.

 

HE HAD T-FLAC-Y THINGS TO DO, EMILY THOUGHT AS SHE SUBMITTED herself to Dr. Yen’s examination. Max probably had to file reports in triplicate, and be debugged or debriefed or whatever it was. He would have to report to someone. He’d have to explain what had happened at the airport, and discuss what they’d seen and heard at Richard Tillman’s house. Damn it. She wished she could be there to tell them—what? That Max was a super agent? That he could take out James Bond with one hand tied behind his back? Other than a scraped elbow from the attack by the faux police the other day, she had not a scratch on her.

With a clean bill of health, she was free to go.

It didn’t surprise her that a guy who looked as though he should be wearing a pocket protector came to escort her. He was waiting outside the doctor’s office when she came out.

His name was Rifkin, he told her without making eye contact. No first name. He couldn’t have been any older than twenty, but his reddish-blond hair was already thinning on top, and Emily knew that because she was a head taller than he was, and he tended to look at his shoes a lot. They were very ordinary shoes, as were the black pants he wore. He could be anything from a gofer to a geeky genius for all she knew.

But right now he was her escort. “Mr. Aries asked that a room be prepped—prepared for you.” Rifkin’s ears got pinker and pinker as he talked. “I had your luggage delivered there while you were in with Dr. Yen. He said—”

She was sure Max had had a lot to say. And she’d be happy to listen to it. In person. “I’d like to see AJ Cooper now, please.”

“Oh—” The question had thrown him a curve. “Ah—sure. Yes. Right this way. I’m sure that a quick visit will be authorized.”

“Great,” Emily told him cheerfully, accompanying him down a long, pale sage green hallway. Black-and-white photographs of major cities all over the world were matted in white, and framed in simple black metal. Striking, and surprising considering where she was.

The place was also a hive of activity as doctors in lab coats, nurses in crisp white uniforms, and patients milled about, or sat in various waiting rooms despite it being at least seven in the evening. “I guess spy-types need medical attention around the clock.” Emily said conversationally as her boot heels click-click-clicked down the linoleum floor.

Where was Max? She hated to admit it, but whenever he was out of her sight she expected never to see him again. She’d barely survived the first time he’d walked away. She wasn’t sure her heart could take it if he decided to do it again. Not now anyway. She felt too vulnerable to deal with a broken heart as well as everything else at the moment.

“There are a great number of operatives and their family members here twenty-four seven,” Rifkin informed her. “That’s because we have a great number of operatives around the world. They’re not all here because they sustained injury on the job. No, ma’am, they are very well trained. And operatives tend not to need a lot of medical attention,” Rifkin told her almost apologetically, indicating that they had to turn right as if he were making a turn signal in a car. “The LockOut suit is, of course, almost impervious. The material was manufactured—uh, here’s Mrs. Wright’s room.” He was clearly relieved that he didn’t have to entertain her anymore.

Cute kid. She felt ancient. As she’d learned, looks could be deceiving. He could probably kill a person ninety-seven ways, and leap tall buildings in a single bound, while firing a machine gun. “What is it you do here, Rifkin?” she asked before pushing open the door to AJ’s room.

His face flamed. “I’m training to be an operative, ma’am. In the meantime I’m, er, working in the mail room. I’ll be waiting right out here for you when you’re done.”

Emily grinned as she pushed open the door. “Ow.” The smile disappeared as she saw AJ lying in the bed. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“You should see the other guy,” AJ muttered. “Kane is going to kill me.”

“For getting hurt?” Emily asked indignantly, tossing her tote onto a nearby chair, then going to stand by the bed. The older woman had a purple-and-blue shiner over her left eye where her head had hit the stair, and she was clearly too sore to move.

“For not getting out of the way,” AJ grimaced. “I tried to tell them not to call him, but of course the dickheads had to make a stupid big deal out of me being here. I only have a couple of broken ribs and a fractured collarbone, for goodness sake! It’s not that big a deal.” AJ grimaced. “He’s on an op, but insisted on coming right away.” She didn’t look unhappy about it, Emily thought, noticing the way AJ smiled and her eyes lit up when she talked about her husband.

“He loves you.”

“Unconditionally.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Emily couldn’t even imagine what that kind of confidence in another person’s love was like.

There was a tap on the door, and an orderly came in bearing a tray. “Ready for dinner?” he asked, cheerily. Whatever was on the covered tray smelled fabulous, and Emily’s stomach rumbled in protest.

“Starving.” The patient looked at her visitor. “Em, wanna stay and share my dinner? I’m sure we can order whatever you want.”

The orderly placed AJ’s meal on the bedside tray, and helped her sit up. It looked like a painful process, and AJ was sweating by the time the she was propped up by several stiff, crisp pillows.

“Thanks, no,” Emily grabbed her bag and slung the handle over her shoulder. “Max has arranged for me to have a room. I’m dying to take a shower before I can even think about food.”

“Oh. He’ll have gotten you one of the suites.” AJ picked up her fork as the door closed behind the orderly. “You’re in for a treat—they’re reserved for visitors like presidents and royalty. And high-up operatives like Aries.”

Emily’s eyes widened. She’d fallen down the rabbit hole. “You’re kidding.”

AJ waved her off. “Have fun.”

 

RIFKIN LED HER THROUGH A LABYRINTH OF UNMARKED PASSAGES AND two different banks of elevators until Emily wasn’t sure if they’d gone up or down, left or right. Interesting place. “How does anyone find their way around without signs or a map?”

Since they hadn’t spoken in about ten minutes her voice clearly startled him, and his ears immediately went bright pink. “We get a map when we start working here. We have to commit it to memory.”

Maybe so. But he’d also, like a dancer learning new steps, been counting off doors and turns as they went. One, two three, one, two three.

“Then what?” Emily asked, amused and touched by his sincerity. “You have to eat the paper?”

“It’s shredded.” He was serious, bless his heart. “This is your suite, ma’am.” He took out a keycard, slid it into the slot in the door, and pushed the door open. Standing back he handed her the card. “Your luggage has been delivered. If there’s anything—anything, you need, just pick up the phone and press ‘zero.’”

She glanced around the room. “Thank you, Rif…kin.” He was gone.

“Wow, neat trick,” she muttered, closing the door. The room smelled of the ripe peaches piled in a gorgeous slate green Murano glass bowl on the desk. Or maybe it was specially formulated spy-type air freshener, she mused. Soft music came from a high-tech looking stereo embedded in the wall under a large plasma TV.

The suite wasn’t that large, perhaps twenty-five by twenty-five, but what it lacked in size it made up for in amenities. The colors were derived from the wallpaper, an understated, milky coffee color, soft, smoky blue-greens with accents of rich chocolate. The king-size bed took up the majority of the room, and was covered with a lush spread in a subtle pattern utilizing all three colors and matching the paper on the walls.

It was like standing inside a perfect, gender-neutral gift box.

A blue-green velvet chaise was spotlit by a reading lamp that matched the bronze table lamp on a small Queen Anne desk across the room. It was elegant and sophisticated. And all Emily cared about was a shower, and seeing Max.

Tossing her tote on the foot of the bed, she bent down and unzipped her boots, then kicked them off. Happy to be out of heels, she wiggled her toes. The chocolate colored carpet was lush and soft underfoot. Ah. Happy toes.

Someone had left her suitcase—the one she’d packed a lifetime ago to take to Seattle—on a folding rack. Her clothes had been pressed and hung in a freestanding armoire.

“Thank you, whoever you are.” Figuring that if her clothes were hung up, the mysterious somebodies had probably taken her toiletries to the bathroom, she went to check.

“Okay. I could live in here.” The glass-fronted shower stall, tiled in ocean-colored, iridescent mosaic glass tiles, took up the entire back wall, and was big enough for six or eight people. There was a sunken tub, too, but she preferred showering, and this one was going to be hers, all hers for at least half an hour, or when the hot water ran out.

Stripping, Emily tossed her clothes in the corner and turned on all twelve massaging showerheads. The steam would come next. Taking her shampoo in with her, she closed the door and lifted her face to the spray. Only one thing could make this even more blissful—

The door snicked open, letting in a draft of cool air.

Perfect, perfect timing. “Hello, Max.”