Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
11:15 a.m. EDT
A spitfire with a sassy mouth and brass lady-nuts was a hard-hitting rarity. And something Castle couldn’t let get the better of him if he was going to get the job done.
The chief gave leeway to Alistair. It was the Brit’s nature to be a consummate flirt, but with Castle, nothing ever sidetracked him. If the boss caught a glimmer of anything outside the strict bounds of professionalism, he’d be reassigned. Without discussion.
Scrubbing a palm over his smooth head, Castle shored himself up for the task at hand: retrieving stolen bioweapons before a terrorist used them on innocents. This woman had answers and he was determined to get them. Once he started an op, he saw it through to the end.
The elevator doors opened onto the operations floor, sixth sublevel. He strode off and waited for her to kick into gear.
Chin held high, she clutched the strap of her messenger bag and sashayed off with the haughty strut of a runway model. The woman was incredible. If she hadn’t cracked in the car, he would’ve believed this little façade.
He escorted her down the carpeted main hall lined with six-foot high partitions, dividing the Black Ops section from Intel. Despite being underground, the neutral color scheme of sunny beige, soft gray, and seafoam blue imbued the space with the serenity of a perfect day at sea.
Low chatter filled the air from the televisions over in Intel, tuned to news around the world from BBC to Al Jazeera. Her eyes were wide and her head on a swivel.
Reece rounded the corner from an intersecting corridor that led to the break room and administrative offices, where the boss resided. Not surprising Reece and Alistair had beaten him back. Losing the tail and subduing the mystery woman had caused a bit of a delay.
“Hey.” Reece waved to Castle. As he took a sip from his coffee mug, his gaze flickered to the firecracker. “See you bagged our POI,” Reece said, nodding to their person of interest.
“Oh, please.” She made an appalled sound. “You need to come up with less offensive terminology. We”—she pointed between herself and Reece—“have different definitions of bag. And don’t talk about me as if I wasn’t standing right here.”
Reece rocked back on his heels, tipping his ball cap that read The Hustle and Grind is Real. “Pardon me. Meant no offense, Miss…what’s your name? Or should I call you POI?”
“Poy works,” she said, stringing the letters of the acronym into a word.
“Not poi, like the Hawaiian dish.” Typical grit roughened Castle’s tone. “POI as in person of interest.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, jutting her chin high enough to put a crick in her neck.
Second time she’d said whatever to him in her snippy, kiss-off tone. A third occurrence would be met with a swift lesson in manners, and he was the perfect teacher.
“POI works too.” Her bearing was composed, her air of confidence almost believable.
Reece’s eyebrows shot up. “The meeting with the chief should be interesting. I can’t wait to witness it.”
“Sit this one out,” Castle said, “but I could use Willow and Doc in the conference room.”
Reece took a swig from his mug. “Padding?”
Castle nodded, grateful for Reece’s easy-rolling, discreet nature. Their POI was suspicious and tight-lipped. Padding the room with females might soften her and incline her toward cooperation.
“With this one,” Castle said, gesturing with his head at Jane Doe, “it’s best.”
“Excuse me, can you see me from way up there on your high horse?” She waved both hands in front of his face. “Because you’re talking about me again as if I’m not standing beside you where I can hear you.”
“You should watch your sharp tongue,” Castle said.
Her eyes flared with irresistible fire. “Or what, big bad secret agent? Hmm?”
The art of smooth talking to get what he wanted was lost on him, but even if Castle had been an expert, she would’ve tested him. He drew a deep breath, bottling his quick temper.
“I see you’ve got your hands full.” Reece raised both eyebrows. “Willow’s at her desk. I’ll grab her and look for Doc.”
Castle nodded his thanks and ushered their POI further down the hall.
Passing the clocks lined on the wall displaying times from eastern standard to Japan, his gaze fell on the conference room. The transparent walls had been darkened to an opaque slate, hiding the occupants. Maybe the chief was already inside, ready to rock and roll.
“I’m a bit disappointed,” she said. “Thought you’d be capable of mustering a retort worthy of a shudder back there.”
He stopped in front of the conference room door and pointed a finger at her while giving his fiercest look. “Careful what you wish for. You just might get me completely unfiltered and unfettered.”
She didn’t bat an eyelash. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
Sweet hell. Her unvarnished directness left him speechless. She was pushing all his buttons in god-awful ways. But he didn’t hate it nearly as much as he enjoyed it.
“I suggest you don’t let your mouth bite off more than you can chew. Much less swallow. Wouldn’t want you choking on all that gall.”
“I may have a faulty heart, but you’d be amazed by what I can handle. Don’t underestimate me.”
Her warning was loud and clear, and he respected the hell out of her for it. If he didn’t find a backbone of steel in a fiery woman so damn sexy, he might’ve been peeved.
“I’ll remember that.” He pushed the door open and hiked his thumb, directing her inside.
She waltzed into the conference room with her ready-to-take-on-an-army attitude and he bit back a smile, schooling his expression.
Alistair was seated, feet propped on the black glass table, ankles crossed. “My, oh my, what a difference no hoodie makes.” He flashed a flirty grin at her. “I’m Alistair. Can I get you something to make you more comfortable, dear? Coffee? Tea? Me?”
Castle shook his head at Alistair’s typical garbage. “Scram. I’m limiting the numbers in the room when the chief talks to her.”
“Are you staying?” Alistair asked.
“Of course.” The answer should’ve been obvious.
“Then so am I.” Alistair folded his arms. “We’re partners on this. Bagged her together.”
“Sheesh.” She plopped in a seat across the table from Alistair. “Could you fellas use a different word? No one bagged me.”
Castle didn’t spare Alistair a glance, his gaze locked on the mystery woman as he spoke to the Brit. “Get lost. I want to limit the number of swinging dicks in the room.”
“Why?” she asked.
Alistair cleared his throat, stealing her focus. “It can be a bit much for a civilian.” His British accent rolled smoother than normal, and Castle swore the guy had deepened his voice an octave. “With all the muscles and testosterone and sizzling heat we’re packing. And I don’t mean the hardware in our holsters.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Stow it, Allie,” Castle said.
Secretly, he envied Alistair’s chatty, loose manner that never hindered his performance in the field and sometimes had a surprising way of getting people to lower their guard.
Alistair pulled his feet off the table and rested his forearms on the glass surface, his full attention on her. “Ignore that abrasive beast, luv. He’s always got a cob on around me, so jealous of my irresistible charm and dashing good looks.” He winked at her.
Bastard had the balls to wink. “Shut your mouth and you can stay,” Castle said.
“Deal.” Alistair clamped his lips closed, pretended to lock them with a key, and tossed it. If only it was that easy. The moratorium on his silence wouldn’t last long.
“I’m going to grab the chief.”
“Castle, wait.” Her lips parted as if to say more. A deep crease furrowed her brow and she clutched the arm of the chair, knuckles losing all color.
He was stumped at first, but then the reason for her alarm hit him. In the car, he’d promised not to leave her side. He’d doubted she’d remembered, but it was the only explanation for the shift in her composure.
Beneath her tough-girl pretense, she was terrified. He shouldn’t care, considering that scared was the best state of mind to get someone talking, but he did.
“Alistair, would you go get the chief?”
The smart aleck’s eyes danced with amusement as he shook his head. He pressed a finger to his sealed lips and indicated he was staying glued to the seat.
Weighing his promise to the woman against expediting her departure from the facility, Castle said, “Two minutes. I’ll be right back. The sooner I get the chief in here, the faster you can leave.” Hopefully.
She didn’t have a colluded-with-terrorists vibe, but she did know about the classified existence of Z-1984. And someone had already gone to a helluva lot of trouble to try and kill her.