Madison stared down at the report, willing it to speak to her. Not so much the words on the paper, but the implications behind them. Six men dead. Their lives extinguished in an instant. The repercussions potentially global.
But there was nothing here to tell her why or even if they were connected.
“Hey, I think I’ve got something.” Harrison looked up from his computer. They were ensconced in a conference room on the executive floor of Dreamscape’s Manhattan offices. It had been converted for their purposes, state-of-the-art computers and equipment lining two walls. The third wall was partially covered by a white board, the remaining space designed to serve as a communications center complete with telephone bank and media consoles. The final wall was comprised completely of windows, their glass panes affording a magnificent view of Central Park.
From where she stood, Madison could see the wide expanse of green, leaves just beginning to turn, hints of gold and red making the trees seem like a kaleidoscope in the wind. “Something more on the dead men?” She turned from the window and walked over to the computer console, staring at the screen over his shoulder.
“Actually it’s information on our Mr. Roarke.” Harrison looked up at her with a grin.
“So what’d you find? His dossier was pretty slim.”
“This isn’t a lot better. Five years in the army, three of them with Delta Force. Operations too classified even for me. But whatever they were, they were significant. He’s got a list of medals longer than my arm. After discharge, he pops up again at Langley. A couple of years training, and then what looks to be routine assignments in Europe for the next couple of years.”
“So far that tracks with what we already know.” Madison tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her attention still on the screen. “What have you got after that?”
“That’s where it gets interesting. According to the personnel file, Roarke had an altercation of some kind with a higher-up, was sanctioned and given a desk job, but—” Harrison tapped the monitor meaningfully “—with a little finagling I was able to access a more secure area and, interestingly enough, Roarke is listed here as an operative.”
Madison read the screen. “Black ops.”
Harrison nodded. “Which would explain the ruse of a desk job. If this adds up, I’d say he was underground for something like six years. But I can’t say for sure because I couldn’t get access any deeper.”
“I thought you designed the system?” Harrison worked for Phoenix, a Texas company that specialized in computer forensics. In addition, they also developed secure systems for law enforcement agencies.
“We designed it. But that was before my time. I just know a few tricks. Anyway, just after 9/11, Roarke shows up again on regular listings assigned to counterterrorism. He’s been working stateside ever since.”
“With a heck of a lot of success, if that’s to be believed.” She nodded at the computer, chewing on the side of her lip. Roarke sounded like a testosterone junkie. Quick to put himself in harm’s way, he’d command fierce loyalty among his friends, and probably be able to count them on one hand.
He’d be a loner, and have trouble with rules and superiors, but he’d be smart enough to have turned the detriment into an asset. A man who kept his own counsel, and would definitely not be interested in sharing command. Her guess was that he would be average-looking, the kind of man who faded into the background.
“Madison Harper?” The voice was deep, almost a bass, the sound sending a wave of something akin to pleasure coursing down her spine. She swung around, her eyes locking with pale blue eyes in the midst of a hard, chiseled face.
The eyes narrowed as the man with the voice let his gaze travel from her head to her feet and back again, the look measuring, weighing her worth. Black hair curled around his temples, a couple days’ worth of beard decorating his chin. He should have looked unkempt, but instead the effect was rakish, the glint in his eyes letting her know he was more than aware of his effect on the fairer sex.
“Gabriel Roarke,” he said, leaning against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest, his mouth quirking upward ever so slightly.
She opened her mouth to say something pithy, but couldn’t get the words past the cotton in her throat.
Gabriel Roarke was anything but average. Seven years in the Bureau, five of them working with Investigative Support, meant that she could be pretty certain her reaction was well hidden. But the very fact that she was having it at all didn’t sit well.
The last thing she needed was a pretty boy with attitude. “I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.” She carefully modulated her voice, keeping it neutral, almost bland. She’d used the exact tone on reticent offenders with great effect.
Gabriel’s left eyebrow rose, the resulting expression somewhere between amused and demonic. “I caught a ride on a cargo plane out of Tyndall.”
“There was no need to rush over. You could have at least waited until you’d had a shower.” It was her turn to measure him, and she had to admit there was nothing a good haircut and a shave wouldn’t fix.
His lips parted in a smile, his teeth white against the beard, making her think of a pirate. “I’ve been here since yesterday evening, and if you’d care to check,” he languidly lifted an arm, resting it on the door frame, “I think you’ll find I’ve showered.”
Their eyes locked, the air hanging between them, heavy as if it were laced with cyanide. One breath and… Behind her, Harrison cleared his throat. She exhaled and turned gratefully toward her friend. “I’d like you to meet a colleague, Harrison Blake. He’s a genius with a computer, and I’ve asked him to join us. I hope you don’t mind?” She smiled, knowing full well the gesture was empty. There was just something off-putting about Gabriel Roarke, as if he kept the world at arm’s length, totally self-contained. A man of mystery.
Which simply meant he was a challenge. After all, cracking personalities was her specialty. The darker the better. And if she could successfully profile someone like the Sinatra killer, she could surely deal with a CIA operative—no matter his baggage.
Harrison, blissfully unaware of her turmoil, held out a hand to Roarke. “I’m not in the habit of horning in, but Madison can be pretty persuasive.”
Gabriel shook Harrison’s hand and smiled, the gesture tightening his face and making him seem infinitely more approachable. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful addition to the team. I’ve added a couple of friends myself. People I can trust.” The last was aimed directly at her. As if he were daring her to object.
Which, considering she’d just foisted Harrison upon him, wasn’t a likely prospect. “Are they in town?”
“One is. Nigel Ferris. He came in with me last night. The other is still AWOL, I’m afraid.”
“AWOL?” The question came unbidden.
Gabriel smiled, the gesture slow and amazingly sensual. “He’s a bit of a wild card. Works for himself. Sort of a gun for hire. Last I heard he was in China. I’ve tried to reach him, but there’s no telling how long it will take to track him down.”
“When you say gun for hire, you mean mercenary?” Madison tried but couldn’t contain her frown.
“Exactly.” His smile widened.
“I see.” She didn’t see a thing, but it was all she could think to say. There was something about the man that put her out of kilter somehow, and she didn’t like the feeling one little bit.
“Anyway,” he continued, “Nigel insisted I come over and smooth the way before he arrives.”
It was obvious he didn’t believe anything of the sort was necessary, but it said a lot about his character that he’d defer to his friend. Loyal to a fault. She suspected the words more than described Gabriel Roarke. But that loyalty wouldn’t come without price.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She wasn’t here to profile Roarke. “Cullen has the utmost faith in you. I’m certain whomever you’ve chosen will be a valuable asset to the team.” God, she sounded just like her father. Just the right hint of superiority in her tone.
The eyebrow rose again, signaling the fact that Gabriel recognized the tone, as well, and just as easily dismissed it “I was hoping you might bring me up to speed. Cullen said you’d already been looking into things.”
“Why don’t we sit down?” She gestured to the chairs, her mind turning to business. “Harrison did a little digging and found three more deaths. One seemingly from natural causes, and two accidental.” They all sat down, Gabriel directly across from Madison, his icy gaze giving away nothing.
“Board members?”
Harrison shook his head. “But they were all members of the business consortium, and key players in the move toward the trade agreement with China.”
“Any sign of foul play?” He shifted his attention to Harrison, and Madison wasn’t certain if she was relieved or disappointed.
“Nothing that triggered an investigation. One of them had an autopsy. Which means we’re at three of six with forensic evidence.”
“So what are your impressions?” Gabe frowned, his gaze returning to Madison.
She was fairly certain his use of impression was deliberate, a subtle dig at the inexact nature of her profession. “Profiling can’t happen in a vacuum, Mr. Roarke. Without something more to go on, I can’t even make an educated guess. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t pull things from thin air.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you did.” He shrugged, the gesture robbing his words of sincerity. “I was just curious to know your thoughts.”
“I think we’ve got to come up with a plan. Starting with procuring the necessary paperwork to gather forensic evidence from the victims. I’ve contacted a friend of mine in forensics. She can help cut through the red tape. Hopefully help us find any discrepancies.”
“And if there aren’t any?” He was goading her.
“Then we can all go home,” she shot back.
“Don’t think I wouldn’t like just that.” He crossed his arms, his icy stare sardonic. “But I’m not sure the word of a friend is going to sway Cullen.”
“It will if she’s the head of Braxton Labs.” Madison drew out the last two words, waiting for him to acquiesce. Tracy Braxton was the best in the country.
“We’ll see.” He shrugged, his gaze dismissive.
Anger flashed, and she opened her mouth to retort, but Harrison cut her off, his expression carefully neutral. “I’ve also been studying the progress of the Chinese agreement, taking into consideration the effect on negotiations with each death.” He pointed at his computer. “If someone is trying to damage the accord, there should be a correlation. In addition, I’m also in the process of gaining access to e-mail and computer records for all six men.”
Gabriel nodded. “How about family members? Has any attempt been made to talk with them?”
“We’ve only been on the case for twenty-four hours.” Madison tried but couldn’t keep a note of exasperation from her voice. “We’re not miracle workers. Besides, I was waiting for you. We are supposed to be collaborating on this.”
“Well, I’m here now. So it seems the first order of business is for the team to meet.” Gabriel stood up, his black brows drawn together, eyes narrowed in thought. “Since you’ve already done the preliminaries—” he nodded in Harrison’s direction “—why don’t you prepare an overview of what you’ve found? And Madison can bring us up to speed on the Chinese accord. If the two things are related we’ll need to understand the ins and outs of what’s gone into negotiations, as well as understanding who the remaining key players for the business consortium are.” He glanced down at his watch. “We’ll reconvene here tomorrow morning.”
“Is that all?” Madison fought to control her temper. She hated being dictated to more than anything, shades of a childhood spent with a business tycoon for a father.
“For now,” Gabriel said, turning to leave the room, her sarcasm obviously sailing right over his head.
She turned back to Harrison, her mouth still open to retort. Harrison was grinning. And Madison suddenly felt the absurd desire to laugh. “Was it my imagination or did he have a bit of a God complex?”
“I think maybe you’re overstating things just a little.” Harrison laughed, leaning back against the conference table.
“Not at all. The man practically dragged me back to the cave by my hair.”
“Well, I’ll have to agree with the cave part. But if your reaction is anything to judge by, I’d say he’d have gotten you there without damaging your do.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” She was yelling, which was something she never did, the hot burn of her cheeks a telltale sign that she was losing it.
Harrison held up his hands in defense. “Nothing. I just call them the way I see them. And you’ve got to admit that Roarke has your number. He hit nine out of ten buttons and has reduced you to shrieking.”
She shut her mouth with an audible click. Harrison was right. Gabriel Roarke had managed to completely unnerve her, probably intentionally. And she’d promised herself a long time ago that she’d never again let a man get to her like that.
No matter how much he intrigued her.
* * *
Gabriel strode through the hotel lobby, trying to order his thoughts. Whatever he’d expected of Cullen Pulaski’s protégé, Madison Harper wasn’t it.
On the one hand she was a real beauty, complete with long legs, tight ass and silky blond hair he itched to bury his fingers in—California clean with a New York City edge. On the other hand, she saw a hell of a lot more than he was comfortable with, her piercing gray gaze stripping him naked with no more than a glance. It was enough to drive a man to drink.
He stopped at the door to the bar, the lively conversation inside enticing. Normally he didn’t drink this early in the day, but at the moment the idea held real merit. Everything was happening too fast. He’d spent the last two days trying to pull out of his undercover persona, to recapture some sense of the real Gabriel Roarke.
But the truth was he’d lost himself years ago, his identity eroding away like a riverbank. Sometimes in tiny, almost unidentifiable bits and pieces—other times in huge chunks, the roaring water threatening the entire structure. What was left was an empty shell. A finely tuned machine.
And Gabe was comfortable with the fact, preferring it to the demons that haunted him. It was far easier to bury himself in work, to hide from the past and the mistakes he’d made. With a shake of his head, he turned his back on the bar and headed for the elevator. What he needed was a hot shower, and some time with the files Madison had given him.
Just the thought of her sent a riot of emotion rushing through him, a flood he wasn’t certain he was equipped to handle. And that, added to his mixed emotions about the mission in general, made the present situation untenable. Cullen Pulaski wanted the Gabriel Roarke he’d been fourteen years ago. But quite frankly, that man didn’t exist.
He stepped onto the elevator and stood silently, watching the light over the door move from floor to floor. With a subdued ding it stopped, the doors sliding open to expose a generically themed hallway. Hotels were all alike.
He inserted the key card and entered his room. After the artificial brightness of the hallway, it seemed abnormally dark, the heavy drapes closed against the city glare. The hairs on his neck rose as the instincts that had kept him breathing over the last decade kicked in.
He wasn’t alone.
Automatically, he reached to his waist for his gun, dismayed to realize it was across the room in his suitcase. Moving with a stealth born of experience and adrenaline, he was across the room and reaching for his weapon when a voice broke the darkness.
“You’re losing your edge, Roarke.” Sunlight flooded the room as the curtains parted, and Payton Reynolds stepped out from behind them. “One more second and you’d have been a dead man.”
“Or you.” Gabriel swung around to face his friend, his gun barrel trained on the other man’s chest. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“Just testing your wits.” The younger man smiled, laughter quirking the corners of his mouth. “I thought you’d never get back.”
Gabe returned the smile despite himself, and lowered his weapon. Payton hadn’t changed a bit. He’d never had any patience—unless he was hunting someone. Then he was tenacious as hell, keeping at it until he had his quarry centered in the crosshairs.
He spoke seven languages, knew more guerilla warfare than possibly any man alive, and had an uncanny knack for thinking ahead of the game, seeing inside someone’s head, guessing the direction of his thoughts before the poor bastard got there himself.
“And in the meantime you decided to break into my room?” Gabe walked over to his suitcase and dropped the gun inside, then turned back to face his friend.
Payton shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult. And I needed a place to wait.”
“You couldn’t have just gotten a room of your own?”
His smile was slow. “And spoil the fun?” He moved forward and the sunlight caught his scar, the jagged line starting at his brow and cutting diagonally down to his chin.
“When did you get in?”
“A couple of hours ago. I’d have been here sooner, but it was a little dicey getting out of Beijing. Some unfinished business.” His face tightened for a moment, then almost as quickly relaxed. Payton kept his own counsel. Sharing only what he deemed absolutely necessary.
Always a loner, he’d beat around the army for several years before landing in Delta Force. But once there, he’d taken to operations like the proverbial duck to water, and Gabe couldn’t have asked for a better man.
Until Iraq.
After that, he’d never really been the same. He’d spent almost a year in recovery, and then disappeared, going underground, supposedly selling his services to the highest bidder. Gabe had never asked for the truth. And Payton had never offered.
All that mattered was that he trusted the man. With his life, if necessary.
Payton moved farther into the room, his gaze assessing. “So where the hell have you been?”
“Meeting my counterpart.” The word was innocuous enough, but somehow he’d managed to give it context because Payton’s smile widened.
“The profiler?”
“I see you read my files.” Gabe shot a look at the open folder on the desk. Payton was nothing if not efficient.
“There wasn’t much else to do.” Payton shrugged. “Is Nigel here?”
“Yeah. I sent him over to get the medical examiner’s final report on Bingham Smith.”
“The one who fell in front of a train?”
Gabe nodded. “I figured we ought to check the details ourselves, rather than trusting someone else’s sources.”
“Ah,” Payton said, “we’re back to the profiler again. Surely she’s not that bad?”
“She’s fine.” More than fine, actually. The woman was a looker, and the buttoned-up G-man persona had only enhanced the fact. “It’s just this whole thing. I don’t like being anyone’s puppet.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re in the wrong profession, my friend.” Payton dropped onto a chair, suddenly looking tired, his scar white against his tan. “Dancing to someone else’s tune is the name of the game. My guess is it’s the puppeteer you’re upset with more than anything. Cullen Pulaski has a way of rubbing folks the wrong way, you in particular.”
“If I recall, you’re not exactly a Pulaski cheerleader yourself.”
“I pride myself on not cheerleading for anyone. Except maybe myself.” The man’s smile turned self-mocking. “You get anything new from the profiler?”
“Her name is Madison Harper.” Just stating her name sent electricity coursing through him—the woman had definitely made an impression, but probably not the one she’d wanted.
“All right.” Amusement colored Payton’s voice. “Did Madison have any new information?”
“They found three more deaths that could fit the pattern.”
Payton frowned. “They?”
“Seems I’m not the only one who brought in his own people. She’s got a friend, Harrison something or other, a computer geek. He’s the one who found the additional deaths.”
“Sounds like the kind of man we can use. Know anything about him?”
“No. But I will.” Gabe grimaced. “And in the meantime I gave them both assignments.”
“And how did that go down?”
Again Gabe saw piercing gray eyes, silver laced with steel. There was more to the woman than looks. She had backbone, too. And he admired that in anyone. Even a female. “Not well. I think she took it as more of a challenge than an order. But the end result will be the same.”
“And as far as you’re concerned, that’s all that matters?”
It was a question Gabe wasn’t certain he could answer—at least on one level. But he quickly pushed the thought aside. “Of course. I want to find the answer to Cullen’s puzzle, stop whoever is behind it, and get the hell out of here.”
“And that starts with what the geek found.”
“Yeah. All three dead guys were key members of the business consortium. Which brings our total to six. All in the past thirty-six months.”
“How long has the consortium been working on the Chinese accord?”
“Almost three years. But there would have been prep work so it could go back further than that.”
“And our guys were involved?” Payton’s brows drew together in concentration.
“Exactly. We’ll know more tomorrow.” Gabe let out a sigh. God, he hated working by committee, far preferring the ease of handling things on his own. But life rarely afforded that opportunity. Especially when Cullen Pulaski was around.
Besides, if he was honest, he’d have to admit that the only real fly in his ointment wore a blue suit and Chanel No. 5.