Fight Fire With Fire. Amy J. Fetzer
on behind her. “But Sebastian’s in trouble, west of the bridge, and he’s unarmed.”
Oh jeez, she thought, the clean-up was in the skiff. She kicked over the engine, then worked on her helmet.
Riley wrapped his arms around her waist and turned his ball cap around. “Just be gentle with me, lass.”
“Been that long, has it?”
She gunned the engine and maneuvered the bike through a narrow alley, then shot west. The limousine turned in the opposite direction and he felt her tense. He should probably tell her he shot a bio-marker in Vaghn’s ass, but he needed to know exactly how she was involved. Because Vaghn wasn’t just a parole jumper anymore. He was caught up in a deadly business that brought in the CIA. She was the best lead he had, he admitted, yet riding behind her was a test of his pucker factor as she raced at spine numbing speed toward the bridge.
Safia was glad she had communication inside her helmet. “Base, get me what you can on Riley Donovan and Maxwell Renfield.”
“How do you have two names?”
“Donovan is a passenger.”
A bark of laughter came through and then, “How’s that feel?”
Warm and protected, she thought for a second, his body pressed tight to her back. She couldn’t recall the last time she had a man wrapped around her. December, Spain, she decided, Antonio. She could call on him any time, but the Spanish matador had a narcissistic ego she barely tolerated and that made it easy to use him just for sex. Shallow, she knew, but there you go, the life of a spy. Relationships brought questions. She didn’t like lying to someone she cared about so she solved it by not getting too involved.
Why she was thinking like that with Riley on the back of her bike, she didn’t have a clue, but she’d take the rare attraction for what it was, a man who knew and accepted what she did for a living. Sorta.
“You’re in good company,” Ellie said. “That much I’ll say.”
Safia could hear the laughter barely concealed. “Spill it, you little witch. You like tormenting me.”
“Well it’s just so hard to do, Raven. Or should I change that to Riley’s Girl? Oh my, he’s hot.”
This wasn’t the oddest conversation she’d ever had with Ellie, but it was close.
Yes, Riley was good looking, but it wasn’t his looks that made him so likeable. He definitely had that Irish charm going for him still. “He’s too old for you.”
“They all are. Dragon One, freelance retrieval experts, former USMC. Ooh-rah. Sebastian Fontenot, Maxwell Renfield, Killian Moore, Sam Wyatt and Doctor Logan Chambliss, he was a Navy Seal. Cool.”
“Keep going,” she said, wondering what constituted retrieval.
“Private hire, well-equipped, and from the look of their record, very dangerous. You should get along fine.”
“Last job?” She needed something current.
There was a stretch of silence so long that she thought she’d lost the signal.
“Raven,” Ellie said softly, “I just got an access denied to files on them.”
“Interesting.”
“ No, it locks me out. I can’t bring up any details. It has a notation for referencing Major General McGill for authorization.”
“Our last director, that McGill?”
“ Roger that.”
That changed everything, she thought. McGill’s command had been temporary, only for a few months but she felt the shake up all the way in Asia. He was the reason she had direct relay with Ellie twenty-four/seven. Intel in her hands. She adored the man for that.
“Okay back off. Don’t send up any signals. They’re after Barasa’s package. He’s a fugitive and no, I don’t know his name yet, but Riley has Diplomatic Security credentials and they’re legit.”
“So…” Ellie said and Safia could imagine her leaning on her elbow, her chin in her palm. “What I’m thinking is they were heading out of Singapore with their prisoner already secured, and you screwed it up.”
“Yes. I did.” She was never going to live this down and supposed she had to take her hits. She deserved them. Thankfully, she wasn’t normally wrong or she’d be out of a job. “It was difficult to tell the good guys from the bad at the moment.” Lame, Safia, really lame.
“ Dragon One are the white hats, confirmed.”
It wasn’t so much of a relief. She worked alone and didn’t like bringing anyone inside her operations. Too many chances for leaks and breaks in cover. Yet Dragon One had a McGill stamp of approval and ignoring another set of expert eyes was asinine, this Op was quickly blossoming out of control.
2 hours earlier
6°21´ N, 134°28´E
Sonsoral Islands, Philippine Sea
Bridget braced her footing and sighted on the island. Like a string of pearls unraveling, the islands were scattered south of Palau. This one was nearly two hundred miles away from the main island.
She lowered the glasses and unclipped her radio, then looked to the pilothouse as she spoke. “Circle it once. There’s a better spot to come ashore in the southwest.”
Travis responded with a cheeky, “Are you questioning my topography or getting a wee lazy?”
She brought the radio up. “Funny, love, that’s not what you said last night.”
She heard the hoots from the sailors and captain, and smiled. The only two sharing a bed on board, they were the brunt of jokes often. But they’d been married too long to take offense and joined in the fun.
“I’d rather dive in, but after the ruins, I’ve got another twenty-four hours before I can go deep again.”
She was eager to return, yet she’d spent too long diving off Okinawa with minimal surface time between. It forced her to stop longer to let her blood refresh with oxygen. She clipped her radio to her belt and sighted in again. Returning to this island was her decision. Despite Jim’s reluctance, she’d pitched the side expedition to the project board. Jim was wounded by something, and the lack of trails or any reported inhabitants convinced her and the money. The prospect of animal survival worked into her Tsunami expedition. She kept her expectations low, but Jim deserved an answer. And well, she was just plain curious as to what had attacked him.
She lowered the field glasses and saw Jim bend over a duffle of equipment, the claw marks on his throat no longer inflamed, but deep. An invisible spray bandage protected it. Occasionally, she caught him touching it and knew the trauma lingered in his mind. The man spent most of his career inside a testing lab, just being in the field was new to him.
She walked toward him, her hand on the rail as the ship cut through the sea. “Jim, you can reconsider going ashore.” He looked up, a little offended maybe.
“I’m going. Even if it’s just a monkey surviving the storms around here,”—he zipped the duffle and straightened—” I need to know.”
She nodded and didn’t press. She had a habit of mothering her staff, but honestly, some of these men needed guidance. When the vessel came around the most southern point, she recognized the shoreline formation she’d brought up earlier on satellite. She radioed the captain to stop. They would go ashore on the rubber skiff.
A little tingle of excitement danced on her skin as she went to properly suit up. She walked the passageway, cornering toward their room when her radio hit the bulkhead. It fell, spinning across the deck, and she dove to catch it before it slid under the rail and into the sea. She barely nabbed it and crawled her fingers over it to get a better grip. Then it crackled and clicked. No one spoke.