Bridal Armor (6 page)

Chapter Eight

9:05 p.m.

Thomas struggled to ignore the knots in his shoulders and neck while he fought to keep the car on what he hoped was actually the roadway. His hands were cramping and though they weren’t going at much more than a crawl, the car’s back end kept fishtailing on the tight curves. Yeah, skis would have been the safer bet all around.

He knew Jo wanted answers. It would probably be best if he did open up. He should start with Whelan. Or let her know he’d called a Specialist for an assist. But he wasn’t inclined to share the facts about the virus as he currently knew them. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he knew anything helpful at all.

Within the offices that didn’t officially exist in Washington, he was known for having the intel before anyone else. How had he missed the rumors that prompted the Initiative to launch an investigation against him? He had plenty of enemies, that hadn’t been an exaggeration, but he had allies, too. Allies who should have given him some sort of warning this was on the horizon.

He made the last turn and the headlights swept across the snow-covered landscape, bouncing off the fresh blanket of white as he parked in front of the cabin that was their destination. He left the car running and stared through the windshield, weighing the options. It could be a trap, one designed by Jo, or Whelan, or a faceless enemy.

Could he really trust her? Would the smarter choice be to call in and give her as well as himself up?

In a career as blurred by gray-area choices as his had been, every decision came down to one fine point: Would he be able to look at himself in the mirror? This decision was no different, which quickly put an end to his internal debate. He extended his hand. “Give me the key and wait here.”

“We’ll go in together.”

“No.”

“I need you to trust me, Thomas.”

“Jo, I trust you as much as I trust anyone.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I know when you’re lying to me.”

He sighed. She’d always been perceptive and she had the added advantage of having seen him at his worst. Frankly, he was too tired to keep up the facade of a man unperturbed by explosions, gunmen and weather. “The key. Going first shows I trust you not to have something up there rigged to explode or otherwise ruin my night.”

“Again, hurting you would be counterproductive to keeping you alive,” she grumbled, fishing the key out of her purse.

After giving him a long stare, she handed him the key and he carefully climbed out of the vehicle. The snowfall could very well be hiding trip wires—set by someone other than Jo.

He knew if she wanted him dead, she could have killed him a few different ways by now and saved herself from his increasing irritability. Whether she realized it yet or not, it looked to him like someone was undermining both of them.

Thinking about the phone number on the euro took him back. Way back. And the distinctive citrus scent at the explosion only confirmed his suspicions about Whelan’s involvement. Granted, he’d cost the explosives expert a small fortune five years ago, but there had to be a reason he’d make an attempt for revenge now.

The virus rumors, well, that was a bigger concern if the remnants of the Isely family were trying to get back in the bio-weapons game.

He looked around, wondering if they’d been followed. He hadn’t seen another car for the past hour, but it paid to be cautious. Behind the car, the snow was already filling in the tire marks. The storm might just help them survive the night. The trees surrounding the cabin were already bowing under the weight of the white covering and he imagined in other circumstances the scene might feel picturesque. In other circumstances they might be a couple on a romantic retreat, rather than two agents running for their lives.

When he reached the porch, he knelt down in the snow and examined each step in the wash of light from the headlights. He was tired and cold, but he ignored both in favor of handling this the right way.

The wind had already created small snowdrifts against the front door and windows. He hoped the owners stored basic tools and supplies for renters. The last thing he needed was to miss the rehearsal dinner because they were snowed in at a remote cabin without any way to communicate with Lucas, or more important, his niece and sister.

His niece was counting on him.

“I will make the wedding,” he vowed to the storm as he stood up and braced for the approach to the door.

His feet were nearly numb, but he felt the give of the first step and waited until he was sure it was just the creaking of old wood and not something more volatile.

“That one is broken,” Jo called from the car.

“Thanks for the warning.” He climbed the next two with equal caution, just as relieved when he didn’t become a bloody impersonation of the car at the airport.

“I’m telling you no one knows about this place,” she called out.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered.

He knew about it. She knew about it. Whoever had drilled a hole in the taillight might very well know about it.

He stepped toward the door and a loud pop had his heart lodging in his throat. He turned, watching as nothing more dangerous than a breaking branch fell to the ground with a rattle and whoosh.

Damn. He was getting edgier by the second.

Sliding the key into the lock, he murmured a prayer to stay alive just forty-eight more hours. Then the wedding would be over, his family secure and whoever wanted to take their shots could damn well try.

He unlocked the door and withdrew the key. When silence greeted him he thought nothing had sounded sweeter.

Jo came stamping up the stairs behind him, her purse over one arm and her duffel slung across her body. “Told you so.”

“You did,” he conceded, following her inside and only cringing a little as she flipped on the overhead light.

“Being spooked is understandable,” she said, tossing the car keys onto the kitchen counter.

“You do realize being so confident only makes me wonder if you orchestrated the bomb and the car chase along with the rest of this.”

“
Not
rehashing that again,” she said, hanging his overcoat on a peg by the door. “We both know you believe me.” She untied her shoes and lined them up with the corner of the couch.

He’d forgotten her preference for order in the little things.

“As a general concept maybe.”

“Good enough for now. Let’s get to work.”

“I’ll start a fire.” Before he couldn’t feel his feet at all. Kneeling, he reached in and pulled open the flue. Only a bit of snow fell in and it was soon steaming away as the kindling caught. Standing, he toed off his shoes and shrugged off his suit coat, letting the heat sink in.

“Go on back and get out of those wet clothes,” Jo suggested.

“In a minute.” He was still braced for the next attack and lounging around in a toga quilt wouldn’t leave him feeling empowered.

“Well, at least have a Scotch.”

He turned, smiling at the bottle and glass she held out to him. “You remembered.”

Five years ago they’d toasted the end of the Isely family in much the same manner after she’d patched him up in a swanky hotel in Austria.

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it was just in your file.” She took a slow sip of the two fingers she’d poured for herself and watched him over the rim of her glass.

It probably was in the file. He decided he didn’t care. The fire and the Scotch smoothed his ragged nerves and started drawing the tension out of his shoulders.

“I brought some basics for you,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. “Jeans, a sweater and a couple of shirts.”

He raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how she’d managed that or remembered his size.

“You’ll find a small overnight case back in the bedroom.”

“Just in case my luggage got blown up?”

Was she blushing or was it the alcohol putting that color in her cheeks?

“I’m embarrassed to say that scenario didn’t even occur to me.”

“The explosion?” He frowned at her quick nod. “You think it should have?”

“Maybe.” She hitched a slender shoulder as she stared into the golden liquid left in her glass. “Get changed. When you see the intel I was given, you can fill in the blanks and tell me if I misinterpreted something vital.”

Thinking on that minor revelation, he padded down the short hall toward the light glowing from an open doorway. If Jo had missed something, it would have been the first time.

Her instincts were an asset he’d used to the mission’s full advantage in the field. Gazing at the garment bag open on the bed, he realized he’d underestimated her breaking-and-entering skills. She hadn’t guessed about his size, it looked like she’d taken clothing straight out of his home. He was more than a little embarrassed he hadn’t noticed the missing items and perturbed that she’d found a way past his security system, but at the moment he could only be grateful she’d thought ahead.

Changing into dry clothes, with the Scotch warming him from the inside, improved his mood dramatically.

He returned to the front room to find Jo curled up in a chair by the fire, a quilt over her legs and a tablet in her hands. In the Air Force hoodie, the glow of the screen shining on her face, she looked almost too young to be an accomplished investigator. The fierce attraction he felt to her startled him more than a little. She’d always be beautiful, but wasn’t he supposed to be immune after all this time?

“Is there really a wi-fi connection out here?” he inquired.

“Not in this weather,” she said with a small frown. “But I have the file here, ready for your review.”

“Thanks.” He turned toward the kitchen and started poking through the grocery bags on the counter. The fridge was fully stocked, as well. She’d really gone above and beyond.

“What are you doing?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Typically the last big meal of the day,” he reminded her. “We missed it.” He tapped his watch. “Since it seems you were right about us being safe here, I figured we should eat.”

“Okay.” She unfolded herself from the chair. “But you don’t have to cook.”

“Now who needs to extend a little trust? I know my way around a kitchen.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He pulled out a stockpot and saucepan. “May as well whip something up in case we lose power.” He filled the stockpot with water and set it on a burner to boil.

“Let me make the salad.”

“I’d rather you talked me through whatever it is you know.”

“You don’t want to read it first? Develop your own opinion?”

He finished pouring the jar of sauce into the smaller pan and set it to warm before turning to face her. “You wanted trust, Jo. I’m here in your cabin, prepping dinner, ignoring the fact that you managed to break into my home.” He plucked at the cable knit sweater he’d recently picked up to replace an old favorite.

“Wow.” Her eyes went wide with surprise. “If I didn’t know better I’d say being director for so long has mellowed you.”

“Tell me why you insisted on taking this case and why you think doing so protects me.”

“Fine.” She squeezed by him and opened the refrigerator, pulling out fresh greens for a salad. “Can you find a bowl, please?”

He opened cabinets until he came up with both a bowl and colander. “Nice place.”

“It is.”

He watched her work with those slender, deft fingers and tried to forget how they’d once felt on his skin. She would talk eventually, he just had to be patient while she organized her thoughts.

He remembered that about her, too. She wasn’t the sort to jump into anything—not a firefight nor a conversation—without thinking it through and weighing the options and potential fallout.

“I’d really like to see the files on the supply audit,” she muttered half to herself.

He could make that happen when they had access to the internet, but he kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt her. If she was making a connection there, she’d get to it.

He dumped pasta into the boiling water, added salt and stirred.

“There was an outbreak of a new flu virus two weeks ago in a remote village on the border between Pakistan and Iran.”

An icy finger that had nothing to do with the weather system battering the cabin danced across his nape. He recognized the foreboding sense of dread and let it roll on through. Fighting grim emotions wasted energy and he’d long ago learned to channel his energy into appropriate outlets.

“How many dead?”

“Reports were conflicted,” she replied, mumbling as she struggled to slice a tomato with what appeared to be a dull knife.

“Does anyone have an eye on Isely Jr.?”

She paused, meeting his gaze from beneath her thick lashes. “I’d hoped you would.”

He had little more than a general direction. It had been five years since he’d infiltrated the notorious Isely crime family and botched their sale of a deadly new flu virus. Some had considered the move foolhardy considering his position as director but when he’d escaped the firefight with names, faces, fingerprints of the parties involved, along with the case of vials, he’d considered it a successful mission. Everyone had.

Johara had been his contact and part of his cover story as well as his ticket out of Germany. Riding the high of those few post-mission days, they’d become friends. But after the debriefing stateside, he hadn’t seen her again until she’d landed on the Initiative committee.

He’d expected it to stay that way...maybe he’d needed it to. But here they were.

“Those supply audits are starting to make more sense.” He’d known they’d been fishing for something. “Someone thinks I have the real virus.”

“Don’t you?”

“Absolutely not.” He tested the pasta, called it al dente and drained the water into the sink.

Conversation stopped until they were settled at the table with the pasta, salad and two bottles of water.

“It’s not the Four Seasons,” she said with a smile full of tension.

“Does it need to be?”

“No. I just...” Her voice trailed off and this time he knew she wouldn’t elaborate.

When they’d last worked together both of them had avoided any talk of feelings. They’d been riding the high of success and indulged the mutual attraction between them. He’d thought living in the moment and taking things one day at a time was best for keeping personal safety and mission integrity a top priority.