Never Happened (12 page)

“Gross.” She'd heard of people having their deceased pets stuffed, but this went to a whole new level. “Why didn't he take his animals with him?”

“Died.”

A frown crossed her forehead. “How? He wasn't in the house when he croaked, was he?”

The Professor taped the phone message for Shannon on her computer monitor where she'd see it first thing in the morning. “No. At work. Apparently a member of the family was looking for a nice suit for the deceased's funeral and stumbled, literally, upon one of the large glass pickle jars.”

“I'll bet that was a hell of a shock.”

The Professor nodded. “He had to be taken to the E.R. His heart or maybe the fumes. The landlord insisted on having the place cleaned up immediately.”

“I'm outta here,” Alex said. “You should go, too.”

The Professor stood. “I'll be following you home.”

He would be following her home? “Why?”

The Professor stood and pushed in Shannon's chair. “Just a precaution in case Avery shows up. Shannon's husband kindly brought us one of his construction trucks to use until ours is repaired.”

She didn't bother arguing. When her employees got an idea in their heads she just had to go with the flow. She'd have to remember to thank Bobby for his help with transportation.

As she drove home, glancing at the Professor at the wheel of his car in her rearview mirror, she considered that maybe Marg was wrong. Maybe Alex wouldn't die alone. She had a lot of people who cared about her.

What did she need with a husband or kids?

There she went going down that road again. What had her hung up on the whole “family” thing? Shannon's kids were off in college. There was just no reason.

Oh hell.

Maybe her biological clock had finally kicked into gear. All this time she thought she didn't have one.

What kind of crappy joke was Mother Nature playing on her?

If she were totally honest with herself she would know what the problem was. She was forty and the
one guy who'd made her think about what came next had just died.

And now all she could do was wonder if there even would be a next.

 

It was dark when the knock echoed across Alex's living room. She'd curled up on the sofa to watch a movie.

Dammit. She set her bowl of popcorn aside and glanced down at her nightshirt. It wasn't exactly revealing but the logo on the front read, Sex Does a Body Good.

It wouldn't be her mother, she mused as she moved to the door; she would just use her key. Besides, they probably weren't speaking. Maybe Shannon had decided to drop in and check on her. Everyone, including Alex, was worried about this whole Avery-Blake thing. She'd checked her doors and windows to ensure they were all locked before settling in front of the television. And she had her pepper spray handy. She held it firmly in her right hand as she peered through the peephole in her door.

She gasped, instantly taking a wide step back.

Austin Blake stood on her porch.

For about three seconds she contemplated whether
letting him in was a good idea or not. But she had no intention of being a prisoner in her own home.

She opened the door a crack. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

Did they really have anything to talk about? What made him think she would trust anything he said?

“May I come in?”

She pursed her lips and tried to come up with a reason to say no, besides the fact that he could be dangerous.

“Give me your weapon.”

Proud of herself for coming up with that one, she tamped down a grin, squared her shoulders and waited for him to comply. Hey, she hadn't watched all those seasons of
Alias
and
24
for nothing.

He reached beneath his elegant blue jacket and removed a big black weapon. He held it out, butt first, for her. She took it, surprised at how heavy it was.

“You have a backup piece?”
NYPD Blue.

He reached down and removed another smaller weapon from somewhere near his ankle.

This weapon was lighter.

“Anything else?”

She thought about that a moment. “You have a knife?” She couldn't remember any program off the top of her head with a knife-carrying bad guy.

“No,” he said from between clenched teeth.

Testy, testy.

She stepped back for him to come inside. “Have a seat.”

After closing and locking the door, not an easy feat with two guns to juggle, she joined him, choosing a seat across from the chair where he lounged. Somehow her grandmother's doilies didn't look at home draped across the back of the chair with him in the picture.

“What do you want, Mr. Blake?”

Despite the lateness of the hour, his pastel blue shirt looked fresh and unwrinkled. The striped tie, a mix of blues and silver, completed the stylish look. Nice.

“I need the details of the conversation you had with Marshall Avery. When and how did he contact you?”

So, at least he hadn't lied about his name.

Alex wondered if Blake took lessons in suppressing his personality or if he simply didn't have one. Then again, guys as handsome as him rarely concentrated on developing their character.

“He called me, asked me to meet with him so that he could warn me about you.” She set the two weapons on the sofa next to her.

Blake didn't look impressed or moved in any way. He simply waited for her to continue.

“He told me you killed Detective Henson.”

There was the slightest flicker of something in his eyes. Definitely not guilt or remorse, but something.

“Did you kill him?” The irony that two lethal weapons sat on the sofa cushion next to her wasn't lost on her. As much as she wanted her friend's murderer brought to justice she was no vigilante.

“I had no reason to kill Detective Henson.”

She would bet a million dollars that the guy could fool a lie detector test with no sweat. His tone was absolutely void of emotion. His expression never changed. He stared at her, unflinching except for that one imperceptible flicker.

How could a man so physically attractive be so cold and unreachable? She never had been able to resist a challenge. In this case that wasn't a good thing. She hadn't needed Avery to tell her that this guy was dangerous. Dating dangerous men was against her own rules.

“Miss Jackson, I'm going to provide you with information that is in direct conflict with my orders.” Incredibly his droll, seemingly innocuous monotone was turning her one. “I'm convinced that this is the only way to secure your cooperation.”

Her curiosity pushed aside the flicker of attraction. “I'm all ears, Mr. Blake.”

“The technology Charlie Crane was testing was stolen from my agency—”

“What agency is that?” she interrupted, deciding that his habit of only hitting the high spots was not going to get them to the heart of the matter.

Another concession to either his mounting frustration or his impatience, his jaw tightened visibly. “The CIA.”

Wow. Okay, that was a surprise. Like she would believe that in a gazillion years. “You can prove this?” She made no attempt to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

He pulled his credentials from his interior jacket pocket and passed them to her. There was a snapshot of his handsome mug, as well as all the other identifying information. But IDs could be faked.

“How do I know this is real?” She passed the case back to him. His fingers touched hers at the same instant their gazes locked. There was definite chemistry. The reaction didn't actually surprise her. She knew her weakness for men and he definitely fell into her kryptonite category.

“I guess you'll have to take my word for that.”

“Like I was supposed to take Avery's word?”

Blake stared at her a moment before responding.
When he did he spouted off a number. “Call, they'll confirm what I've told you.”

“How do I know that's the real CIA's number?” She wasn't going to make this easy for him.

“So call information. Get the number for the D.C. office.”

Alex chewed her lip a moment, then went for it. She dialed 411 and selected the option for the requested number.

“Can you put it on speakerphone?”

She nodded and pressed the right button. When the prerecorded voice had completed the CIA's spiel, including the part about their normal business hours, which had passed, the voice asked her to enter her party's extension if she knew it.

She glanced at Blake.

“Three-oh-seven.”

A gruff male voice answered. “Weatherly.”

“Director, this is Austin Blake.”

“Tell me what I want to hear, Blake.”

“I don't have the technology in hand just yet, sir, but I'm working on it.”

Alex was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to be privy to what the director said next. The man roared about the importance of damage control. The neces
sity of discretion. And lastly, how time was of the essence. Lots and lots of imaginative adjectives were tossed in for good measure.

“Sir, I have Miss Alexis Jackson here and she needs confirmation that my credentials are legitimate.”

The director gave her the information she needed. She supposed she should be impressed, but she wasn't sure about that yet. She thanked him and he informed her of her duty to her country. Nothing she'd heard or seen on this case could be discussed with anyone. She didn't mention the fact that she'd already talked to Shannon, her husband and the Professor. Not to mention Patton, who still didn't believe her.

When the call ended, Blake settled that intense gaze on her once more. “Now, what did Avery tell you?”

“Basically the same thing you just did. Top secret technology, had to get it back, so on and so forth. Well, except the part about you being a killer and very dangerous.”

As dumb as it sounded, she really hoped Blake was the good guy. She didn't want to be attracted to a bad guy, especially not a killer.

Blake looked away.

“What's the matter, didn't you catch him?”
Avery'd had at least twenty years on Blake. Surely catching the old guy hadn't been a problem.

“He's dead.”

Fear trickled through her all over again. “You killed him?”

Blake shook his head. “He killed himself.”

Now we were back to the superspy stuff. “Oh, yeah right, the whole cyanide pill thing, right?”

Intent blue eyes locked with hers. “This is no joking matter.”

Damn. He was serious. Avery was dead. “He actually killed himself?” Avery's words about Crane's death not being a suicide filtered through the haze of disturbing thoughts. “He said Crane was murdered. And that there were others testing this technology.”

“I think Crane killed himself to send me a message.”

Alex shifted slightly, annoyed that the continued hardness in his voice somehow tripped an internal trigger of keen interest in
him
rather than his words, especially considering the subject matter. But there was just something about him. “Why would he want to do that?”

“Because he used to be CIA. I think maybe he realized he couldn't continue to sell out his country and the only way out was death.”

Alex straightened, held up her hands for him to wait a minute. “So, he killed himself and just let me find the lens.”

“He knew we were looking for him. By killing himself he gave us his position. He knew we'd come and the others would run scared.” That intense gaze searched hers a moment before he continued. “It's not as important that I retrieve the technology as it is that I ensure no one else does. Avery won't be the only one looking. He represented an enemy of the United States and that's as much as I can tell you.”

“Why don't you tell me what the technology does? Exactly.” What the hell could be so important about something that small?

Blake hesitated, but not for long. “It's the transfer link for any computer system it supports. Information, satellites, the Internet, the reach is boundless. A simple implant at the base of the brain and the optic nerve allows full control of the technology.”

That was definitely more than she'd wanted to know.

“So all you want is the contact lens, right?” Maybe all she needed to do, now that she'd verified his identity, was turn the evidence over to him.

On one condition; that he see that Henson's killer was brought to justice.

“Actually there's a little more to it than that.”

Apprehension worked its way under her skin. “What's a little more?”

“Since Crane and Avery are dead, that leaves me with no way to determine who's running this rogue operation. It's my job to secure the technology and shut down the operation, including all the players. Crane led me here but that's not enough.”

If he'd come here to shut down the operation…

“You've been following me.” She knew someone had been watching her. She'd felt it on too many occasions lately. “You knew I took the lens and gave it to Henson. You were watching even then. You
wanted
this Avery guy to come after me.”

The epiphany hit her so suddenly and with such impact that she lost her breath.

“You've been using me?” she demanded. That was the only conclusion that made sense. “Bait.” She said the word at the same time that the full ramifications penetrated her disbelief, allowing her to answer her own question. “I'm the only bait you have left. Henson is dead and O'Neill's in lockup.”

His cold, hard relentless eyes stared at her with an
intensity that warned the choice was no longer up to her. “That's very astute of you, Miss Jackson. All I need is the lens and your brief cooperation and we'll finish this unpleasant business.”

Alex was tough. She didn't know anyone tougher. She was smart. Damn smart. And no one, absolutely no one, intimidated her. But this guy, she had a feeling he wouldn't stop until he had his way…no matter the cost.