Smokescreen (18 page)

“N
o, Special Agent Chace, I did not know Dalton was going to that warehouse that night. Furthermore, I am not convinced that you know he was there.”

Sitting in Grace’s office in the main lab, Dalton was impressed with the way Grace lied. Of course, technically she wasn’t lying because she was carefully phrasing her responses and avoiding some questions altogether. And every chance she got, she put the pressure back on Christie.

The FBI agent was just as cool and tactful. She wasn’t intimidated by Grace’s office, which was staged for the occasional video conferences she did with the DARPA section heads that she was accountable to, nor did Grace’s authority intimidate her.

“I’m satisfied that Sergeant Geller was there,” Christie said.

“Young lady,” Grace said, “there is a world of difference between satisfaction and proof. I work with theory every day, and I’m going to tell you now that the people who employ me don’t reward me for creative thinking. They reward me for results.”

Dalton sat quietly in a chair beside Christie. The
young woman
address stung Christie. Although Grace
wasn’t quite old enough to be Christie’s parent, the superior tone obviously struck home.

“Yes, ma’am,” Christie responded, and Dalton knew that the
ma’am
was a politely concealed rebuttal about Grace’s position as an elder. “But Sergeant Geller was also at a club where a woman connected to this investigation was found murdered,” Christie said. She reached forward and tapped the holographic projector control with her forefinger. “May I?”

Grace folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “If you feel you must.”

At Christie’s touch, the holograph sprang to life. 3-D images hung in the air a few inches above the desktop, evidently fed through some Enhanced function layered into Christie’s data pack.

Dalton stayed still with effort. A scene from the Adonis Club took shape in front of him.
How the hell did she make that connection?

“The murdered woman, Katsumi Shan, worked with your husband and Sergeant Geller in their overseas postings,” Christie said. A picture of Katsumi Shan took the place of the bar scene. “I checked back through the security vids of the night the woman was killed.” Katsumi melted away and was replaced by a scene of Dalton walking through the club. “As you can see, Sergeant Geller was there the night the woman was found hanging in her office/apartment.”

Grace waved a hand over the control pad. The image disappeared. “You’re suggesting Sergeant Geller killed that woman?”

“No. The time-date stamp on the vid and the medical examiner’s report make it impossible for Sergeant Geller to be the killer.” Christie glanced at Dalton. “Un
less he killed her earlier, managed to spoof the security vid recorders—which was done—then went back.”

“Whatever for?” Grace demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Surely not to expose himself to that club’s security system again,” Grace pointed out.

“No.” Christie didn’t appear to admit defeat, but she settled back into the chair.

“Why are you telling me this?” Grace asked.

“I thought you should know.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe the people who killed Arturo Gennady will come for you next.” Christie paused. “If they haven’t already.”

Grace’s facade cracked a little then, but Dalton doubted that anyone who didn’t know her extremely well would have noticed.

“If they do,” Grace said, “I’d be happy to notify your office.”

“That’s not how it’s going to work,” Christie said. “My team and I are going to stay here for a while.”

“Why?”

“Additional security.”

“Nonsense,” Grace said belligerently. She tossed an accusatory glance at Dalton.

“Dr. Reynolds,” Christie said, “you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Young lady, I assure you that as project leader for this—”

“That you deserve the additional security,” Christie interrupted. “Section Chief Alonzo Graves, of DARPA and the man you report to, agrees with that assessment in light of what has happened to Dr. Gennady. Appar
ently your project is highly thought of. Since I’m connected with the Bronze Tigers and am familiar with their activities in the Washington area, Chief Graves agreed that my team and I would be an ideal short-term addition to Sergeant Geller’s on-site rotation. I’ve got a few weeks to render a threat assessment in the matter.” She cut her gaze to Dalton. “We won’t be operating under Sergeant Geller as your present security teams do. We’ll be independent.”

“We’ll see about that,” Grace snapped. “The last thing I need at this juncture of the project is someone new to my routines that gets underfoot.”

“Yes, ma’am. I appreciate that. But your safety, and that of your son, is paramount at this point. As well as the integrity of Project Seek-n-Fire.” Christie leaned forward and touched the holograph control again. “Here’s the document from Chief Graves. He said he will be in touch with you by end of day Monday to discuss the matter with you.”

Turning coldly impersonal as she regarded the document that printed out on the holograph, Grace said, “Well, it seems that I have no choice in the matter.”

“No, ma’am,” Christie agreed.

Grace stood. “Since this appears to be a security matter and nothing I can exert any control over, I’ll leave you with Sergeant Geller.” She turned and left the room.

Christie looked at Dalton. “
That
was not a happy woman.”

“She doesn’t like to have her routine disrupted.”

“I’m not here to cause disruption.”

“You already have.” Dalton wanted to talk to Grace, to let her know that the FBI team’s presence there was not his doing. But he knew that Grace wouldn’t talk
to him. And he wasn’t about to talk to Grace about anything until he had Special Agent Christie Chace dealt with.

“Maybe you want to tell me about that night at the warehouse,” Christie said.

Dalton stood and walked toward the door. “You said you thought I shot a man in cold blood.”

“You did.” Christie stood and joined him.

“Then, if I was there, why would I want to admit anything?”

“There’s no body. I couldn’t bring charges if I wanted to.”

Dalton found himself all too aware of how close she stood to him. The heat from her body pressed against him. The delicate fragrance she wore tickled his nose. He wanted her. The knowledge struck him with a savagery he’d never known before. Even the carnal relationship he’d shared with Katsumi Shan paled by comparison. The brown eyes seemed to drink him in. His throat felt dry and he experienced a sexual response that would have been embarrassing if she’d noticed.

Unexpectedly, she reached out and touched the small straight scab under his eye. He’d gotten the scratch during the firefight in the warehouse. Her soft fingertips trailed electrical sparks across his skin that seemed to fire inside his brain.

“I know you were there, Sergeant Geller,” she said in a soft voice that sent thrills along his spine.

Dalton had to make himself speak, and had to try twice to get the job done. “What do you need from me, Special Agent Chace?”

“A bed,” she said. Then, as if realizing what she’d inadvertently said, she took her hand back and slipped her
sunglasses back on. “Three bedrooms if you can manage it. My team and I are prepared to double-bunk.”

“Sure,” Dalton said. The idea of double-bunking was just as tantalizing. He turned and walked down the hallway. Special Agent Christie Chace had trapped him between a rock and a hard place. Yet, at the same time—if things didn’t blow up in his face, she’d brought enough pressure to bear that maybe Grace would listen to him.

The safest thing for Grace to do would be to admit Sammy Bao’s contact and go into hiding. Trusting the FBI when it came to Grace and Michael was the last thing he wanted to do.

“So what’s your take on Sergeant Tall-Dark-And-Moody?” Lorna Saunders asked. She was the other female agent on Christie’s team. Tall and full-figured, her mocha-with-cream complexion flawless, her dark hair cropped short, Lorna was thirty, also Enhanced and often intimidated the male of the species with her brusque attitude and physical presence. She’d only been with the Bureau for four years but was already getting noticed by the Director of Operations. Christie had had to work hard to get Lorna assigned to her task force.

“I don’t have a take,” Christie said as she unpacked in the small bedroom she was sharing with the other agent.

Dalton had come up with three rooms by packing two of his team in with other security guards. None of the on-site security people had been happy about the FBI’s invasion.

“You’re the only one of us who’s met him before today,” Lorna said.

“I wouldn’t call a gun battle much of a chance to meet somebody.”

“Sometimes you get to know more about a person durin’ a tough situation.”

“We didn’t even get to introductions.”

“Don’t hide what you’re thinkin’ from me, honey,” Lorna said with her rich Alabama drawl. “You don’t need Enhanced vision to see that man gets under your skin. But I think your little secret is safe from the male agents on this team because they won’t see things like I will.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Saunders.” Christie put her underwear into one of the small chests of drawers. Before she could close it, Lorna had snagged a wispy pair of bikini panties from the stack that Christie could have sworn she’d carefully hidden.

“Uh-huh,” Lorna said triumphantly, dangling the panties by one manicured finger.

“I don’t know how those got in there,” Christie growled. “Must have been a mistake.”

“A mistake.” Lorna snorted. “You keep tellin’ that one and your nose is gonna grow.”

Christie grabbed the panties and stuffed them into the drawer. But it was too late. She could already feel her cheeks flaming.

“And it would be a shame,” Lorna said, “doin’ that to a nose as pretty as the one you got.” Despite her accent, she had a college degree and was one of the smartest people Christie knew. The accent was just the way she was, and it was also a tool she used to allow people she dealt with to underestimate her.

“Maybe we could stay focused,” Christie suggested.

“Oh, you had him focused all right,” Lorna said as she put her own clothes away. “The way you got that
jacket cut so it shows your backside off in those tailored slacks, he was noticin’ plenty. But I suppose that was a mistake, too.”

Christie glared at her fellow agent defiantly. “It’s just a suit.”

Lorna laughed.

Sighing, Christie said, “Okay. So maybe I’m a
little
interested in him. But this is hardly the time and place, is it?”

“One thing my auntie used to tell me,” Lorna said, “love makes its own time and place. Don’t mean that everything’s gonna be okay. Just that it’s gonna grab ahold of your attention.”

I sincerely hope not,
Christie thought.
That would be about the last thing I needed right now.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, grabbing a change of clothes and heading for the bath.
A cold shower. And if it doesn’t help, I’m going to take another.

“Special Agent Chace is going to be trouble,” Grace said.

Turning around, Dalton spotted the holograph in the kitchen taking shape. “I didn’t call her in.”

Grace just stared at him. The accusation was naked in her eyes. “I told you what would happen if you chose to ignore my warning. I will discontinue your services, and I will make it so that you won’t see Michael again.”

“Calling the FBI in at this moment would be a big mistake,” Dalton told her. He felt tense. The idea of losing Michael and not being able to do anything about it hurt. “They try to take things over. The only reason Chace isn’t doing that now is because she has no proof that Sammy Bao has contacted you. She’s weaseled her
way in for a look, but she doesn’t know anything. If the fact that Bao has talked to you becomes known, the FBI will take over completely.”

A pained look filled Grace’s face. “I can’t allow that.”

Dalton didn’t know how to respond.

“Those…those people may think I went to the FBI,” Grace said. “And they may take their ire out on my son. I need you to stay close to Michael. Don’t let anything happen to him.” She paused and some of the hardness in her face cracked. “Please.”

Dalton wanted to promise her. That was his first instinct. He wanted to promise her that nothing would happen to Michael on his watch. He barely stopped himself. The last thing she wanted was a promise from him. “I will, Grace. What are you going to do about the situation?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right, maybe with the FBI involved now and with Agent Chace already making her suspicions known to Sammy Bao, maybe there won’t be any further trouble.”

“The Bronze Tigers aren’t the kind of people who just walk away from a situation,” Dalton said. “Don’t just stick your head in the sand, Grace.”

“Keep my son safe. That’s all I’m asking you to do. If Bao comes around again, I’ll deal with him.” Grace faded from view.

Dalton cursed as he stared at the empty space where the image had been. He felt like he was on a collision course with a nightmare. How the hell was he supposed to keep Grace and Michael safe from the Bronze Tigers
and
the FBI?

B
y Thursday, Christie’s respect for the security work Dalton did at the lab site had grown immeasurably. Security ran like a Swiss watch. Nobody went in or out without being checked and supervised, and all the grids were solid, human security backed by electronic systems and redundant electronic systems.

Her respect for Dalton had grown, too. There was no denying the love that existed between Dalton and Michael Reynolds.

The time Dalton and Michael spent at the baseball field, both in practice and in upkeeping the grounds, showed the commitment between them. They talked all the time when Michael wasn’t with his private school-teacher, and Christie had yet to see when Dalton wasn’t with the boy when Michael was free. Dalton actually spent more one-on-one time with the boy than the mother.

The relationship Dalton had with Christie was professional, but she’d noticed him looking at her with more than passing interest on several occasions. Unfortunately, he’d caught her doing the same thing. That attraction was interfering with her concentration. Not her job performance, because she wouldn’t let it come to that, but it was definitely throwing her game off.

Grace Reynolds kept her distance, never talking to Christie except on the two opportunities that had presented themselves regarding Enhanced upgrades that were coming for law enforcement. Both times, Grace had made it apparent that she didn’t want to talk to Christie.

Through it all, though, Dalton and Grace had some kind of secret communication going on between them. Christie could feel it even though she couldn’t point to a concrete example. Whatever the secret was, it was also the source of conflict that Christie noticed between them.

She stood behind the backstop at the baseball field. Dalton was throwing Michael batting practice as he did every morning except Sunday, when they had a weekly game between the Lab Rats, who were made up of some of Grace’s assistants, and the Braves, made up of the security team.

Dalton wore a gray T-shirt with the sleeves hacked off and a pair of athletic shorts that showed off his tight butt and bronze legs. The Braves baseball hat shadowed his face and the wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes. He pitched to the boy with a smooth, economical precision that Christie had seen in baseball games broadcast on video screen.

Michael hit a ball out to deep center, over Dalton’s head.

“Hey, Christie,” Michael said, as he stepped back and saw her. Over the past four days, she had gotten to know him and they were on a first-name basis. He was a neat kid and reminded her of her older brothers when they were younger.

“Way to swing, Michael,” Christie congratulated.

“Want to try a couple?” the boy asked.

“Agent Chace is probably really busy now,” Dalton said. He stared at Christie in irritation.

“Actually,” Christie said, looking at the boy, “I’m on break at the moment. I just finished up my morning run.” She looked at Dalton. “I’d love to hit a few balls.”

Dalton dropped his gaze to the ground and shook his head.

“We’ve got extra bats over here.” Michael gestured to the wooden bats in the cubbies inside the batting cage.

“Thanks.” Christie sized up the bats and made her selection.

“You ever played before?” Michael asked.

“A little.” Christie stepped into the box and drew the bat back.

Michael stepped behind the backstop. “Take it easy on her, Dalton. She’s a girl.”

“Yeah,” Dalton replied. “I noticed.”

And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Sergeant Geller?
Christie squared herself in the box, locked the bat behind her, and looked at Dalton. “Let’s see that smoke, Sergeant Geller.”

“Yeah. Go get her, Dalton!” Michael cheered.

Dalton lobbed the ball over the plate. Christie swung easily, smacking the ball down third baseline.

“That all you got?” Christie asked.

Dalton reached into the five-gallon bucket beside him for another ball. He went into his windup and threw. The ball came straight at Christie’s head. She dodged, dropping into the box.

Michael laughed uproariously, hooting and cheering for Dalton.

“Sorry,” Dalton said. “You were crowding the plate.”

Okay, Sergeant Geller, let’s play your little game.
Christie stood and brushed the dirt off her T-shirt and shorts. She picked up the bat and stepped back into the box. Dalton threw again and she drove the ball into deep left.

He looked more irritated as he reached into the bucket again. This time the ball came in faster. Christie hit it again, driving right back at him. He got his glove up in time to save his face.

“Wow, Dalton, she can really hit,” Michael crowed.

“We’ll see.” Dalton’s pitching became increasingly aggressive. Christie hit ten in a row, missed one, then hit five more. All of them went into the outfield, and all of them were decent base hits with a couple of possible doubles.

“Okay, let’s make this more fair,” Dalton said. “This mound is too close for me to heat up all the way.”

“More fair for who?” Christie asked, enjoying the challenge she’d stepped into. It felt great to meet Dalton on equal ground—and blow his mind by beating him.

“You,” Dalton growled. “It’s not going to be easy because I’m going to throw with everything I’ve got.” He walked back to the regulation distance played by the major leagues.

Then the contest began in earnest. Dalton threw fifteen pitches, all of them screamers. Christie hit fourteen of them, all deep enough that Michael screamed, “Home run!” each time. She got hold of the fifteenth pitch, but it fouled off behind the backstop.

Michael began cheering for her.

Christie couldn’t help grinning. “When do you plan on heating up, Sergeant?”

He frowned at her, right hand holding a ball in his fingertips against his thigh. “This isn’t really fair, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Christie stepped back out of the box so Dalton couldn’t jam her on a pitch.

“I mean you’re using your Enhanced abilities.”

“You think that was Enhanced skills?” Anger surged through Christie. “What that was, Sergeant Geller, was the product of hundreds of Sunday afternoons my father spent with me so I could play on the high school and college baseball teams. What you just saw was the result of hard work and dedication. From me and my dad.” She couldn’t believe it. “You want to see Enhanced abilities, throw me another ball.” She stepped back into the box and drew the bat back. “C’mon. Don’t hold back because I’m a girl.”

“This is stupid,” Dalton said, frowning.

“Put it over,” Christie challenged.

“C’mon, Dalton,” Michael said. “Show her your real heat.”

Dalton hesitated for a moment, then took the mound, picked up a ball and went into his windup. When he released the ball, the pitch came faster than anything she’d seen so far.

But Christie used her Enhanced skills and time slowed. She centered on the ball, could have counted the seams as it hurtled toward her. Stepping into the ball, she brought the bat around in a blur. The crack sounded like a gunshot.

The ball arced up, shot out of the ballpark and went over the tall security fence around the outside of the compound. It hit a long way from the fence line.

“Wow!” Michael yelled, running out around the backstop. “That must have gone four hundred feet.”

Accessing the GPS coordinates through her onboard computer, Christie said, “Eleven hundred and forty-two
feet, nine point two three inches.” She pulled the bat apart where it had split with the impact. “With a broken bat.” She dropped the halves in the trash bin by the home dugout.

“Hey,” Michael said excitedly. “Would you like to play baseball with us Sunday?”

Enjoying the disgusted look Dalton was giving her, Christie ran a hand through Michael’s unruly hair. “I’d love to play baseball with you guys.”

“Great. You can be on our team.”

“You might have to talk Sergeant Geller into that. He doesn’t look real happy with the idea.” Christie smiled at Michael. “I’ll tell you what, if Sergeant Geller doesn’t want me to play for your team, I’ll play for the other team. That way we can still play together.”

That set Michael off in a frenzy. He launched into a major recruitment sales pitch to Dalton. Christie excused herself, saying she had to go relieve someone on duty. But she smiled to herself all the way back.

Now she just needed to figure out what Dalton was hiding.

“Man, you should have seen her, Mom,” Michael said excitedly at the Reynoldses’ dinner table. He mimed holding a baseball bat. “
Whack!
It was
incredible.
I never saw a ball go so far in my life! And she hit
everything
.”

Personally, Dalton was hearing more about Christie’s batting display than he would have liked. He could tell from Grace’s distracted interest that she was, too. Michael hadn’t caught on; he was too involved in the story.

“And she’s going to play for my team Sunday,” Michael went on. “Dalton wasn’t too happy about it at first, but he’s coming around.”

Grace looked at Dalton. “He wasn’t happy about it?”

“No, but I think he knows we’re really going to clobber the Lab Rats now.”

Dalton thought he’d never seen Grace appear more tired. Suddenly, his radar went off.
I missed it.
He cursed himself, knowing that Sammy Bao or one of the other Bronze Tigers had gotten a message to her. That was why she was so fatigued. She was worn out with worry.

He sat frozen at the table, waiting for Michael to wind down and for Grace to send him to get dressed for bed.

Finally dinner was over and Michael went off to bathe and change into his sleepwear.

At the sink, washing because it was his turn in their rotation, Dalton wondered how to bring it up. Long minutes of uncomfortable silence passed.

Then Grace broke the tension. “Yes. They did.”

“Contact you?” Dalton asked.

“Yes.”

Dalton’s throat was tight. He didn’t dare look at her. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize the voice.”

“How did they call?”

“I found a satellite phone in my desk this morning. It wasn’t my phone. It rang at 9:13 a.m.”

Dalton took that in. “There’s only one way that phone could have gotten into your desk. Someone at the site is working with them. One of our people.”

“Or one of the FBI agents,” Grace replied.

“I’ve kept them out of your office.”

“You think you have anyway.” She sighed. “I don’t know who left the phone and you can’t guess. This is Michael’s life we’re talking about here.”

Dalton continued washing. His mind raced like a rat
in a wheel, and like a rat in a wheel, he got nowhere. “What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I have to.” Grace looked at him. “I’m telling you this now because I knew you’d figure it out on your own. Or guess. You know me too well. I don’t want you poking around in this. Not with Michael…” Tears slid down her cheeks.

“I know,” Dalton said hoarsely. “But you can’t live in fear, Grace.”

“Haven’t you noticed?” she asked with a sad smile. “I have been. For years. Ever since they told me Mac was dead. I’ve been living scared that I wouldn’t be smart enough or strong enough to take care of Michael, that I wouldn’t know how to raise him, or love him enough. Or a million other things, Dalton.” Her voice caught. “I just can’t shake the fear. It’s too much. And now this.” Her voice broke. “I can’t lose him, Dalton. I
won’t
lose him. And I won’t let you lose him for me.”

Dalton was quiet.

“Don’t betray me,” Grace pleaded. “I’m telling you this because I knew you would figure it out, but also because I trust…” She hesitated. “Because I
want
to trust you.”

Because you
have
to,
Dalton told himself. The realization brought a sharp pain that cut through him. She trusted him because she
had
to after all these years. Not because she felt like she could. That fact hurt even worse when he admitted to himself what he had to do.

The phone rang in the middle of the night.

Christie reached for it out of habit till she remembered the phone was inside her head. She rolled over in the bed and said, “Yes.” She accessed the phone information and found out it was Dalton Geller’s personal mobile number.

“Special Agent Chace, are you awake?”

Recognizing Dalton’s voice, Christie was awake instantly. She flashed a time/date stamp vid inside her head and saw the time was 3:19 a.m. Sitting up in bed, she reached for her pistol and her jeans. She recorded the phone call out of habit, spinning it into the computer in her head and backing it up with her office machine.

“I’m awake,” she answered, pulse beating at her temples. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Dalton hesitated. She heard pain in his voice. “Yeah. Something’s wrong. A lot’s wrong.”

“Michael?”

“He’s fine. Asleep.”

A knot of tension inside Christie loosened. “Then what?”

“I… I need to talk.” Dalton let out a long breath, like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders by the admission.

“How did you get my private number?”

He chuckled but he didn’t sound as cocky as he might have under other circumstances. “You’re not the only one capable of magic tricks, Chace.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Where are you?”

He didn’t answer for long enough that she started to think he’d hung up on her.

Finally, he said, “The ball field. Come alone or we don’t have anything to talk about.” He broke the connection.

Christie stood and dressed, using her Enhanced night vision to see. She slipped her nightshirt off, then pulled on the jeans and took out a T-shirt, not bothering with a bra because she was in a hurry. She didn’t want Dalton to change his mind about talking to her. After lis
tening to him, she knew the situation could go either way easily.

“What’s going on?” Lorna asked from the other bed.

“Nothing,” Christie said, remembering that the other agent couldn’t have heard the phone ringing in her head. “Can’t sleep.”

Lorna rolled over in bed. “Girl, I told you that you had man problems.”