Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (20 page)

“Oh, I do, Slick Snot. But not you—and don’t think you can put a wedge between me and her with your smooth talk and rugged good looks. Because it’s so not happening.” Her eyes narrowed. “Step off where she’s concerned, or I promise I won’t be so nice next time I see you moving in for the kill.”

“Hey.”

Cardinal wouldn’t dare remove his gaze from this little nymph staring him down. But as he looked at her, he saw the truth. “I am sorry you’ve been hurt—”

“No! You don’t get to get in my head. And don’t even try to get on my good side.” Her lip curled. “I don’t have one. And if I did, it’d be booby-trapped to take your head off.”

“Hey!” Candyman moved into Cardinal’s periphery. “Are you people deaf?”

“Back off.” With a shove against Cardinal’s chest, Timbrel turned. When Candyman grinned at her, she glowered. “Did you have a reason to be here besides…?”

Interest piqued, Cardinal watched Hogan and the Green Beret. A silent conversation seemed to carry on between the two.

Finally, Timbrel raised her arms. “What?”

Candyman nodded. “Sat chat with the good general.” He shot a piercing look Cardinal’s way. Then it softened. “Looks like we got a lead.” He turned to Hogan. “Can I talk to you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Though there was an edge to her words, it wasn’t as caustic as before.

“Outside.” The soldier’s face betrayed nothing as he stood a step back, eyes linked with hers, and waited for her to move. With one more disapproving glare at Cardinal, he trailed Hogan out of the bunkhouse.

Aspen shifted to face him. “I’m sorry about that.” She took Talon’s lead. “She means well.”

“I know. There’s a lot of hurt beneath that explosion she just unloaded on me.” He understood more than anyone could believe. But he’d been trained to conceal his anger.

As they started for the door, she hesitated. “Is it true?”

His world slowed into a painful rhythm. Cardinal wouldn’t insult her by playing dumb, but he also would
not
lie to her any more than he had to and only where absolutely necessary for the interest of this mission and the safety of his asset.

“Are you playing me?”

“Don’t we all do it?” He pointed to the bunk Talon had occupied a second ago. “Isn’t that why you happened to be in here with Talon, so we could be alone and talk?”

“That’s a pretty jaded perspective.”

“It’s realistic and logical. Just because we arrange situations to suit our interests does not mean it’s bad.”

Disappointment lurked in her eyes, but she said nothing. She knew as well as he did that he’d called her hand. But it’d hurt her. And that stabbed his conscience. Hand on the door, he stopped. Shifted toward her, noting that Talon sat.

“Thank you for playing me so we could be alone and talk.” The words were meant to tease her, to reassure her—through a roundabout lie that creased his attempts to be honest and direct with her—not open a chasm of hope that lingered in her eyes and tempted him to fall in and never regret. But that’s what happened. Especially when she flashed him a coy smile and slipped out into the sunshine, light ringing her white-blond curls in a halo.

Angel.

And you’re the Angel of Death, Cardinal
. Trust implicit, she had no idea who she was falling for. And falling she was. What made it worse, what made him want to cut out his heart with his own knife was that he wanted her to fall. He wanted the kiss Hogan had stolen. He wanted Aspen to believe in him. He wanted…her.

The thought slowed him. Sickened him.

Fists balled, he stowed those feelings. Those misguided hopes. And reminded himself of the venom that ran in his veins.

Lance Burnett popped the top of his Dr Pepper, took a slurp. As he let out a slow belch, he spotted Lieutenants Hastings and Smith hustling his way. Hastings held a laptop and papers, while Smith juggled what looked like maps and a phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.

They burst into his office.

“What in Sam Hill is going on?”

Smith turned the blinds and shut the door as Hastings delivered the laptop, her expression hurried. “Cardinal got a lead.”

“And why are we hiding?”

“Because, apparently, so did General Payne—on Cardinal.” Hastings set down the laptop and pointed to the embedded window. “He’s going to call in, but we only have thirty seconds before Payne’s team leeches.”

Lance gulped his sugary addiction then sat forward. As the Dr Pepper splashed down his throat, he watched the screen activate with an incoming message. He accepted.

“Sir,” Cardinal said, his brevity dictating he knew the call would be traced. “Local feelers report a missionary couple named Justin and Camille Santos sheltered a man matching our asset’s description.”

Lance grunted. Missionary. Often a cover story for spies.

“Got it,” Smith said as he scribbled, his feet already carrying him out to research the names.

“On our last trip into Peltier,” Cardinal said, his voice staticky in the connection, “we came under fire.”

“An attack?”

Cardinal’s gaze was direct and confident. “We’re on the right trail.” He glanced to the side.

“Agreed. How’s the dog and handler doing?”

A flicker on the normally rock-solid face. “They’re fine.”

Lance frowned. “Good. We need them.”

Hesitation lurked through the grainy feed. Then, “Agreed. I’m going dark for a while.”

Dark?

“I’ll code-in within fourteen days. Cardinal out.”

The connection zapped. Lance stared at the screen. What was that about? Cardinal hesitant? Was it because of the girl, the dog, both? Mother of God, if something went wrong and Payne—

“What’d you see?” he asked Hastings, who sub-monitored the video feed and analyzed as the transmission progressed yet recorded nothing.

“A shadowy figure”—she angled the laptop toward him and showed him a reflection in the glass—“is just outside the room. A woman.”

“The handler.”

“Yes, sir.” Hastings straightened, her lips pulled tight.

“Why’s he going dark?”

“Most plausible scenarios—”

“No.” He hadn’t meant to speak that question out loud. Lance didn’t need ideas. Cardinal felt it was necessary. Lance would give him the requested two weeks. “What else did you notice?”

“There were others, but they stood too far away for the reflection to be clear.” Hastings swallowed. “And Cardinal wasn’t himself.”

Lance laughed and slumped back in his chair. “Himself?” He muttered a curse and shook his head. “Hastings, if you know what ‘himself’ means when it comes to that man, then you’re a better soldier than any one of the twenty analysts who examined, interrogated, and psychoanalyzed him.”

Her face tightened. “I know a man when he’s distracted by a woman.”

Laughing even harder, Lance reached for his soda. “If you believe that, you
definitely
have no idea about our Mr. Cardinal.” He waved her toward the door. “And don’t let your feelings for Cardinal cloud your judgment next time.”

She widened her eyes.

“Oh, give me the benefit of the doubt, L-T. You don’t think I know what’s going on under my own nose? With my own dadgum team?” He shooed her with his hand. “Go on. Do the research on”—he glanced at the transcript that autoprinted from the call—“the Santos couple.”

“Sir, I—”

“Dismissed,” he growled. At the click of the door, he dropped back against his squeaky chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Another rotten nightmare. Embroiled in international chaos.

Hastings was right. Something was off about Cardinal. On his computer Lance coded in, bypassed several security protocols, each one more advanced than the next, till he came to the file he wanted. Time for light reading. About a man he’d met in a cathedral in New York City eleven years ago. A man who’d refused to cooperate. Who refused to become a liar and a stealer of lives.

In espionage terms, in terms of recruitment, he’d been ideal—young, burned by idealism, a burning rage that drove him. Controlled him. Those types of people believed they controlled the anger. It was that illusion of control that men like Burnett turned on their ear to capitalize for the benefit of the United States.

Took a year to lure the guy in. But Cardinal had proven to be a brilliant asset. The kind movies and books were written about. That was exactly why Payne and Morris had vehemently objected to him. If that man went rogue, he could bring down everything. If he wasn’t truly turning against his own country to spy for America…the damage would be unfathomable.

With the man’s fiery conviction and determination to topple one of the most powerful Russians, Lance never worried that Cardinal would betray his trust.

Until now.

But maybe…just maybe Lance had a wild card. One that would ensure the loyalty and control of this asset.

    Fourteen    

N
ertz!” Aspen declared as she slapped down the last card.

She and Timbrel high-fived.

Candyman banged a fist on the table. “I liked it better when you two were mad at each other.”

Timbrel laughed. “We’re best friends. Mad doesn’t last for long.

Besides, she knows I am just looking out for her.”

“But,” Aspen inserted, “Timbrel agreed to take it down a notch. Let me handle my own affairs.”