Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) (2 page)

The cigar rolled across the director’s lower lip. “Then you’ll need to pack for a round trip to London.”

Not sure she heard him correctly, she tilted her head. “I’ll be happy to act as control officer or surveillance coordinator. I should stay in the background on this one, sir. Nicolas Markos and I met a few years ago. It’s in the file.”

Nolan leaned back. “I saw that, but I don’t see the problem. You concerned about the society parties?”

She was, but not for the reason he thought. Nolan didn’t need a peek at her insecurities. Danielle Le Bec was beautiful and elegant. No one had ever used those words to describe Vanessa. “Upper-crust galas are no sweat. I may be a uniform cop’s daughter, but I know which fork to use.”

“I can always trust your instincts, Wade. That’s one reason I want you on this. The other is this aura that invites people to confide in you. They don’t call you Vanessa the Confessor for nothing. You’re the best officer for this. If the fiancé objects, we’ll deal.”

Her heart sank into her stomach. No way out of it now.
Yes, sir, general, sir.

“And what about Markos?” he said. “Can he be trusted? Says in his file he was Special Forces in Iraq and Somalia.”

She cleared her throat. She shouldn’t think of Markos as anything but an assignment. “He distinguished himself on special ops duty in Iraq, and Special Forces recruited him. After Somalia he quit and started his business. Our security check says he’s clean. He learned of his brother’s criminal dealings when the first murder charge hit the press.”

“I wonder about his reliability. It says here he refused to help DARK until the threat to Ms. Le Bec forced the issue. His international restaurant-supply business has made him a fortune. He has the means to pay off New Dawn and be done with them while we protect her for him. And who knows what powerful connections he has in society?”

“Those are legitimate reasons for skepticism,” she said. “We’ll dig deeper and keep a close eye on him.” She didn’t like having to be that close eye.

The intercom buzzed, and the general picked up the phone.

Her gaze drifted to the file her boss still held.
Nicolas Markos. The name conjured up an image of a domineering Greek tycoon out of a novel. The idea both fascinated and repelled her.
Born in Brooklyn, one of his merchant-ship-captain father’s many residences, self-made multimillionaire, maybe soon a billionaire. She tamped down the sexual tug evoked by visualizing his proud, handsome face.

A man not to be taken lightly. The kind of arrogant man who thought money and power gave him carte blanche, who went for cover models like her sister Diana. Or sophisticated fashion-magazine editors like Danielle Le Bec. The kind of man Vanessa avoided like the plague.

Ye gods, where had all that animosity come from?

Granted, the man was the cold-hearted, calculating type Diana drooled over. Vanessa drooled too, but hunky guys usually thought of her as a pal, not a femme fatale.
Glamorous? Not her. Cute and girl-next-door fit her better. Then there were the major chunks anti-terrorism work chopped out of her social life. Social life. For her an oxymoron. Home on Saturday night without even a cat.

Whether Vanessa approved of or liked Markos didn’t matter. Her past resentments and insecurities should slink back into her mental attic and stay there for the duration. And a mission like this could last months. She summoned her professional duty vibe.
And she would be nothing but professional. She’d prove — if only to herself — that she could do the job without personal involvement.

When Nolan replaced the receiver, she said, “I’ll arrange to fly to London today, sir.”

“The sooner the better. I’ve just had an urgent message.”

“General?”

“There’s a deadline on this mission.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Intelligence reports indicate New Dawn’s plotting some sort of attack here in D.C. on Veterans Day. We have to roll up Husam Al-Din and disrupt their plan by November 11.”

“But that’s four weeks from now!”

***

Nick shifted from foot to foot as he waited in Baggage Claims at Dulles International Airport.

A polyglot cacophony of greetings surrounded the international-arrivals luggage carousels. On his left an Italian couple in Calvin Klein hugged and kissed a teary old woman in peasant black. On his right a Japanese tour group clicked cameras and chattered with excitement. And somewhere in the waiting crowd lurked three or more DARK officers.

At first he’d been reluctant because keeping a low profile distanced him from slime. The kidnap attempt and learning that New Dawn had engineered Alexei’s death forced him into action. He wanted none of his brother’s dirty money, but capturing Husam Al-Din and stopping the terrorist plan went a long way toward redeeming the family honor.

And his personal honor, lost in what seemed another lifetime.

Nick had spoken on the telephone with Danielle since her aborted kidnapping. Knowing she was protected eased his mind about cooperating with DARK. He figured she was giving her minders holy hell. In three languages. He grinned.

She’d sure given him the devil for placing her at risk. Second on her list, or maybe first, was the danger to her reputation for the connection to crooks and terrorists. Before slamming down the phone, she’d ended the engagement.

Not revealing his broken engagement had seemed wise at first. Now he wasn’t so sure, but the relationship allowed DARK to set up this trap. He’d keep up the pretense for the mission’s sake. He’d persuaded Danielle to keep mum about the engagement until the kidnappers were caught.

So how did he feel about being dumped?

Angry? No. Hurt? Not much, only the disappointment of a lost account rather than the pain of a broken heart.

Brief affairs that went nowhere had palled. Danielle and he had things in common — friends, ambition…. Marriage had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Too much heartbreak and turmoil with his father’s serial marriages had taught him he wasn’t cut out for true love. No forever and family for him. He thought good sex and a tight pre-nup would yield a marriage with few strings, so no one got hurt when it ended. Still, he had misgivings.

He shifted his feet. Glanced at his Rolex.

An hour since the London plane had landed. The woman playing Danielle should be finished with Customs. He wanted to get this initial meeting over with and hustle her to the house. Traffic should be light on an early Saturday afternoon.

He shouldn’t be anxious. He knew the drill, but he’d put cloak-and-dagger ops behind him ten years ago after his last, disastrous op. These days he was a simple businessman. No intrigue outside the board room.

His spoiled younger brother had changed that.

Activity in the corridor from the International Arrivals Building caught his attention. Among the group of tourists and business travelers came the woman he awaited. The designer sunglasses hooked in the breast pocket of her jacket identified her. Bulging tote and slim black Prada purse of the type Danielle favored swinging from her shoulder, she walked with purposeful grace.

Close behind her strode a copper-skinned man in sunglasses and a denim jacket. Too close.

Alarmed, Nick started toward the advancing crowd. As they drew nearer, he saw that Denim Jacket wore an owl lapel pin.

The DARK pin of the day that they wore to ID each other.
Of course. DARK had arranged guards to protect her during her trip. He deliberately relaxed the tension in his shoulders and turned his attention to his “fiancée.”

The tailored jeans, fitted leather jacket and heeled boots were right on target. About the same diminutive height as Danielle, but curvier. Yes, curves where there should be curves. Very nice. Red hair, but a softer rose-blond than the fire-engine tone the salon regularly painted Danielle.
The overall look and her oval face would match any description or photographs New Dawn possessed. On her ring finger winked the two-carat stone he’d bought Danielle to seal their bargain.

Odd. He had the feeling he’d met this woman before. Impossible.

Intelligent green eyes searched the lounge with candor and warmth, not the guarded coolness he expected from a spy.
Just as well that she wasn’t his type. Too wholesome. Too open. Too … cute. But as he perused her parted lips and ripe curves, his blood stirred.

Bad move. Hell, what was he thinking?

Wholesome and open was an act. She was an undercover agent, probably more expert in deception and betrayal than any jet-set babe. The downside of wealth was that women wanted him for his money or his connections, not for himself. Danielle had been no exception.
Plus the situation precluded sex. She had to do her job as Danielle. He had to do his part. He had to stay alert if they were to stop New Dawn.

“Nick!” the pretend Danielle called, threading her way through the crowd. A warm smile curved her lips. She halted in front of him and turned her cheek for a kiss.

Danielle had coached this woman well.

She leaned close, her breasts soft against him.

Her subtle scent, not calculating perfume or cloying hair goop, but something like rain-washed flowers, triggered traitorous urges. The errant urge to taste her lush mouth temporarily derailed him.

With a mental kick in the butt, he gave her the expected quick buss. “Danielle, I’ve missed you.”

Her un-Danielle-like, bubbly laugh elicited a smile from him, the first he’d managed in days. Weeks.

“I felt like I was in a bad movie. Let’s get out of here.”

Nodding at the uniformed porter alert for his signal, he started to lift the tote from
Danielle’s
shoulder.

With a firm grip that surprised him, she held on to the strap. “I can manage this one.”

He understood her independence. He would’ve done the same. But Danielle was used to being catered to. He covered her hand with his and spoke low enough so only she could hear. “My fiancée would have the porter handle
all
the luggage.”

Without so much as a blink, she released the tote to his grasp. The pink flush on her cheeks was the only sign of her chagrin at the slip.
Buttery freckles on her nose. She might be a true redhead.

Minutes later, the suitcases on a cart, they headed outside to his waiting Mercedes. Nick preferred to do his own driving. He didn’t want to forget that at one time he didn’t have the wherewithal for even a junker. But DARK had inserted an officer as driver and bodyguard. After New Dawn’s threatening call, the terrorists would expect him to hire protection.

Denim Jacket and the local DARK surveillance team entered a second sedan ahead of them. The lead car would take the same route, but remain separate and unobtrusive.

Unless they ran into trouble.

Green eyes glinting with good will, the woman he was supposed to call Danielle smiled at him. “That went fine back there. I think this will work.”

Her voice was low and sexy, without the hint of twang that sneaked into Danielle’s speech. He couldn’t put out of his head — and his body — the feel of her against him when he’d kissed her cheek.
No. Kissed Danielle.
Hell.

“It’d better work,” he said, irritated at his unwanted attraction. “You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

They pulled away from the curb behind the lead car. He subsided into the plush upholstery. Damn. He was protecting the woman he’d planned to marry, and here he was lusting after a stranger. And being deliberately rude to her. No honor in any of that.

Grant Snow, the driver, steered the car into the terminal departure lanes. Heavy traffic slowed their progress toward the exit.

Vanessa wondered about his brusque comment. She glanced sideways at him. “Of course. A lot is riding on our success.”

He merely nodded and gazed at her solemnly. As his dossier had suggested, Nick Markos fit the self-made tycoon type.
Decisive, domineering and direct.
In his silk T-shirt and hand-tailored sport coat that molded to the hard contours of his chest and shoulders, he exuded male power. His cool confidence bespoke his Special Forces experience.
Late thirties. Eyes the color of the Mediterranean, even bluer against his olive skin and raven hair. A blade of a nose, cleft chin. A face of hard, masculine beauty. Drifts of Brooklyn and the Continent in his deep voice added to his undeniable appeal.

Her heart throbbed an extra beat. Just the anticipation of this mission. No big deal.

In London, Danielle had described Nick as principled, but in charge and inflexible. His attitude bore that out. But why was he angry? She shouldn’t even think the question. Detachment, remember?

She leaned forward. “Snow, all clear to head directly to the house?”

“No problem. Straight up the fairway,” the officer said, with his typical golf allusion. He kept his eyes on the traffic as he nosed the Mercedes onto the Dulles Access Road.

Conscious of Markos’s azure gaze on her, she kept her eyes forward. He might be a handsome devil, but he was an arrogant one, had to be to get where he was. She didn’t have to like the man to do her job, and she’d ignore her hormones.
Dislike
and
sexual attraction. Weird, but she could use both. Her attraction to him would enhance her role as his fiancée, and her distaste would help her project the cool disdain that was characteristic of Danielle.
Her persona’s aloofness would work to maintain her detachment, her distance.

Now to focus on the other part of her job. She extracted a mirror from her handbag. In the reflection, she observed the scooped roof of the Dulles terminal receding in the distance.
At closer range, a black Durango with Virginia plates. Two men in the front. One more behind, maybe two.

“Snow.”

“Roger. Got ’em.” He spoke into his Bluetooth, then to her. “Here. You take the tablet. Alternate routes are marked in colors. You can direct me or I can plug one into the nav system.”

Vanessa unbuckled her seat belt and leaned up to accept the small computer.

“Are we being followed?” Nick unbuckled and twisted around to peer behind him.

“Maybe. Or the Durango might contain a bunch of guys coming home from a Vegas weekend.” She didn’t want to alarm him unduly. She tapped the map of greater D.C.