Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (126 page)

"Frank, this is Hal Morris, head of Special Investigations."

Hal stood up and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, Frank. Dennis speaks very highly of your work."

"Thank you," Frank said, shaking Hal's hand.

The man's voice was deep and booming and his hand larger than Frank's. He also topped Frank's six foot four height by a good three inches. Aging or not, this man would be a formidable opponent. Frank hoped he'd never have to face him head on.

Hal's assessing gaze took in Frank's rumpled appearance, but he made no comment. Hell, did he know things had screwed up last night?

Hal gestured toward a round table surrounded by four chairs. "Sit down, gentlemen, please. Looks like you could use a coffee, Frank. Rough night?"

"I've had worse," he responded.
But not many.

Frank sank into a chair, waiting impatiently for his cup, while Hal grabbed three plain black mugs from a plastic tray beside the coffee warmer on his credenza and started filling them.

"Hal, we've got a problem," Dennis said.

Hal nodded. "So I heard." He replaced the coffee pot and handed a mug to Frank, then Dennis.

The aroma of strong coffee stimulated Frank's senses. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and took a sip, letting the caffeine do its job.

Hal stood staring intently at Frank. "You didn't make contact with Cindy yesterday. Want to tell me why?"

Frank leaned back in his chair. This guy was good. He obviously made it a point to keep on top of things. "I saw someone there last night who knows I'm FBI. A mob member. I couldn't risk Cindy's cover."

"I see." Hal sat for a moment, still staring at Frank, apparently deep in thought.

Frank knew he'd done the right thing last night, but how would this bureaucrat look at it?

Finally, Hal took a sip of his black coffee and glanced at his watch. "Look, Cindy'll be here in a few minutes. Let's run the situation by her and see if we can do some damage control."

"You haven't told us much about Frank's partner, Hal. Can you fill us in a little?" Dennis asked.

Thank you, Dennis.
Finally, the curiosity that had been prickling within him for days would be appeased. All Frank knew about his new partner was that she worked undercover for the mob.

Hal tossed some sugar packets to Dennis, then plunked his own cup on the table and settled into one of the empty chairs. He folded his large hands in front of him. "She's Carlos Vendetti's assistant."

Vendetti. Frank knew the name. One of the biggest in the New York underworld.

"This is a critical assignment. It's important we break the case as soon as possible." Hal leaned on his forearms and stared intently at Frank. "We needed an agent from another office to help us, someone who wouldn't be known here."

"So much for that," Dennis piped in, as he ripped open a sugar packet and emptied it into his cup.

"I chose you, Frank, because I'm told you're the best on the west coast." Hal sipped his coffee. "This is a tricky situation."

"Just what is the situation?" Dennis asked. He always had been one to get to the point, Frank thought wryly.

Hal extended the fingers of his hands in front of him in a dramatic gesture. "Gentlemen, there's a traitor among us. Someone in this department is selling secrets to the mob, specifically, to Carlos Vendetti."

Dennis whistled. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. We've had enough information go astray—and wind up in Vendetti's hands—to know what's happening. The only question now is: who? We can't count on the guy slipping up. We've got to sew this up, and fast."

A rap on the door grabbed their attention.

"That'll be Cindy."

Hal went to the door and pulled it open. Frank wondered what cover story this Cindy had in case anyone saw her coming into FBI headquarters and recognized her. A dangerous place for an FBI agent pretending to be a mob member. She had to protect her real identity not only from Vendetti's people, but from other FBI employees.

Frank took a sip from his coffee mug, glanced over and almost choked when he saw the sharply dressed woman step into the room. As his eyes made contact with hers, he felt his face flame into anger and his muscles tense into tight cords.

Angel!

In Too Deep: Chapter Two

"What the hell are you doing here?" Frank barked as he leaped to his feet.

Angel looked at him, her big, brown eyes devoid of emotion. Ignoring his outburst, she acknowledged him with a simple, "Mr. O'Connor," and a tip of her head, but he noticed her back straighten as she walked stiffly across the room.

Hell, had she infiltrated the Bureau? Convinced Hal she would sell him Vendetti's secrets? Did the woman understand the meaning of the word loyalty?

Frank's gaze shot to Hal. "Do you know who this is?"

"Yes, this is Cindy Janson. She's—"

Fury rose inside Frank. "Her name isn't Cindy anything," he interrupted. "It's—"

"Angela Tortina," Angel finished for him.

Incredulous at her brazen admission, Frank narrowed his eyes as he glared at her. What was her scheme and how would she try to twist this situation around to suit her now that he'd forced her into revealing her true identity?

"Mr. O'Connor and I met four years ago, when I was on the Cavaglione case," Angel explained. She darted a glance at Frank then back to Hal. "Is he supposed to be my new partner, Hal?"

"That's right, Cindy."

Frank watched Hal meet the defiant tilt of her chin with a cool stare, his grey eyes clashing with her brown ones and she stifled any protest she might have made.

Partner? A sick feeling gurgled through his stomach as the situation clarified in his mind. Cindy. Angel. The two women were one and the same. That meant trouble. Frank knew Hal trusted this Cindy Janson without question.

Hal turned back to Frank. "Cindy is the best field agent we have, a fact that you can attest to yourself since you obviously accepted her cover without question. She's been Angela Tortina for the past ten years and is accepted as one of the family. She's even done time."

"So, it looks like there's no problem after all." Dennis' relief was apparent in his voice.

No. Frank remembered the cold look of indifference in her eyes as she'd calmly destroyed his dreams, his cover, and—as far as she knew at the time—his life. That same coolness veiled her eyes now.

She couldn't be trusted. He'd lived with that fact for too long to stop believing it now. He turned to his superior.

"There's no way I can work with this woman."

"Well, you'd better find a way," Hal declared, the edge of anger in his voice tempered by cool authority. "Your skills match what we need on this case and we don't have time to find a replacement. Whatever your problem is, get over it. Fast."

"Or else…?" Frank demanded. Did this desk-bound administrator remember nothing about the trust required between partners?

"Frank," Dennis said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're worked up because you thought she was someone she's not. You just need to put things in perspective."

"Perhaps Mr. O'Connor needs some time to think about this," Angel offered. She stood across the table from him. "It must be difficult to find someone you believe to be a mob bimbo thrust on you as your partner."

Frank jerked his head to look at her straight on. "You can't possibly want to work with me."

"No, I don't. But I'm a professional, Mr. O'Connor. I'll do whatever it takes to get the job done. Even if I find the situation…uncomfortable."

"Yes, I can believe that," he said, dropping his gaze then running it up her body, taking in the curves softly outlined in black. Even in a demure business suit, she oozed sensuality.

She hadn't used that sinfully sexy body to win him over during their last encounter. She hadn't needed to, he thought sourly. But he had no doubt she did when it suited her purpose.

She threw him a cool glance as she pulled out the chair in front of her and sat down. His eyes were drawn to the white satin blouse she wore, such a stark contrast to the black jacket, and a subtle reminder of the sweet innocence he'd associated with her so long ago. Before he'd come to know her true colour.

Angel felt Frank's gaze assault her body and when he focused on her chest she forced herself not to pull at the lapels of her jacket to try and cover herself. Instead, her fingers automatically jumped to her earring and twisted the back around. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she dropped her hand back into her lap.

Good Lord, how would she manage working with Frank for the next few weeks, maybe even months? Never in a million years had she expected Frank to be the agent they imported from California. Oh, she'd known he lived in Los Angeles and worked for the FBI, but she hadn't even considered such an outrageous possibility. Why hadn't she made the connection last night? But then, why should she have? She'd had other things on her mind.

"Hal, have you thought about the cover Frank'll use?"

The man speaking sat beside Frank. She didn't know him, but from what Hal had told her, he must be Frank's boss.

"We'll have to discuss it." Hal glanced at Angel. "I don't want you coming in here again—it's too dangerous—so we'll have Frank come by your place tonight to tell you what we decide."

"Hal…" Angel rose, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I should point out that Mr. O'Connor—I mean, Frank—and I," she corrected herself, realizing how foolish she was going to sound, "had a…romantic relationship a few years ago."

She knew the men would automatically assume she and Frank had slept together, but she wasn't about to set them straight on the details. With the life she led she'd come to accept long ago that she'd never meet a man she could respect and care about enough to fall in love with—and she could never make love with a man without those feelings. Though she had fallen in love with Frank, time and events had been against them and they'd never taken that step.

She raised her head and paced a few steps, noticing Frank's reaction in her peripheral vision. His scowl deepened and his hands clenched into fists. She could sense the rage coiling through him.

"Cindy, that was a long time ago," Hal said. "Will it affect your working together?"

She stopped herself from glancing over at Frank, not wanting to face his anger while thinking of the love they'd lost. "Nothing will start up between us again if that's what you mean." She'd make sure of that. She had too much at stake to allow Frank to endanger it again. "I just thought you should know."

"We can't have anyone knowing Frank is FBI. Would anyone in the New York family remember him?"

"No. There's no one here familiar with Cavaglione's operation."

"So there's really no one who would recognize him and connect him with the Bureau."

"No…but Hal, you know there's always a chance—"

"Cindy, it's a chance we'll have to take. From what you've said the odds are low there'll be any problems as a result of your previous relationship, so we'll proceed as planned."

She hazarded a glance toward Frank. His mouth compressed into a thin line and sparks flared in his eyes. His hands clenched into tight balls and she decided he'd dearly love to wring her neck for passing on that bit of information.

She turned away from him and plucked at the magnetic paper clip sculpture on Hal's desk. Hal had shaped it into a neat, symmetrical tower about five inches high. When she disturbed it, it collapsed in on itself, tumbling into a mass of shapes protruding at awkward angles. From order to disorder in the blink of an eye. It mirrored her life. After seeing Frank last night and again today, she felt like collapsing herself, but unlike the flimsy clips held together by an intangible magnetic field, she had strength of will. And never had she needed it more.

She would get through this.

Hal glanced at his watch then stood up. "Dennis, we've got to attend to a few things before our afternoon meeting. Cindy, I'll see you before you leave."

Angel swung around to see Hal and the other man, Dennis, heading out the door.

"But…" The last thing Angel wanted was to be left alone with Frank. Her emotions were still in chaos. Her gaze darted to Frank. He glared at her as though he'd like to strangle her. She leaned back against the desk for support.

They stared at each other in a silence strung tight by angry tension. Frank sat with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his ice blue eyes piercing her composure. She forced herself to continue breathing, one breath after another. Pull in, push out. Stay calm.

Morning stubble shadowed his angular jaw line, enhancing the hard set of his face. Strands of dark hair had fallen across his forehead and, despite everything, she longed to reach out and stroke them back.

When Frank finally spoke, it startled her.

"You seen Cavaglione lately?"

"Domenic's still in prison," she said, relieved her voice sounded calm and unaffected by Frank's hostile demeanour.

"And what about you?"

She glanced away from the hatred in his eyes, afraid her expression might reveal the pain she'd suffered. "I spent a year there." She gathered her courage and glanced back at his face. "Frank, about what happened—"

"What about it, Angel?" His tone was laced with bitterness.

"I know I hurt you… I know…"

He leaped up from his chair and leaned over her, danger emanating from his frigid blue gaze. "Hurt me? My God, woman. You turned me over to the mob. Worse, you endangered my partner. We could have both been killed."

"I knew you'd get out."

"You can never know something like that."

Her hope evaporated. Obviously, he wouldn't give her a chance. Ruthlessly, she squashed the appalling disappointment that rose up in her. Smoothing her face of tension, she set her emotionless mask in place and turned to meet his gaze.

"Of course, there were risks—"

"Risks." He snorted.

"…but I knew the bust was going down that night and I made sure Hal's team knew you were both there. I did everything I could to ensure your safety." She could tell by the unrelenting harshness of his expression that he didn't believe her. "You did get out, Frank."