My Spy (7 page)

Izzy turned. “Do you always come this way?”

“Most of the time. If there's a storm heading in from sea, I stay close to the woods.” She frowned at his silence. “What aren't you saying?”

He matched her pace without any sign of exertion. “In the future, I suggest you vary your route.”

“For security reasons?”

He nodded. “SOP.”

Standard operating procedure.

“I'll consider it,” she muttered.

His gaze moved back along the cliffs. “So you and Sam got pretty close while he was here.”

Annie tensed. “Is that a simple question or the start of a fishing expedition?”

“Just a man making pleasant conversation.”

Like hell it was. Annie wondered, not for the first time, how much information the Navy had collected on her in the last week.

She brushed the hair off her face, hating the thought of being watched and followed and discussed. “If you want details, you'll have to ask Sam.”

“Right now that's not possible. That's why I'm asking you.”

Annie rolled her shoulders, fighting a wave of tension. “Sam helped me with some repairs, and I invited him up to the resort for dinner. We ate several times on his boat, watched the stars come out, traded tall tales. End of story.” She climbed the path over the dunes, drinking in the panorama of brooding clouds and rugged coastline. “It's your turn. How long have you known Sam?”

“I'd heard his name mentioned a few times, but I didn't get to know him until about six years ago. We were assigned to a…project … together overseas.”

There was something in his eyes, Annie thought. Something hollow. “From your expression, I'd say it was unpleasant.”

His brow rose. “Most people say I have a top-notch poker face.”

“I'm not most people. Reading faces is part of my job.”

“I'll remember that,” he muttered, matching his pace to hers along the trail that looped across the top of the dunes. “We did what we set out to do. That's all that matters.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For whatever left that look in your eyes.”

He shook his head. “Let's switch topics, shall we? You're starting to spook me.”

“In that case, why don't you tell me what's in that file the Navy has on me?”

“What makes you think there's a file?”

“Your people have gone to immense trouble to protect Sam. I'd say they've culled a deskful of information, including reports on my staff, my sister, and the resort. Am I close?”

“Inquiring minds want to know,” Izzy murmured. “I'm not at liberty to give details, but I'll tell you this. There's zero tolerance for slipups in this case. Careers will crash and burn if anything goes wrong, so the Navy is being exceptionally thorough.”

Annie drew a sharp breath. “That means my file must be
really
big. No, don't bother to deny it. I knew what I was getting into—I just didn't like it.”

Izzy focused on a line of fog brushing the far cliffs. “Sam's worth it, Annie. He's a good man. Those kids aren't the only people he's rescued from tight situations.”

“So tell me what you two did overseas that was so important—”

There was a flash of movement from the orchard. Annie gasped as Izzy drove her backward, out of sight behind the dunes.

Sand blew in her face, and she heard Izzy curse as he
shoved aside his windbreaker, pulling a gun from a shoulder holster. Annie pushed to one elbow, looking across the sand.

“Stay down.” Izzy's voice was curt. “Don't move unless I tell you.”

Sand rustled as he crawled up the slope, hidden in the lee of the dunes.

Annie discovered the hardest thing was waiting, wondering if they were a target. Anyone could be hidden in the shadows at the edge of the orchard, friend or foe.

She lay stiffly, listening to the wind hiss over the sand. A lifetime later Izzy's shadow fell over her face.

“All clear. How do you feel?”

Confused. Angry.
“Like I'm entitled to some answers.” Annie brushed sand from her legs. “What was that flash?”

“One of your guests practicing with a foil.”

“The fencer who's been shredding my towels. I'm glad he's found a better practice area.”

Izzy glanced down, frowning. “You've cut your knee.”

“It's nothing.”

He held out a hand, helping her to her feet. “I'll still take a look when we get back.”

“All I really need is answers.” As they crossed a meadow beneath the resort's main building, Izzy seemed in no mood for conversation. The silence gave Annie time to sort through the facts, and they didn't add up.

She turned at her door. Her knee ached, but she barely noticed.

Izzy followed her to the kitchen. “Caffeine would be wonderful about now.”

“You talk, and I'll cook.”

She broke eggs in an iron pan and pulled out handmade stoneware plates, piling Izzy's high with homemade bread, fresh melon, and a Southwestern omelette. “What's going on?”

Izzy ate by the kitchen window overlooking the hillside.
The beach was deserted, but his eyes kept flicking down to check. “There was no sign of anyone else when I got there.”

“But you suspect there may have been someone else. Not just the fencer?”

“It's not about what I suspect, Annie. It's about being prepared for any threat.” Izzy blew at his steaming mug of coffee, took a careful sip, then sat back. “Zero tolerance for slipups, remember?”

“I remember. And if any reporters show up, I'll have Reynaldo or his men escort them off the premises. It's happened before and we've never needed a gun or any fancy security equipment.”

“This is different.” Izzy cradled the coffee mug between his hands.

“Why? What are you really worried about?”

Izzy rolled the cup slowly. “Sam's made enemies over the years. With the kind of work he does, making enemies is inevitable.” He looked up, watching Annie's face. “Some are overseas, but some are the homegrown hate-group variety.”

The words left her cold.

Shadow warriors, wasn't that what Izzy was saying? Men who carried out covert operations and high-risk missions in places where normal rules didn't apply.

Annie kept her voice light. “So you're telling me Sam's more than a cute face in a nice white uniform?”

Izzy laughed grimly. “You could say that. He's one of the Navy's best and brightest. Unfortunately, now that his face has been splashed across twenty million TV screens, he's not anonymous anymore.”

Annie tugged off her sweatshirt and slid into the chair across from him. “So Sam's in danger?”

Izzy pushed away his coffee, frowning. “With a little persistence someone could track down a policeman on duty that day, ask a few questions about traffic, and find out which hospital Sam was taken to. You get the picture.”

Annie did indeed, and it frightened her silly. “How can the Navy prevent that?”

“Right now every detail about his life and whereabouts has been locked up like Fort Knox. They're taking all the usual precautions, plus some new ones made up just for the occasion.”

“But because the Navy is a big, cumbersome bureaucracy, mistakes can happen. Information can be leaked.” She sat back tensely. “That's why you're here. In case someone gets through.”

Izzy studied her for a long time, then nodded.

“Exactly how dangerous is this going to be?”

“You want the official answer—or the truth?”

Annie stared down at the coastline where sunlight touched the waves. “That answers my question. It also tells me why you wear a gun.”

A muffled sound came from Izzy's jacket. He pulled out his pager and studied it in silence.

“Well?” Annie demanded.

He pushed away his plate and stood up. “Sam's move may be delayed.” His expression told Annie nothing.

“Why?”

Izzy stacked his dishes in the sink. “I can't tell you because I don't know.”

“Can't you find out?” Annie's hands were trembling.

“This is the Navy we're talking about. Right now the rule is
need to know.
”

“Well,
I
need to know if Sam's okay. I also need to know when he's arriving.”

Izzy stared down at the beach. “When I find out, you'll find out. Right now, that's the best I can do.”

“W
HAT
ARE
YOU
DOING
OUT
OF BED
?”

“Walking.” The man in the hospital gown grimaced. “Trying to.”

Admiral Howe shoved his unlit cigar in his pocket and took Sam McKade's arm. “You're barely off the IV, you young fool.”

“Six hours.” Sam hid a wince as he tried to lift his left leg, encased hip to ankle in a removable brace. “Almost.”

“It's too soon,” the admiral snapped. Secretly, he was elated at the sight of the SEAL's fierce determination to recover. “Get well before you start trying to line dance.”

“Never was much of a dancer.” Sam took four more halting steps. “Sir.”

The man had to be in massive pain, yet Howe knew from his nurse that McKade was pocketing his pain meds and flushing them down the toilet.

Real grit, the admiral thought, well pleased. Maybe he could leave the hospital sooner than his doctors predicted.

“When did you have your last pain pill, Commander?”

The media's unknown hero, looking tense and dangerous in several days of stubble and pain lines that bordered his mouth, simply shrugged. “A while, sir.”

The admiral hid another smile. Stubborn bastard. Not that he'd have it any other way. “When your nurse comes back, you're to take whatever pills she gives you. Is that understood?”

Sam grimaced. “Take them—as in swallow them, sir?”

“That's an order, sailor.”

Sam glared down at his leg brace. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“Good. How's that leg feel?”

They started another slow circuit around the room. “Like shi—” Sam cleared his throat. “Like a garbage scow plowed through it, sir.”

“I expect so.” Holding his officer's arm, the admiral guided him through another two steps. “At least you're learning how to use a crutch. What about your shoulder?”

“It's not as bad, sir.”

Not as bad as
what
?

But Howe was wise enough not to ask. A man had to keep his pride when his body had come close to being shattered.

“We'll get you started on therapy tomorrow, if your doctors clear you.”

“I'd like that, sir.” Sam struggled through another circuit. “The sooner the better. I want to get back to the team.”

“Of course you do.” Howe patted his pocket, pressing his battered cigar and trying to decide how to ask his next question.

Straight out was always the best.

“Any pain from that head wound?”

“Only when I breathe.” The SEAL smiled crookedly. “Sir.”

The admiral coughed, hiding a chuckle. “All to be expected. How about your recollection of the accident?”

Right now that's all they were calling it.
The accident.

“Still pretty hazy, sir.”

“How about prior to the accident?” The combat veteran kept his voice carefully neutral. “Any recall before the hospital? Over the last month, say?”

McKade frowned. “Nothing, sir. I keep trying to dig. It feels—important somehow.” His jaw tightened. “I get back to when I woke up, and the pain started.”

“And before that?”

The SEAL's voice was hard. “Nothing, sir.”

Hell and hell again, the admiral thought. He needed the information Sam McKade had buried in his head. He needed it fast, before the problems at the Navy's weapons program got any worse.

One attempt had already been made on the commander's life inside a secure Navy hospital ward, and Howe had to assume that someone with excellent sources was prepared to kill to keep that information hidden.

Howe took out his cigar. “Give it some time, son. You were torn up pretty bad. Concentrate on building your strength and charming that young nurse who keeps flirting with you.”

Sam scratched his jaw. “The blonde, sir? She's married with three kids and a husband who flies a Pave Low chopper out of Little Creek.”

Howe shook his head. The nurse didn't look old enough to date his son, much less have three kids and a hotshot pilot for a husband.

“How'd you learn all that?”

The young officer shrugged. “People talk to me. I must have that kind of face.”

Harrison Ford on a good day, the admiral noted. Yes, women would talk to this man. So would men. It was something about the way he met your eyes, afraid of nothing, but prepared to treat you as an equal, no questions asked.

Howe saw that McKade's eyes were narrowed with fatigue and his movements were slowing. He glanced down at his watch. “I'd better get the lead out. I've got another finance meeting on the Hill.” He helped Sam maneuver to a chair. “Get some rest, Commander, and call me if you need anything. Even if you just want to talk.”

Or if you remember.

But Howe didn't say the words. The SEAL had enough to weigh him down right now. His neurologist had reported that there was no sign of brain damage, and Sam was expected to recover the lost chunk of memory eventually.

But would it be soon enough?

Others had proposed hush-hush experimental stimulants and deep hypnosis. Some crank had even pushed for electroshock therapy. For now, the admiral had tabled all such discussions.