Payback (3 page)

Still, as he’d proven with SSU agent Rafe Andros, it was possible to break down an unsuitable prospect and turn him into an obedient soldier. All that was required was to find the correct key for breaking the subject’s spirit. Then conditioning proceeded at the usual rate.

Now, if only the scientists could control the rages and put a stop to the physical deterioration that rendered his soldiers useless after four months, they’d have a highly profitable commodity to sell on the international market. He really would need to ask Jamieson about capturing Dr. Montague and returning her to the program. She’d been so close to making a breakthrough before she’d fled after discovering what he’d really been using her research for.

With the anniversary demonstration for the President coming up soon, he needed all the enhanced soldiers he could create. Those already in the field would have deteriorated past the point of usefulness by the time the date for the demonstration arrived. Having Dr. Montague back would not only hopefully lead to the stability he required, but from what he understood, the woman had been given access to the research data from Dr. Nevsky’s microchip. Data which would allow Kaufmann to further refine his formula.

He scowled. His former boss should have trusted him with the backup data from the superhuman soldier program, instead of implanting the chip in his daughter’s abdomen. It had taken two years after Nevsky’s death for the microchip to be found, but it had ended up in the hands of the do-gooder Surgical Strike Unit instead of Kerberos. Leaving Kaufmann struggling to catch up to where Nevsky had been before his death.

Andrews’s scream filtered through the examination room door. Kaufmann shook his head. That was another aspect of the program he’d have to work on. The pain of the drugs hitting the bloodstream resulted in agonizing screams. Since he intended to set up clinics in regular hospitals and office buildings in order to turn out his custom made soldiers, spies and assassins, he didn’t want to have to soundproof all his rooms.

“Tell me, doctor,” he began, taking the scientist’s arm and leading him away from Andrews’s room. “Will you have Andrews ready in time to participate in the President’s demonstration?”

The man glanced back at the room just as Andrews gave another piercing shriek of agony. Nodding thoughtfully, the scientist replied, “Yes. It sounds as if his resistance is breaking as planned. I do believe he will be ready in time.”

“Excellent.”

Chapter Two

Four Days Later

A Small Tourist Town on the Chesapeake Bay

F
aith sank back into the shadows of the alley, staying hidden while she watched the restaurant where Wayne Jamieson was having dinner.

Even she had to admit that being here tonight was one of the more rash moves of her life. When Toby included a photo, background and daily schedule information for Jamieson in his notes, he’d probably never imagined that one day his sister would start following the man. But Faith had reached a new level of desperation.

Her inquiries had hit nothing but brick walls lately.

She had a lot of valuable data, but no smoking gun to bring down Kerberos or help her locate her brother. The people she’d talked to either had never heard of Kerberos, refused to acknowledge they’d ever heard the name despite every indication to the contrary, or knew the name and had nothing but a few rumors to add.

Siobahn’s investigation had also ground to a halt. Her father and brothers claimed not to have heard of Kerberos or Jamieson. Even her contact who’d overheard the reference to the freaky soldiers at Fort Bragg refused to discuss the group any further.

Unable to think of any other way to get the data she needed, Faith had started following Jamieson, using the training Toby had given her on how to covertly follow a target. Unfortunately, Jamieson was paranoid and always traveled with several bodyguards.

Because she was naturally messy—her hair never stayed neatly confined no matter how tightly she braided it or how much hairspray she used—Faith knew she more resembled a dazed hippie than a focused assassin. So she’d kept her disguises artsy and disheveled. The few times she’d passed within view of Jamieson’s bodyguards, they’d given her an initial sharply assessing glance, then moved on. Even so, they were well-trained and wary of anyone getting within striking distance of their boss. Once, a teenager on a skateboard had veered to within a few feet of Jamieson as the man was being hustled by the guards between his car and an office building. Faith had watched in horror as the guards spotted the teenager and reached for their guns. Luckily, the sidewalk had been busy and the guards hadn’t actually pulled out their weapons, just kept their hands inside their jacket pockets until the oblivious boy changed direction and sped away.

Still, it had served as a warning not to get too close. Which was frustrating the hell out of Faith. She needed to catch Jamieson engaged either in conversation or in action that tied him to Toby and the missing personnel. Breaking into his office at the CIA was out of the question. His home security was beyond her ability to crack, although she had no doubt that her brother could have broken into Jamieson’s house. She’d gone so far as to buy an electronic listening device at a spy store, but hadn’t been able to get close enough to Jamieson to plant it on him.

Having followed Jamieson for several days, she recognized that he was too dangerous for her to confront. But tonight, an elegantly handsome man with dark hair and eyes had greeted Jamieson as the CIA director exited his chauffeured town car. After a curt nod to the stranger and a quick glance around the deserted parking lot, Jamieson strode into the restaurant with an arrogance that indicated he clearly expected his visitor to follow. Which he had.

Faith hoped the other man would be an easier target. She fingered Toby’s pistol in her pocket, and tamped down her nerves and the revulsion at being in possession of a gun again. But desperation left her no choice.

Still, she hoped she wouldn’t have to shoot. Her plan was to get Jamieson’s companion alone and question him about Kerberos. Hopefully, the man would be able to provide information that would lead her to where Toby was being held.

If not, then… She blew out a breath. Well, she really didn’t want to think past that. She’d rather wonder if the men were right now discussing Kerberos and the fate of more innocent men. If she stormed in there waving her gun and demanded to know where Toby was, would she see surprise on their faces? Or scorn?

Of course, a face-to-face showdown with Jamieson would be suicidal. He’d have her killed before she could speak her first word. So she’d resigned herself to lurking until Jamieson’s companion exited the restaurant.

And prayed that he had the answers she needed.

“H
old it right there.”

The young woman who stepped out of the shadows was the last person Mark Tonelli would expect to hold a gun on him. As his eyes flicked over her generously curved, petite body and her wildly curling, dark red hair that spilled from beneath a tribal print scarf, all he could think of was that he was being mugged by a woman who looked like a first grade art teacher.

A very pissed off, yet very sexy first grade art teacher. She wore a gauzy, patchwork skirt over black and green striped leggings that bagged slightly at the ankles, and thick-soled, ugly shoes. He would have thought her a homeless person, except that her clothes appeared to be clean and in excellent condition.

Which, given the way his body had jolted into sexual awareness the second he heard her voice, was a good thing. He would not allow himself to lust after a transient. No matter how sweet yet sexy her voice sounded.

Mark frowned at the direction of his thoughts. He didn’t find untidy women attractive. He liked sleek, sophisticated women. But he couldn’t deny that he was turned on by this young woman wearing, of all things, a thick hand knit cardigan that sprouted tissues from its pockets. He couldn’t stop staring in fascination at the place where the buttons strained to keep the edges of the sweater together, forming a gap between her breasts that he desperately wanted to investigate.

He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? It was dark. He’d just been chewed out by his boss, CIA Director of In-House Projects Wayne Jamieson. He had better things to do than stare at this woman’s chest. Like get her to put the damn gun away. And move her out of sight of the restaurant entrance before Jamieson and his guards exited.

Her hand shook from supporting the weight of the pistol—a Glock 21 that was much too heavy and too big for her small hand—and he didn’t trust her not to accidentally shoot him.
Amateur.

The thought lacked his usual bite when considering those less skilled than himself. He must be more tired than he realized. That was the only logical explanation he could give as to why he hadn’t already disarmed her.

You haven’t disarmed her
, a voice deep inside him commented,
because you’re too busy being enchanted with her.

Mark scowled. It was true. He wanted to knock the gun away, then scoop her up in his arms and take her someplace safe.

Protective instincts? Him?

He glanced back at the elegant brick facade of the restaurant. Had Jamieson slipped something into his drink that was affecting his mood? Or was this another side effect of the changes brought on by what he’d witnessed in Dr. Ivanov’s lab in Moscow?

The nose of the gun prodded his side and Mark turned, his lips twitching in amusement at the woman’s courage.

Or stupidity.

She nudged him again. “Start walking.” She nodded her head toward the dark mouth of the alley between the restaurant and the closed women’s boutique next door.

“Why?” he asked.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand his question. “Because you’re one of Jamieson’s associates,” she snarled, sounding more like a punk teenager with an attitude than a first grade teacher. “I can’t get past his bodyguards, so you’ll have to do.”

Mark narrowed his eyes in speculation, reassessing his opinion of her. Intelligence. Determination. And an all-too-familiar bitterness that came from a personal wrong not yet righted.

“Do for what?” he demanded.

“Walk.” She nudged him again with her gun.

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” With an abrupt, impatient movement Mark knocked the hand holding the gun aside, then plucked the weapon from her lax fingers. He pocketed the weapon and took her arm. “Let’s talk.” But instead of taking her toward the alley, he led her toward his car.

She jerked back, trying to break his hold. “Wait! What are you doing?”

Mark just dug his fingers deeper into her arm, hitting a pressure point that would cause her enough pain to obey him, and yanked her forward. “You’re coming with me.”

“I most certainly am not!”

Mark could hear the fear in her voice, mixed with bewilderment over how easily he’d taken control. Still, he rolled his eyes when she planted her feet and leaned back, forcing him to stop or risk making a scene.

Grabbing both her arms, he leaned down until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. And tried to ignore her tantalizing sugar-cookie-and-cinnamon scent. “Listen,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “You’re the one who wanted to talk badly enough to hold a gun on me. Well, it’s not safe to talk here.”

He inclined his head toward the club. “Jamieson will be coming out soon. Do you really want him to see us together?”

She slanted an uneasy glance back toward the restaurant. The woman was well informed if she understood that Jamieson was the more dangerous man.

For some reason, he wanted to soothe her fear away with a kiss. But then she flattened her lips and notched up her chin. “Just because I don’t want to be caught here by Jamieson doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to get in a car with you.”

Mark stared at her. Didn’t she realize that he held all the power? He had her gun, for God’s sake. But instead of reminding her of that fact, he found himself saying, “I’m not the danger, woman. I would have hurt you by now if that was my intent. But since you know his name, you’re a threat to Jamieson. You’re going to come with me and tell me everything you know. Then I’ll protect you.”

“Protect me? No, thanks. I can take care of myself.”

Mark snorted in disgust and shook his head. “Right.” He tugged her toward the car. This time she didn’t resist. “That’s why I disarmed you so easily.” He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eyes and saw something like chagrin cross her face.

“You’ve never even used a gun, have you?” he guessed.

“Yes, actually, I have,” she said. “I just…loathe…guns.”

There was a wealth of complex emotions behind that comment. Grief. Hatred. A tinge of guilt.

But the grief was what interested him the most.

“It doesn’t matter. No one would take you seriously in that outfit,” he commented. Not true. If she’d held the gun like a pro he would have considered her a threat even if she’d been stark naked.

Or, given his reaction to her clothed body, maybe that was an incorrect assessment.

He caught her grin out of the corner of his eye, then turned so he could feel the full impact of it head-on. It was like being hit by a super nova. The skin around her coffee brown eyes crinkled and her cheeks developed a lovely dimple.

“That’s the point,” she replied, tucking a few of the tissues back into her pockets. “This is an earthy, quirky neighborhood. I’d look more out of place in an ordinary pair of jeans than this hodgepodge of an outfit.”

Well, at least she admitted the outfit was a poor fashion statement. But Mark wouldn’t have cared if she wore a neon green sack, if he could just get her to aim another one of those smiles at him.

“Your expensive suit doesn’t fit in here at all,” she commented. “But then, everyone who comes to this restaurant stands out.”

Mark figured Jamieson had chosen the location because it was in a small, touristy town neither man would normally visit. Yet the woman had a point. During the day their business attire would stand out from the tourists and bizarre locals.

Thank heavens it was night and so late that this end of the street was deserted. Except for him and his would-be kidnapper.