Person of Interest (2 page)

Another shudder quaked through her and she reminded herself of what falling for a spy had cost her already.

CIA agents did not make for reliable companions. She knew better than most. A pang of old hurt knifed through her. She’d made a mistake, veered too close to the flame and she’d gotten burned.

Never again.

If she fell in love a second time, which was highly doubtful considering her current track
record, it would be with someone safe, someone predictable.

Safe.

At one time she’d considered David safe.

But she’d been wrong.

He’d felt safe and comfortable, but it had been nothing but an illusion.

David Maddox had been every bit as dangerous—as much of an adrenaline junkie—as all the rest in his line of work. CIA agents were like cops; they thrived in high-tension situations, on the thrill of the hunt. No matter how quiet and reserved David had pretended to be, he’d been just like the rest of them.

Just like Craig Dawson and his companion.

Men willing to risk it all for their country, who broke hearts and left shattered lives.

She didn’t want that kind of man.

Never again.

Elizabeth focused on the passing landscape, refused to dwell on the subject. The skyscrapers and bumper-to-bumper traffic of the D.C. area eventually gave way to trees and only the occasional passing motorist. It seemed odd to Elizabeth that the CIA’s headquarters would be nestled away in the woods, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, like a harmless, sprawling farm. But there was nothing harmless about the vast property. Security fences
topped with concertina wire and cameras. Warnings about entering the premises with electronic devices. Armed guards. Definitely not harmless in any sense of the word.

Dawson braked to a stop and flashed his ID for the guard waiting at the entrance gate while another guard circled the sedan with a dog trained to sniff out explosives and the like. Even now she imagined that high-tech gadgets were monitoring any conversation that might take place inside the vehicle. Every word, every nuance in tone scrutinized for possible threat.

The recruits here were trained to infiltrate, interrogate, analyze data and to kill if necessary. Their existence and proper training were essential to national security, she understood that. Respected those who sacrificed so very much. But she couldn’t bring her self to feel comfortable here. It took a special kind of human being to fit into this world. Her gaze flitted to the man in the front passenger seat. A man like him. Dark, quiet, enigmatic. A man fully prepared to die…to kill…for what he believed in.

A dangerous man.

But not dangerous to her…never again. No more dangerous men in her life, she promised herself as she did her level best to ignore the premonition of dread
welling in her chest. Safe. Occasionally spontaneous maybe, but safe. She had her new life all mapped out and the dead last thing it included was danger.

The main lobby of the CIA headquarters always took Elizabeth’s breath away. The granite wall with its stars honoring fallen agents. The flags and statues…the grandeur that represented the solemn undertaking of all those who risked their lives to make the world a safer place. The shadow warriors.

Elizabeth looked away from that honorary wall, knowing that one of those stars represented David. Though she would never know which one since his name would not be listed.
Anonymous even in death.

For the first time since his death she wondered if she’d known him at all. Was his name even David Maddox?

Her heart squeezed instantly at the thought. This was precisely why she had promised herself she would not think about the past. Not today, not any day.

She had to get on with the present, move into the future.

Like David, the past was over. She was thirty-seven for Christ’s sake. Her fantasy of some day having a family was swiftly slipping away. Never before had she been so keenly aware of just how much time she had wasted. Though she loved her work, she didn’t regret for a moment the sacrifices she had made to become the respected surgeon she was; it was time to have a personal life as well.

The rubber soles of her running shoes whispered against the gleaming granite floor where the CIA’s emblem sprawled proudly, welcoming all who entered. The guards and the metal detectors beyond that proved a little less welcoming, reminding Elizabeth of the threat that loomed wherever government offices could be found. Even in her lifetime the world had changed so much. Maybe part of her sudden impatience to move forward was somehow related to current events as well as the recent past. Whatever the case, it was the right thing to do.

Dawson led her to the bank of elevators and depressed the down button. Uneasiness stirred inside her again. Somehow she doubted that the director’s office had been moved to the basement. Before she could question his selection the doors slid open and the three of them boarded the waiting car.

When he selected a lower level, she felt compelled to ask, “Aren’t we going to the director’s office?”

Agent Dawson smiled kindly. He’d always had a nice smile, a calming demeanor. She was glad for that. “We’re meeting in a special conference room this time. The director is there now waiting for your arrival.”

Elizabeth managed a curt nod, still feeling a bit uneasy with the situation despite her handler’s assurances. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end the way they did whenever she sensed a deviation in the status quo of a patient’s condition. She could always predict when things were about to go wrong. This felt wrong. For the first time since she’d agreed to support the CIA from time to time, she felt seriously uncomfortable with the arrangement. That premonition of dread just wouldn’t go away though it refused to clarify itself fully.

The other agent, the one whose presence added to her discomfort and who hadn’t been introduced to her as of yet, shifted slightly, drawing her attention in his direction.

He still wore those confounding sunglasses. Elizabeth found the continued behavior to be rude and purposely intimidating. Fury fueling an uncharacteristic boldness she opened her mouth to say just that and he looked at her. Turned his head toward her, tilting it slightly downward and looked straight at her
as if he’d sensed her intent. She didn’t have to see his eyes. She could feel him watching her. Something fierce surged through her. Fear, she told herself. But it didn’t feel quite like fear.

Who the hell was this man?

She swung her attention back to Agent Dawson, intent on demanding the identity of the other man, but the elevator bumped to a halt. The doors yawned open and Dawson motioned for her to precede him. Pushing her irrational annoyance with the other man to the back burner, she stepped out of the car and moved in the direction Dawson indicated. She would likely never see this stranger again after today, what was the point in making a scene?

O
N SOME LEVEL
she recognized him. Special Agent Joe Hennessey couldn’t jeopardize this mission by allowing her to recognize him before the decision was made. He’d kept the concealing eyewear in place to throw her off, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be fooled for long. He’d been careful not to speak and not to get too close.

But there was no denying the chemistry that still sizzled between them…it was there in full force. He could only hope that she was disconcerted with the unexpected trip to Langley and was off balance enough to give a commitment before the full ramifications of the situation became crystal clear.

The long corridor stretched out before them, the occasional door on one side or the other interrupting the monotonous white walls. Tile polished to a high sheen flowed like an endless sea of glass. Surface mounted fluorescent lights provided ample lighting if not an elegant atmosphere. He could feel her uneasiness growing with each step. She didn’t like this deviation from the usual routine.

Hennessey knew this was her first trip to the bowels of the Agency and she probably hoped it would be the last. The adrenaline no doubt pumping through her veins would make the air feel heavier, thicker. It didn’t take a psychic to know she was seriously antsy in the situation. Didn’t like it one damned bit.

Dawson stayed to her right, a step ahead, leading the way. Hennessey stayed to her left, kept his movements perfectly aligned with hers, not moving ahead, never falling behind. If the overhead lights were to suddenly go out and the generators were to fail, he would still know she was there. He could
feel
her next to him. For someone who loved clinging to a routine, her energy was strong…her presence nearly overwhelming. With every fiber of his being he knew she was even now scrolling through her memory banks searching for what it was that felt familiar about him.

Thankfully they reached their destination. Dawson stopped at the next door on the left. “The director
is waiting for you inside, Dr. Cameron.” He reached for the door and opened it.

Elizabeth looked from him to Hennessey and back. “Aren’t you coming in, Agent Dawson?”

She didn’t like this at all. Hennessey could feel the tension vibrating inside her mounting.

“Not this time, ma’am.”

S
HE DIDN’T LIKE THIS
. Her frown deepening, Elizabeth pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and moved through the open door. She had been briefed long ago about the various levels of security clearances within the CIA. Some were so secret that even the designation was classified. In most cases, the rule that every agent lived by was the “need-to-know” rule. One knew what one needed to know and nothing more.

Clearly Agent Dawson and his friend didn’t need to know whatever the director was about to discuss with her. The door closed behind her with a resolute thud and she shivered. The sound echoed through her, shaking loose a memory from months ago. It had been dark…she’d scarcely seen his face, but she had known his reputation. The man who’d been sent to protect her that night had held her there like a prisoner in the darkness for hours insisting that it was for her own safety. He’d been rude and arrogant, had
overwhelmed her with his brute strength…his absolute maleness. And then he’d been gone.

He’d almost taken advantage of her—she’d almost let him—and then he’d disappeared. Like a shadow in the night…as if he’d never been there at all. She’d known what he’d done. He’d reveled in pushing her buttons, in making her weak. But she’d resisted, just barely. If she hadn’t, he would have taken full advantage, even knowing that she belonged to David. She wondered if David had ever suspected that the friend he’d sent to protect her from a threat the nature of which she hadn’t been authorized clearance for had almost succeeded in seducing her with his devastating charm. Some friend.

But then that was Special Agent Joe Hennessey. He might be a superspy of legendary proportions, but she knew him for what he was: ruthless and with an allegiance only to himself. The guy waiting with Dawson in the corridor reminded her of Hennessey.

“Elizabeth, thank you for coming.”

Elizabeth shoved the distracting thoughts away as Director George Calder rounded the end of the long conference table and made his way to her. A second gentleman she didn’t recognize rose from his chair but didn’t move toward her.

Present and future, forget the past, she reminded her too forgetful self. Like David, Joe Hennessey was a part of her past that was gone forever. Face for
ward. Focus on the here and now…on the future. Director Calder took her hand in his and shook it firmly.

“I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your vacation schedule,” he offered, his expression displaying sincere regret.

George Calder was a tall, broad-shouldered man, not unlike the two agents waiting outside the door. Nearly sixty, his hair had long ago silvered and lines drawn by the execution of enormous power marred his distinguished face. He’d presented himself as nothing less than gracious and sensitive each time he’d requested Elizabeth’s presence. But there was more this time. Something else simmered behind those intelligent hazel eyes. The sixth sense that usually centered on her patients was humming now, urging her to act.

“Technically,” Elizabeth said succinctly, ignoring her foolish urge for fight or flight, “my vacation doesn’t start until tomorrow so you’re still safe for now.”

George laughed, but the sound was forced. “Let me introduce you to our director of operations.” He turned to the other man in the room. This one was slightly shorter and thinner, but looked every bit as formidable as Director Calder.

“Kurt Allen, meet our talented Dr. Elizabeth Cameron.”

His fashionable gray pinstripe suit setting him apart from the requisite navy or black, Allen rushed
to shake her hand, his smile wide and seeming genuine. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Dr. Cameron. Your work is amazing. I can’t tell you how many of my best men you’ve spared.”

Elizabeth realized then that Director Allen was in charge of the field agents who most often needed her services.

“I’m glad I can help, Director Allen,” she told him in all sincerity. It felt odd now that she’d never met him before. Need-to-know, she reminded herself.

There was an awkward moment of tense silence before Calder said, “Elizabeth, please have a seat and we’ll talk.”

The director ushered her to the chair next to the one he’d vacated when she’d entered the room. Allen seated himself directly across the table from her.

The air suddenly thickened with the uneasy feel of a setup. This was not going to be the typical briefing. There was no folder marked
classified
that held the case facts of the agent who needed a new face. There was nothing but the high sheen of the mahogany conference table and the steady stares of the two men who obviously did not look forward to the discussion to come.

To get her mind off the intensity radiating around her, Elizabeth took a moment to survey the room. Richly paneled walls similar to that of the director’s
office several floors overhead gave the room a feeling of warmth. Royal blue commercial-grade carpet covered the floor. The array of flags surrounding the CIA emblem on the rear wall and the numerous plaques that lined the other three lent an air of importance to the environment. This was a place where discussions of national significance took place. She should feel honored to be here. Whatever she could do for the CIA was the least she could do for her country, she reminded herself.

Elizabeth clasped her hands atop the conference table, squared her shoulders and produced a smile for Director Calder. “Why did you need to see me, Director?” Someone had to break the ice. Neither of the gentlemen appeared prepared to dive in. Another oddity. What could either of these men, who possessed the power to start wars, fear from her?

Calder glanced at Allen then manufactured a smile of his own. “Elizabeth, I think you understand how important the Operations Directorate is here at the CIA.”

She nodded. Though she actually knew little about the Operations Directorate, she did comprehend that the field operatives who risked their lives in positions deep undercover and generally in foreign countries came from that division.

“The men and women who make up the ranks of our field operatives are the very tip of the spear this
agency represents,” he went on, verifying her assumption. “They are the forerunners. The ones who provide us with the data that averts disaster. They risk more than anyone else.”

Again she nodded her understanding. The knot in her stomach twisted as she considered why he felt the need to tediously prepare her for whatever it was he really wanted to say. Every instinct warned that things were not as they should be.

“During the past two and a half years we’ve counted on you more than a dozen times to provide a means of escape for our operatives. Your skill at creating new faces has allowed these men and women to avoid the enemy’s vengeance while maintaining their careers. Without your help, a number of those operatives would certainly have lost their lives.”

“There are other surgeons in your field,” Allen interjected with a show of his palms for emphasis. “But not one in this country is as skilled as you.”

Elizabeth blushed. She hated that she did that but there was no stopping it. She’d never taken compliments well. Though she worked hard and recognized that she deserved some amount of praise, it was simply a physical reaction over which she had no control. Her professional life was the one place where she suffered no doubts in regards to her competence.
If only she could harness some of that confidence for her personal life.

“I appreciate your saying so, Director Allen,” she offered, “but I can’t take full credit. My ability with the scalpel is a gift from God.” She meant those words with all that made her who she was. A God complex was something she’d never had to wrestle with as so many of her colleagues did. She made it a point to remind her residents of that all important fact as well. Confidence was a good thing, arrogance was not.

Director Calder braced his hands on the table in front of him and drew her attention back to him, “That’s part of the attitude that we hope will allow you to see the need for what we’re about to ask of you, Elizabeth.”