Point of No Return (10 page)

Asshole.
“How do Verna and Ms. Porter feel about being the only women?” She had a doctorate in workplace sexual harassment from the school of hard knocks. Where there were few women and a boss with an attitude like his there were bound to be problems, even for Verna.

“Feel?” He tilted his head and squinted, looking truly confused. “You mean if the guys give them trouble. Nah. The guys leave them alone, they’re lesbos.”

He did not just say that
.

“Everybody knows they’re a couple.”

She sure as hell hadn’t gotten that vibe from either woman.

“This is me.” She opened the door to her silver BMW.

“You’re . . . driving this?” Bristol whistled and looked the car over. “I figured you for a crossover.”

Fuck
. What you drive is an extension of your personality. She should have rented a car. She raised and lowered a shoulder. “A moment of madness I frequently regret.”

“Yeah.” Bristol looked the car over. “Ticket bait too.”

She glanced around the lot. “With all the surveillance you have, surely you knew what I was driving.”

“I didn’t. When you came, I was out of my office. I’ve been with you ever since and haven’t had time to do camera checks.” He looked up. “This part of the lot is out of range anyway. Out here we only cover the building entrance.”

She marked the area in her brain’s GPS. She bent to put her briefcase on the passenger seat then slid behind the wheel. “What time tomorrow?”

He closed the door and leaned on the convertible. “Training starts at seven thirty. Be here by seven.”

“Tomorrow, 0700,” she said as the engine purred to life.

As Honey left the lot she glanced at her briefcase. Cooper had placed a tiny camera inside. She couldn’t wait to get home and see if it had been tampered with. But first, she had to make a stop and deal with another asshole.

Chapter 7

A blast of cool air and the jangle from a strand of brass bells on the door greeted Honey as she entered the Mexican restaurant. She stood aside to let a customer carrying two take-out bags pass. The employee at the counter greeted her in heavily accented English as she checked out the back wall menu. She placed her order, paid, then looked around. He was at the far end of the empty bar. No uniform. White shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and jeans. Moore didn’t turn as she settled onto the stool next to him.

“How’s the food here?” she said.

“Excellent.” He looked at her in the bar’s back mirror.

“Good. I damn near ordered the whole menu.”

The barkeep came to stand in front of Honey, blocking Moore’s image in the mirror. “Tequila shot. You have Partida anejo?”

The man’s face clouded. He shook his head.

“Patrón anejo?”

He grew animated and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Patrón.”

“Lime, salt and water.” He moved away, allowing her to see Moore again. They waited in silence for her tequila, staring at one another in the glass. The man was quick. He carefully placed the shot glass, a saltshaker and a dish with lime sections on the pitted bar. And he wasn’t going anyplace.

“Thanks. Can you give us some space?” she said.

“Sure.” The barkeep looked disappointed but moved away, picked up the TV remote and leaned against the bar to watch ESPN.

Honey didn’t turn to Moore. Watching him in the mirror was enough. He was a douche bag and should have that tattooed on his stomach. Honey licked her skin below the thumb, sprinkled salt, and then licked it away. She downed the golden liquid, then sucked on the lime a long time, never taking her eyes off his reflection.

“Thoughts?” Moore said.

“About?”

“Global,” he said impatiently.

Honey licked her upper lip and sighed. “Only had the tour today. What I saw, they look clean. Model setup, security looks perfect to me. Did you know they only employ two women?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

Honey said nothing, studying his reflection.

“Did you find anything out of line?”

“They’re running a brothel from their housing quarters, but”—she shook her head—“other than that, nothing.”

“What?” Paul turned on the stool.

She turned her head and squinted. “Did you give up your sense of humor to get those stars?”

He blew out an exasperated breath and looked away.

She spoke to the mirror. “General, I was there a few hours. I have eight more days. If you want my first reaction it’s . . . there’s nothing there.” She wasn’t ready to share her gut feelings.

“Really?” He didn’t seem surprised.

She said nothing.

“Are you in with Bristol?”

“If you mean did he accept me doing the review, yes. Grudgingly. He has no option. If you’re asking am I going to his place when I leave here—” She tapped her glass on the bar to get the barkeep’s attention. When he turned she lifted her glass and he nodded. “Not your concern.”

“Look . . .”

“You look,” she said in a harsh whisper and glanced to see if the bartender was paying attention. He was busy pouring her drink. “You gave me a job. As long as no innocents are harmed or killed in the process, all you need to know is the final result.” Her tone was cold enough to chill the air. The tequila was placed in front of her and she repeated the same procedure she used with the first drink.

Moore took a card from his shirt pocket and pushed it across the bar. She didn’t take it.

“Tomorrow a Middle Eastern restaurant.”

WTF?
“Why?”

“I’ve been craving couscous.”

She blinked. “Your attempt at humor is failing.”

“I want daily reports.”

“You’ll get them . . . as stated in my orders.
Electronically.”

“I want to be sure you’re safe,” he said quickly.

“Nice to know I’m so special to you.” Anger flared in his expression. Good. “If I haven’t checked in by eight p.m. assume I need help. Send the Marines. Otherwise, I won’t be meeting you like this again. I know what I’m doing.”

“Rebecca O’Brien knew what she was doing.” He turned away and downed the rest of his whiskey. “That’s an order, Major.” He didn’t look at her.

“General.” She waited until he faced her. “If you’ve put me in a position you don’t think I’m up to doing, remove me from the job
right now
. Tomorrow I will be standing tall in front of
my
chain of command requesting an investigation as to why you offered me an assignment you felt I wasn’t capable of carrying out.”

“Your food’s ready,” the bartender interrupted.

She stood and leaned close so he could catch her scent and feel her breath on his cheek. “I can offer them a good reason as to why you . . .
wanted me
.” She moved to look into his eyes. “You may not care about your image now the same way you did five years ago, but I can guarantee I’ll make it uncomfortable for you.” She backed off a step. “Or, stand down and follow the operating and reporting procedure outlined in my orders and let me do my job.” She put on her shades. “You mess me up with your private agenda you’ll find getting fucked by me doesn’t mean the same thing it did before,
sir
.” She pushed a couple of bills to the bartender, walked briskly to the pickup desk and collected her bags. The bells rattled against the door as she walked out.

Chapter 8

Honey was still thinking of Moore and what he was up to when she nosed the car into the garage of her Georgetown home. Obviously he had an ulterior motive or she’d be charged with violating some section of the military code for speaking to him the way she had. General I-wanna-get-in-your-pants was using her, but to what end? Couldn’t be for a promotion. He had two stars, and after that it was a matter of
who
, not what, you knew to get the third one. Before the garage door closed completely Cooper and Gunny clomped down the stairs from the kitchen. She’d asked the team to bunk here. The three-story Federal was big enough to house all of them and it was also a safe base to work out of. Moore and his no-team, no-backup could go to hell. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Coop and Buck were staying there, but Santiago and Gunny had opted to stay at their own places.

She popped the trunk open for Cooper. “Briefcase is in the trunk.” She and Gunny wrangled the take-out bags.

“I smell Mexican,” Buck said from the top of the stairs.

“Don’t need a dog to sniff things out with you around,” Gunny shot back.

Cooper closed the trunk and came to them holding her case. “All clear,” he said, waving the black device he’d used to sweep the briefcase. “No problem.”

“Are you gonna stand down there and talk? Bring the food up. I’m hungry,” Buck said.

“You’re always hungry,” Honey said and shoved Gunny in the direction of the stairs. “Move, man, I’ve been smelling that food for a while and I’m starving.”

Upstairs they spread the boxes of food on the granite kitchen island and Honey looked around. “Where’s Santiago?”

“Following the receptionist from Global,” Cooper said.

“She’s more than a receptionist,” Honey said, remembering Verna’s rough appearance as she set plates, flatware, and napkins on the counter.

“Got that right. Look at this,” Cooper called from the dining room, where he’d taken her case. Honey joined him and found her dining table littered with electronics and looking like a Global tech room annex.

“Look.” He pointed to an open laptop displaying a grainy black-and-white video of Verna leaning over Honey’s briefcase, her hands moving over the iPad.

“What’s she doing?”

Cooper restarted the video and slowed it. “She’s getting access to the iPad.”

“No way. It’s pass-code-protected. I’m sure it was locked.”

“Watch this.” He pointed to the screen. “She presses the power button and”—Verna’s hand ran along the right edge of the screen—“runs her hand along the side. That’s a magnet in her hand. She taps the cancel button and she’s into the last app you were in.”

A disgusted look rippled across the receptionist’s face.

“I take it that last view wasn’t naked men or porn,” Gunny said from over her shoulder. “Either that or she plays for the other team.”

“What were you looking at?” Buck said from the kitchen.

Honey laughed. “The Quantico newsletter, sports page. Baseball league.”

Gunny snorted. “Good one.”

Honey stripped out of her uniform blouse and draped it over the back of a chair, freeing her skivvy shirt from her pants. “Did she mess with the laptop?”

“Nope.”

“This is good,” Buck mumbled around a mouthful of food.

She moved into the kitchen, where Gunny stood at the counter filling his plate. “Hey, save some for me.”

Gunny backed away from the counter, hands held high. “Don’t worry, we know better than to get between you or Buck and food.”

“Can’t help it if I have a high metabolism.” They’d teased her many times for being able to eat as much as Buck, who outweighed her by a hundred pounds.

“We saving any for Santiago?” Honey paused as she loaded a plate.

“Nope.” The burn cell on the kitchen table buzzed and jittered and Gunny snatched it up, pressing it to his ear. “Yeah.”

“Santiago,” Buck said confidently, settling into a chair and propping his blue-booted injured leg on another.

“Anything?” Gunny listened and after a few moments looked at them and shook his head. More listening. “Okay. Tomorrow.” He deposited the phone on the table.

Cooper joined them and Gunny recounted Santiago’s report. “The gal left Global, went to the laundry, filled her car with gas, and hit the market. Santiago’s sitting outside her town house to be sure she’s in for the night.”

“Why don’t we put a tracker on her car?” Buck grumbled.

“Dunno,” Honey said. “Verna parks in the senior staff lot. It’s surrounded with ten-foot chain link and razor. Good chance the cars are scanned as they go through the gate.

“I agree,” Cooper said.

“Mr. Tech Man, how about telling me about the mini NSA in my dining room.”

Cooper, her brilliant baby-faced Marine, gave her a look and shrugged. “Ways to keep track of you and get into Global’s systems.”

Coop was a child prodigy who graduated from MIT at nineteen and celebrated by enlisting in the Marine Corps.

“I don’t know. Pass cards are necessary to enter most areas. That place seems impenetrable.”

“They give you a pass card with a thumbprint?”

“Hmm.” She nodded. “They took a handprint. I have to swipe the card and use a hand identifier for some access.”

“Did they make you leave the card in a lockbox?”

“No,” she said cautiously.

“Then it’s bush league. High tech you’d have locked the card in a box and only have a key to show for it. Like NSA does.”

“How do you know NSA security procedure?” Gunny gave him a hard look.

Coop grinned. “They wined and dined me when I was a junior at MIT. Showed me around a couple of times.”

“How old were you?” Honey said.

“Seventeen.”

Buck whistled and held his burrito in Coop’s direction like a microphone. “Tell us, what’s it like to be a boy wonder?”

Coop ignored him. “Let me have the card. I’ll copy it and . . .” He gave her a huge grin. “Add a little virus should we need it.”

“Speaking of what we might need . . .” She looked at Gunny, the team’s primo scrounger. Anything the team needed, he found. If not through military channels through his contacts and her money. Gunny’s cousin, a former Navy SEAL, owned a weapons and tactical gear business, giving them access to the most up-to-date equipment. She had a strong suspicion Gunny was a silent partner.

“What we want, we have. Going to take a look-see at new gear tomorrow.”

Buck raised his hand. “I want one of those new Barretts.”

“Sure you do,” Gunny said. “They only cost about fifteen grand.”

Buck’s face split with a huge grin. “That’d be the one.” The thirty-pound rifle was meant to be used fixed, on a tripod. She’d seen the big man use an older model as a handheld on more than one occasion.

“Hello!” she said. “Hate to burst your bubbles but the job is to discover what Global is doing and report it. Not
ka-boom
the freaking place.”