Point of No Return (6 page)

“Come on, Jack. You get all those gizmos to dig around”—he glanced up—“
and
in return, you get to be surveilled.”

Yes, he knew only too well his comings and goings were monitored and the NSA satellite access he used was in turn used to keep tabs on him. He ran a hand over his beard. “I repeat, what do you want, Alan?”

“I came in peace, as a friend.” He raised a hand with fingers parted between the middle and ring finger in a Vulcan salute. “I don’t want a thing except for you to live long and prosper.” He picked up a black nylon backpack from the seat next to him and placed it on the floor between them. “Lee and Becca’s notes. Becca’s personal info and as much as I could get on her duty reports for the last three years.”

The alphabet agencies had taken everything when they swept the home. Weeks ago, he’d asked Neuberger’s help in getting personal items returned. He knew computer files were lost forever. He wanted their papers. His brother had a phenomenal memory and rarely wrote anything down. Becca, on the other hand, was an obsessive note maker. He was sure he’d find some link, some connection there. “Thanks.” He didn’t know how Neuberger had pulled it off and he didn’t care. He sat up and maneuvered the bag under his seat, feeling suddenly energized.

“There are rumors you’ve overstepped your bounds,” Neuberger said. “Questions are being asked.”

O’Brien swiveled his head side to side, looking around for other passengers. There was only one man, rows away. “
They
dropped the ball on this. If
they
hadn’t, I wouldn’t be forced into doing this myself.” His temper built. “Or are they afraid I’ll show them up?”

“When you left the agency you pissed some people off and scared others,” Neuberger said in an even tone.

O’Brien crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat. He didn’t care how many people he pissed off, he would find who did this with or without their help.

“Man, some shitty things have happened to you that shoved you off track. It’s time to quit the fucking mercenary and wild-man-of-the-hills act and get back where you belong.
Langley
. Let us help you.”

He would love to be able to trust Neuberger and the agency. He knew not to trust anyone. They all lied or told a version of the truth they felt necessary. “For all I know this was Langley’s work. A botched job to take me out because, as you put it, they’re worried about who I work for.”

Neuberger sighed. “It wasn’t us. It wasn’t MTAC. I hope you find something in those notes. None of us could.”

Jack didn’t look at the agent. He cracked his knuckles and briefly wondered how the man had gotten into the passengers-only area with a bag.

“DoD is sending someone to question you.”

“Yeah. I know. I was notified.”

Neuberger’s eyebrows came together to form a unibrow. “Notified?”

“Nothing big. Reached out through my mom. Asked to meet. See if I remember anything before they close the file on Becca. Told them the cabin. Figured if they weren’t serious, they wouldn’t show. I can handle some DoD pencil pusher.”

“Not a pencil pusher. A seasoned intelligence officer, who’ll be speaking with Ramsey and Saunders too. Someone may be on to what you’re doing.”

“I said, I’ll handle it.”

Neuberger stood. “Clean up, Jack. Come back where you should be and stop putting your friends’ jobs in jeopardy by helping you.”

Jack glared up at him.

“One other thing. The intelligence officer is a woman. A Marine Major H. K. Thornton.” He nudged the bag with his shoe. “Watch yourself. She’s more than she seems. Could be a honey trap.” Neuberger strolled away.

Geesus.
Honey?
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and burying his face in his hands.

Chapter 5

Honey gave her name and code to the armed security at the entrance to the gated community where her sister Theresa lived. The man raised the bar blocking the way to exclusive estate homes. It reminded Honey of remote border crossings between third world countries and was just as ineffective. The difference here was if someone crashed the first line of security, they’d be stopped by a second, far more sophisticated setup twenty-five feet up the road. Literally. The gate guard would raise spike strips guaranteed to shred any type of tires. The second heavy metal gate would not open and a security contingent hidden in a structure to the right would disable the occupants of the vehicle.

The development’s wealthy, high-profile residents needed and could afford the arsenal of security. Some residents even had small cottages on their ten-acre properties to house live-in personal bodyguards. Her sister had no such setup. They did hire security when necessary. She doubted tonight would be one of those times. When her bossy older sibling insisted she come, she said it would be an
informal
party. She’d been instructed to arrive in her socialite persona, leaving all things Marine Corps at home.

It should be an interesting evening. For one thing, Theresa didn’t know the meaning of informal and Honey had a suspicion dear sis was up to something. But she wasn’t going to smack the olive branch out of her hand and tonight she would be on her best behavior. She’d spent an admittedly relaxing day at the spa getting a full treatment. Hair, facial, mani-pedi. Tonight, going with informal, her hair was down, and even with the trim it fell past her shoulders. She dressed simply. Black slub-neck blouse, skinny pants and little heels with pointy toes. Turquoise jewelry. She parked the roadster in the driveway and sat a moment staring at the huge three-story mansion her sister shared with a world-renowned philanthropist doctor and their daughter.

Every window was illuminated. Plantation shutters on windows facing the street blocked the goings-on to the prying eyes of neighbors. But then, residents of this neighborhood were too polite to pry. Honey released the steering wheel and took a deep breath. She and her sister had never been particularly close; different mothers and the twelve-year age difference put them at a disadvantage from the beginning. Big sis’s constant meddling in her life had finished them off. Honey stepped out of the car. It would take more than a party to mend bridges between them. But they had to start someplace, and truth be told she was looking forward to the evening.

Honey was five steps from her car when a man came from the shadows. “Stop,” he ordered, blocking her advance. “You can’t park there.” Dressed in a dark suit, he definitely wasn’t a parking valet. Definitely security.

“I just did,” she said, sidestepping the man. Another man materialized and reached out as if to hold her arm. She looked into his face. “Don’t.” He hesitated then continued to advance. “If you are at all fond of that appendage, stop now. You touch me, I swear to God you won’t be getting any part of that hand back.” He stopped. The first man came closer, hand on hip, jacket pushed back, revealing a Glock holstered at his waist.
Informal, my ass.

“Agents,” her vivacious twenty-four-year-old niece, Kara, called as she hustled across the lawn, “she’s family.”

Honey kept her focus on the man who kept his hand on the butt of the gun.
Agents?
Honey looked at the man beside her and saw the communication cord going from his ear to the back of his collar. “Kara, what the fuck is going on?”

“Auntie.
Language
.” Kara’s perfectly shaped eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Mind the Secret Service’s ears.” She gave Honey a hug and whispered, “Mama went crazy and invited the VP. He accepted.”

“Ripley Jordan is here?” Honey disengaged from Kara’s embrace. “See ya.” She turned back to her car, giving the agent who blocked her retreat a get-the-fuck-out-of-the-way look. Kara held her arm, keeping her in place.

“Honey,” called a petite form backlit in the doorway. “Come in.” Theresa waved her arm in a welcoming gesture. “We’re waiting for you.”

“Busted,” Kara said. “You leave now and Mama will make your life miserable for months.”

Like she didn’t already do that.

“Come on.” Kara nudged her toward the house. “Ignore Jordan. Have a drink. I’m dying to hear about where you’ve been.”

Vice President Ripley Jordan was hard to ignore. Honey had encountered him on several occasions and considered him nothing more than a man who used his power and position to get what he wanted. He oversaw two committees directly affecting her work and his politics sucked. Worse than that, the admittedly handsome bachelor considered himself to be a charming ladies’ man. The concept of keeping his hands to himself and the meaning of the word
no
were lost on him.

Honey stepped into an immense foyer with chandelier, curving staircase, and marbled floor. The image of the hovel she’d been in ten days earlier leaped into memory. She pushed it aside to receive her sister’s overly dramatic welcome of air kisses and a hug and went on high alert. Theresa
was
up to something.

“Let me look at you.” She held Honey’s wrists, spreading out her arms. Honey stood still. It was no use fighting. Plus, she’d find out what was going on faster if she gave in.

Theresa reached up, patted her cheek and clucked. “Considering what you do, you look amazing. I can only imagine what you’d look like if you took care of yourself.”

Honey gritted her teeth and let the dig go. No matter what she did, she’d never completely please her sister. Her childhood memories of Theresa were of her clucking, as she’d just done, and reminding her how embarrassing it was to have a sister with a stick figure, a straight white mop of hair and weird blue eyes. For years she was envious of Theresa’s wavy black hair, big dark eyes, perfect olive complexion and petite, curvaceous body. Then she quit giving a damn what anybody thought.

“Good evening, Major,” a male voice said.

Honey stiffened. Being addressed with her rank on personal time was not her favorite thing. She preferred to keep her military and private life separate. Plus, any reference to the Marine Corps put Theresa on edge. Her sister considered the mention of the military and politics unpleasant, her only interest in the latter being what kind of party guests the current crop of legislators made. Honey bit her tongue, forced a smile and turned to greet the moron.

“Good evening, Mr. Vice President.” She dipped her head respectfully.

Ripley put his hand on her hip, sliding it to her back, low to the curve of her ass, closing the space between their bodies. Any other man she would have twisted his finger back until it snapped. The Secret Service, no doubt, wouldn’t let her get away with that.

He gave Theresa a smarmy smile. “Is there someplace I can speak to the major in private?” His gaze went to the stairs. Panic registered on her sister’s face.

“Sir. Please call me Honey this evening.” She moved enough to disengage his hand.

“Very well,
Honey
, if you stop calling me Sir.”

“What would you prefer?” She modulated her voice, reminding herself sarcasm was not to be spoken here.

“Ripley would be nice.”

Asshole would be better.
“Certainly.” The first rule in a hostage situation popped into her head.
Never allow yourself to be
taken to a second location
. “What did you want to speak to me about,
Ripley
?”

Jordan’s slick smile dimmed as he realized she wasn’t going anywhere with him. “I read your report of the girls’ rescue. It was extraordinary.”

Theresa’s eyes darted between them.
“Girls’ rescue?”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll convey your praise to the team.”

“Team?”
Theresa said.

The politician’s smile returned. “I’ve sent them a letter.”

Honey glanced around. “May I remind you the report you speak of is highly confidential. I hardly think this is the time or place”—Honey looked pointedly at Theresa—“to discuss the matter. I’d be glad to come to your office, at your convenience of course, to talk.”

Jordon looked as stunned as Theresa. He didn’t reply.

“If you’ll excuse me,
Ripley
, I haven’t seen my family in months and unless this is an order . . .”

“Nooo.” He dragged the word out and gave a hand signal. Two agents came forward and one took Theresa’s arm, moving her away. Honey took her other arm, holding her in place, and gave Ripley the evil eye until he dismissed the agents with a flip of his hand. The arrogance of the man was mind-bending. Where was a police-grade Taser when you needed one?

“Yes, coming to my office to talk would be a good idea. You are in an extremely dangerous line of work.”

Theresa gasped like she was hearing that for the first time. Well, hell, maybe she was.

“I have to say,” Jordon droned on, “I feel a responsibility to suggest you consider another line of work. With your background you would be a valuable asset here in DC in the political community working for me.”

Of all the unmitigated gall
. Of course, her father’s political legacy and money would be an asset. Jordon would never see a single dollar or word of support from her. And referring to anything in current politics as a community was a sick joke.

Theresa brought herself to her full five-foot-two height—no, make that five-six with the shoes she had on—and said, “I don’t think what my sister does is any concern of yours,” stunning the hell out of Honey.

“Ripley.”
Honey edged between Jordan and Theresa. “I appreciate your concern, but that is not going to happen.” She kept the hand twitching to do him physical damage on Theresa’s arm and squeezed. “I can assure you I can take care of myself in
every situation.
”

“One can only imagine what a woman like you can do.”

“I would be glad to show you anytime, sir.” She played into his innuendo. Jordan’s head snapped back. His eyes sparked with interest. “I can set up a day at Quantico for you to observe my shooting, martial arts, hand-to-hand combat and interrogation skills.” She looked to her sister. “Perhaps you’d like to come.”