Touching Darkness (8 page)

O
livia's official duties at the CIA took up much of her time in the last few days, which was perfect considering it didn't give her much of a chance to see Nicholas. She spent Friday morning at Langley taking care of her administrative tasks. Like her father, she had to cram in her regular duties on top of DARK MATTER's. It was an unofficial program, so she wasn't supposed to mention it to anyone. Unofficial, or as he'd explained, he was expanding on an official program because the CIA wouldn't give him the resources he needed. Before Nicholas's probing, she hadn't thought to question it herself. Now it seemed a bit odd. Why couldn't the director at least know about the program?

“Hi, Olivia,” a woman called out from down the hall. “We've got to get together for a drink again. Call me.” She disappeared into one of the rooms.

She and Theresa had gone out once, but all the woman was interested in was her career. Olivia felt no connection to her or any of the women she'd met at work. She had no girlfriends to confide in, but she hoped that would soon change. She was new to the “yoga class” she attended, but the mix of strong, interesting women there spurred her need for female friendship.

Walking down the hall, she passed an office with an open door and nearly ran into someone in front of her when
she did a double take. The man sitting in the office was Harry Peterson. He'd worked at the asylum and had taken a bullet to the hip when the Rogues had broken in to rescue Rand Brandenburg.

“Harry?”

He looked up from the paperwork on the desk and gave her a polite smile. “Olivia, right?”

He wasn't sure what her name was? She sank down on the plastic chair in front of his desk, dumbfounded. When the Rogues broke Lucas out, Harry had implored her to hide the unused syringe so her father would think Lucas had gotten whatever it contained. She'd covered for Harry because he was a good guy, and she knew he'd get into big trouble. Now he hardly knew her.

“How are you? I tried to visit you at the hospital, but none in the area had any record of you being there. I thought you'd be out for a while.”

He gave her a curious smile. “Hospital?”

She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “You were shot in the hip.”

“You must have me mistaken for someone else. I was never shot.”

For a moment she questioned her sanity, of all damned things. But he
was
Harry Peterson. He
had
been shot.

“It was only two and a half weeks ago. I don't think I'll ever forget seeing you lying on the floor, blood oozing onto the linoleum…” Her stomach lurched at the memory. She still felt the fear and anger that had bombarded her.

He rose to his feet, agitation crossing his face. “I wasn't shot.”

She stood, too. “I put pressure on the bullet wound to staunch the bleeding.”

“What are you talking about?”

“At the asylum, where we worked together.”

His chuckle was uneasy. “You've made a mistake. I would have remembered working with you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to finish this report.”

She was still mulling it over when she returned to the estate later that afternoon, but it was giving her a headache. She had better things to think about.

Darkwell's door opened, and he peered out. “Tell the contractors to come here in five minutes. I have an announcement.”

She knocked on Nicholas's door first. He answered, and darned if she didn't feel that hiccup in her heartbeat. His dark hair was mussed, as though he'd been working on a difficult problem. Or, taking in the rest of him, as though a difficult problem had been taking on him. His eyes were bloodshot, brow furrowed. Something was heavy in his heart, something that had obviously kept him up all night.

“You all right?” she asked.

He shook his head, indicating he couldn't talk about it. He was in pain. She could see it in his eyes and the heaviness around his mouth. She wanted to press, to offer comfort. Being away from him these past days hadn't lessened the intensity of her feelings. If anything, they were even more intense.

She took one step into the doorway. “Okay, you win.”

“I win?”

“You convinced me with that question about what I'd do to find out information about my mother. An underhanded tactic, to be sure. But I would do anything to know about her, to know why she abandoned me and my father.” Her lower lip had trembled on those last words, betraying the anger she tried to tamp down. She'd never been allowed to talk about her mother; her father had dismissed her as though she'd never existed. But she had created Olivia, and she needed to find out what kind of woman could leave her baby. She cleared her throat, and the ball of fury lodged there. “I'll get you a copy of the folder.” She stepped back out into the hallway, her voice back to business. “Darkwell wants to see everyone in his office in five minutes.”

“Why?” The question was filled with suspicion.

“An announcement.” She shrugged. “I don't know what it is.”

She started to turn away, but he touched her arm. Just that touch, barely a touch, really, and her body stopped instantly, straining to do more than turn and face him.

“Thank you.”

She didn't feel great about it, but she did feel right about it. She looked down at his fingers on her skin, not wanting to leave. With a nod, she forced herself to continue toward Fonda's room. The door popped open, as though Fonda had been standing there waiting for the knock. Even though she was barely over five feet, there was nothing little about her. Fluffy ash-blond hair that curled up where it reached past her shoulders set off enormous brown eyes made larger by charcoal eyeliner and shimmering shadow. Her teal shirt hung off one soft shoulder, and black leggings hugged her slim waist and legs. Incongruously, she wore black combat boots with stickers portraying a pink cat with x's over its eyes. She looked like she'd walked out of an eighties music video.

“What's up?” she asked. A small diamond glittered at her nose.

“Meeting in Darkwell's office.”

“Be right there.”

Olivia headed past Nicholas's suite to Jerryl's. He took the longest to answer. She told him about the meeting, then knocked on Robbins's door. No answer. Knocked again. A minute later she opened the door. It was dark.

She returned to Gerard's office. “Robbins isn't here.”

“I know. He never came in.”

“Should we call someone?”

“I sent someone to check his house. Car's gone, drawers are half-emptied. He's been acting strange. I have a feeling he's gone AWOL.”

Her throat tightened. “Monday he was all worried, said he'd given you the wrong folder. He didn't want to anger you and asked if I'd let him in your office so he could re
place it with the right folder. But I didn't leave him alone in here.”

Oddly, he didn't seem upset. Her father could be quite paranoid. “I'm sure it was nothing. But never let anyone into my office if I'm not there.”

Speaking of odd…“I saw Harry Peterson at Langley. He acted as though we'd never worked together. It was the strangest thing.”

“Nothing strange about it. He was told to pretend his work here had never happened. Obviously, he's doing a good job of it.”

“But he acted…different. Like he hardly knew me.”

“He's a good actor. A good officer.”

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Why didn't he come back?”

“It was time for him to move on.”

The answers didn't satisfy her. Now she knew why Nicholas was so frustrated. “I saw the director today. He asked about the two projects we're working on. He wants a report.”

Irritation passed over her father's face. “I don't have time to deal with programs that aren't producing results. Talk to the two people heading them up.”

She stepped closer to his desk. “Why can't the director know about DARK MATTER?”

“Because he would frown on my hiring outside help.”

Nicholas knocked on the nearly closed door and stepped in. Gerard waved for him to take a seat, and she swore he looked happy that they'd been interrupted. Nicholas's hair was now combed, though she'd never seen it neat. Something about the choppy, thick locks was charming.
He
was charming in a quiet, understated way. But it was more than that. He treated her like a woman and not a girl. He saw something in her that no one, not even she, had seen. He was intriguing, daring, and sensitive. Just when she'd expected tension between them, he'd given her a cheese sandwich.

Fonda popped in next. “Are we in trouble or something?” She didn't look particularly worried, but she did look ready to defend herself. She had the gait of a cat as she slunk across the room and curled up in a chair.

Jerryl strode in as though the office was his. Olivia remained at the door, curious about the meeting but not part of it. She hoped Gerard wouldn't ask her to leave.

“I'm pleased to announce we have another victory. As you know, Jerryl found the terrorist cell. Recently, Nicholas found a contractor who had been taken hostage. He was rescued yesterday and is on his way home as we speak.” He held up a photograph of a middle-aged man posed with his family during happier times. “He's tired, bruised, but otherwise in good shape. Nice work, Nicholas. This is what we can accomplish, people: saving lives, bringing hostages home. You can all take tremendous pride in your part of it. We won't get public credit, but sometimes doing the right thing is reward enough. That's all for now.”

Olivia joined in the applause, still finding it hard to believe that anyone could find a hostage thousands of miles away. Wondering how Nicholas had done it. She'd seen maps, sketches the three of them had done, but what did they do in those mission rooms? Nicholas's questions had made her curious. If she gave him a copy of his father's file, she would insist on knowing more. But did she really want to know what her father was up to?

Fonda bent her knee and propped her chin on it. “When do I get a mission?”

“When you're ready. You've been practicing, getting better. I'll be giving you a new exercise tonight.”

“Cool.” She gave him a salute and hopped out of her chair. In a flash, she was out the door.

Gerard looked at Jerryl. “We'll begin our next mission in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Jerryl gave him a sharp nod and left.

Nicholas got to his feet but halted when Gerard said,
“Nicholas, you had some questions…maybe some doubts earlier this week. I hope we've laid those to rest.”

He hesitated, his mouth tightening. When she thought he might voice those doubts, he said, “Everything's fine, sir.” He left, his eyes on hers as he passed.

Olivia shut the door behind him, walking over to her father's desk. “You look tired. You're overdoing it, getting up early and working here, going to Langley, then coming back and working more. It's taking a toll on you.”

“Right now DARK MATTER is more important than rest and recreation.”

She couldn't remember her father ever taking part in any recreation, having fun, or laughing. Had her mother's abandonment sapped his joy? Or had he been born like that?

She lowered her voice. “Look what happened to Uncle Leon. A heart attack in his fifties, and he overworked himself, too.” The thought of losing her father…fear wrapped around her heart and stole her breath away. “Are you getting enough whole grains? Taking your vitamins?”

“Yes and yes.” He opened one of his desk drawers and withdrew a syringe. “Give me my injection.”

Her throat closed. “It's two days early.”

“Give me the injection.”

She hated this. Her father had been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, and a vitamin B deficiency that sometimes contributed to the condition. And he, tough man of the CIA, was squeamish about giving himself a shot. So Olivia, who was also squeamish about giving shots, had to buck up and inject him twice a week.

She couldn't even look away as the needle went into his skin. She discarded the needle in the sanitary container. “If that's all…”

“I've seen the way you and Braden look at each other.”

How could an observant man like him miss it? She crossed her arms over her chest. “I've always respected the rules. Your rules, CIA's rules. Our family's rules. But I don't agree with the rule prohibiting me from socializ
ing with the people in the program.” Certainly she should score some points for being assertive, honest, and straightforward, all Darkwell traits. Instead of being patted on the head for exuding feminine qualities, for being obedient.

His mouth flattened into a hard line. “You mean Nicholas Braden. Why can't you accept that marriage isn't all those silly, useless feelings but a strategic partnership? I've introduced you to several handsome men with lineages and honors to stir any sensible woman's loins.”

Hearing her father talking about a woman's loins…
ew
. “Boring, not-my-type men.” She hated the feeling she'd disappointed him by not finding his choices appealing.

He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. “What is your type of man, Olivia?”

“Someone who's not always a follower.” Like she was. “Someone who goes deeper, isn't into the material aspects of life, like awards, medals, and possessions. Someone who treats me with respect even though I see attraction in his eyes.”

“Again, Nicholas Braden.”

Take a deep breath. And say it.
“I want to see him. Socially. And whatever else comes of it, if anything.” If she could convince him she could handle it. At least that would be one secret she wouldn't have to keep. She hated keeping secrets. “I need a life outside this place.” She gestured to include the estate. Pride swelled in her chest. She was standing up for herself. “I understand if you need to transfer me out of the program.”