Desperate Deeds Page 5

  “You sound like General Fisher.”

  “I read his report. He seems even more convinced than I do that she’s responsible for what happened.”

  “Well she appeared genuinely upset about losing Gerardi and Mather.” That much he was certain of. Although it didn’t clear Tyler. It simply made things more complicated.

  “Doesn’t mean anything except that she isn’t a cold-hearted killer,” Palmer said, his words echoing Owen’s train of thought. “Or maybe she didn’t expect them to be killed. At this point anything is possible. But I don’t think we can ignore the possibility that she had something to do with what happened out there.”

  “Agreed. It’s all circumstantial, but that doesn’t make it any less damning. Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you more.” He probably could have, too, if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted.

  “Not to worry.” Palmer shrugged, his tone a little too nonchalant. “You just need a little more time.”

  “Using what possible cover? It was one thing for me to go in for a day and pretend to be MI-5. It’s quite another to pull it off for any extended amount of time.”

  “I have faith in you.” Palmer’s smile lacked any trace of humor. “Besides, I called in a favor and you’re now officially back with her majesty’s secret service.”

  “On what planet? There’s no way they’d take me back. Not to mention that I’d never agree to it. Not willingly.”

  “Relax. It’s all just semantics. If someone calls and inquires about your status, you’ll appear to be on assignment here.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “Actually, you are. Or at least it’s going to look that way. Seems that your superiors at MI-5 are as concerned about the disappearance of the detonators as we are. And as part of their attempt to get to the bottom of what’s happened, they’ve assigned you to work with A-Tac to find answers.”

  “That must have been some kind of a favor,” Owen said, frowning. “I find it hard to believe that the suits at Thames House are going along with this.”

  “As long as they believe their interests are being served,” Palmer said, “they’ll do as they’re asked. Although I’ll admit we didn’t tell them you were actually involved. More that we were just borrowing your name and background for the operation.”

  “All right, so you’ve wrangled MI-5. But what about A-Tac? More specifically Tyler Hanson.”

  The truth was that there was a hell of a lot about his reappearing that wasn’t going to sit well with her. Chiefly the fact that she’d thought she was sleeping with a one-off, not someone she was going to have to work with on a daily basis. He’d couldn’t even contemplate how she’d react if she knew he was secretly trying to prove that she’d committed treason.

  “Trust me, Tyler won’t be a problem. She obeys orders. And Avery Solomon is on board with the operation.”

  “He knows the truth?” It was Owen’s turn to frown.

  “No.” Palmer shook his head. “He believes what he’s been told.”

  “So why would he agree to letting an outsider work with his team? Did you pull strings with him as well?”

  “Actually, no. Avery Solomon isn’t the type to be coerced. He’s cooperating because he believes, first off, that you are who you say you are. Which under the circumstances makes perfect sense.”

  “And secondarily?”

  “He knows there’s a problem with the unit. And he knows that it’s going to take an outsider to help find that problem and eliminate it. He just doesn’t know that you’re working for me.”

  “And if he did?” Owen asked, feeling a lot like he’d just stepped from the frying pan into the fire.

  “Then your life wouldn’t be worth a damn.”

  * * *

  Tyler walked through the airport garage fighting against irritation. Her flight had been delayed. Weather in Denver. And then when she’d arrived she’d discovered her luggage was lost. Not that there was anything she couldn’t live without. It was just one more thing added to an already horrible couple of days.

  Well, there’d been one highlight, but she wasn’t going to think about that, at least not here in the middle of a concrete box while she was trying to remember where the fuck she’d parked her car. Pushing her backpack over her shoulder, she sighed and turned in a semicircle trying to find the Isuzu. In a sea of SUVs it wasn’t exactly standing out.

  She glanced up at the numbered bay and shook her head. C-35. She’d parked in D. Clearly she needed to concentrate. Mumbling under her breath, she adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulder and moved onto the ramp leading to the next level.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have things on her mind. Hell, what she needed was a good long rest, preferably with a nice bottle of bourbon. Although last night’s adventures had begun much the same way. Maybe she’d skip the booze and go for Ben and Jerry’s. Fudge Brownie. Annie swore by the stuff.

  Tyler smiled, thinking of her friend. Annie, of all people, would understand if Tyler wanted some down time. In fact, no one would blame her for calling it a day. All she had to do was head home and lie low for a couple of days. Give herself time to process on her own. Of course that’d mean ducking Nash and Avery’s calls, which wouldn’t be easy to do considering that they were both neighbors.

  And besides, it wasn’t as if she actually had anything to hide. It was just that she hated screwing up. Her father had always been quick to remind her that “there was no fiercer hell than failure.” She hadn’t discovered the original author until college. Keats. There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.

  Keats’s words might be more eloquent, but the sentiment was the same. Failure wasn’t an option. But here she was, returning from a fiasco of an operation, and the blame lay squarely on her shoulders. She’d failed, and two men were dead, their family’s lives changed forever. There was nothing she could do to bring them back, but she could sure as hell man up and make sure that the bastards who’d killed them paid.

  And the best way to do that was to tell Avery everything. All of it. And then get back to work. The detonators were out there somewhere, and she had to find them and bring the perpetrators to justice. It was the only way Gerardi and Mather were going to rest in peace. Or maybe it was just the only way she’d be able to let it go.

  Either way this wasn’t the time to run for cover.

  She sighed, rounding the corner just as a car whipped around the curve, brakes squealing as it swerved to avoid her. Flattening herself against the wall, she reached for her gun, cursing when she realized it had been packed inside her now-lost luggage. The car wheeled around the corner, but not before the driver flipped her off and Tyler bit off another oath.

  There was no reason to think anyone was following her. And even if they had been, she’d taken precautions—scheduling her flight at the last minute and flying under an assumed name. Still, she was edgy and grateful suddenly that she didn’t have the gun. In all honesty, her instinct had been to fire first and ask questions later. But last she checked, shooting the bird wasn’t exactly a reason to blow someone away.

  She fought against a bubble of laughter, surprised to find herself capable of emotion, although considering the night she’d spent with Owen, she wasn’t sure why she had any doubts. The man had definitely called forth her baser reactions. Most of them pretty damn satisfying.

  She shook her head, clearing her mind of her cascading thoughts, and focused on the garage, scanning for the silver Isuzu. It was in the far corner exactly where she’d left it. And with a sigh of both relief and exasperation she started across the driving lane heading for the SUV.

  From behind her something rattled and she spun around, searching for the source of the disturbance. Nothing else moved, the only sound the low humming of the fluorescent lighting. Shadows extended from the back wall across the row of cars. She waited a beat and then, satisfied that she was alone, pressed the unlock button and headed for the car.

  In front of her,
the pavement exploded as a bullet bit into the garage floor. Diving for cover, Tyler moved between two cars, trying to locate the shooter. Another round cut into the bumper in front of her, and she rolled underneath the car, holding position.

  A third bullet slammed into the cement about six inches in front of her, and she scrambled back, slipping out into the space between her car and the one next to it. Yanking open the door, she slid inside, reaching across the seats for the glove compartment and the gun she had stashed there.

  The gunman fired again, this time shattering the rear window. Tyler’s fingers closed on the butt of the Sig-Sauer and she jerked upward, turning to shoot, her finger tightening on the trigger—only nothing happened. The chamber was empty. There were no bullets. Frowning, she looked for the extra ammo she kept stashed under the dashboard, but the pack had disappeared.

  Cursing, she ducked back out of range, just as the shooter fired again—this time taking out one of the rear tires. Heart pounding, she shoved the key into the ignition, the gunman, reflected in the rearview mirror, closing the distance between them now. She turned the key and the engine sputtered, then refused to start, the grinding sound of the starter underscoring the hopelessness of her position.

  Scrunching down in the car, she moved across the floorboard, intent on escaping from the far side of the car. But as her fingers closed around the door handle, the shooter appeared in the space of the still-open door, gun leveled, his dark eyes ambivalent.

  She sucked in a breath, reflexively covering her face with her hands, and the gun exploded, the sound of the report echoing through the garage. In front of her the gunman frowned, and then slumped to the floor, his silenced gun clattering against the pavement.

  “Tyler?” Nash’s voice rang out from across the lot. “You okay?”

  She popped up, gasping for air, her mind still trying to make sense of the latest developments. “I’m here,” she called, relief making her voice sound husky. “I’m fine.” She slid out of the car and kicked away the gunman’s weapon, then bent to check his pulse. “He’s dead.”

  Nash moved out from behind a car in the row across from hers, followed by Emmett Walsh, the team’s communications expert. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Emmett asked, his dark eyes concerned. “You weren’t shooting back.”

  “Someone took the bullets from the gun in my car,” she said, nodding at the Isuzu and the abandoned Sig on the seat. “And the airline lost my luggage.”

  “Sound like you’re having another bad day.” Nash grinned as he reached her side, holstering his gun.

  “An understatement. But I’m still alive. That’s got to count for something, right? How’d you guys find me?”

  “GPS,” Emmett said, bending down to search the dead man for ID. “We just followed the signal to your car. Nash had a feeling something might happen. So we figured it was best not to take a chance.”

  “Well, thank God for your instincts.” She smiled at them both. “I was running out of options fast. If you hadn’t gotten here when you did…”

  “You’d have figured something out,” Nash finished for her. “The guy have any ID?”

  “Nothing.” Emmett shook his head, turning the body over.

  Tyler let out a gasp. “Oh, my God, it’s Alexander Petrov. I didn’t recognize him at first. The hair’s different. But it’s him, isn’t it? One of the guys who was tracking Drake in Colombia?”

  Nash bent down for a closer look. “I think you’re right. We’ll need to get a forensics team out here to verify it, but I’m pretty damn certain that’s Petrov.”

  “I’ll call Avery and get things started,” Emmet said, moving away as he spoke into his cell phone.

  “So what does this mean?” Tyler asked, frowning down at the body. “I wouldn’t have expected Petrov to still be after us. Especially not me. I mean, how the hell would he have known I was in Colombia?”

  “Same way he knew where to find Drake,” Nash said. “Someone’s been feeding him information.”

  “Information that almost cost me my life.” Tyler sighed. “So you think he had something to do with the detonators being stolen?”

  “I think it’s impossible to know for certain. But the facts seem to point in that direction. Although I doubt he was in on the actual theft. Petrov’s more of a clean-up man. Someone you call in to get rid of loose ends.”

  Tyler repressed a shiver, lifting her gaze to meet Nash’s. “And by ‘loose ends,’ I’m guessing you mean me.”

  Tyler stood in the college courtyard, her mind still in turmoil. Nash and Emmett had driven her home, then obligingly left her to her own devices when she’d requested some solitude. For the past thirty minutes or so, she’d been wandering around campus, trying to order her thoughts as she ignored texts from Avery. As much as she wanted to avoid a debrief, she knew she couldn’t put it off forever. Better to just get it done.

  Squaring her shoulders she headed up the steps leading to the Aaron Thomas Academic Center, the heart of A-Tac’s operations. A part of Sunderland College, the Center had been created fifteen years ago by the CIA in response to the increased threat of terrorism. The nationally renowned think tank was home to a dozen or so of the best minds in the country, Ph.D.s who also handled some of the nation’s most dangerous counterintelligence operations.

  There were eight permanent members of the American Tactical Intelligence Command (A-Tac), all tenured professors with expertise in both academia and espionage. And from time to time, as missions demanded, they were joined by other experts in their fields, the think tank acting as cover for their association and affiliated operations. The Center literally covered the intelligence complex underneath, students attending classes without any knowledge of the A-Tac headquarters beneath their feet.

  A passing student waved, and Tyler pulled herself from her thoughts, returning the gesture. She loved her teaching job almost as much as she loved ordnance. Books had always called to her, and as a child she’d often escaped the reality of her messed-up world for various writers’ imaginary ones. Her father hadn’t given any credence to the habit, going so far as to call it a waste of time. And when she’d chosen English as a major, he’d almost blown a gasket.

  But she’d minored in physics. And then, driven by some part of herself that she hadn’t even known existed, she’d joined the Army, again to her father’s dismay. But it was only with A-Tac that she’d gotten the chance to combine her talents. Literature and explosives. An unusual skill set to be certain. But for the most part she’d been happy here.

  The trees above her shivered in the wind, almost as if they were reacting to her racing thoughts, copper-colored leaves whirling as they drifted to the ground. The campus was bustling, students hurrying to class, coats buttoned tight against upstate New York’s October chill. The afternoon was fading, lights flickering to life as twilight moved toward darkness.

  “Tyler,” a breathless voice called as Adam Brennon hurled himself into her arms. “You’re back.” Adam was Annie and Nash’s son, a whirlwind of energy who loved life with the abandon only a child can achieve. “Mom said you were coming home today.”

  She hugged him tight, holding him close, breathing in the scent of little boy. “Good to see you, champ.” He wriggled free, just as Annie caught up to them.

  “Hey, glad to have you back,” Annie said, her brow furrowing with worry. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine now.” Tyler grinned down at Adam. “So what level of Dragonflight are you up to?” Adam was a Nintendo enthusiast—more specifically a Wii game involving dragons.

  “Level eighteen,” he sighed. “I can’t get past the wizard’s guards.”

  “We came out here for a bit of a break,” Annie said, ruffling her son’s hair. “Sometimes it’s nice to remember there’s a real world out here.”

  “Ah, Mom.” Adam frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with video games. They improve my hand-eye coordination.”

  “I suspect you’ve already got that covered,” Tyler sai
d. “After all, you do put in a lot of hours.”

  “Only ’cuz I want to win. And I’ve been doing other things, too. Like playing ball.”

  “So how’s the soccer team?” Tyler asked. “You still playing goalie?”

  “Yeah. I’m getting pretty good.”

  “But they’re not going to let you start in the game if you’re late for practice. So we need to get going.” Annie shot Tyler an apologetic look. “We’ll talk later?”

  “Count on it. And when you’ve got some time, I need some help with level fourteen,” Tyler said, smiling down at Adam.

  “Not a problem. The key is using the sword of Shimrah. You should have picked that up in level four. I’ll show you what to do.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Tyler nodded. “Have fun at practice.” She watched as mother and son headed out into the fall afternoon, the picture of normalcy. The thought lifted Tyler’s spirits and she pushed through the doors of the Center.

  “Hey there,” Nash said as he joined her in front of a bank of elevators. “Wondered when you were going to show up.”

  “I figured it was time. Avery’s texts were growing more insistent.”

  “I’ll admit he can be a bit on the persistent side. But only because he’s worried about you. It’s been a rough couple of days.” He shrugged, inserting a key into a slot next to an elevator marked “professors only.” “Was that Adam I saw outside?”

  “Yeah, he and Annie were on their way to soccer practice.”

  “He’s really good at it,” Nash beamed. “But I guess I’m a little biased.”

  “Just a little.” Tyler smiled. “But I can see why.”

  “So how are you feeling?” Nash asked, pulling the conversation back to the situation at hand. “Physically, I mean?”

  “Sore. But okay. Doc said I had a couple of bruised ribs. My chest has gone Technicolor. But it could have been a hell of a lot worse if you hadn’t found me when you did. So’d we get verification on Petrov?”