Читать книгу Frozen Memories - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 9

Chapter Two

Through the ragged curtain of falling snow, FBI Special Agent Spence Malone spotted headlights approaching. “About time,” he muttered.

Spence wasn’t running this operation, but his directions had summoned two vans—one for the local SWAT team and another from the FBI—to this isolated mountain cabin with a dark blue van parked in front. It had been twenty-seven minutes since he called for immediate emergency backup.

His tension was epic. When it came to making sharp, street-smart decisions, he trusted the instincts he’d learned at an early age in foster care. But this assignment was different. Not only was he dealing with a global situation, but his partner was the woman he loved.

Spence feared that he’d made the wrong decision by not going after her when he found the van. He could easily have followed her tracks into the forest. But he’d wanted to make sure these four thugs were apprehended and secured. Backup was required.

He bolted from his rented SUV and charged toward the vans. The SWAT commander and an agent in an FBI jacket joined him on the road. A wall of pine trees separated them from the cabin.

After introductions, Spence filled them in. “My partner is missing, and I think these men grabbed her.”

“Her?” Ramirez, the agent, yanked off his FBI watch cap and combed his fingers through his thick black hair.

“Agent Angelica Thorne is NSA, not FBI. We’re partners for the duration of this assignment.” And the assignment was top secret. They didn’t need details about Angelica. “I followed her tracking signal to the van and checked inside, where I found evidence.”

“Evidence?” Ramirez questioned.

“Her prints and hairs,” Spence said dismissively. “Trust me, she was in that van.”

“But not anymore,” Ramirez said.

“As far as I can tell, she’s in the wind. But she left these four goons behind. I’ve been observing them with a heat sensor. They’re all in the kitchen.”

The SWAT commander gave a quick nod. “Armed and dangerous?”

“Yes,” Spence said. “I’ve got questions for them and would appreciate if you keep them alive.”

“Consider it done,” the commander said. “I’ll deploy two snipers in the trees, just in case. And we’ll storm the house from the front and side.”

“Go for it,” Spence said. “I’m sitting this one out.”

He and Ramirez returned to his SUV, where he picked up his rifle, infrared goggles and a backpack. He needed to hurry. Dusk had fallen. Soon, it would be dark.

“Should I come with you?” Ramirez asked.

“Not necessary.” If Spence couldn’t find Angelica, he might as well throw himself off the nearest cliff. He wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if he lost her. “I need you here to take those four into custody.”

“No problem. We’ve got a cage at headquarters that’s just the right size.”

Ramirez chewed on his lower lip. Spence guessed the other agent was fighting to suppress his excitement. There probably wasn’t much action at the FBI offices outside Colorado Springs. Spence held up his cell phone. “Call me when they’re in custody.”

Ramirez exchanged numbers with him. “Tell me about the NSA agent. How did she get grabbed?”

“This is the first time Agent Thorne has been in the field.”

“Inexperienced,” Ramirez said with a disgusted shake of his head. “Am I right? The chick is a typical rookie.”

“Don’t say chick.” Spence retrieved his phone. “And there’s nothing typical about her.”

“Sorry, man.” Ramirez raised both hands, placating. “I’ll call when we’ve got these guys.”

Spence took off at a jog, heading into the forest in the direction he had already tracked. It wasn’t her fault that she was missing. It was his. He shouldn’t have left her alone, not even for a minute. If his brain had been working, he would have refused to be her partner in the first place. This assignment wasn’t the type of thing she was accustomed to handling.

Angelica worked in the Cyber Security branch of NSA. She’d been there for three years and had a reputation as an outstanding hacker. Though she usually stayed behind her desk, she was chosen for this assignment because her dad was a retired general in the air force who lived in the area. People around here knew her family, and the gates of the North American Aerospace Defense Command, or NORAD, complex were more likely to open for somebody familiar and friendly. As soon as they’d arrived, she’d proved useful in cutting through military red tape. He wasn’t sure if that was due to her high-ranking contacts or her dynamite body.

He saw her footprints in the snow. Branches had been broken on the pine trees. She’d come this way. He dug into his pocket for his GPS device. The blip from her implanted tracker was loud and clear. She was close, less than a mile away. He dared to hope that she’d be all right as he moved quickly through the trees.

She’d charmed him six months ago, on the first day they’d met at Quantico, where she’d come to do a consultation. If he’d been a movie producer looking for a woman to play the part of a secret agent, Angelica would have been number one on his list. She was five feet nine inches tall with long, slender legs and classic curves. Her black hair fell straight and sleek to her shoulders. And she was stylish in high-heeled boots, tailored clothes and expert makeup that showed off her mysterious green eyes. One thing was for damn sure, Angelica didn’t look at all like a computer geek—which was exactly what she was, an NSA expert called in to advise on an FBI hack.

To say that he and Angelica got along well together would be an understatement. From their first kiss, he’d known that she was special. They’d started dating after that first case was closed, which shouldn’t have been a dating-in-the-workplace problem because he never expected to work with her again.

Behind his back, he heard the sounds of the SWAT team assault on the cabin. His shoulders tensed as he listened for gunfire. First, there had been three loud explosions from flash bangs. Then there were loud shouts. He counted gunshots. One. Two. A spray from an automatic, two more, then there was silence. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes, a good sign. Quick operations were usually successful.

He hoped that his and Angelica’s mission would also be swift and effective. They were investigating an attempted hack at the supposedly impregnable NORAD complex. With Angelica’s technical expertise and his experience in undercover ops, their collaboration should have gone smoothly, except that she’d been abducted within twelve hours of their arrival.

At a clearing in the forest, he paused. Obvious tracks went straight across the middle. The fact that she hadn’t taken time to disguise her route told him that she must be desperate. He charged across the snow and up the hill on the opposite side.

Spencer saw the lights of a cabin beside a church, an obvious safe haven against the storm. The wind had erased most of her tracks, but he still saw indentations as he rushed toward the two-story cabin. The lights were less than ten yards away. He could smell the smoke that rose from the chimney.

The gentle strains of a violin wafted through the air as he pulled off his glove and rapped on the door. There was no answer. He hammered more loudly and shouted, “Open up. FBI.”

The door opened, just a crack, and a voice commanded, “Step back.”

When Spence saw the barrel of a rifle, he decided to cooperate. An elderly, bearded man came out onto the wide, covered porch and pulled the door closed. There was a Santa Claus thing going on with the white beard and the red suspenders, but this old guy wasn’t jolly and smiling. He aimed his Remington at Spence’s chest. Bad Santa.

“I’ll need some ID,” the man growled.

Spence reached inside his parka pocket and took out his badge. “I’m looking for someone.”

“What for?”

“She might be in danger.”

“I’m going to let you inside. But if you make one false move, you’ll be sorry.”

As soon as the door opened, Spence saw her. With perfect posture, she perched on a wooden chair, wearing flannel jammies and playing a violin.

He called out, “Angelica.”

Abruptly, she lowered the bow and stared at him.

An elderly lady, who seemed to be the mate of the man who opened the door, chuckled. “Angelica is a perfect name for you, dear. You play like an angel.”

“A snow angel,” her husband said.

Unable to keep his distance, Spence strode across the room toward her. He needed to gather her in his arms, to stroke her hair and whisper reassurances that he would never leave her unprotected again.

“Stay back.” She stood and faced him. “How do you know my name?”

* * *

ANGELICA, MY NAME is Angelica. She thrust and parried with her violin bow, fighting to keep the guy in the huge parka away from her. Angelica! The word echoed inside her skull, and she liked the sound. It felt right. She remembered a rowboat with that name written in fanciful letters across the stern. And so, Angelica, what are you going to do now?

“He claims to be with the FBI,” Clarence said.

“We’ll see about that.” Her first priority was to deal with Parka Guy. “Give your rifle and backpack to Pastor Clarence.”

He spread his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She touched the tip of her bow to the center of his chest. The slender, fiberglass stick looked ridiculously delicate and flimsy against his girth and strength. His shoulders were as wide as the Frankenstein monster. He could snap that bow in half and use the horsehair strings as a garrote if he felt like it. For that matter, he could snap her in half, too. If she had any sense at all, she’d be shaking in her socks.

More forcefully, she said, “The rifle. Do it.”

In a few swift moves, he unfastened the rifle. He also removed the backpack, which he held toward her. When she didn’t take it, he growled and dropped the pack on the floor next to his gloves.

He unzipped the front of his parka and flipped back the fur-lined hood. His complexion was ruddy from being out in the snow, and he had a tiny scar on his chin that she somehow knew he’d gotten in a barroom brawl. Everything else about him was perfection. Square jaw, wide mouth, high cheekbones and the most intense, ice-blue eyes she’d ever seen. His gaze was mesmerizing and predatory like a wolf.

“Now,” he said as he thumped his very solid chest. “You recognize me now, right?”

Though there was something familiar about his towering height, the pattern of stubble on his chin and the blond streaks in his hair, she couldn’t say for sure that she knew him. And she really wanted to. It’d be a shame to beat this handsome man to death with her violin bow.

“On your knees,” she snapped. “Hands behind your head.”

“Oh, my,” Trudy said with a gasp. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

Had she? Where were these commands coming from? How did she know what to do when threatened? Classes... She remembered the exercises; she’d taken training. Every agent in her division was required to learn the basics of law enforcement and firearms. “Quantico,” she whispered.

“That’s right,” he said. “You trained at the FBI facilities.”

The FBI? She was an agent? It hardly seemed possible that a real federal agent would attempt to subdue an attacker with a violin bow. “I don’t think I’m in the FBI.”

“You’re in the NSA, in the Cyber Security division.”

Sure, why not? She turned away from Gorgeous Parka Guy, flipped the violin onto her shoulder and played the opening notes of “Blackbird” to show there were no hard feelings. Perhaps a silly, delusional thing to do, but it seemed like a positive gesture.

Angelica asked Pastor Clarence, “Would you please reach inside his jacket and disarm him?”

“Wait,” Parka Guy said. “I can save us a lot of time if I take off my own weapons.”

“Fine.” Angelica perched on the edge of her hard-back chair and continued to play the classic Beatles song. She segued to “Yesterday.”

Concern about Gorgeous lingered in the back of her mind, but she wasn’t scared of him. The opposite, in fact. She felt safe, ridiculously safe considering that she’d just escaped from four thugs and she was some kind of agent who had special training. She really ought to worry, especially since he was carrying two Glocks, an eight-inch serrated hunting knife and a small-caliber pistol in an ankle holster strapped above his heavy-duty boots.

Stripped of his weapons and his parka, he approached her, stood and waited for her to finish her violin solo. Gently, he took the instrument and the bow from her hands and laid them on the long, wooden dining table. He came back to her, leaned down and gazed directly into her eyes. “Say my name.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The whirlwind of confusion buffeting inside her head went still, and she was suspended, floating in midair. She felt neither cold nor hot, neither right nor wrong, neither safe nor terrified. She was simply there.

“Spencer,” she said. “Spence Malone.”

And then she was in his arms. The cold from outdoors still clung to his Irish fisherman’s sweater, but the internal heat from his body raised the temperature. She snuggled against him, inhaling the natural scent of lamb’s wool and warm man.

He whispered in her ear, “You couldn’t forget me.”

Apparently, she’d guessed correctly.