Читать книгу Mommy Under Cover - Delores Fossen - Страница 10

Washington, D.C.

Agent Tessa Abbot walked into the briefing room of the Justice Department’s Special Investigations Unit, took one look at him and came to a complete standstill.

Her steel-blue gaze riffled over his uncombed hair, down to his three-day-old beard. Possibly four.

Riley had lost count.

And then her gaze kept on riffling. Down to his scruffy black T-shirt, jungle fatigues and combat boots caked with mud. Thankfully the color of the T-shirt camouflaged a multitude of other stains that he didn’t want to identify, but blood was a distinct possibility.

“Why are you here?” Tessa asked.

Riley lifted his hand in a wait-a-second gesture, gulped down the rest of his lukewarm coffee and prayed the caffeine would kick in soon. The all-night cargo flight from Liberia had left him with a wicked case of jet lag and the mother of all headaches.

“This is where I’m supposed to be. I’m your husband.”

And with that, he waited for the excrement to hit the proverbial fan.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“You’re what?” Tessa adjusted her stance, shifting her weight from one fashionable snakeskin leather shoe to the other. Not her usual choice of footwear, which Riley knew for a fact tended toward something flat and more functional.

In her case, functional often included kick-butt, steel-toed boots.

This morning she was obviously dressed for the mission. And those three-inch-plus, mission-directed heels put her close to six feet tall.

Practically eye-to-eye with him.

That eye level allowed him to see her baby blues narrow significantly.

“I’m your husband,” Riley repeated, even though he was dead certain she’d heard him the first time. “Well, your husband for this mission, anyway. After I get cleaned up, we’ll be the undercover team going into the Assisted Fertility Clinic in Dallas.”

Somehow, Riley managed to say that without any emotion. Inside—well, that was a whole different story. There was emotion, all right. Lots of it. And he intended to channel all those still-raw feelings into apprehending Dr. Barton Fletcher, aka the Baby Maker.

“You’re mistaken.” And Tessa didn’t say it with affection, either. No surprise there. This would not be an affection-generating conversation. “I’m teamed with Agent Trapanna for this.”

So the mission commander hadn’t informed her yet. Riley was afraid of that. That meant he’d have to be the messenger. Not his first choice of duties for 0600 hours. Or any other hour for that matter.

“There’s been a change in plans,” Riley explained. “Trapanna came down with some kind of throat infection last night. He’s on antibiotics and bed rest. I heard what happened and volunteered to fill in for him.”

That heard-what-happened part was really glossing over things.

For days Riley had been calling for permission updates on the Baby Maker case. It’d been no accident that he’d learned of Trapanna’s medical condition and within five minutes had arranged a flight out of Liberia. Of course, he’d had to finish a really nasty confrontation with two armed guerrillas before he could get to the airport—hence the possibility of blood on his shirt. Their blood. But he’d made it back to D.C. in time for the mission brief.

Tessa stared at him. And stared. Apparently processing his impromptu situation report. Judging from the way the muscles stirred and jumped in her blush-touched cheeks, she didn’t process it well.

“You volunteered?” she questioned.

Riley settled for a nod.

“Oh, mercy.” She groaned, tossed her mission folder onto the conference table and aimed her index finger at him. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t want you anywhere near this ops, got that?”

As Riley guessed she would do, Tessa reached for the sleek black phone on the wall. Probably so she could call the mission director and complain about the turn of events. Riley didn’t want that to happen.

Not yet anyway.

Some fast talking and lots of luck had gotten him this ops and he wasn’t about to let Tessa Abbot take it away from him.

There was too much at stake.

Riley deposited his empty foam cup onto the table and, in the same motion, caught her arm—a little maneuver that earned him a glare. Man, she was good at it, too. Those steely eyes practically tapered to slits as she shook off his grip.

“If you’ve got a problem with our working together, then say it to me,” Riley insisted. “Not to our boss.”

Without even a second’s hesitation, she gave him an Okay, I will nod. “Oh, I have a problem, all right. A huge one. There’s no way you can be objective about Dr. Barton Fletcher, and you and I both know why.”

Riley didn’t hesitate, either. “I’ll take a wild guess here and assume you’re referring to the fact that Fletcher killed my former partner?”

It wasn’t a wild guess.

That was exactly what this was about.

“Fletcher allegedly killed your former partner,” Tessa amended, using the politically correct term. “Your fiancée.”

“Your friend,” Riley added.

Just in case Tessa had forgotten.

Even though he knew she hadn’t.

He was reasonably sure that no one in SIU had forgotten.

Riley scrubbed his hand over his face. “And there’s nothing ‘allegedly’ about it. Fletcher murdered Colette. The only thing missing is the proof. Proof I intend to find so I can put the SOB on death row where he belongs.”

Now, there was emotion. Riley couldn’t possibly contain it this time. It was like a fist clamped around his heart. Squeezing the life right out of him.

But then, Colette had been the woman he’d loved.

The woman he had planned to spend the rest of his life loving. The woman he’d asked to marry him just hours before that last mission nearly two years ago. And he had allowed his love for Colette and their personal relationship to distract him at the worst possible time. That distraction had given Dr. Barton Fletcher the opportunity to kill her.

“Exactly my point,” Tessa countered. “Fletcher murdered someone close to you. That only proves your inability to be objective about this case.”

“You were close to her, too, Tessa,” Riley quickly pointed out.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t engaged to her. Big difference. I’m talking huge.”

Riley calmly leaned closer. “And do you think my feelings for Colette make me less or more eager to bring Fletcher down?”

Tessa leaned closer, as well, until they were only inches apart. “I think it makes you a huge liability and therefore a dangerous one.”

Okay. So they’d moved on to the pull-no-punches mode. That was his preferred mode of operation anyway. “I could say the same about you. You were just as shaken by Colette’s murder as I was.”

“Yes.” Tessa repeated it and took a deep breath. “But you have a choice about being here.” She jabbed that perfectly manicured index finger against his chest and leaned in. “I. Don’t.”

It was true. On the flight from Liberia, he’d read all about it in the preliminary mission report. Riley had been waiting for nearly two years for Dr. Barton Fletcher to reopen his business.

Two long years.

And the moment it happened, Riley had started the networking that would hopefully give him a shot at getting a coveted appointment with the murdering doctor. However, Tessa beat him to him. Not intentionally. While she’d been working on another case, she’d stumbled onto a contact that had offered to help get her that appointment.

Blind luck, some would say.

But even if it was luck, fate, karma—whatever, Riley intended to use it and any other opportunity that came his way to catch Fletcher.

“What if Fletcher recognizes you, huh?” Tessa asked, obviously trying a different angle.

“He won’t. I’ve never even met the man. I was stuck in a surveillance van during Colette’s last mission.” Riley had to pause a moment before he could finish. “By the time I got to her, Fletcher and his hired assassins were long gone.”

And Colette was dead.

That brought back the flood of memories. The nightmare. He couldn’t make that nightmare go away, ever, but he could try to get some justice for Colette.

“Any other objections?” Riley challenged.

Silence.

Not coupled with a glare, either, which didn’t make it any easier to take. Because he was almost positive he saw some disgust in her eyes. And worse, he saw sympathy, as well.

“Go ahead,” Riley insisted in a rough whisper. “Say it—you blame me for Colette’s death.”

Tessa dodged his gaze and stepped to the side, the sleeve of her precisely fitted indigo-blue silk jacket sliding against his mud-splattered arm. What she didn’t do was say it. No reminder of the fact that during that deadly assignment, he’d violated regulations by not excusing himself from a mission where he’d been intimately involved with his partner.

It had been a mistake.

One he’d regret for the rest of his life.

And one he wouldn’t repeat.

“This isn’t just about Colette,” Tessa said—finally. “I don’t like working with agents who make a habit of bending the rules. And let’s face it, Riley. You don’t just bend the rules, you break them. Often.”

Not exactly the heavy-fisted admonishment she could have hurled at him. But, like her semisympathetic eyes, it pushed a few buttons. Mainly because it questioned his competence. His rogue instincts had saved his butt on several occasions—and he was good at his job.

Damn good.

“You think Dr. Barton Fletcher will play by the rules, Tessa?” Riley shook his head. “I doubt it. In fact, I think he’d prefer being investigated by a yes-sir operative who can’t or won’t think outside the box.”

She mumbled some profanity under her breath. Since he was still close enough to smell her pricey mission-required perfume, Riley had no trouble hearing that profanity—which was mainly directed at him.

So he’d made his point.

If the point he was trying to make was that they could both be smart-asses.

That wasn’t a good thing since they’d have to work together. Plus, to bring Fletcher down, he needed her help and she needed his. A little fact that obviously wouldn’t make either of them happy.

Forcing himself to do some damage control, Riley caught her silk-covered arm again and eased her around to face him.

“Look, we have different approaches to what we do.” He kept his voice level. Or rather, tried to. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. And even if it were, it’s no longer an issue. We’re partners. Period.”

Judging from Tessa’s Arctic stare, she would have almost certainly challenged that—again—if the door to the meeting room hadn’t swung open. No knock. But Riley hadn’t expected the lanky, ginger-haired guest to announce his presence with a customary knock.

The man was John Abbot, the mission commander for this particular ops, and therefore their boss.

He was also Tessa’s father.

Abbot spared them both a glance, barely, before he flipped open a laptop and dropped down into the high-backed, burgundy-leather chair at the head of the conference table. “Let’s make this quick. I have two other missions launching today—”

“Sir, I’d like to request a different partner,” Tessa interrupted.

“Request denied.” Abbot didn’t even look at her, choosing instead to keep his attention fastened to the laptop screen. “Riley McDade’s the only agent with deep-cover experience who was available on such short notice.”

“Yes. But in my opinion, Riley’s much too close to the case.”

This time John Abbot’s eyes slid in their direction. Eyes that were an exact copy of the woman stewing next to him. Oh, yeah. Abbot could do that glare thing as well as Tessa.

She’d obviously learned from the master.

“Everyone in SIU is close to the case,” Abbot snapped. “It was my call to put Riley on the team.” He paused for a heartbeat. “A call he’d better not make me regret.”

And with that gruffly barked reprimand, Abbot motioned for them to sit. It wasn’t a request, either. Riley took the chair on the left; Tessa sat on the other side of the table. Directly across. Probably so she could still glare at him.

Abbot volleyed glances at both of them. Paused. Mumbled something. “Is it necessary for me to remind you two that you’re posing as a happily married couple who desperately want a baby?”

Riley looked at her.

Tessa looked at him.

“No reminder necessary,” Riley assured their boss.

Even though they might have to remind each other.

“Good.” Abbot turned his attention back to the computer screen where he was no doubt scanning the latest intel report. “Judging from what we’ve been able to hear with our monitoring equipment, you can expect to establish your first face-to-face contact with Dr. Fletcher this afternoon at fifteen hundred hours. He’ll probably go over the records we’ve created for you, but beyond that, we’re not sure what’ll be asked of you. Some lab tests, maybe. Perhaps more.”

It was that “more” part that had given Riley a few uncomfortable thoughts. Mainly because he didn’t know what “more” would entail. With Fletcher, it could be just about anything. Still, that wouldn’t stop him.

“I take it there are no pictures in the records you created for us?” Tessa asked. But there was a little too much hope in her tone for it not to set Riley’s teeth on edge. She obviously hadn’t given up on ditching him.

She was wasting her time.

“No pictures,” Abbot confirmed. “The Tates are supposed to be camera-shy recluses because they fear kidnapping attempts. But there are some fake bios in the records and the lab results from the tests Fletcher’s staff ran on you earlier this week. Plus, there are probably some extensive background checks that Fletcher had done.”

Tessa’s eyebrow lifted a fraction, the lift apparently aimed at Riley.

“I’ve studied the mission folder,” Riley volunteered. “I know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I’m sure you do,” Abbot interjected, pausing barely a second. “Neither of you will be able to carry a weapon or a communication device inside the clinic. With Fletcher’s extensive security measures, it’d be too risky. But we’ll have a team in the area monitoring you, and if something goes wrong, they’ll respond as needed.”

In other words, evasive measures. And there was absolutely no guarantee that those evasive measures would be effective, enough, or in time. If their cover didn’t hold, it could turn ugly.

Just as it had the day Colette was murdered.

That reminder was like a sucker punch. Riley quickly shoved it aside to concentrate on the briefing.

“Any indication that Fletcher is suspicious of us?” Tessa asked.

Abbot shook his head. “Just the opposite. From what we can tell, his people have dug no further than the records we provided.”

That was something at least. It meant they weren’t walking into a trap.

“While you’re at the clinic, Fletcher will arrange a time for the second appointment that should happen within the next seventy-two hours,” Abbot went on. “Well, hopefully he’ll do that. For that appointment, Fletcher will take you to an unspecified facility where we believe he’s been performing the medical procedures.”

Not a simple in vitro or insemination for couples having trouble conceiving. Oh, no.

During these medical procedures, Dr. Barton Fletcher would supposedly manipulate the DNA to get the made-to-specs designer babies that rich, self-absorbed couples wanted.

And it was that made-to-specs part that made what he did highly illegal.

If Riley couldn’t pin a murder rap on the doctor, then he’d see how long he could put Fletcher behind bars for performing illegal medical procedures.

“One more thing,” Abbot added. “Riley will be the team leader for this assignment.”

Okay. Riley hadn’t thought there’d be any more surprises today, but obviously he’d been wrong.

Tessa pulled in a hard breath. “But—”

“Riley’s had more experience in deep-cover ops.” There was an unspoken “I won’t budge on this” at the end of Abbot’s comment. “And deep cover is exactly what I want the two of you to maintain once you leave headquarters. Remember, after you arrive for your appointment this afternoon, Fletcher will almost certainly keep you under tight surveillance.”

In other words, continue to play the part of the loving couple. No easy task since they were practically at each other’s throats.

“Questions?” Abbot asked, standing. “Doubts? Concerns? Complaints?”

As if they would actually voice any of that to him. They’d both already fulfilled their complaint quota for the day. Maybe for their entire careers as federal agents.

Tessa and Riley shook their heads.

Abbot closed the laptop, got up and headed for the door. But then he stopped and turned back around. He aimed his attention at Tessa.

“The chief is still considering your promotion. I’ll make my recommendation to him after this mission.”

With that, Abbot made his exit and the door swished closed behind him.

“A promotion?” Riley mumbled. “And it probably hinges on this ops. No pressure there, huh?”

Tessa was already reaching for the mission folder, but her hand stopped in midreach. “And do you think that makes this ops more, or less, important to me?” she countered, throwing his own words right back at him.

Riley couldn’t help it. He had to smile. “Dare I use the P-word? As in personal? Seems to me that you have a problem with agents going into an ops when there’s something personal at stake.”

“This is a mission,” Tessa informed him, sounding very much as if she were trying to convince herself. “And I don’t bring personal issues into a mission.”

He was betting she would this time.

Tessa and he had both been friends with Colette. That made it personal. Added to that, they had to spend the next few days in close, intimate quarters pretending to be a loving, married couple.

And they had to do it with a killer watching their every move.

Oh, yeah.

That was just about as personal—and as dangerous—as things could get.