Читать книгу Agent-in-Charge - Leigh Riker - Страница 13

The next morning when Casey’s doorbell buzzed, her heart beat so fast it threatened to shatter. She felt her pulse in the still-stinging scrapes on her hands and knees. After yesterday’s twin mishaps, she stood frozen with one hand on the doorknob. Outside she could hear someone breathing heavily.

He wants us to know you’re alone…vulnerable.

What if her attacker was just inches away, with only the closed door between them and her possible murder?

“Casey, open up. It’s okay.”

Graham. Still, Casey hesitated. Last night she had stayed in Graham’s embrace until she finally stopped trembling, automatically seeking solace in his familiar scent, and the safety she found in his arms. She refused to let him stay the night, then hadn’t slept a wink after he left.

Casey fumbled the locks open. “What are you doing here again?” She heard something whap, hard and rhythmically, against the nearby wall. Then something warm and moist nudged her side.

“I brought you a present.” Graham stepped into the apartment. His arm brushed hers for a fraction of a second, and a disturbing tingle of awareness ran over her skin. “The wet nose comes with the dog.” Casey heard the sharp click of toenails on her entry floor. “Meet Sweet William,” Graham said.

“A guard dog?”

For an instant she preferred that to Graham’s scent, his touch, his masculine aura. The too-vivid memory of his dark hair and eyes, that hot gaze that would send desire racing through her body. Even without her sight, she had perfect recall of his high-chiseled cheekbones, his broad shoulders, his muscled chest, his washboard belly, strong tanned hands and powerful thighs. She didn’t have to see, Casey realized, to get the same effect. The flesh on her bare arm still buzzed from their brief contact.

“A guide dog,” Graham corrected.

But she didn’t want his help. Somehow she had to pick up the pieces of her own life and go on. Only yesterday she’d learned that her blindness might be permanent. In the doctor’s office she’d considered the possibility of getting a dog, maybe even the eventuality, but her comment then had been facetious, a quip to keep her from falling apart. For weeks she’d held the hope of a complete recovery. She wasn’t ready to consider the full impact of her situation.

Leaving Graham and the dog to follow, Casey inched, one hand braced on the wall, into the living room. Twelve paces to the sofa, she remembered, not letting her skin graze Graham’s again. But she couldn’t avoid inhaling the clean-soap smell of him. Which only hardened Casey’s resolve.

She would try to retain some of the independence she’d lost with her sight. Take care of herself.

As if to disagree, Sweet William padded right behind her. With that name alone, how could she feel afraid?

Graham steered her to a chair, and Casey struggled not to feel that same jangling awareness when his soap-scented skin met hers. She felt the heat of his hand against her back and the slow burn flared deeper in her abdomen.

“Last night,” Graham began, “I made some telephone calls. Finally one of my contacts led me to the Guide Dog Institute. This morning the director told me they have a waiting list a mile long, that there was no hope of getting a dog any time soon. But then he remembered Willy. He’s a golden retriever and highly trained,” Graham went on. “But he’s getting along in years. Because of his age, the institute decided to retire him. He’s out of the program now and he’s been up for adoption, more as a pet or companion, but so far no one has taken him.”

“I can’t, either,” Casey murmured.

She heard the irritation in his tone. “No? From what I told him, the director seems to think you and Willy might make a good match. He let me pick him up today for a trial. Listen,” Graham said, “just keep him for a few days and see how it goes. I’ll buy some dog food, a bed, whatever else he needs. You can get to know each other. And, oh,” he added, as if he’d just thought of it, “the institute will throw in some training lessons. Normally their program is pretty rigorous and intense, but he thinks you can learn the basics in a week or two. I took the liberty of signing you up for a first session.”

“You did?” Casey sighed in frustration. “Does the word divorce hold any meaning for you?”

“Oh, yeah.” He didn’t sound happy. “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean I have to quit worrying about you.”

“I don’t need your concern.”

“After yesterday? Great.” She heard him drop onto another chair, clearly intending to stay. At the same time Willy apparently decided to lie down next to Casey. He circled a few times, raising the air around her with the musky scent of dog, grunted once, then settled down. She heard him breathing.

Graham tried again. “Casey, take the gift. I know damn well you’re scared—not just about this vision loss, but about what caused it. The question remains, why did these ‘accidents’ happen?”

Casey had no idea, but with Graham’s mention of the attacks, she felt another emotion. The anger felt welcome, fresh and cleansing. “I may be afraid, but I’ll never see the people I love again. I’ll never run through a field. I can’t even play Frisbee with this dog. And one day ago my home was invaded, Graham. Do you know how that felt?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Like a violation. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m going to find out who’s responsible.”

“Not by yourself, you’re not.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she admitted. “Did the police find any prints here last night?”

Graham had called some law enforcement contact of his, which in itself came as a surprise to Casey. He was full of them. The woman who showed up had been efficient, collecting samples, vacuuming the carpet for trace evidence, and slipping her other rare finds into little bags while Casey wondered how Graham knew such people.

“They’re still working on the fingerprints. She lifted a partial but it could be another of your prints, mine, Anton’s…” He hesitated. “And what about Rafe Valera?”

Casey frowned. “I doubt it. He’s only been in my apartment once or twice.”

“That’s enough.” She could sense the same scowl on Graham’s face. “He raises the hairs on the back of my neck. With very little provocation he showed up here yesterday waving a gun. A big gun. He looked like he knew how to use it.”

“He only wanted to protect me.”

“Did he?” Obviously, Graham wasn’t that sure. “I know you and the old guy have become close. Anton makes a great father surrogate, but his son is another matter. Casey, be careful. I think he’s dangerous. Until I ask around about Rafe Valera, it may be wiser to avoid him.”

“You can’t think Rafe had anything to do with the break-in here, or my experience in the revolving door?” She wouldn’t even think about the hit-and-run.

“How well do you really know either of the Valeras?”

“Not that well but—”

“Then just be careful,” he repeated. “Some extra caution wouldn’t hurt, Casey. I want you protected. I don’t want you living alone. Until we figure this out, Willy can help minimize the danger.” Probably to distract her, he returned to their earlier discussion. “He can help you adjust to your condition in lots of ways.” Graham paused. “And—quid pro quo—you’ll be helping him.”

As if to confirm that, Willy wiggled closer, and Casey’s hand bumped against warm, silky fur. In spite of her earlier concerns, she stroked him—and felt a strange feeling wash through her. She wasn’t alone. Casey almost welcomed the subject of the dog’s welfare.

“Me? Help him? How?” she asked. “He’s the one who can see where he’s going. You just said—”

“He had the same owner for six years until the guy passed away a month ago. William is now eight years old. If he doesn’t find a new home soon, he’s going to be in serious trouble.”

That struck a chord with Casey, as Graham knew it would. After her parents died when Casey was five, she’d been juggled from one relative to another, never quite belonging anywhere. For a while, in Graham’s arms, she had hoped…but that hope had died. Casey petted Willy’s fur but felt she was stroking Graham’s skin instead. She pulled her hand back.

Her heart lurched. You poor thing. They were two of a kind. Again, she reached out a comforting hand. A wet nose met her palm and Willy licked her, twice. “Not fair, Graham. You know I’m a sucker for animals.”

“He’s grinning,” Graham said in a coaxing tone that went straight through her like a caress. “He likes you.”

“This is fighting dirty. You know that, don’t you?”

“He has great eyes,” Graham murmured. “Dark, liquid—” Like Graham’s, she thought. “Full of trust,” he added, which shattered the illusion. Trust didn’t come easily to Casey, especially where Graham was concerned. “He’s got a hundred-yard stare. Just the thing you need for protection.”

Willy seemed to know that, too. With another grunt he lumbered to his feet, then laid his head in her lap.

Graham knew he had her. He’d be wearing his own, surprising grin now, the one that shot her defenses every time. Casey ran both hands over Willy’s silken ears, feeling the tufts of hair, then smoothing his bony forehead. She could feel him gazing at her, hoping. Perhaps even, if dogs were so inclined, praying.

Graham closed in for the…kill. “He always wears this goofy grin unless he’s really concentrating on the job. Then, kind of like me, I swear he frowns. He has terrific hearing, and even better instincts. By tomorrow, you’re gonna thank me, Case.”

But, as he well knew, she was hooked. With his head in her lap, Sweet William had won her heart. Just like Graham, the first minute she saw him. Tall, dark and dangerous, she’d thought then, losing herself in his smoldering eyes anyway.

But Graham, she had learned, posed little threat. He was normally as steady as a concrete pillar. He never took unnecessary risks, except with his driving. Hearthline relied on him to handle government paperwork with more dedication than he’d shown for their marriage. Casey supposed the only true danger he posed was to her own still-hurting heart.

Be careful.

Maybe until she found the reason for the attacks on her, Willy could help allay her fears.

“You won’t have to wait.” Feeling her way, she stroked Willy’s broad back then planted a kiss on the top of his head. She could all but hear his tongue lolling in delight. “Like your new home, pal?” Casey lifted her sightless gaze in Graham’s direction. “I’m already in love. You rat…thank you.”

“HOW DID SHE TAKE IT?”

Slow to answer, Graham watched Jackie Miles lean back in her seat across from him and grin. He didn’t smile back. Even after chewing Jackie out about the training exercise yesterday, he still felt edgy. He could see Casey last night, looking pale, could feel her in his arms at the doctor’s building beforehand. He could see her melting over Willy earlier that day, yet trying to hide her fears.

“How do you think?” he said.

Her grin widened. “She kept him, though. Right?”

“Right.”

Jackie ran her fingers through her short red hair. “So why the frown, tough guy? Casey has a dog to help her. And Willy has a place to live—literally.”

Graham lifted his eyebrows. In frustration, he tapped a pen against the edge of the table. They were alone in the booth of a small diner not far from Casey’s apartment, and were the only customers in the place, yet he could feel danger in the air.

“Watch it,” Graham murmured. “Be careful what you say.”

When her brown eyes cooled, he decided that he missed his original partner, Tom Dallas, who had gone back into the field about the time Graham and Casey split up.

Then there was Casey herself.

Graham kept his tone low.

“Before I hooked her up with the dog, she was depending on the old man across the hall—a nice enough guy but he’s seventy-five if he’s a day. Not much protection there.” Graham sighed, then, in an even softer voice, told Jackie the little he knew about the man’s son, Rafe Valera. “I was a hair away from pulling this out—” he patted his coat over his Glock “—when the old guy showed up. If we’re right about her first ‘accident’ and the revolving-door episode, then she’s still at risk. I’m not always around to make sure nothing happens to her.”

“You’re divorced, boy-o.”

“So she keeps reminding me.”

She laid a hand on his arm.

“You’re not responsible for her any longer.”

“So she told me.”

When he pulled his arm free, Jackie swiveled away to reach for the sugar, as if he’d rejected her, and Graham changed the subject again. It wasn’t comfortable for him, either, admitting his marriage had gone belly-up.

No sense jumping down Jackie’s throat again about Casey, when what she’d said was true. He needed Jackie to help him crack a difficult case, the reason they were sitting now in a diner several miles from the Hearthline complex to have a private conversation.

Graham’s personal life might be a mess, but he couldn’t afford to screw up this latest assignment. Casey’s well-being was one thing—and important to him. National security was another, and Graham returned to the business he shared with Jackie. Cloak-and-dagger, he thought. They were even “hiding” in a corner so as not to be overheard.

“Find anything new in those telephone logs or cell phone records?” He didn’t mention Hearthline by name.

“De nada,” Jackie answered, still with her profile to him. “Our guy is a real closemouthed type.”

“He’s careful, that’s for sure. I’ve been running the e-mail search myself.” The pen rapped the table edge again. “Nothing there, either. Hell, the breach has got to be someone in the agency.”

Jackie faced him again. “True, but weird.” Hearthline’s motto was “The Bastion of National Security.” “Selling secrets to Al-Hassan or any other terrorist network must be highly profitable—and it makes our guy on the inside a traitor.”

Graham frowned at his pen. Their mission hadn’t proved easy, not that he expected it to be. But locating the source of a major security leak before it triggered another terrorist attack on the U.S. was proving even more elusive than he’d thought.

“He’s there all right. I can feel it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What we don’t know is who he is.”

“I have a theory you might like,” Jackie murmured and Graham’s head shot up. She silently mouthed the name Eddie Lawton.

“The IT guy?” He’d fixed Graham’s computer once. A small, scrawny kid with big glasses, a stubborn cowlick and a pen protector in his pocket.

“He’s a techno geek, I know. That’s why he’s perfect. PC’s are his friends, better than people to him. He looks harmless, even cute—” Jackie shuddered “—but it would be first-grade easy for him to hack into the databases. Believe me.”

“Maybe so, but I still think it’s someone higher up.” Graham had been making a list right before he suggested they go for coffee to discuss matters. Before he’d reamed Jackie about the training exercise. Before she’d brought up Casey. “Much higher,” he said.

Jackie saw his point. “You mean, someone privy to real information as it comes in.”

Like DeLucci. The thought of their boss soured Graham’s stomach.

“Right, and with the alert at highest level—”

“‘Rumor has it another disaster on a massive scale is all but imminent.’” She quoted their supervisor’s latest memo. “Thanks to whoever-the-hell-it-is we’re looking for. High or low.” She stirred the sugar into her coffee. “Whoever it is, we’ll find a slip or a name somewhere in those records—and then a face to go with it.”

Graham set his cup aside. “We’d better get started.”

“I have more cell phone calls to wade through before quitting time.” She leaned close to whisper, “And that’s our exciting life, 007. Sometimes I think the undercover drudgery at M-6 will kill me before a traitor’s bullet can.”

Graham pushed back in his seat. Their true affiliation was not with Hearthline, but with C.A.T., a top-secret, elite counterterrorist team funded in part, it was said, by the CIA.

“Listen.” He checked the narrow room again, finding no other patrons at the moment. “This diner is better than a ‘dedicated’ huddle room at the agency, but still, no exception. The walls could have ears, so watch it. Let’s go.”

Graham slipped his pen into his jacket. He wouldn’t dwell on the fact that his marriage may have gone bust because of his job. That he’d lost Casey, who found it hard to trust in the first place, precisely because he had been lying to her about who he was and what he did.

Yet one question had been teasing the edges of his mind ever since he’d gotten the call that Casey was hurt.

Graham paid for their coffee, ushered Jackie outside then posed the question. “Here’s another thing to chew on. What do you suppose she was doing at my office that day?”

And why had Casey been run down less than a block away, of all places in the nation’s capital?

Walking beside him to his car, Jackie shrugged. “She wanted to see you, obviously.”

Graham shook his head. “I had distinctly told her never to go there, but why in hell would someone want to hurt her?”

“Or try to kill her,” Jackie murmured.

Exactly. Graham’s blood chilled at the thought.

Like hell Casey was no longer his responsibility!

Until her assailant was caught, Graham, just like Sweet William, was there to stay.

He couldn’t stop the thought: And to keep her alive.