Dead Ringer (6 page)

She sucked in a sharp breath. "He's my stepfather."

Finn exchanged a glance with Roper. This was an issue they'd discussed, one of the many objections Finn had made. He still didn't like it and he'd be damned if he'd defend it. He quirked his brow, giving the floor to Roper.

Not that his boss had any trouble going solo. Roper smiled sweetly at Angelina, a smile that hid the steel behind it. "Borian is your mother's husband, true," Roper said, "but you never knew your mother. You were fourteen when she married Victor Borian. There's no blood relationship, no relationship at all." Roper took her hand in a soothing way that made Finn squirm. God, the man was good at the fatherly act. "How far it goes is entirely up to you, my dear. All our information tells us Borian was devoted to his wife. Her death devastated him. Your resemblance to her could be the only lure that will trap him. Will you help us?"

Rising, Angelina walked to the window and stared blindly at the parking lot below. A bitter wave washed over her. Looked like her reputation had preceded her.

So what? It was her one chance to learn about her real mother.

Yeah, but Mommy was dead.

And a zillion-odd people would be dead, too, if Borian sold his radioactive loot to a bunch of crazies.

Do it

The words echoed inside her chest like a heartbeat.

Do it.

Not for her mother, or a nation of strangers. For herself. For a chance to do good. Or to find out if she still could.

Angelina Mercer, the tramp of the new millennium, a do-gooder? She almost laughed.

Instead, she turned around to face them, crossed her arms self-protectively, and didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.

"Sure, why not? Anything for Uncle Sam."

CHAPTER
3

Welcome to the team." Roper flashed Angelina another hearty smile and pumped her hand.

She looked around the nearly-empty office and back at Roper, waiting for more. 'That's it?'

Finn rolled his eyes. "We stopped tattooing our agents last year, but your secret decoder ring is in the mail."

Patronizing jerk.
She opened her mouth to respond in kind, but before she could, Roper interposed. "There's some paperwork to go through, but we can worry about that later." He turned to Finn. "Did you set up the briefing?"

Finn nodded.

"Good. Then this is good-bye for a while, Ms. Mercer. Finn will be your AC-Agent-in~Charge."

Damn, she didn't like the sound of that. "In charge of what?"

"You," Finn said with a gleam in his eyes she liked even less.

"He's the team leader," said Roper. "Your contact. He makes the rules and you report to him."

"You can call me sir," Finn said as he led her out of the office, down the elevator, and into his car. Once there, he turned on the ignition and set off without another word.

Angelina glared out the window, already regretting her decision.

Five minutes into the ride, Finn spoke. "Look, I know we got off to a rocky start, but how we feel about each other comes second to completing our job."

She crossed her arms and continued looking out the window. "And how
do
we feel about each other, Agent Carver?" She examined her own feelings and didn't like the way part of her wanted to nestle closer to the hard length of his thigh next to hers.

He shrugged. "I'm not going to lie to you. I have my doubts about this whole idea."

"You mean you have doubts about me." She swung around to face him and saw that grim muscle working his jaw again.

"I mean-" He sucked in a breath and let it out. "I mean you don't have any training and we don't have time to give you any."

She barked a curt laugh. "From what I heard back there, I've got all the training I need."

"Look, dammit, you don't trust me, I don't trust you. Fine. But we have to work together. I never expected you to agree to do this, and now you have. So maybe I was wrong about you. And maybe you're wrong about me."

"And maybe we're both dead right."

Brakes squealing, he careened into a seedy motel. "I hope to hell not, because dead is the operative word here." He parked in front of a room around back and pulled up the emergency brake with such force it sounded like he would wrench the thing off.

He shoved open the car door, got out, and slammed it shut. Through the windshield she watched him take a room key out of his pocket and insert it in the knob of a numbered door. He stood in the open doorway staring at her, his face dark and cold as a winter night, and she realized that he expected her to follow him.

She couldn't. The dank wall with its row of bent and battered doors closed in on her. She hadn't been to a cheap motel in years. Without warning, nausea surged through her. She couldn't have moved if her life depended on it.

Finn stood in the doorway waiting for Her Majesty. As the seconds stretched, he muttered a curse and stalked back, yanking open the car door. Then he saw her face. She was staring at something beyond him, her eyes wide and scared. He turned and saw what her gaze had fixed on: the room door gaping open like a black hole.

And then it hit him. What had happened to her years ago. Cursing himself for a fool, he bent down and put his hand on the tense fingers in her lap. They were ice-cold. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked small and fragile, not the indestructible wiseass she pretended to be. The enormity of what she'd agreed to do came back to him, and with it, a twinge of admiration. She had guts, he'd give her that. And now, when she needed it least, her courage deserted her. He cleared his throat, reaching for gentleness and half succeeding.

"It's just a briefing, Angel. Nothing more. There's another agent waiting inside with slides and pictures."

She licked her lips. "Don't you have an office?"

"I don't want anyone connecting you with a government agency. I picked this place because it was out of the way. That's all."

He gave her a small, encouraging smile, and her shoulders straightened imperceptibly. He could almost see her force the fear away, covering it up with her usual mask of hard cynicism.

He didn't know whether to admire her or feel sorry for her. He knew a thing or two about covering up, so he held out a hand to help her out, but she swung her feet around and got out by herself. "I don't need an escort."

Fine. Go it alone. The less she leaned on him the better. He slammed the door on his tender impulse and stepped aside to let her pass.

Angelina shook off the pity she'd seen in Finn's face. Who was he to feel sorry for her? Besides, he couldn't know how she felt about places like this-or why.

For half a second she hesitated on the threshold, then took a breath and plunged into the motel room. Inside, it was everything she expected, a lumpy bed, a wobbly chair, a scratched table. But unlike the rest of the room, which looked like a remnant from the sixties, the table held twenty-first-century tools: an open laptop computer with an attachment the size of a small video camera.

As promised, another man was waiting for them, a young, beefy blond with a buzz-cut and nice-guy brown eyes. "Hey, Carver, where you been?'

"Escorting our secret weapon around town." Finn nodded in her direction. "Jack, meet Angelina Mercer. Angelina, Agent Jack Saunders."

Agent Saunders? Not exactly the Terrorism Control Force uniform here. Unlike Sharkman, who was sewed up neat and tight in his federal grays, this one wore a vintage shirt that looked like it had barely survived Pearl Harbor. Complete with palm trees, pelicans, and pineappies, it hong loose over a pair of slept-in khakis. She liked him immediately.

Jack extended his hand and shook hers. "Glad you decided to help us out."

"Looks like you're the only one." At the confusion on his face, she shook her head. "Never mind," She glanced around the second-rate room and the third-rate setup, trying to distance herself from the memories. "You're kidding. This is the best the mighty TCF can do?"

The other man grinned. "Government work is so glamorous."

But Finn remained cool and aloof. "Like I said, you're safer in a neutral setting."

"Well, you got beige down pat."

Saunders laughed, but Finn only hit the lights. "Let's

go." Agent Saunders tapped a few keys on the laptop, and the attachment whirred on, illuminating the opposite wall. Into the beam of light a photograph appeared showing four women around a luncheon table. Her mother was in the middle wearing a severe navy suit. Slowly, Angelina sank on the edge of the bed and peered at the picture, drinking in the image.

Her mother. Come to life in a photograph. Angelina could hardly breathe.

"Become familiar with her smile, the way she holds her head. The closer you can come to duplicating her expressions, the easier your job will be."

What were you like, Mother?
Carol looked happier here than in the snapshot Finn had showed her earlier, more relaxed. What lay behind that angelic smile?

Another keystroke, and another photo appeared. This time, Carol was arm in arm with another woman.

"That's the sister."

Aunt Marian.
What stories could she tell? Had the sisters been friends? Had they giggled and shared confidences, or fought all the time? All at once, Angelina had a family. Her breath caught, her body went cold, then hot. The realization was almost too much to take in.

Marian had small dark eyes pinched close together. Carol was clearly the beauty. She smiled into the camera, dewy and fresh-faced, like a commercial for Ivory soap. Even in her innocent days, Angelina had never used Ivory.

Click. Another picture. "There he is," Jack said, and she caught her first glimpse of Victor Borian.

Thinning light hair pushed back from a strong forehead revealed deep-set, magnetic eyes. He had a full mouth and high, Slavic cheekbones mat showed no sign of sagging even though he looked to be fifty. A brown suit with a vest completed the picture of a grim Russian intellectual, one familiar with using the ends to justify the means.

She shivered. He didn't look like a man to bargain with.

A new snapshot slid into place, a picture of Carol and her husband. She smiled at the camera, he gazed at her, and the expression on his face said he clearly adored her.

That was the trap they would use to catch him. Love. The ultimate Achilles' heel.

You know what that's like, party girl.

She pushed the thought away and focused on what Jack and Finn were saying. That Victor Borian spoke several languages and did odd jobs for a variety of governments including the United States... under-the-table tasks they couldn't complete themselves. That he used those connections to gain inside knowledge that financed his empire, an empire that included ties to the Russian mafia and the heroin trade. That he lived in remote piaces with armed guards, including a Montana ranch.

"Rumor has it that he had a falling out with Anton Ivanov, one of the most powerful Russian mob lords, which is why Borian's living here instead of overseas, where he has several homes," Finn said. "Since his wife's death, he's been a fixture at the ranch. Underground chatter and a variety of intelligence sources lead us to believe the plutonium is there."

The information set her reeling. Carol's pictures showed a woman with understated, old-world grace. A member of the local charity board. Yet all along she'd been married to a gangster. "Did she know what Borian was up to?" Angelina asked.

Jack nodded at Angelina and grinned at Finn. "I thought you said she couldn't put two and two together. That's a good question, Ms. Mercer."

"Angelina." She flashed him her most dazzling smile. "And thank you."

"You're entirely welcome." He smiled back, an expression that lasted a few moments too long... at least for the other man in the room.

"Jack," Finn barked. "The briefing."

Sheepishly, Jack tore himself away from staring at Angelina and scrambled for the next picture. "Sorry."

Angelina smiled sweetly at Finn:
men are so predictable, aren't they? Even big, strong special government agents.

Finn scowled back and turned to look at the next photograph. "To answer your question, no, we have no indication that Carol Borian knew anything about her husband's activities. But she must have suspected."