In the Dark (8 page)

"Why?"

But it was too late. The chair in the office squeaked, and there was Veronica, peering around the corner to see who was whispering in the hallway. She looked back and forth between the two of them. "What are you doing here?" she demanded of Luther, darting a disdainful look at Hannah's attire.

Luther ground his back molars together. "We have business in the file room," he stated, heading doggedly toward it.

Veronica's pretty face reflected skepticism. "Really?" she mocked. "And I suppose your friend, here, has top-secret clearance."

"Actually, I do," Hannah said calmly.

"She doesn't have her CAC card," Luther interrupted, making reference to the Common Access Card. "I'm letting her in with mine."

"I don't think so," said Veronica with that smile that meant she was going to be a royal bitch.

"She's cleared," Luther insisted.

"Not if she isn't in the system," Veronica retorted, her dark eyes flashing.

"This system?" Hannah indicated the thumbprint scan mounted next to the archive door. "Depends on whether it's synched to the larger database." Stepping closer, she inputted in her PIN and pressed her right thumb against the screen. It matched her print to the database, requesting that she insert her CAC card. "Like he said, I don't have my card, but it recognized me." She sent Veronica a pointed look.

Veronica's eyes narrowed as Luther scanned his own thumbprint and inserted his card, releasing the lock on the secured door. He hustled Hannah inside before his ex-fiancée found a way to interfere.

"Does she always work this late?" Hannah asked as Luther flicked the light switch. Soft halogen lights winked on, exposing row upon row of filing cabinets.

"Only when she's going home with the officer on duty."

Hannah gave him a long, perceptive look.

"Forty-eight file cabinets," Luther commented, diverting her focus from him to the task at hand. "And two computers."

"Do you have an account on these computers?" Hannah inquired.

"All officers and senior enlisted have accounts."

"Then we'll start by finding a comprehensive list of all the weapons stolen. That's got to be listed on a Navy Website somewhere. We'll cross-reference the list with all the missions that Lovitt was involved in or knew about. If his name comes up more often than any other commander's, we've at least got supporting evidence. I'll search through records the old-fashioned way."

Luther sat at the nearest computer and powered it up.

Hannah turned toward the filing cabinets and pulled out the first drawer. "So that was Veronica," she said, without inflection.

"Yes," he said shortly.

"She's pretty," Hannah observed.

He stared at the hourglass on the monitor. "You think?" He was tempted to reply that Hannah was a lot prettier, only what was the point of that? "Here we go," he said instead as the desktop popped up. He went into search mode while Hannah riffled through the files, scouring earnestly for information linking Lovitt's name to the weapons stolen from warehouses, frigates, and air terminals all over the world.

Veronica tossed down the document she was editing, unable to get the verbiage straight. Thoughts of Luther in the archive room with that dowdy-looking woman had her thoughts churning. What were they doing in there? Was it work-related or was Luther actually seeing someone so soon after throwing her out? If so, his taste in women had obviously veered off course.

Whoever the woman was, she had access to information that Veronica didn't, and that rankled. After working as a government servant at Spec Ops for six years, she ought to be allowed in the archives room. It wasn't like anything going on around her was really kept secret. She had ways of getting a man to talk.

For that matter, James, the security officer, had shown her how to validate the users of the thumb scan. Why sit here wondering who the woman was when all she had to do was to punch in a code to find out?

She'd jotted down the procedure on a sticky note and stuck it in her desk. Ah, yes, here it was.

Crossing to the scanning device, Veronica entered the code James had used and waited. The machine bleeped and beeped before listing names in the order of its most recent user. Luther's name was right at the top. Below that was the name Hannah Geary, along with her date of clearance and place of employment.

Veronica stared at the strangely familiar name, wondering where she'd heard it before.
Geary, Geary, DIA.
She cleared the screen and returned to her desk where she gnawed on the end of her pen.

Wasn't Geary that analyst who'd found incriminating information about Commander Lovitt? Hadn't the woman gone missing when she was supposed to surrender her evidence to the Quantico police?

Well, well. . .

Apparently she wasn't missing, after all. Either that or she'd been found. What would old Eddie do if he learned the woman was a threat, still, to his reputation?

Poor man, he'd been removed from Spec Ops and given an administrative job over at Oceana. His marriage was on the rocks, as he'd confided the last time they'd been together. He certainly deserved to know that Luther and this Hannah woman were conspiring against him. And wouldn't he be grateful to Veronica for tipping him off?

The last time he'd been grateful, he'd bought her a tennis bracelet!

With a smirk of self-satisfaction, Veronica leaped up to find a more secluded office. Whatever happened to Luther as a result of her meddling was his concern. He deserved a chunk of misery for breaking their engagement.

Edward Lovitt's hands shook as he placed the phone back in its cradle. He crossed to the kitchen sink to splash water on his face, keeping his movements quiet so that he wouldn't awaken his wife.

Oh, Jesus, was this never going to end? The Individual had assured him in their last correspondence that Ernest Forrester's findings would go no further. His office had been wiped clean, and his office mate had been dealt with. Eddie didn't need to get involved.

If that was the case, then why was Hannah Geary snooping through files in the archives room at Spec Ops? Not that she would find anything. He'd gone through every inch of paperwork and computer data, making certain his name couldn't be linked to any of the weapons he'd stolen.

But the last thing he needed was some intelligence analyst showing up at the last minute with incriminating information.

Damn the Individual for getting Eddie involved in this business in the first place!

He tossed down the towel and stalked to the living room, where he'd been relegated to sleeping on the couch.

Whoever the Individual was, he'd known enough about Eddie's past to blackmail him. Eddie had sold secrets to the Russians in the Cold War—big deal. It was harmless stuff, all of it. But if the truth went public it would have ruined Eddie's career. So to ensure the Individual's silence, Eddie had agreed to steal and store weapons for him.

The arrangement had functioned without a glitch until a nosy DIA officer started snooping near Eddie's warehouse. He'd had to eliminate the man before he could expose him.

A quick hit-and-run in a rural area seemed the best solution. Only the Individual had railed that the measure was a big mistake. He'd announced that he was backing away, apparently through with his demands.

Thank God,
Eddie had thought. He'd quickly applied his energies toward cleaning house, eliminating anyone with the least inkling of his activities.

Jaguar, who should have perished in a North Korean warehouse last year, was Eddie's biggest concern. But like a cat with nine lives, Jaguar evaded him again, frustrating what ought to have been a quick and easy elimination out at sea.

Killing Miller had been easier.

The fiasco with Jaguar was now in the public eye, where Eddie's rank and Jaguar's PTSD were the only things protecting him. This Hannah Geary woman could potentially ruin his chances of getting his career back on track.

With sweat making his T-shirt cling, Eddie reached for his laptop. He fingered the keyboard to rouse his computer and then hesitated. What was he doing? Did he really want to involve the Individual in a matter he could resolve himself?

He closed his laptop decisively.

No, the last thing he wanted was to invite the Individual back into his life. He would deal with Hannah Geary himself.

And then he'd order his brother-in-law, the sheriff of Sabena, to dump the remaining stores of weapons on the bottom of the Rappahannock River. They could rust away to nothing for all Eddie cared.

The only thing he wanted now was to have his life back, the way it was before the Individual made his terrible demands.

Leila headed toward the red Camaro, shielding her eyes against a brazen sunset. Even from a distance of a hundred feet, she was strikingly beautiful, as dark and exotic as her Turkish heritage implied with slender lines and black hair hanging down to her hips. She didn't see Sebastian, who was parked in a used-car lot across the street, camouflaged by passing vehicles. He tingled with anticipation as Leila unlocked the door of her car, using her remote lock. He'd lifted an identical set from her condominium the last time they'd been together, more than a week ago.

She swung the door wide and eased gracefully inside it, leaving one leg exposed from the hem of her very short skirt all the way down to her high-heeled sandals. It was a wonder that every driver on the road didn't steer out of control.

She inserted the key in the ignition, no doubt eager to turn on the air-conditioning before shutting herself inside. He imagined what she was probably hearing—a ticking sound and nothing more.

Guilt pricked him as he sensed her dismay. He watched her sit a moment, confused and indecisive. But then she popped the hood and got out of the car, circling warily toward the engine. The tension in her body had him reaching for his own keys. It was time to come to her rescue.

Yes, it was pathetic that he'd had to incapacitate the woman's car to get her to acknowledge him. But as they said in Mexico,
El Amor se desespera.
Love makes you desperate, and he was more in love than most. Only by putting her squarely at his mercy would she get to know him better.

Leila was peering, mystified, at the components of her engine when he pulled up alongside her Camaro. She looked up, distress turning to relief as she recognized him.

"Problems?" he asked, leaning casually upon his steering wheel. He drove a blue 1960 Ford Falcon with a loud rumbling motor and one door still covered in primer.

"It won't start," she admitted, flicking a disdainful glance at his ride.

"Really?" He put his car into park and turned it off. Getting out, he noted the way her gaze skittered over his attire—desert camouflage BDUs and boots. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his jacket to counteract the Indian summer heat, baring the smooth muscles of his upper arms that were bronzed a deep copper-brown, much like hers only he'd seen more sun. "Let me have the keys?"

"They're in the car."

He eased inside and turned the key.
Click, click, click.
"Sounds like a bad alternator or an electrical problem."

She stamped a foot in vexation. "Wouldn't you know it! My warranty just expired a week ago."

Yes, he'd picked up on that information when she'd mentioned it in passing. That's what had gotten him thinking in the first place.

"Can you fix it?" she asked hopefully.

He got out and moved to the front of the car. "No, they cover new engines with casings. Only a mechanic can get to the parts." Or a SEAL who'd made a hobby of tinkering with engines, but she didn't need to know that.

"What am I going to do?"

She was already wringing her hands. Sebastian pulled his cell phone off his webbed belt and flipped it open, calling on his mechanic, who was waiting on standby. "Mike? Sebastian here." He summarized the problem, listened to Mike tell him that he'd tow the car to his shop and have it ready for him in the morning.

"You need to get it towed," Sebastian relayed. "My mechanic, Mike, will have it ready for you in the morning."

Leila's silver bracelets jangled musically. "What time in the morning? How will I pick it up?"

"Don't worry. I'll give you a lift."

Given her stricken expression, she was clearly very worried. He had her completely off balance because the only way to get through this difficult moment was to accept his help. "No, I can't impose on you."

"It's not a problem." He was getting uncomfortable again, being the cause of her distress. "I can go into work a little late tomorrow. The new CO won't be in until noon."

She eyed her ballet studio. "Perhaps I should just stay here."

It was everything he could do to give a careless shrug. "Wasn't there a break-in at this mall last week? It'd be safer if I took you home and picked you up in the morning."

She looked from him to the studio, as if choosing the better of two evils. "Okay," she said, making her decision. "Thank you."

"Leave your key for Mike under the floor mat. He'll be here within five minutes."

She pulled the key off the key chain, struggling not to break her long pink fingernails. Then she stuck her head into her car to hide the key and to retrieve her purse. Sebastian raked a gaze over the curves exposed to him but turned toward his car before she noticed. She wasn't at his mercy yet.

He waited for her to settle into the bench seat beside him, fumbling to fasten the archaic seat belt. "All set?"

"Yes, thank you."

If she thanked him one more time, he would beat his chest and cry
mea culpa
!

"You just happened to be passing by?" she asked with belated suspicion. He worked at Dam Neck Navy Base and lived not too far from its back gate, making a trip to her studio quite a detour.

"I was called out to Oceana," he said, referring to the naval air base closer to her shop. It wasn't exactly a lie. He'd been out there last week.

She hummed her understanding, then turned to look out the window. And that was it. He knew from experience that if he didn't force her to engage in conversation, she wasn't going to say another word to him.

A slow-burning anger heated him from the inside out. He could feel it spreading insidiously through his body, galvanized by a healthy sexual appetite.

Sebastian was renowned for his supreme patience, but for some reason Leila robbed him of his usual self-control. Which was probably the reason why he took a sudden left at the intersection, tires squealing to beat the yellow light.

"This isn't the way to my condo," Leila informed him, one hand braced on the seat, the other clinging to the seat belt.

"Yes, I know."

He kept it at that, punishing her for her reticence, for her damnable, icy poise.

"So where are we going?" she asked, seconds later. There was an edge to her tone this time.

He slanted her a look. He was so tempted to say something that would cause her to fall apart, to rip the world out from under her feet, to make her feel the way she made him feel. "Are you hungry?" he asked, instead.

"No."

"No?" He let his gaze drift over her deliberately. "You look hungry. You look like you starve yourself."

"What business is it of yours?"

Her cheeks turned faintly pink. Sebastian took it as a good sign. "It is my business," he insisted. "If you intend to have my baby you'd better feed him."

"Him?" She made a sound of disgust. "I guess you assume that just because you ooze masculinity you could only have a boy child." Her magnificent eyes began to flash.

He
oozed
masculinity? "You need some good Mexican food," he continued, ignoring her jibe. "I'm going to cook for you."

Her jaw grew visibly slack. "Excuse me? This isn't part of our deal."

"I think you failed to read the fine print," Sebastian retorted, though they'd forged no written contract. "The part that says I have every right to insist on the best health and welfare of my child—"

"There isn't even a baby yet!" she cried in disbelief.

"Do you know that for sure?" They'd made love just over a week ago. He guessed it was too early to tell.

She pressed a hand to her forehead and briefly closed her eyes. "Allah, you make me crazy," she muttered. "Fine, I'll eat your food, if it'll make you happy. But then you are going to take me home."

He gave her his best enigmatic look. No need to tell her that the only place she was going tonight was to his house. He wouldn't put it past her to jump from his vehicle at the next intersection.

Instead, he put a leaden foot on his accelerator, getting her to his ocean-front cottage as fast as possible. He'd whip up his favorite dish of
mole poblano,
feed her until she was groaning with repletion, and then he'd make certain they became more intimately acquainted.

Leila jammed her hands under her thighs so she wouldn't wring them. What was happening? All this had the earmarks of an abduction. Sebastian had said that he would take her home, only now she was headed to
his
house, where he claimed he intended to feed her. Bad, bad idea.

His house was where he'd taken her the night they'd met. It was May back then, the night she'd turned thirty-eight and realized she wasn't going to have the baby she'd always dreamed of, not unless she did something absolutely out of character.

She'd rented a car for anonymity's sake, and with her friend Helen's help, she'd been cleared at the gate of Dam Neck Navy Base. She'd headed straight to the Shifting Sands Club where Helen had assured her she'd be the focus of male attention.

The moon had been full. A cool breeze, redolent with the smell of the ocean, had wafted through the open windows. She'd been swarmed by men, but when Sebastian made his way toward her, the others had backed away, in deference to his rank, she later learned. But one look at him, and she'd already made her selection.

She remembered thinking Sebastian would make the perfect father for her baby, his dark coloring so like her own. With a glass of wine coursing her bloodstream, she'd danced with him on the patio, thrilled by his grace and by the look of intensity in his espresso-colored eyes.

She'd let him take her home, to his A-frame cottage by the sea. And with the ocean throbbing in the background, she'd relinquished herself to blinding passion. She'd lost count of the number of times they'd made love. The experience had been so intense, so frightening, that she'd slipped away when he fell into exhausted slumber. She hadn't even told him her name.

Nor had a baby been conceived that night. The experience had only left her with a gnawing hunger for human touch and a profound curiosity to know more about the man.

She'd ignored both impulses. Her husband, Altul, had left her after years of marriage—destitute and bankrupt. It had taken every ounce of willpower to put her life back together. She wasn't about to risk her fragile heart again.

But Sebastian was like a magnet of opposing force, drawing her inexorably to him. And when Helen had called in turmoil over Jaguar's supposedly imaginary fears, Leila had intervened to speak with him. At the time, Jaguar had been living with Sebastian with the belief that his family would be safer without him. Leila had known she would run into Sebastian again. She'd told herself she only intended to apologize.

And apologize she had, offering him a stammering explanation that had resulted in his offer to give her the baby she still desired—no strings attached.

So why was he speeding her toward his home, with a glitter in his eyes that told her he was angry, though he appeared relaxed?

The sky had mellowed to violet by the time they pulled into the carport of his home. Sebastian cut the engine. "Come in," he invited, getting out.

Keeping her panic subdued, Leila followed him up the wooden steps. At the front door, he stepped aside to let her in, flicking on a light switch. Recessed lights lit the exposed timbers of the pointed ceiling. The house was small, with a great room and kitchen area downstairs and a loft and bedroom above, where Sebastian slept. He'd built the house himself.

She took in the depressingly clunky furniture. The cushions and carpeting were a muted gray. The pictures on the wall were uninspiring. The home's only saving grace was the kitchen—a culinary artist's dream, with graphite countertops and gleaming stainless-steel appliances.

"Relax," Sebastian invited. Glancing his way, she found him unbuttoning his shirt jacket. Her panic spiked.
Relax?
How could she relax with him undressing before her?

He shrugged off the jacket, revealing a tan T-shirt underneath, one that clung to his chiseled torso. She watched, dry-mouthed, as he unbuckled his belt, then tugged his T-shirt free. To her great relief, he turned away, pulling it over his head as he turned away. "I'm going to change. I'll be right back," he said, taking the steps two at a time, muscles in his naked back rippling.

Leila tore her gaze away. She headed to the kitchen on wobbly knees and poured herself a glass of water, gulping it down. Ignoring the sounds coming from the loft, she cast an envious gaze around his cooking space. The man's priorities were in the right place, apparently.

She dared a peek into his refrigerator. He was also immaculate. The shelves were all wiped down. She glimpsed an array of health and ethnic foods that only made him that much more appealing.

"I assume you've heard the latest about Jaguar." She jumped guiltily and shut the refrigerator door. Sebastian was coming down the stairs in an impossibly white crew neck shirt, black shorts, and bare feet. He looked like a domesticated panther.

"Oh, yes, he's been arrested. Helen's going out of her mind. Do you know what's going to happen?"

Sebastian struck her as grim as he paused by the counter that divided the kitchen from the great room. "An Article 32 is scheduled for Monday. Lieutenant Lindstrom and Westy are working with a DIA analyst to find something that'll prove Commander Lovitt was responsible."

"Poor Helen," Leila sighed, mourning her friend's plight. No sooner had Helen rediscovered love in her husband's arms than it was being put to the test. It just proved the fact that love was painful. "Do you think they'll find the evidence they need?"

A crease appeared briefly between Sebastian's dark-as-night eyebrows. "They have to," he said simply.

She knew a sudden and powerful urge to comfort him.

"Have you ever heard of
mole poblano
?"
he asked, before she found the right words. He moved into the kitchen and started pulling ingredients from the refrigerator, brown sugar and what looked like a hunk of chocolate from the cupboard.

"Yes," she said, "but I don't believe I've ever tasted it."

"It takes hours to prepare," he divulged. "I've found it easier to make the nut-chili puree in advance." He unscrewed a glass jar, releasing a savory aroma.