Into the Storm (10 page)

“You
are
single,” she pointed out, determined to keep this light. “And you
were
all over me. Although I’m pretty sure it was better for you than it was for me.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said. “And as for being single…I think, after tonight anyway, I’m kind of seeing Tracy.”

“Really?” Lindsey couldn’t disguise her disbelief.

Jenk’s smile twisted. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s too optimistic a statement. She’s still pretty entangled with her former boyfriend. She talks about him endlessly. But I managed to, you know, catch her attention at least. It’s a step in the right direction. Anyway, I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

Boom, it was over. Lindsey now officially had it bad for him. She was a sucker when it came to men who were honorable.

Make that: unattainable men who were honorable.

She mustered up a smile. Tracy, apparently, was smarter than Lindsey had thought if she’d allowed her attention to be caught. “Impressive. Especially considering this was way before the hamburger in the pants thing, which always works for me, when I’m trying to catch someone’s attention.”

He laughed.

“So, how’d you do it?” Lindsey asked. “Recite Shakespeare, cook a twelve-course meal, or—”

“I took off my shirt,” Jenk told her.

She snickered. “No, really.” Oops. He wasn’t kidding. “Wow,” she said. “Okay. Sure. That could do it.” Provided the attention get-ee was incredibly shallow and utterly unworthy. “For the record, you didn’t have to take off your shirt to get
my
attention.”

There was uncertainty in his eyes now, as if he wasn’t sure if that was a joke, a half a joke, or no joke at all.

“But I’m glad it worked,” Lindsey continued, “because I know how much you like her.”

“Thanks,” he said, but he still looked wary.

Probably because his super-SEAL senses were tingling.

“Don’t move,” Lindsey told him as quietly as she could. “Hungry dog at eight o’clock…”

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

L
OCATION
: U
NCERTAIN
D
ATE
: U
NKNOWN

H
e’d given Number Twenty a knife.

The really sick thing was that beneath the pain-laced fear that Number Five was feeling, with the blood from her arm running through her fingers as she tried to apply pressure to the wound, she was jealous.

Did he like Twenty, with her pretty blond hair, more than he liked Five? Was he tired of Five? Was he bored with her? Did he really want Twenty to win?

Or was he merely tired of Five’s methods? Did he want to see blood? Did he need more drama, or higher stakes?

Twenty awkwardly swiped at her, and Five had to jump back.

Twenty did it again. The same move, leaving herself open in the same way. This time Five was ready, and she hit Twenty, square in the temple.

The blonde lost her balance, slamming into the basement wall, dropping the knife. It skittered across the floor.

Number Five didn’t need a knife. She hit Twenty again. In the head. Again. And again.

Twenty dropped to her hands and knees, and Five kicked her, right on the chin. She rag-dolled, hitting the floor with a thud, the whites of her eyes showing.

Five turned to the stairs, but where he was standing, she still couldn’t see his face. He was busy with himself, or so she thought before he spoke.

“Use the knife.”

She crossed to it. Picked it up. Closed it. She didn’t like blood, he knew that. Twenty was wearing a belt. She crouched beside the woman, unfastening the buckle.

He spoke again. “Use the knife or leave her for me.”

Fuck you.
She wouldn’t say it aloud. She didn’t dare. But he couldn’t stop her from thinking it. She yanked the belt out of Twenty’s jeans.

She should have known he’d planned this. He had, after all, given Twenty that knife.

She should have known he’d be ready for her, too.

Instead she was surprised by the water from the pressure hose. It hit her like a two-by-four to the shoulder, spinning her back, away from Twenty, knocking the belt out of her hands, pushing her to the basement floor.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the force of the water stopped, leaving her dripping and battered, her head ringing from hitting it on the concrete.

“You have seven seconds,” he told her, “before I take her upstairs. Six…”

It wasn’t long enough to do it with the belt.

“Five…”

As always, he’d won, forcing her to choose between two unthinkable evils.

“Four…”

She had no choice. She opened the knife.

Twenty was rousing—he’d hit her with the water, too. Of course. He’d have planned for that. She saw Five coming, saw the knife blade gleaming, reflecting the light. And the noise she made, so full of fear and desperation, was one that he would feed on for many nights to come.

“Three…” He was laughing. “Two…”

“I’m so sorry,” Five whispered, and cut Number Twenty’s throat.

S
AN
D
IEGO
, C
ALIFORNIA
F
RIDAY NIGHT
, D
ECEMBER
2, 2005

The party that started in Tom Paoletti’s living room was moved, rather effortlessly, over to the Ladybug Lounge.

Sophia slipped into the booth across from Dave, who was already drinking his second beer of the evening. Either that, or he was trying to live up to his grunge-biker image and had ordered a bottle for each hand.

He slid one in front of her.

Or…he’d ordered for her.

“Am I that predictable?” she asked. “What if I’d wanted wine tonight?”

“You didn’t.” Dave smiled as he tucked his hair behind his ear. It was getting really long, and he was wearing it down instead of back in his usual ponytail. His smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry about this afternoon. It might seem like otherwise, but I didn’t purposely set out to humiliate you.”

“I know.”

Decker was over by the bar, talking to his friend Nash and the soon-to-be Mrs. Nash, Tess Bailey. Sophia tried not to glance in his direction.

She made herself look around instead.

She hadn’t lived in the United States for very long—her parents had taken her abroad when she was quite young. Aside from occasional visits to her grandparents in New England, she’d spent most of her life overseas. Living in America was full of discoveries and surprises, but apparently, as was the case anywhere in the world, a bar was a bar was a bar.

Dimly lit, with neon signs and mirrors to allow even the toughest customers to watch their own backs, the Ladybug Lounge could have been situated in any city in just about any country in the world. Music pulsed, at lower decibels than a dance club, but loud enough to create a party atmosphere. Conversations had to be held loudly, too, and there were frequent bursts of laughter.

A cell phone shrilled, and everyone in the place checked their pockets.

The winner was Tracy. As Sophia watched, the receptionist hurried out of the noisy bar and into the relative quiet of the parking lot.

The SEAL named Izzy moved from where he was sitting, over to a table by the window. No doubt keeping an eye on her. This wasn’t the best part of town.

Dave, too, saw Tracy go outside. He also automatically shifted so he could watch out the window. He noticed that Sophia noticed, and he smiled. “She doesn’t have all that much common sense, does she?”

Sophia shook her head no. “She surprised me tonight.”

“Me, too,” he said.

Tom and Kelly Paoletti had come home from their dinner to find nine operatives from TS Inc and eight SEALs in their living room.

Mark Jenkins had been ready to take the blame for the evening’s impromptu search and rescue op. He started in on a long explanation—beginning with something about changing little Charlie’s diaper.

Tracy easily could have stayed quietly in the background. But she stepped forward, cutting Jenk’s story short. “I was the one who let the dog out,” she confessed. “It was all my fault.”

Apparently, she wasn’t a total loser after all.

Across the bar, Decker glanced over, and Sophia quickly pulled her gaze away. She hadn’t even realized she was staring at him again, but apparently she was. Talk about losers…

Dave was peeling the label off his bottle of beer. “So,” he said. “On a scale from one to ten, just how badly does this suck—this decree that you and Decker have to work together on this op or both resign? For me, it’s around an eight point five. I’m solidly miserable. I know I’ve been on your back, trying to get you to confront Deck, but to
force
it…? I don’t think Tom Paoletti has the right to…I mean, just watching you two tonight was…” He shook his head. “Painful.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see him, and then I didn’t know what to say.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Have you told Tom anything about—”

“No.” Sophia knew what he was going to ask—whether she’d told their boss what had transpired between her and Decker all those months ago. “And I’m not going to.”

“If you did,” Dave pointed out, “you might be able to file some kind of official complaint against Decker—”

Official…? “No,” she said. “No.”

“—that would allow you to stay—”

“I’m not going to file a complaint,” Sophia was adamant. “Any wrongdoing was as much mine as it was his. More, actually. It was
more
mine. He said no, and I…” She took another sip of her beer.

“It would allow you to stay employed at TS Inc, and for Decker to leave,” Dave finished. “It might be a technical way around this particular rock and hard place. That’s all I’m saying. If Tom knew the reason…”

“No,” she said again.

“Just think about it.”

“No. The wrongdoing was mine.” She put her bottle down on the table forcefully. “What did Decker tell you about it? Did he go into detail?”

“Of course not,” he said.

“What did he tell you?” Sophia pushed.

Dave had been part of a Troubleshooters Incorporated team sent to Kazbekistan, a Middle Eastern country that had suffered a terrible earthquake. A terrorist leader had been killed in the quake, and the team had been assigned to find that terrorist’s missing laptop computer, believed to hold information on impending attacks.

Decker had been team leader.

He’d been searching for a man that he believed could help them—a businessman who’d lived in that country for years—a man who happened to be Sophia’s husband, Dimitri Ghaffari. But Dimitri was dead, killed by a warlord named Padsha Bashir, who had then taken possession of his business, his bank accounts, his house.

His wife.

After months as a prisoner in Bashir’s palace, Sophia had escaped. But the warlord put a reward on her head. If he found her, he would have killed her, of that there was no doubt.

When Decker and Sophia had first met, neither of them had trusted the other. Sophia was convinced he was a bounty hunter who would sell her out to Bashir. She was certain, unless she escaped from Decker, that she was going to die. Horribly.

And so she’d done what she’d had to, to ensure her survival.

Here in the Ladybug Lounge, thousands of miles and many months away from that awful encounter, Dave wasn’t quite able to meet her gaze.

“What did Decker tell you?” Sophia asked again.

Dave cleared his throat. “That he—and you—had a power struggle that, um, got out of hand. Resulting in a, uh, encounter of, um, a sexual nature.”

Good grief. That was an even more antiseptic version than she’d imagined possible. Still, Sophia nodded. “Did he mention that I tried to kill him? I had a gun, and I shot him. At him. I missed.”

“Good thing,” Dave said, finally meeting her eyes. “And yes. He mentioned that.”

“Are those your words?” Sophia asked. “Or his?
Encounter of a sexual nature…?
”

“His,” Dave reported. “Although, I’m pretty sure he was more concise. A sexual encounter. That’s what he called it.”

“What do you think he meant by that?” she persisted.

Dave shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sophia asked. “If I’m going to file a complaint? Things like who touched who first, who said no?”

Dave shrugged. “I know that Deck said no, for what it’s worth. I know he hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened despite the fact that he said no. And I can certainly guess—” He stopped himself, took a deep breath. Started again. “It doesn’t matter. The details are moot. You were the victim, Sophia.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “You were Bashir’s victim. And Decker was, too.”

“So you’re not even a little curious?”

“No,” he said mildly. “I’m curious about a lot of things where you’re concerned. Are you going to go to Mass General Hospital to visit your father? I’d like to know what you’re going to do about that—time’s running out. I’d like to know more about Dimitri, too. I know you loved him. From what little you’ve told me, well, I wish I’d known him, too. I’m also curious about those months you spent as Bashir’s prisoner—but not about what happened. I can guess that. What I’m dying to find out is when you’re going to take my advice and get professional help in dealing with everything you’ve been through. I’m curious as to when you’re truly going to rejoin the human race and allow yourself another chance at happiness. I’m curious about the important things.” He shrugged again. “Who went down on whom as an attempted distraction, an entire lifetime ago…? It just doesn’t rate.”

“What doesn’t rate?”

Sophia looked up to see three of the SEALs from Team Sixteen standing next to the booth. She’d been on a search team with two of them tonight.

“May we join you, ma’am? Dr. Malkoff?” Jay Lopez politely asked.

Sophia looked at Dave. “Doctor?” she asked.

“Ph.D.,” he told her, waving it off as if it were nothing. “Didn’t you say you had to leave early?”

He was giving her an out if she didn’t want the added company.

But SEALs would be SEALs, and they were already sitting down. At least Danny Gillman was, sliding in next to her. Tall and tan, and, yes, young and lovely, he’d lightened the mood earlier by telling the entire search team about winning a turkey-calling contest back when he was eleven. Schnauzers apparently had their own unique way of barking. He’d demonstrated that, too.

“We come bearing gifts,” he said, pushing another beer in front of her.

Lopez put a second bottle down, waiting until Dave slid over to join them. The third SEAL pulled a chair over and sat at the end of the table.

It was Izzy Zanella and…Sophia looked, and sure enough, Tracy Shapiro was back inside. She was at the bar with Mark Jenkins, and about fifteen drooling Marines.

“Rumor has it, ma’am, that you’ll be helping out with the training op,” Izzy said.

It was funny, his ma’am had a different ring to it than Lopez’s.

They were all waiting for her answer, all eyes on her—all that testosterone aimed in her direction.

“For once a rumor is right,” she said.

“That’s really great,” Gillman enthused. Lopez smiled at her, too.

Izzy was back to checking out Tracy Shapiro, who was leaving with Mark Jenkins.

They weren’t the only ones who were going home.

As Gillman launched into a story about one of the SEALs’ previous training ops, Sophia could see Decker, still over by the bar, saying good-bye to his friends. He picked up his beer, and, with resolution in the set of his shoulders, he turned.

His intention was to join her and Dave. She knew this because she saw him hesitate—just slightly—as he saw that their table was now full.

He didn’t stop short, though. He didn’t even meet her eyes. He just went on past, pretending that his intended destination had been the jukebox.

He was good at pretending.

Of course, Sophia was, too.

Tracy unlocked her car door, then turned back to look at Jenk. “I’m going to risk embarrassing myself here,” she said with a nervous laugh, “but there’s something I have to tell you.”

The moon was gleaming, making her hair shine, casting shadows on her already exotically beautiful face. Her eyes were colorless and dark and filled with uncertainty.