Into the Storm (26 page)

She came out of the bathroom and opened the drawers. She’d been right the first time. Sophia’s things were to the left. “What exactly does she need?”

“Everything,” he told her, just reaching in and taking two sweaters, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of jeans. He didn’t hesitate until he got to Sophia’s underwear drawer, and even then his pause was only infinitesimal. He went for white, both bra and panties, but he was just a little too businesslike. Tracy knew he really wanted to check out the more colorful selections, maybe take a moment, remembering what Sophia had looked like with them on. Or off.

“When did you two break up?” she asked, and he looked up at her. It was weird. In this light, his eyes were more green than brown. And the intensity of his gaze was startling. And in no way forgettable.

“What makes you think we were together?” he asked.

“Oh, please.” Tracy made a face at him. “It’s pretty obvious. I mean, after the thing with Dave? Also, no one in the office will talk about the two of you. There’s lots of gossip about other things, but you’re definitely off-limits. So whatever happened, it must’ve been ugly.”

“Or maybe just no one’s business,” he said, taking an extra pair of Sophia’s socks.

“Like that would stop people from gossiping?” she asked, as he went through the drawers again, searching for something. “Or maybe they’re all just in awe of you.”

That got her another look, this one amusement sharpened with disbelief.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Long underwear,” Decker said.

“It’s under the nonlong underwear,” she told him, letting him open that top drawer and rummage some more. “You’re friends with Tess Bailey and Jim Nash, right?”

“Yeah.” He added one of Sophia’s neatly rolled pairs of long underwear to his pile. “Boots?”

“Did you know they were having problems? Probably not, because no one talks about
that
either. But their on-again, off-again wedding plans aren’t just about scheduling issues.” Tracy handed him Sophia’s spare pair of boots. “I thought you might like to know.”

“Thanks,” he said, and now his eyes looked almost blue. Was it possible he could change their color at will? “Although that’s not your business either.” He started for the door. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Wait.” She had a daypack, and she emptied it onto one of the beds. Ah, this was where she’d put her other book. As well as her Tae Bo exercise DVD—like she was going to use that, here in the land of no technology—and her iPod and headphones. And oh, yes, hemorrhoid ointment, the athlete’s foot spray she’d needed after taking antibiotics for that annoying bladder infection, her pink fuzzy mittens, a variety of feminine products including panty liners for thongs, her—ahem—personal massager she’d named George, and the Ziploc baggie that held her supply of emergency condoms.

The baggie seemed to gleam, shiny in the overhead fluorescent light. But it wasn’t quite as attention-sucking as her massager. George’s on/off switch had somehow been flipped in its dive from her daypack, and it lay there in its neon green phallic glory shivering and whirring.

She sat down on top of it, an attempt to hide it, because maybe Decker hadn’t seen it yet—yeah, right. His eyes had actually widened at the sight. She held the daypack out to him with a forced smile. “You don’t want to drop Sophia’s underwear in a puddle, right?”

“It’s too cold for puddles.” He was trying not to smile, but then he frowned. He shook the bag slightly. “There’s something else in here. Maybe you should…” He handed it back to her, clearly afraid of what he might find.

Tracy opened the front zipper pocket. Altoids, No-Doz and…a tube of K-Y jelly. Great. She tucked it away beneath her winter coat, taking the opportunity while her hand was down there to silence George. “Good call,” she said, handing the now completely empty pack back to him.

Decker laughed, and just like that she understood why Sophia still gave him a key to her room. The man had an incredible smile.

As she watched, he put Sophia’s boots in at the bottom, the rest of the clothes on top. He was still grinning as he zipped it shut and met her gaze again.

“Thanks for your help,” he said.

“Before you go,” she started.

He cut her off. “Don’t worry, I’m good at minding my own business, too.”

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about George. She rolled her eyes. “No—thank you, but…” She held out her hand. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t have a key to my room.”

“I don’t have a key.”

“You don’t have a key. You just came in without a key?”

Decker laughed again. “Honey, think about who we both work for.”

Tom Paoletti. Who probably didn’t need keys either. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Tracy admitted.

“It takes getting used to,” he told her. “It’s a different world.”

“I’ll say.”

“It’s an important job,” he told her. “Doing what you do.”

Said the warrior god to the inept receptionist.

“It’s not easy to help run an office like TS Inc,” he continued. “There are things you can’t hear or see—even if you do. You’ve got to spend your days submerged in that different world, with no promise of ever fitting in. Always on the outside, looking in.”

He sounded as if he knew exactly what that felt like.

“Is that why you spend most of your time out in the field?” Tracy asked. “Because
you
don’t fit in, in the world where people still use keys?”

Decker glanced at his watch, and when he spoke, she expected an excuse. He had to go. Instead, he answered her. “I haven’t lived in your world in a long time.”

“That’s right,” Tracy said. “Someone told me you don’t even go on vacation. Although, shh, don’t tell anyone you heard it from me—there was talk of forcing you to take one.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. “Jesus, that’ll be fun.”

“Maybe it will be,” Tracy said. “You know, if you let it. You could take Sophia to Cancún.”

“Cancún,” he repeated.

“Or somewhere more exotic,” she suggested. “Athens or…Rome.” She herself had always wanted to visit Rome.

That made him even more bemused. “You don’t know Sophia very well, do you?”

“I really don’t,” she admitted.

“She grew up overseas,” Decker told her. “She’d probably prefer a trip to the Grand Canyon.”

“Well, there’s your answer,” Tracy said. “Take her to the Grand Canyon.”

For a half a second, the look on his face was almost wistful. But then Decker shook his head. “I’m not taking her anywhere.” He hefted the bag. “I’m bringing her a change of clothes. Thanks again. I’m sorry if I scared you before.”

He opened the door and was halfway out before she asked, “Was that just
your
world we were in? Because, to be honest, it felt like it morphed into mine. I mean, considering what I’m sitting on, I’m pretty sure, by the end there at least, it
was
mine.”

He turned to look at her with eyes that were once again plain brown. How
did
he do that?

“And I thought you fit in just fine,” Tracy told him.

Decker gave her one last smile and shut the door behind him.

The headlights coming toward them could mean only one thing.

The current level of hell that Jenk found himself in was moments from ending.

Lindsey hadn’t spoken since they’d gotten into the SUV, but now she cleared her throat. “Do you, by any chance, know Arabic?”

Jenk glanced at her. She was watching him in the dim light from the dashboard, her eyes little more than a gleam in the darkness. “Some,” he said.

“Enough to know if that was—”

“Yes,” he said. She was talking about Sophia’s biggest scar. “It was.”

“God.” She exhaled the word with a heartfelt emotion.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“I don’t have anything to complain about,” Lindsey told him. “I mean, compared to Sophia.”

He would have replied that some scars weren’t quite as visible, but that would have sounded as if he’d started to forgive her, so he didn’t say anything at all.

“Could you read what it said?” she asked, after the silence stretched on.

“It wasn’t very nice.” Jenk was pretty sure that the word he’d caught a glimpse of carved into Sophia’s lower back was in a Kazbekistani dialect. It looked like slang for female slave, which usually meant a woman who was used for sex.

Lindsey got the drift. “What, some kind of scarlet letter?”

“Yeah. Although I’m betting her alleged transgressions weren’t by choice. Kazbekistan’s a harsh place.”

“Have you been there?” she asked.

Jenk slowed down, but the approaching vehicle didn’t. Crap, it was some kind of delivery truck, not the relief team from the motel. It zoomed past them, probably on its way to Maine.

“Or maybe I should ask how many times you’ve been there,” Lindsey said.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I’d like to go there someday,” Lindsey said. “The pictures I’ve seen are—”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Jenk interrupted her. “Trust me. It’s called ‘the Pit’ for a reason.” Kazbekistan was a nightmare, its central government replaced by tribal warlords who spent most of their time fighting with each other. Outlaws roamed free, terrorizing the general population. The chaos had made the small country an even more popular site for al Qaeda training camps than it had been in the past. And it had always been very popular. “It’s no place for a woman, particularly not an American.”

“Tess Bailey was sent there. Sophia, too, apparently.”

“And look at how well that worked out for her.”

“Yeah,” Lindsey agreed. “That had to suck. Still, the information they acquired was vital.”

Jenk was well aware of the op to which Lindsey was referring. He’d been thinking about it ever since seeing Sophia’s scars. He’d been connected to it, as part of a SEAL team sent via helo on a rescue mission to pull some Troubleshooters’ operatives out of a warlord’s palace. Sophia was one of them. And yes, freckle-faced computer specialist Tess Bailey had been there, too.

Decker had been the Troubleshooters’ leader, sent with his team into the Pit to retrieve a terrorist’s laptop—and whatever secrets it contained on its hard drive.

They’d succeeded. But at what price?

For a while now, there had been rumors floating around the SpecOp community of some kind of modern Mata Hari, an American operative who’d managed to become a concubine of a powerful K-stani warlord. She was, people were saying, instrumental in providing vital information about al Qaeda to the U.S.

Jenk was beginning to believe that the operative in question was Sophia, and the information she’d provided had been on that laptop.

Lindsey had apparently heard the rumors, too. She was thinking along the exact same lines. “Is it possible that Sophia is this M-2000 everyone’s talking about?”

He glanced at her. “Is that really what they’re calling her?”

“Yeah, technically it should be M-2004. I think that’s when she first appeared. But I think it’s also supposed to be a Terminator reference. A vague one.”

“M-2000,” Jenk repeated. “Like she’s some kind of robot?”

“It couldn’t be Sophia, could it? I mean, it doesn’t make sense. She’s not an operator. You saw her on that exercise. She’s had virtually no weapons training. No U.S. agency would send someone on such a dangerous mission with no training.”

Jenk wasn’t so sure about that. “She was pretty good at deception, though,” he pointed out. “And she’s got balls. She saved Gillman’s life today.”

“She’s also incredibly proper,” Lindsey argued. She’d turned to face him, her arm along the back of the seat. “She dresses kind of like a…well, not a nun, but maybe a lawyer. A real one. More Harriet Miers than Ally McBeal. Knee-length skirts. Blouses with scarves—nothing low-cut. Two-inch heels at the most. The idea of her willingly working undercover as a prostitute? I just don’t see it.”

“Maybe it wasn’t something she did willingly,” Jenk said.

She wasn’t convinced, leaning closer from her intensity. “It’s just so outlandish. The whole story reeks of urban legend.” She laughed. “And you know how true those turn out to be, camouflage man.”

If this had been a few days ago, Jenk would’ve laughed, too. If this had been just two nights ago, he would’ve laughed and kissed her. God damn it.

Instead, he gritted his teeth, and prayed that the headlights that flickered into view as he rounded a curve were Decker’s.

The silence that had fallen over them cast a total chill, and Lindsey became aware of the way she was sitting. She pulled her arm back, straightened her legs so she was facing front again. Adjusted her red hat so that it more completely covered her ears.

Jenk slowed as the oncoming car slowed, too.

And Lindsey spoke. “I’ve done the one thing I absolutely didn’t want to do. I’ve lost you as a friend. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”

Yes, that was definitely Decker driving the other vehicle. Jenk did a youie, pulling over to the side of the road, behind him. “Yeah, well, when you’re a coward, you lose things.”

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “you lose them even when you’re not.”

She got out and approached the other car. Jenk rolled his window down, as did Decker.

“Jenk’s going to lead you back,” Lindsey told the former SEAL chief. “The road in is clear until about a mile from the lodge.”

“Let’s go,” Decker said, as always a man of action.

“Is there room in there?” Lindsey asked. “Jenk’s a little tired of me.”

He was tired of her. Nice. “Way to make me sound like an asshole,” he called.

It was possible that she didn’t hear him—she was too busy getting into the back and already laughing with whoever was in there.

Decker waved him ahead, and Jenk took off, burning a patch of rubber on the mountain road.

Decker, of course, came to save the day.

Dave was sitting with Sophia, sharing some of Lopez’s tea, when Deck arrived. He didn’t come crashing in, kicking down the door like an action hero. He called out when he was still some distance away. And then he knocked when he was closer.

Gillman was waiting, and he pulled open the little door.