Secret Assignment (16 page)

Jesse released a long breath. “Remember Major Gantry?”

“The guy who turned state’s evidence against Barton Reid?”

“Yeah. What I didn’t tell you, or anyone outside of the family, is that shortly before Megan’s wedding, there was another attempt on his life. He had to be moved immediately into witness security. But before he went, I got a chance to talk to him. And he told me that Barton Reid’s not at the top of this conspiracy’s totem pole. There’s someone else. Gantry doesn’t know who, but he says Reid and the other conspirators were deeply concerned about what three American generals knew.”

Shannon’s stomach tightened painfully. “Three generals?”

“We’ve come to the conclusion that the three generals in question almost certainly were the three generals in charge of the Kaziristan peacekeeping troops at the time of the insurrection.” His voice deepened. “One of those three generals was Edward Ross.”

Shannon pressed her hand over her mouth, feeling ill. Was Gideon right? Had General Ross’s car crash not been an accident at all? “Wait a second,” she said, something else occurring to her. “Wasn’t Rita’s father head of the Marine Corps troops in Kaziristan?”

“Yes, General Marsh is one of the three generals.”

Baxter Marsh was the father of Jesse’s former fiancée, Rita. Her younger sister had started working at Cooper Security earlier that summer, in Accounts Payable. Unlike Rita, who blamed Jesse for the breakup several years ago, Evie didn’t seem to hold any grudges against the Coopers. “Have you talked to Evie about it?”

“I haven’t yet, but I may have to now.”

The grim tone of her brother’s voice intensified the feeling of sick worry squirming in her belly. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“The third general in charge of the Kaziristan forces was Air Force General Emmett Harlowe.”

“And?”

“This afternoon, he, his wife and his adult daughter were all reported missing.”

Shannon sat down on her bed, troubled by the implications. “Someone’s trying to get rid of the generals before they talk.”

“That’s certainly what it looks like,” Jesse agreed. “Have you found anything in General Ross’s papers that gave you pause?”

“Just one thing. And really, it might be nothing.” She told her brother about the coded journal. “It could have nothing to do with Kaziristan at all.”

“Or it could have everything to do with it,” Jesse said.

“I’m planning to download a digital version of that cryptography book I have at home if I can find one,” she told Jesse. “I was going to try to get to work on it tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather you bring it home with you and do your detective work here,” Jesse said.

She tightened her grip on the phone, not because she found her brother’s suggestion outrageous, but because she found it so tempting. If he was right about the conspiracy swirling around the three generals, the danger to Lydia Ross—and by association, to her—might be far from over. After all, General Harlowe’s whole family disappeared together.

Maybe these incursions by the men in black masks were attempts to silence Lydia Ross and take whatever potential evidence they could get their hands on. Maybe they had no intention of staying away, despite the temporary setback Gideon had dealt them.

Shannon wasn’t a field operative. She’d never been involved in anything more dangerous than a nighttime hike up Fuller’s Bluff on the east face of Gossamer Mountain.

But however light her experience in the field, Shannon did have skills that could lend an extra layer of protection for Lydia Ross and Nightshade Island. As long as she could help keep the wolves at bay, there was no way she could take the journal and run.

“I’d rather stay here,” she said, swallowing her fear. “I can help Mrs. Ross.” And Gideon, she added silently.

“Maybe I should come down there, then.”

“Not yet,” she said, remembering Gideon’s earlier words. A full-force invasion of Coopers could easily deter the four intruders from having another go at the island, but Lydia Ross ultimately might be in more danger than ever. All they’d be doing was deferring the inevitable attack to a time and place where Lydia would be even more vulnerable. “Believe me, I’ll call in the cavalry when it’s necessary.”

“Shannon—”

“Jesse, you sent me here. Now you’re just going to have to trust me to handle the situation you sent me into. Okay?”

There was a thick pause on the other end of the line before Jesse said, “Okay, but stay in touch.”

“I will.” She said goodbye to her brother and hung up the phone, her mind already moving several steps ahead.

Jesse hadn’t said outright to keep the information about the three generals to herself, but he’d certainly implied that the information was hush-hush. So was it something she could share with Gideon or not?

Yes. Gideon had a right to know what they might be up against.

She went out the French doors on the balcony side of her room, hoping to spot Gideon on his nightly island patrol. He was nowhere in sight, but the mild salt breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico lifted her hair and filled her lungs, leaving her unwilling to confine herself to her room just yet. The silvery moon struggled to cast its light through the dark clouds scudding across the sky, the first hint of the coming tropical storm.

It would be raining by morning, she thought. Would that help or hinder their efforts to protect Nightshade Island?

Seeing no sign of Gideon from her side of the house, she circled around to where she had a good view of both the caretaker’s house behind the garden and, several yards farther toward the beach, the stark silhouette of Nightshade Island Lighthouse.

The caretaker’s house was dark, she saw. But in the lighthouse, a light flickered up top in the service room.

Gideon must have gone up to check the lighthouse, she realized, already heading back to her room. She tugged on a pair of sneakers, went downstairs and let herself out through the garden door.

* * *

G
IDEON WALKED SLOWLY
along Nightshade Island’s sandy eastern shore, trying to concentrate. He was out here to search for any signs of intruders—unexpected movements in the gloom, out-of-place sounds—but his mind kept wandering back to Terrebonne and the feel of Shannon Cooper’s lips beneath his own.

He was a long way from boyhood. He’d known a lot of women, cared deeply for one or two in his younger days, but none of them had crawled under his skin and put down roots the way Shannon Cooper had in the space of three short days. He actually felt a strange, physical withdrawal from her presence that made him feel incomplete.

The sensation was disturbing and highly distracting, and he’d damn well better figure out a way to make it stop before he did something that could destroy them both.

He could feel the blackness inside him. Anger. Hurt. Resentment. And a terrible fear that his father’s words were true.
“You’re just like me.”

He’d had people tell him what he felt was normal, but he couldn’t believe it was really true. Not after seeing in his father’s depravity what that kind of blackness could do to a man’s soul.

How it could destroy everything—and everyone—around him.

Shannon Cooper didn’t need the darkness of Gideon’s world encroaching on hers. So he had to stop thinking about her. Stop wanting her.

He had to figure out a way to protect her from not only the dangers posed by the intruders but also from himself.

The moon had ducked behind a dark cloud, pitching the island into deep night before Gideon could make out more than a slender shape moving through the tall sea grass. But a glimpse was all he needed to recognize Shannon Cooper.

And she was heading for the lighthouse.

Don’t follow her,
commanded a voice in the back of his head. But it seemed a whisper compared to the raging of his blood in his veins.

Drawn by a force too primal to resist, he angled across the beach and headed up the shallow rise to higher ground, hating himself with every step but powerless to stop.

* * *

“
G
IDEON?”
S
HANNON FLASHED
her light up to the top of the lighthouse, where the spiral stairway ended in a narrow landing just outside the service room. The beam of light, filtered through the lacy ironwork of the metal stairs, painted delicate, undulating shadows across the dank stone walls.

No answer came from above, although she thought she heard soft sounds of movement at the top of the lighthouse. A shuffle of footsteps echoed through the cylindrical space, as if Gideon was moving in the darkness just beyond the reach of her flashlight.

Odd, she thought. If she could hear Gideon moving around above, why hadn’t he heard her calling him? She was almost halfway to the top when she realized she might not be hearing Gideon above at all.

She might be hearing one of the intruders.

Instinctively, she reached for the weapon that should have been tucked in a holster on her hip. But she’d left the GLOCK back at Stafford House, feeling safe—with Gideon out here, keeping watch—to venture out unarmed.

Stupid!

Snapping off the flashlight, she reversed course as quietly as possible, moving backward slowly, keeping one hand on the stair railing and her eyes straining to see any sign of movement in the gloomy void above. She’d descended only a few feet when she heard another, less furtive sound than the whispery noises she’d heard earlier. Footsteps, she realized, moving rapidly on the stairs.

Coming from below.

Her heart danced wildly in her chest as she froze, uncertain which direction to go. Her hand closed around the flashlight, her fingertip trembling on the switch. One click of the light and she could be certain who was coming up the lighthouse stairs.

But she’d also reveal her own position, making herself an easy target.

Up, she decided. She could get to the service room and set off the foghorn. That would bring Gideon running for Stafford House and she could call out to him from the catwalk.

She scooted up the stairs as fast as she could, not bothering with stealth. Speed was more important. She had to set off the horn before whoever was coming up the steps from below could stop her.

She hit the narrow concrete landing outside the service room and skidded to a stop, nearly slamming face-first into the door. She pushed it open, slipped inside and closed the door behind her. Her heart pounding, she flicked on the light, swinging it in an arc around the service room, trying to regain her bearings.

For a second, the figure in the corner didn’t register. Her flashlight beam swept past it before the image clicked in her brain.

She swung the flashlight back, catching the black-clad figure moving with catlike speed. She jerked back, her hand slamming into the door. The flashlight clattered to the floor, the light disappearing.

In the sudden, shocking darkness, the intruder grabbed her, his hand flattening over her mouth. His low voice rumbled against her like thunder.

“Not a word, Shannon. Not one word.”

Chapter Twelve

The voice was familiar. Barely.

There was a snick, and light came on in the service room again, brighter than her small light. The grip holding her in place loosened and she made her move, shooting toward the door.

He grabbed her again. “Shannon, it’s Damon North.”

She twisted around to face the intruder. He let go of her with one hand and flashed the light on his face.

Dark, intelligent eyes shined from a handsome brown face. She’d seen him only once before, nearly six months earlier, but Damon North was unforgettable.

“I knew it!” she whispered. “When Margo said that one of the four men from the yacht was named Damon—”

“There’s someone coming up the stairs,” he whispered. “I have to go outside. You have to cover for me.”

“Why should I do that? What the hell are you doing with those guys?”

“You know what I’m doing. The same thing I’ve been doing for years.” He didn’t argue further, slipping out the side door and escaping onto the narrow catwalk outside. The light from his flashlight shut off, plunging her into inky blackness again.

She barely had time to reorient herself to the dark when the door from the stairway opened and someone burst inside, coming in low and fast.

“Don’t move!” he commanded in an authoritative growl. The familiar voice was a comforting relief.

“Gideon,” she breathed.

His flashlight snapped on, stabbing her eyes with its bright beam. “Why did you run?”

“I didn’t know it was you,” she shot back, her nerves still humming with high voltage.

“I thought you were running from someone else.”

She released a weak, nervous laugh, thinking about the man out on the catwalk and wondering why she wasn’t telling Gideon all about him. Had she lost her mind?

Aloud, she said, “This whole mess has us all on edge.”

Gideon nodded, moving closer. “You okay?”

Tell him about Damon. Tell him now.

“I’m fine.” She opened her mouth to tell him about Damon, but suddenly the foghorn sounded, a low-pitched howl of distress.

“Lydia,” Gideon breathed.

Shannon’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure it’s not a trap?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gideon said, already racing for the stairs.

Shannon started to head down behind him, but the sound of the door from the catwalk sliding open stopped her in her tracks.

As Gideon’s footsteps grew even farther away, she whirled around to face Damon, who had slipped back inside the service room.

“Are your people here? Is that why Lydia sounded the horn?”

His lip curled. “They’re not my people. You know that.”

“I’m not sure I know anything about you at all.”

“I helped your sister-in-law.”

“You nearly got her killed,” she shot back. “And you put my cousin’s baby in danger with your stupid undercover games.”

“The SSU hasn’t disbanded. You know that as well as anyone. I have to cut them out at the root.”

“And you’re willing to risk the life of an innocent woman like Lydia Ross?” She should have told Gideon. Let Damon see if he could talk him into trust and leniency. “I have to go—Gideon might need me.”