Robert Tanenbaum - Malice

Jaxon chuckled. "Fair enough." He gestured with his hand for them to lead out of the cantina.

Lucy looked back and noticed that Agent Tavizon was watching them leave in the mirror.

"Is Agent Tavizon a field agent or a bodyguard?" Lucy asked.

Jaxon gave her a sideways glance. "Your intuition is, as always, on the money," he said. "He's been assigned to watch my back. Good man for the job, too. He's a former U.S. Army Ranger with tours in Afghanistan, Iraq, and places that he won't tell even me about. My bosses have decided that it's not wise for me to travel alone. Plus, it lets me concentrate on what I need to without having to be concerned about security issues. There are a number of other agents stationed around the inn as well."

The trio left the back of the saloon and crossed the Spanish-style interior courtyard, heading for Lucy's room in an older-but more charming, she thought-part of the inn. The Sagebrush had been built in 1929 as a way station for travelers en route to Arizona and points west. It had also served as a magnet for artists and writers. The painter Georgia O'Keeffe had lived and worked there for a time, as had the novelist D. H. Lawrence, who began to write Lady Chatterley's Lover in one of the rooms.

The original building was now the cantina and lobby. The rooms were plastered with the ubiquitous adobe, featured ceiling beams of polished logs, and were furnished with heavy Spanish-style furniture covered in geometrical Southwest designs. The bathrooms were works of art with tiled floor and sinks, and many of the rooms boasted a small fireplace.

Another young agent was standing guard outside Lucy's room when they arrived. He nodded to Jaxon, opened the door, and then left without waiting for introductions or an explanation of how he got into her room.

In answer to Lucy's questioning look, Jaxon shrugged. "I'm truly sorry, but I took the liberty-in violation of your civil rights, I might add. I had to make sure that no one was listening in on any conversations taking place in your room."

Lucy thought of a few of the romantic nights she'd spent in the room with Ned and felt the blood rush to her face at the thought of someone listening to them. Call 1-800-RideEmCowboy, she thought.

"Boy, Espey, you're starting to scare me with all this spy-versus-spy stuff," she said. "I've had quite enough adventures for this lifetime. I'd just like to settle down with my cowboy and have lots of little cowboys and cowgirls-if he'll ever climb down from his dumb ol' horse long enough to ask me to marry him."

She's certainly changed, Jaxon thought. The girl he'd known for two decades had always been something of an ugly duckling-skinny and plain, with a beaklike, overly large nose. But during the past year of living in Taos, she'd filled out in the right places and was a tan, handsome, if not classically pretty, young woman. Even her nose seemed more suited to her face. Knowing her history, he thought it was a wonder that she was so well balanced. For some reason known only to God, she seemed to be a magnet for psychopaths like Felix Tighe and Andrew Kane. He had no doubt that settling down to life as a ranch hand's wife would suit her fine.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so mysterious," Jaxon said. "The security is for me. Once I leave, so should the need for any concern for your well-being. I'm just hoping you can listen to something for me and, if you can, interpret it. You won't have to be involved beyond that."

"Yeah, right, not involved," Lucy replied sarcastically; then her brows knitted together. "Why do you need me to interpret something? You guys have linguistics experts at Quantico who are probably as qualified as I am."

"No one is as qualified as you are," Jaxon responded gallantly. He paused as if to think something over, then, apparently making up his mind, said, "Let me explain a little about what's going on."

Jaxon waited for Lucy to take a seat in one of the rustic aspen-wood chairs that were standard for the room's decor. Jojola turned to the fireplace, which was Lucy's favorite feature of the room, and began to build a fire.

"Okay, let's have it," Lucy said.

"Well, first thing to get out of the way is that I'm no longer with the FBI," Jaxon replied. "In fact, officially, I'm not with the government at all anymore."

"Not 'officially'? So now you're a spook with somebody like the Department of Homeland Security?" Lucy asked, her voice harder than she intended.

She knew that her aversion to the department was unfair-that most people who worked for the department, which had been formed after the 2001 terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, had the country's best interests in mind. But there was something about the department's leadership that rubbed her the wrong way. They seemed almost cartoonish with their silly, different-colored "terror alerts" that had done little except raise fears only to call the all-clear with no explanations…sort of like the boy who cried wolf. But more than that, she disliked how they defended every gouge at civil liberties in the name of the War on Terrorism as if it weren't yet another step down the slippery slope. After all, it wasn't really spying on the American public as long as it was in everybody's best interest.

To her relief, Jaxon shook his head. "I'm not with the department either. Officially, my group doesn't exist and very few people know that we do. Even the director of the FBI knows only that I suddenly decided to take early retirement. Outwardly, my reason is that I'm blaming myself for Andrew Kane's escape and the massacre of those children and agents. But we've planted rumors that have more to do with me selling out for a very well-compensated position with a private security firm. The bureau isn't very happy with me because I hand-selected a half dozen of the best agents I knew and took them with me into 'private practice.' However, for your ears only, I remain a humble, underpaid public employee, as does my team."

Lucy frowned. It wasn't like Jaxon to make speeches, and this one didn't sound quite true…or maybe just not complete. "If you're still a fed, couldn't you use their resources?"

Jaxon shook his head. "As far as the bureau is concerned, I've gone over to the dark, well-paid side. We're mercenaries. They wouldn't touch us with a ten-foot stun gun. But that's intentional on our part."

"So I assume you're another government antiterrorism agency?" Jojola asked. "I thought the whole reason behind the Department of Homeland Security was to bring all agencies under one umbrella so that you guys would communicate and work together."

"It was, and still is," Jaxon said. "There are a lot of good people fighting a war that few members of the public know is happening, except as military actions in far-off countries and the occasional bombing in New York, Bali, Madrid, or London. But as for me and my people, we're not specifically antiterrorism but sort of trying to track organizations that might be using terrorism to further their own unrelated ends-like Andrew Kane demanding a billion-dollar ransom for the Pope while his terrorist pals planted bombs in the cathedral in the name of Allah. I can tell you that I was asked to take this assignment shortly after the debacle at St. Patrick's Cathedral, when it was clear that our agencies-including my own-had been infiltrated and compromised by traitors. I guess you could say we've been asked to watch the people who are supposed to be doing the watching."

Jaxon paused and shook his head sadly. "The truth is, maybe I should have retired after the St. Patrick's hostage crisis was over," he said. "A lot of it happened on my watch."

"That's nonsense, Espey," Lucy said. "Who could have guessed at Kane's intentions? So, then, who do you work for?"

"I can't say," Jaxon replied. "And if you ask elsewhere, the government will deny our agency exists."