Debra & Regan Webb & Black - Bridal Armour

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JOHARA DEROSSI’S HEART was still lodged in her throat. The way the storm had dropped on the city, she’d been convinced Thomas Casey’s plane would ice up and tumble to the runway like a radio-controlled toy with no battery life. While that might have put a convenient end to her task here, it wasn’t at all how Thomas Casey should leave this world.

The enigmatic director of Mission Recovery owed his country an explanation—her, too, if she was being honest. But her questions were not the priority.

Having disguised herself as one of the many flight attendants from a nearby airline milling about deciding how and where to wait out the storm, she’d cloned his cell phone. Now, listening in on her target’s phone call, she silently thanked Lucas Camp for helping her cause. If the wedding party wasn’t expecting him to arrive until tomorrow, she had a head start.

As Thomas left the gate area for the lower levels, she trailed at a respectable distance, but kept him in sight. He couldn’t be crazy enough to try to pick up his rental car in this weather. She had to presume he’d call a hotel for availability and then pick up a ride on a courtesy shuttle.

It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to make it that far anyway.

What did matter was that her window of opportunity was closing fast, the already tight schedule accelerated by the storm. Good thing she thrived on pressure or she’d need serious medication about now.

As a member of the Initiative committee, the small group charged with the oversight of ultra-covert teams like Casey’s Mission Recovery Specialists, her life was rarely dull.

When his name had crossed her desk, along with the report listing the privileged information that had roused the suspicions against him, she had immediate and mixed reactions.

She didn’t want to believe it. Men weren’t built any more dedicated or patriotic than Thomas Casey. The idea that he may be guilty of treason—or worse—made her stomach churn. As an investigator, she knew better than to prejudge an operative or a situation, but Thomas was different. She didn’t want to go digging into his past, but more important, she didn’t want anyone else digging into it.

On some level she recognized just how screwed up that was.

Be that as it may, having served with him on a mission near the time period in question, she was eminently qualified. With that in mind, she’d checked his schedule and counted it good fortune that she would be able to deal with this away from the prying eyes in Washington, D.C.

She walked by him as Thomas paused near the rental car lines and pulled out his phone. Listening in again, she was pleased by his predictable behavior as he made his first call to a nearby hotel. Smart man, she thought, as he booked the room without blinking at the storm-inflated price. The hotel clerk promised the next shuttle would be at the appropriately marked stand within ten minutes.

Adjusting her timetable for the shuttle and the road conditions, Jo started for the parking garage. It took all her control not to skid to a stop when she spotted another familiar face among so many strangers.

Specialist Jason Grant, one of Thomas Casey’s rising stars, was coming down the escalator. Though his eyes were shadowed by dark glasses, she knew his gaze was sweeping the crowd.

Damn it. She’d checked the itineraries for all of Thomas’s team over the next week. Grant wasn’t slated to attend the wedding. According to her information, he should have been working recon on a new case in Vegas. With one conversation, he could ruin her plans for a clean capture. She had only seconds to head him off.

Well, that’s what plan B was for, she mused. Jo popped open one more button on her blouse and rushed back toward Thomas. “Excuse me, sir? Seat A2, right?”

His brow puckered and she knew he was trying to place her from the airplane. “I worked coach,” she explained. “But I spotted this in your seat on my way out.”

She flashed an overly bright smile and handed him a passport. “That’s you, right?”

He opened it and, startled, gazed up at her. “Who are you?”

“You know me,” she murmured, leaning closer. “Thomas.”

His eyes went wide as he recognized her voice under the disguise.

“I need you.” The words were out, full of more truth than she cared to admit regarding their past, present and quite possibly their immediate future.

He nodded once, all business, and fell in beside her as she headed toward an employee access. She refused to look back, though she could feel Grant closing in as the door locked behind them.

“This way.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Jo.”

She ignored the ripple of awareness that followed his using her given name. It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Thomas always treated everyone with efficient professionalism. Except for that one notable, extremely personal, incident years ago.

“I’ll tell you everything just as soon as we’re out of here.” She checked her watch. They had less than five minutes before the cabbie she’d paid to wait left in search of another fare. In this weather they’d never find another taxi. “Keep up. We have to get out of the area before the roads are closed.” She’d taken precautions, given herself options, but no one could prepare for a freak blizzard.

“Are you in trouble?”

“Yes.” On one too many levels, she realized. But it was too late to back out now. If she didn’t follow through, someone more objective would take over the investigation. Based on what she’d seen, she didn’t think that was a good idea.

Moving forward, she hoped some deep-seated instinct kicked in, making him curious enough to cooperate with her. Grant wasn’t just one of his Specialists, he was the best of the current crop. He’d been tagged to replace Deputy Director Holt, the man who held the position in which Lucas Camp had once served, when the deputy eventually moved up to replace Thomas.

The Initiative committee had approved the plan. Right now, she wondered what the hell they’d been thinking.

“Jo, wait.”

Would the day ever come when his voice didn’t create that shiver of anticipation? “No time.”

“I need an explanation.”

“And I’ll give you one when we’re away from the airport.”

“Jo.” He caught her arm, forced her to stop and really look at him.

Airport employees passed by, moving to and from their respective duties with various degrees of interest in their obviously strained interaction. She made mental notes, knew he was doing the same. Always an eye out for the next threat.

“A particular German mission file crossed my desk last week.”

“I see.”

She fingered the disk in her pocket. Loaded with enough sedative to guarantee his cooperation, she hesitated to use it. And she knew without reservation that she would get only one chance. “This was the only time we could talk safely.” Or so she’d thought.

“I’ve booked a hotel room,” he said. “We can talk there.”

“Fine.” Better if he believed she’d willingly compromise. “I have a cab waiting.”

At last he fell into step beside her once more, giving her hope this would go well. It almost felt like old times. Almost.

Back then she thought they’d been on the same page, working together toward a common goal. After five years apart on diverging career paths, after reading through so many reports of success from his Specialists who routinely went above and beyond mission parameters, she wasn’t sure they could ever be on the same page again.

She might be sure he wasn’t a traitor, she just wasn’t so sure anymore that she was in the same league as the man behind the stoic, black ops armor.

Chapter Two