Debra Webb - Striking Distance

She looked up at Lucas and asked, “You don’t know who this guy is?” Which was a dumb question since he was listed as John Doe. Duh.

Lucas shook his head. “Not a clue. We believe he’s an assassin.”

Now that got her full attention. “Who’s his target? The president?” Another rush of adrenaline seared through her veins. This might just be her lucky day.

“Nothing politically related or that high profiled,” he told her without going into specifics, which was par for the course. Intel was doled out on a need-to-know basis only.

“What part do you need me to play in this mission?” She emphasized the word need. No matter how he downplayed the scenario, this had to be big or Lucas wouldn’t be involved. Maybe not White House big, but big in any case.

“We need to know who this guy is and, more important, we need to reach out and touch the man who hired him.” Lucas pointed to the phone. “The next face you see is the one we’re looking for.”

Tasha studied the final image on the screen with new curiosity. This one was older. Gray hair, gray-blue eyes. Five-ten, a hundred and sixty pounds. This one looked almost harmless. She flipped back a screen or two. Now this one—she studied the younger man’s grim features—looked deadly. “So, you want me to get to know the assassin. In hopes he’ll lead me to the man who hired him.” Her gaze connected with Lucas’s. “Is that it?”

Lucas nodded, then quirked one brow a fraction higher than the other. “That is, if you think you’re up to it. The personal requirements might be steep. To get as close as you need to...” He allowed the unfinished statement to linger in the air a moment before he continued. “We’ll be watching from a distance, but not close enough to keep you safe. You’ll be on your own.”

Another charge of excitement went through her. “I’m up to anything you can throw my way.” She knew what he was worried about, and she could handle it. Her training had included intensive profiles to see if she could tolerate mental as well as physical abuse of all kinds. All results indicated she would hold up under pressure exceedingly well. She licked her busted lip for emphasis. She would die before she’d break. Fooling a polygraph as well as tactics to fight the effects of certain drugs were all a part of her vast repertoire. “Sounds almost too easy,” she admitted.

“We don’t know anything about this assassin,” Lucas said grimly. “We have to assume he’s extremely dangerous. There’s no way to guess how many people he’s killed in his career or what his MO is. If the man who hired him is who we believe he is, then you can rest assured that our assassin is highly trained and well experienced.”

She could read between the lines. This was a mission that contained a definite “suicide” element. Getting close to the target and staying alive would entail a great deal of skill and more than a little luck.

“What’s in this for me?” she wanted to know, undeterred. They might as well get to the heart of the matter. “If I’m going to risk life and limb for you, what will you do for me?”

Lucas looked pleased that she’d asked. “You succeed in this mission and you’ll come to work for me with the best of the best.”

Struggling with the desire to do a victory whoop, she clamped down hard on her outward reactions. Stay cool, don’t let him see that you know this is an opportunity of a lifetime. A route through all the BS and straight to the kind of work she longed to do. It was rumored that the elusive Lucas Camp headed some sort of elite top secret organization. A club far more exclusive than anything under the CIA umbrella.

“And if I fail?”

“Then it won’t matter,” he said flatly. “Because you’ll be dead.”

That was the answer she’d expected. If she got close to this guy and he suspected for one nanosecond that she was a spy, she’d be history. Tasha shrugged. “So, I won’t fail.” She looked straight into the knowing eyes of one of the most powerful men on the planet and watched for the slightest flicker of deceit. “Just one more question, Mr. Camp, why me?”

“Because you’re good.” No hesitation, not even a glimmer of deception. “Too good to be stuck behind some desk.” A smile curled one corner of his mouth. “Too good to be working for the CIA period.”

She inclined her head and pushed for a little more. “What’s so bad about the CIA? The whole world is convinced that the CIA has ultimate power and prestige.” That much was true. But those with the real power were few and far between, that was the part they never showed in the movies.

Lucas chuckled. “Agent North, my organization is what the CIA wishes it were.”

His statement validated the rumors she’d heard. “When do I go to work?”

“Tomorrow. A cab will pick you up early and take you to the airport. Someone will be waiting at O’Hare to take you to your temporary quarters. This assignment may last a few days or a few weeks. I can’t be sure at this point. Don’t take anything from home. We’ll furnish everything you need.”

She knew a moment’s uneasiness, but only a moment. “What about my work at Langley?” If this didn’t pan out and she miraculously survived...

“Time off has been cleared with your immediate superior. He doesn’t know why and doesn’t need to. Once this mission is over, you can decide if you want to take me up on my offer or go back to your job with the Agency.”

Sounded fair enough. “All right.” This was the opportunity she’d waited for, a chance to prove what she was made of. “Once I’m in Chicago where do I start?”

“Our boy hangs out most weekends in a club downtown called the Metro Link.”

She’d read that in the sketchy personal info on the phone.

“You’ll need to commit to memory the meager intel we have on this guy.”

“Already did.” She passed the phone back to him. “How come there’s nothing on the guy who hired him except a visual image?” That part struck her as odd. Lucas certainly sounded as if he knew more about the guy than what he looked like.

“Intel will be provided as necessary.” He dropped the phone into his briefcase as he stood. “I think you understand what to do from here.”

Nothing she hadn’t expected. “How do I let you know once I’ve made contact with the target?” she asked as she followed him to the door.

“I’ll be in touch with you when the time comes.”

Translation: Lucas Camp would be watching.

“By the way.” He hesitated before going out the door. “Just in case you were wondering, Agent Bauer’s nose isn’t broken.”

Before she could ask how the hell he knew about Martin’s little test and her performance he’d disappeared into the night.

Just like a ghost.

Chapter 7

Victoria stared at her reflection in the mirror for a long time that night, the brush clasped in her hand as she stroked her long, dark hair. The silver streaks gleamed in the light, reminding her of just how old she really was. So much time had passed...and nothing in her personal life had changed. Beethoven’s “Moonlight” Sonata played softly in the background. The music usually relaxed her, but it wasn’t working so well tonight.

She sighed and laid the brush on the vanity table next to her bottles of perfumes and cosmetics, all lined in a neat row awaiting her attention. There was moisturizer for her skin, anti-aging cream for the fine lines that marred her eyes and mouth. And, of course, the skin firmer for less delicate parts of the anatomy. Everything that one could need to remain youthful looking.

Maybe she should have started using the products long ago. Then perhaps she would not look quite so old. But nothing she applied to her skin would change the way she felt inside.