Free Fall

She forced herself to keep rolling the mango without so much as a wince. Because that “archeology student from Maine” had been undercover from the CIA and they’d killed him during the interrogation.



Her chest went tight with… She capped the emotions.



Later, she would deal with that information, maybe climb up on a roof and scream out her rage at the top of her lungs. For now, she had to do her job, to put together the rest of the puzzle, pull in the other players responsible for today’s attempted attack, because no way did those three men in the truck plan this alone.



Mr. Brown stood, setting aside his tablet. “Agent Carson, I believe it’s time for you to turn the interrogation back over to us.”



The ominous tone in the agent’s voice had Harper fidgeting in his seat. The bastard was fine with seeing people suffer and die for his big stance against “the man.” Torture was strictly forbidden, but she knew there’d been breaks in protocol. She wasn’t sure she trusted Smith and Brown. They’d brought her in here for a reason and now they were just dismissing her?



“Carson…” Smith nodded toward the door. “I hear you should check your computer. Mr. Jones is waiting to direct you to a place we set aside for you.”



Mr. Brown tapped his iPad. Realization kicked in. She set aside her mango. Her computer—images of the second cloth. She had a different role to play, one she felt a helluva lot more confident in: breaking codes.



With one last look at the seemingly innocent face she’d risked her life to save, she swallowed back disgust and angled out the door. Once it clicked closed behind her, she sagged back in exhaustion.



Sure enough, Mr. Jones was waiting, wearing his outback hat and his sleeves rolled up, jacket ditched. The humidity from the rain made the temps worse. “How’d it go in there?”



Stella glanced back at the door. “He’s a great liar because he has absolutely nothing in the way of a moral compass. He’s into the next thrill—he called it drama. God, when I think about…” She couldn’t travel that pathway in her thoughts; she just had to know one thing first. “The team that secured the truck and the toxin—are they okay? Any ill effects after the decontamination?”



“They’re fine. Your guy—Cuervo—is fine.”



She nodded tightly, giving herself one selfish second for relief before getting back to business. “What about the teenager? Ajaya? Is he here too? Did you get anything more from him?”



“He’s in the room next door.” He took off his hat and swiped his wrist across his forehead. “The teenager isn’t as innocent as he likes to play it. He’s still holding back. But do I believe he’s responsible for a bio toxin being released at a national media event? No. I think he’s a foot soldier.”



“That fits.” Although so much else still didn’t make sense. She didn’t have a sense of the big “why” to all of this. What were the warlords or separatists responsible for this attempted attack trying to achieve other than chaos? It didn’t make sense. There was always a reason… “I believe Harper when he says Ajaya wouldn’t have had access to that level of information. I don’t think they would have trusted him with keeping that kind of secret.”



“But if they planned on killing the hostages, which I’m sure they intended…” Jones slapped his hat back on his head. “They still would have kept their circle tight in case the teenager got captured.”



“Or turned, which he did.” Brainstorming with Jones was actually helpful. She liked this guy with his honest eyes and a professionalism that went beyond his Cowboy Troy act. Her gut told her he was one of the good ones—but then her gut hadn’t been all that reliable lately. “He’s been doling out what little information he could, holding back details for when he needed them. He’s smart. But in comparing his statements, I found a place he contradicted himself. He said he was taken by people posing as electricians. Then he said his math teacher—a man named Mr. Gueye—was responsible.”



“Maybe they were working together?”



“Could be,” she conceded.



“The clock is ticking for us to sort through it all.” He gestured toward the row of computers. “Yours is just around the other side, at the end, in a cubicle for privacy.”



She’d gotten what she wanted… But for once, work held no allure. She wanted to be a civilian, free to check on the people she cared about. Free to check on Jose.



Mr. Jones tapped his watch and snapped his fingers. “Your cubicle. Go.”



Snapped his fingers at her? Really?



She wove her way past the row of computers with CIA and military monitoring Predator feed and recordings of ongoing interrogations. Circling past the end of the row to the sectioned-off cubby where her computer and work waited.



And Jose?



Her feet grew roots as she stared, stunned. She blinked. Looked again. But her weary eyes didn’t lie.



Jose sat in her seat, waiting for her.



***



Jose wasn’t sure why Jones had given him the okay to sit here by Stella, but he wasn’t arguing. Being with her here in the hangar was better than sleep. As long as he had his eyes on her, he knew she was safe. He couldn’t give her what she needed in the long term, but he could damn well protect her now. So he sat and watched while she worked. A low hum of activity swelled over the cubicle walls.



His PJ buddy Data would have understood more about the intricacies of the programs she input. Jose just studied her face and gauged the success of her efforts by every nuance of her expressions. The way she scrunched her freckled nose, furrowed her forehead, chewed on her bottom lip…



Shit, it wasn’t going well.



Was there anything even there on that second cloth? Or was this all some crazy coincidence? This part of the world had been in chaos for so long maybe there wasn’t a bigger plan. He swiped a hand over his face, then reached for his cup of coffee. Getting philosophical wasn’t going to solve anything. Today, his primary goal, his mission, was to keep Stella safe.



He set down his lukewarm coffee. “Any good news to share?”



“I wish.” She sagged back in her chair, her red braid swinging. “I’ve already tried the original code that worked on the first cloth and ruled that out. I’ve run dozens more, even programs I’ve written. I’m convinced there’s something here. But more complex, which makes me all the more certain I’ve got a lead, some kind of list. I just wish I had more time…”



“Keep working it.” He tugged her braid lightly, then paused to thumb down each curve. “I have faith you’ll find the answers.”



Her laugh came out choked, stressed. “I wish I had your faith, but my confidence is a little shaky today. I should have known about Harper. Damn it, when I think of you risking your life to get him out of there…”



She squeezed her eyes shut, then turned back to the computer, jabbing keys.



“You did everything you could. We didn’t suspect him either. You’re the epitome of chill in the workplace. The last thing you should do is second-guess yourself.” His hand slid up her braid to cup the back of her neck reassuringly. He could offer her this, now.



“Chill? Hardly.” She launched a new scan then turned her chair to face him. “I get upset.”



“Like when?” He rested his hands on her knees.



“Well, I didn’t much enjoy being held hostage or running away from a building blowing up.” She counted down with fingers. “And the whole tetanus bio toxin thing still creeps me out.”



“You never showed a sign of nerves through this whole crisis.” He squeezed gently. “You’ve been damn amazing, Stella.”



“That would have been a waste of time when seconds counted.”



“That’s called not losing your cool.” He kissed her on the nose, fast, unable to resist her. Hell, when had he ever been able to resist her? “I rest my case.”



Her nose scrunched and she pulled her knees away. “I’m a trained professional. It’s my job. That’s different from being freaked out.”



Actually, now that he thought about it, his vision of her shifted. “You’re a code breaker. I would have expected you to stay in a vault somewhere listening to clicks and reading bizarre printouts. That’s what you’re wired for, but you came here to put your mother’s ghost to rest. That’s admirable.”



She looked at the computer, then back at him, half grinning. “There’s no sunlight in a vault. My serotonin levels would be shot all to hell.”



He laughed along with her, her smile tapping some of the tension from him. “Things are tough right now, worse than tough. You can take the stress out on me if you want.”



“You’re propositioning me?” She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t know. Seems like maybe I’ve made this relationship too easy for you.”



“What in the hell gave you that idea?” he barked in surprise.



She linked fingers with him. “Our relationship was too simple. I just fell into your arms and told you I loved you.”



“What planet are you living on?” Following this woman’s “logic” was damn near impossible sometimes. “From where I’m sitting, nothing between us has been simple or straightforward. I still don’t understand half of what went down.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, talking about so much more than just how they’d met, how they’d fallen love. “The parts I do understand are tearing me up inside.”



She squeezed his hand with surprising strength. “Even if I make this easy for you now, it’s only going to get complicated again, then we hurt each other. I know that. But after what happened today, when things got truly tough, when I could have lost you…”



Her voice dwindled off with a strangled sob.



He gathered her close to his chest, grateful for the privacy of their cubicle in a corner, but wishing they could be in a room alone so he could hold her all night long while the rain washed away the horror of this day.



Sniffling, she eased out of his arms, swiping a tissue from a box by her computer and blowing her nose. “Sorry to fall apart on you like that. But after what happened today, I’m having a tough time being logical or smart.”



He wanted to kiss her so damn bad his teeth hurt. His hands slid up to cradle her face, and yeah, right now he couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t just go ahead and…



Kiss her.



His mouth covered hers, not in any crazy, out of control way. Not here, where someone could walk up to them at any second. Just her lips against his. He needed to connect with her, affirm that they were both alive and on a day like today, nothing else seemed to matter. He drew in the eucalyptus scent of her shampoo, the satiny feel of her skin under his fingertips. Stella. It was always about Stella and had been since the first time he…



Ping.



He froze at the electronic chime. Stella jerked back, her eyes wide. She pressed her fingers to her mouth for an instant before she whipped around to look at the computer.



“Stella?” He sat up straighter. “Do you have something?”



“Hold on…” She held up a hand while she hunched closer to the screen, clicking the scroll button as she analyzed data cycling in front of her in what looked like gibberish to him, letters, numbers, and words shifting, realigning into distinguishable lists. Names.



“Oh my God,” Stella whispered, horrified.



Shit. On a day like today, there shouldn’t be anything that could shock them. Only something beyond imagining. “What does it say? What’s wrong?”



“The words coded into the cloth…” Her hands hovered in front of the screen as if she could gather up the information in her palms. “I’ve translated them and they’re names. When I put those names into the database, it came back a list of U.S. and European operatives in the area. Both alive and dead.” Her throat moved a gulp and she reached for a drink that wasn’t even there. Her hands fell back to her lap. “I thought at first they had my name on here.”