Bradford Sun unclipped his official badge as he exited the UN security offices. He walked at a quick pace, unruffled by the knowing side glances and questioning looks from those outside the meeting who had heard the muffled but obviously heated exchange of words between the head of CIVPOL’s Trafficking and Prostitution Investigation Unit, the operations chief of CIVPOL’s Terrorist Unit, the general accountant of CIVPOL UN funds, and various other department heads.
“Too many damn heads,” muttered Brad. Speaking too many damn languages, he silently added. The trouble with assigning personnel from different countries to be in one department was that there was no way to achieve the world peace the United Nations hoped for. Too many different opinions, too many ideological motives. Everyone was still working their own agenda to move up the diplomatic rung of their government. After all, no one wanted to be stuck in Macedonia. Not his predecessor, for sure.
His lips twisted wryly as he punched the elevator button for the garage level. He was the new head of the drug-and sex-trafficking department and technically held quite a bit of power. But he was also considered the new boy in town, and had to be “shown the way.” Words like “protocol” and “procedure” had the same meaning in English, French, and German. He spoke all three languages like a native, and he knew meaningless shit when he heard it.
He gave a short bark of laughter. Meaningless shit indeed. Four hours of debating whether to take down the biggest piece of human garbage in town, and his hands were tied because three out of five votes were against him. All he needed was one more person on his side, and he’d thought he would get Cezare’s, but something had happened between the meeting and the last time they’d talked at his office. Something had frightened the man badly.
Brad sighed. Probably a threat. Everyone was living under a threat of some kind in these parts. The man he himself replaced had survived two car bombs during his tenure.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped into the underground garage, half filled with cars. Out of habit, he looked around, checking for signs of trouble. One couldn’t be too careful, especially in this war-torn climate.
The vote against action forced his hand. He wasn’t going to sit back and let those animals continue any longer. He was going to call the newspaper reporter first thing tomorrow morning and give that interview. It would be interesting to see what happened after that.
He strode toward the section where his car was parked. He needed some food and drink. Having missed lunch today, he was hungrier than usual, and a few glasses of wine sounded like heaven right now. Good conversation, with classical music playing in the background, a friend and confidante he could trust—all very rare things in Velesta. He smiled for the first time that day as he climbed into his vehicle. He knew where to find good company and excellent food.
Once he passed the security booth, he activated his car phone’s remote dial, which allowed him to speak hands-free while he negotiated his way around the notoriously fast traffic in town. The evening sun was almost gone, and he turned the heater on higher.
“Hi, Brad.” Amber Hutchens’s voice was smooth and low.
“I’m thinking of dropping by earlier, if that’s all right with you,” he said.
“No problem. Hungry?”
“I haven’t eaten,” he confessed.
She laughed. “Sometimes I think you just come here for the free meals,” she teased.
“And the company,” Brad said with a smile. “There’s no lovelier lady in town.”
“Ah, a compliment. Definitely looking for a big meal.”
That was what was attractive about Amber Hutchens. She could put anyone at ease with a few teasing words. He’d seen her doing it with the peacekeepers who went to her café for her home cooking. Most of them were men who led stressful lives, trying to be policemen when they were soldiers, tiptoeing the gray line between law and lawlessness, and the small café right in the middle of town was like a haven, giving them a quick break while its owner cajoled them back into good humor.
“Do you need me to bring anything?” he asked.
There was a slight pause. “Flowers would be nice.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “The café was busy today, so I can afford a free meal.”
She was also a very smart woman, Brad mused. No other café was more fiercely guarded by the foreigners here. The local gangsters knew if they messed with Amber Hutchens, they would have several dozen peacekeepers messing with their illegal businesses that had been previously overlooked. Thus, the safest place to hide in town was a coffeehouse appropriately named The Last Resort.
“I’ll be there soon,” he said, “with flowers.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Picking up fresh flowers at this late hour wasn’t an easy task and he had a feeling that Amber knew this. He wondered what she was actually doing when he called. The woman wasn’t always cooking; that was just a façade. Amber’s thing was information—hot, up-to-the-minute information—that she used to finance her side business.
Brad rubbed the back of his neck. Gray line between law and lawlessness—he straddled it himself. He was aware that he was a source of information for Amber, that her easy questions were more than general interest in his job. His answers were carefully crafted, but he also knew that he had given her many clues, sometimes unwittingly. Her skill had raised his suspicion. He had checked with some of his sources and had found out she was a CIA contractor. A CIA contractor in Macedonia in the guise of a café owner, to be exact. For four years.
He had only been at his job as department head for barely a year. He knew he had quite a bit to learn, even though he was given a big file to study by both his predecessor and the UN source. But the file never mentioned Amber Hutchens or the operation she was running. He had only found out because he followed his own instincts, and when he had confronted her with it a few months ago, much to his surprise, she hadn’t denied it. And now that he knew what she did, he approved. He sighed. Sort of.
Which brought up the subject of Llallana Noretski. Of which he didn’t approve. The woman was trouble, what with her criminal record and…the way he always responded to her whenever she was present. She was Amber’s close friend and partner-in-crime. From what he could gather, she did all the dirty work while Amber got together the information and packaged the jobs.
The woman didn’t trust him. From the first moment they had been introduced, she had been alternately rude, sarcastic, and aloof. He understood the reason—she was a criminal and he was the law. They would always be on the opposite sides.
Brad released another frustrated sigh. This was Velesta, damn it. Opposite sides were a joke. Everything merged into a grayness that bothered his belief in what was right and wrong. That was why it was essential to step up and do something with the rampant drugs and prostitution going on. He was determined to draw a line somewhere. His jaw set at the memory of some of the kafenas he had raided. Girls under sixteen enslaved by drugs and force. He wasn’t going to let fucking red tape stop him from saving those kids.
He swung into the parking spot in front of the florist, taking a moment before getting out of the car. Every time he thought of the scenes he had witnessed at those darkened kafenas, a raging anger took over that made him want to bash someone’s face in. Especially anyone working under that scum Dragan Dilaver.
With limited help from his own department, Brad needed all the allies and help he could get. That’s where Amber and Llallana came in. They might be playing both sides of the legal line, but they both detested Dilaver, providing Brad with needed information to get the man where it hurt him most—his bank account.
The cold air outside calmed him down somewhat. Flowers. He’d take his time choosing a nice bouquet and let Amber finish whatever she was doing. Maybe she would have some valuable information about the next Dilaver truckload of kidnapped victims coming in. It would make his week to squeeze the bastard just a little harder.
Hawk replaced the back panel of his cell phone. One thing he had learned from Jed about wireless connections—how to convert a laptop into a hacking device of those tapping into the same airwaves. Someone had hacked into his phone line, stealing his directory. They were still connected through that tiny device planted in his cell, so all he needed were a few adjustments. He wasn’t a computer nerd, but he’d learned a thing or two from Jed’s people. His laptop, unremarkable-looking, was no standard notebook. He punched in the code and password to access the shadow hard drive, the one with the programs he needed for his task. It was going to take some time and he didn’t want any interruptions.
He locked the door to his bedroom, then picked up the old black telephone next to his bed. It was one of those rotary-dial ones from another era, the numbers on its face faded from use.
“This is Hawk. Where’s Dilaver?” His lips quirked. “Furniture-shopping? How long will he be gone? Let me know when he’s back, please. I’ll be working out.”
That should make them think he was doing his usual exercises. He had been very careful about explaining his tip-top shape, citing an interest in weight-lifting and body-training. He had exercised in different ways every week to get them used to his unusual program.
“I’m a guide,” he had told Dilaver with a shrug. “Being in shape comes with the job.”
“Don’t smoke, don’t have sex, what a boring fucker you are,” Dilaver had said. “What do you do for fun—pose naked in front of a mirror and admire yourself?”
Hawk had nodded gravely. “Yes.”
That had given Hawk the distraction he needed as the conversation moved on to more lewd topics.
Hawk remote-connected his cell phone to his laptop, making it easier to type text. Then he carefully screened off all the other programs behind a firewall. He unfolded the note from last night and read it again. It was written in English.
Looking for something?
Three words with a wealth of meaning. One, he needed all the locations where Dilaver hid his weapons. Two, he had to find out the latest delivered cache. Three, he had to find a specific weapon in the collection. And yeah, four, he was looking for the person who hung this note on his dick—the CIA tracker Jed had told him about.
It was just like Jed not to mention the sex of the CIA contractor working undercover. All he had said was that the contact would be in Velesta and that Hawk was not to make a move until Dilaver went there. Not that working with a woman bothered Hawk. Some of the women he admired had been very capable covert agents. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wondered whether this woman was another GEM operative.
His eyes narrowed. But of course. Hell, why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? The American woman who ran a café. Jed had told him the password between him and the contractor was ambrosia. Amber Hutchens…ambrosia.
His instincts told him he had just hit the right conclusion. All he had to do was prove it to himself. He got up and picked up the black telephone again.
“What’s the phone number to The Last Resort?” he asked.
Amber stared at her computer screen. Sending Brad to pick flowers at this hour should buy her some time. She needed it. Someone had called on her business phone just before he had reached her on the private line.
“Ambrosia,” a masculine voice had said over the phone. “Check your computer.”
He had hung up before she had recovered from her shock. That had to be—and Brad had interrupted with his call about dinner. She was dying to get back to her laptop and when Brad gave her an opening for some time, she had quickly thought of a way to delay him. She knew he would get the hint.
Brad and she had a very pleasant relationship, and their dinner dates were like a public stance and a private friendship both at the same time. She had cultivated this from the start and had been surprised by his silent agreement, even when he had found out what she was. They had an understanding—he didn’t ask her how she got her information, and in return she would give him some data that he might find useful.
Right now, though, it was another new person in town on her mind. He had found her in record time, way faster than any of the previous agents sent here.
She sat back at her desk and considered briefly, then shrugged. Why not? If he was that good, she would reward him. She reached out and turned her laptop on. Her tracer beeped, indicating that one of her tapped lines was active. She didn’t have to check to know it was Hawk McMillan’s cell phone. He had just called his online service. That meant he was using his computer with his phone.
Oh, trying to trace her, was he? She smiled. It wasn’t that easy to bypass her firewalls. Intrigued, she typed a few commands, bringing up a window to show what he was doing. From the size, he appeared to be downloading a rather large file over the net back to his laptop. Whatever it was, she could get it, since he was using his cell phone as connection. Since he already knew she was watching, she suspected that he wanted her to zap it.
Her finger hovered over the command to pull the file. She had ample protection and safeguards from hackers who might try to infect her system. But he wasn’t hacking into her system; he was luring her into his. That was just too much for her to resist. She clicked on the command key, then sat back to watch as her computer pulled in the program he was using.
Amber laughed in disbelief.
The man had connected with some sort of instant messenger and was…typing a note to himself—okay, really, to her, if she cared to reply, now that she had loaded the damn program into her network.
Hi Ambrosia. Found your note. Found you.
Oh, this was just too hard to resist. Good to know you checked yourself. You couldn’t have possibly missed my note, Mr. McMillan.
I’ll have to return the favor sometime, Miss Hutchens.
A shiver ran through her. She had a feeling Hawk McMillan hadn’t liked being the victim last night. You were careless. I was merely pointing out the dangers of being caught off guard. You want my help, you’d better be a lot more alert.
Was I not alert enough for you last night?
Amber rested her chin on her hand. Not only smart, but a smart-ass. Of course he knew she felt his…She shook her head. He was doing that on purpose, putting that image back in her head. Listen, hot stuff, I don’t have time to play.
Pity.
She admired his typing speed. You get the coordinates and maybe we’ll talk.
Our first meeting won’t be about talking. It’ll be about making a point.
Threats won’t make me cooperative. Remember you need my help, Mr. McMillan.
You tried to compromise me today. That’s not help.
It would have been nice if she had succeeded. That kind of information would be very valuable, especially if she had found out what Jed and his team wanted so badly from Dilaver. Or even to find out where Jed was…now, wouldn’t that be a coup?
Jed McNeil would understand it’s my job to test you. It was a half-truth. She needed to know how good this new man was before she would jeopardize her operation again.
My turn next. Signing out.
Wait! What do you mean?
Better not walk around naked at night, Miss Hutchens. Hot Stuff may bump into you. Signing out.
The window closed automatically on its own. Amber cursed out loud. For the second time in half an hour, the man had left her hanging, more intrigued than ever. Hot Stuff indeed. He had used her own code word to refer back to himself. Hawk McMillan had a big head. And was one very smart operative. He had cleverly gotten her to talk to him without even wasting any time trying to find open port holes in her system. All he had needed was her cooperation—to go into his system to see what he was doing and to reply to his baiting. It was a long enough conversation for him to trace her if he wanted to, but he already knew who she was and her business phone, so what was he doing while he was distracting her?
Damn it. She wished she had the evening off so she could play with this new program she had downloaded. But Brad was on the way and she had other business to attend to. She eyed the computer screen suspiciously, half expecting something else to happen, but the window didn’t reappear.
She would have to tell Lily about this. It was clear she had underestimated this Hawk McMillan.
Hawk snapped his laptop shut. That didn’t take long—Miss Amber Hutchens took the bait quickly enough. He had wondered whether she would, but evidently she was very confident about her computer firewalls.
He gathered that she was somewhat of a gambler anyhow. Anyone who did what she had done last night, taking the risk of being caught by Dragan Dilaver’s men just to hang a message on him, had to have a wild side. Since he enjoyed living on the edge himself, he appreciated the woman’s daredevilry. However, he didn’t like knowing she had knocked him out with drugs, that it could have been something more serious.
She had a point. His attention couldn’t slack. It could cost him his life.
He was also intrigued by Amber Hutchens’s front. A café owner. Who would see her as some kind of tracker? And from what Dilaver had said, she sold information to get his protection. So whose side was she on?
When she had answered the phone earlier, her voice had had the oddest effect on him. Smooth and soft, it slid against his skin like silk. So this was the voice belonging to the woman who’d touched him. He had hated not having an image for a target. Now he had a voice. And he wondered whether she looked as delicious as she sounded.
Hawk made an impatient sound. His mind was wandering into territory that had gotten him into trouble again. Fuck! The curse brought a reluctant wry smile on his lips. Exactly. Months of clogged sperm. He was going to get himself killed if even a sexy voice was making him horny.
She was probably big as a house. Nope, he had fought with her last night. Okay, now he had a voice and a body. He closed his eyes, going through the events of last night, bringing up the fight in slow motion, from the moment his mystery assailant had attacked him till the last point of consciousness when he had tried to snap her neck.
Details came flooding back. She wasn’t very tall; he had towered over her. She had a very strong grip and, remembering the way she held the needle, she was right-handed. He smiled again. And yeah, she had very strong thighs, too. He suddenly recalled, just before falling over, he’d thought the “man” wiry and…his hand had gone for the neck…brushing up against…Hawk sat up. He had touched her breast during that struggle and she had squirmed. That was when she’d decided to use that damn hypodermic needle, because she’d realized that he would discover the truth.
A fierce satisfaction came over him. She had been in trouble herself. Good. He hadn’t liked thinking about how in control she had been, with this plan of tying that note in such an insulting way. That meditation training was damn good—his mind was pulling sensory details out of his unconscious that he didn’t even know he had.
Hawk was definitely looking forward to exacting some kind of revenge now. It would be interesting to see how good an operative Miss Amber Hutchens was.
He spent the next few minutes removing the tracking devices from his cell phone. Then he called Jed’s number again, going through the coded conversation with the woman on the other side. This time there was no sudden disconnection.
“This is Jed.”
The Asians called Jed McNeil Ghost Lightning, a weather phenomena that the superstitious feared. Hawk had heard of other monikers given to the man who had trained him on and off the last half a year.
His current undercover assignment started in Asia a few months ago. He had to leave his SEAL team to work for “Stefan.” Even though the other man never brought it up, Hawk suspected Jed had picked that name as a private joke in reference to Hawk’s family’s odd penchant to give all the sons the same name. Every one of Hawk’s male relatives, including his father, was Steve, or Steven, or Stephan, or one of the other derivatives. He had learned quickly that there wasn’t much Jed McNeil didn’t know about those around him.
His commander, Admiral Madison, had sent him to Jed’s outfit when he’d found out Hawk could speak Asian languages. He could work side by side with the elusive man and observe him.
“I want to know more about those COS commandos,” he’d told Hawk, referring to Jed’s shadowy unit. “This next mission’s a good way to find out.”
So far Hawk hadn’t found out too much. The COS commandos weren’t exactly a group of guys one saw together often.
“Sorry about the last call,” Hawk said.
“We expected it, hence the safeguards.”
“I know who it is now,” Hawk said. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“You have to draw your own conclusions about the person with whom you’re going to work, Hawk. How did you like her methods?”
Sneaky. Unpredictable. “Are you saying I can’t trust her?”
There was a pause. “You can never trust an operative who’s been out there for that length of time,” Jed said, “although Amber Hutchens has been a very useful asset to the CIA.”
“She sells information to Dilaver—how’s that useful? She’s probably responsible for some of the leaks. In fact, she might be in league with the D.C. rat’s nest that’s been betraying us.” To find all those responsible for selling information to the enemy was one of Admiral Madison’s goals. Too many of their military brothers had been compromised by those traitors. “Is there no other guide?”
“She’s the most qualified, having been over there for four years, Hawk. She knows that area very well or I wouldn’t use her as an asset. As for the matter of trust…” Jed paused, as if choosing his next words. “Her ratio for providing the truth runs about seventy percent, and that’s in her dealings with me. So you can expect less than that toward you.”
“That sounds encouraging,” Hawk said wryly. That was one thing he had noticed about these GEM and COSCO operatives. They tended to talk in ratios and percentages, assets and losses. “So why do you think she tapped my line?”
“How did she do that in the first place? Did you meet her personally already?”
Hawk scowled. He knew Jed would want to know what happened. It wasn’t easy admitting that he’d managed to be drugged. He briefly outlined the events from the night before—the fight, the needle, his few hours on the floor. His SEAL team commander, Admiral Madison, wouldn’t be pleased that one of his men had been taken down so easily.
“Now you know what kind of woman you’re dealing with,” Jed said quietly. There wasn’t any hint of humor or anger in his voice. “Amber Hutchens is a very careful woman. She was probably testing you because the last operative the CIA sent over nearly blew her cover. She’s also a contract agent, not necessarily a hundred percent loyal to one agency. From her viewpoint, information is valuable and it doesn’t hurt to get it in any way possible. And if you’re a weak link, she made her point if she’d succeeded in tapping your phone and finding out information and about my whereabouts. It looks like she might not cooperate.”
“I’ll take care of her test,” Hawk said. “I’ll convince her I’m capable.”
“How?”
“By doing something that’ll catch her attention. She’s into information and testing. I’ll take her on her challenge and then some.”
“Interesting. It’s always good to show that you can do the same thing she did to you,” Jed suggested. “It might gain her respect.”
Hawk hadn’t given the full details of where Miss Hutchens had left her message. He doubted any of his intentions would get that result. In fact, he was getting pissed off at being put on the defensive; this wasn’t a usual position for him and it didn’t sit comfortably.
“I intend to get to know how she works,” Hawk said. “I don’t care about her respect. I do need her constant cooperation, though, if she’s to be my guide. I can’t have an operative testing my decisions every step of the way.”
“You have limited time to get acquainted with Amber while you find the locations of Dilaver’s weapon silos,” Jed said. “Any headway on that?”
“Dilaver has been recovering from his wound, so he’s been using his cell phone a lot. But he’s doing a rundown of some sort now and as a side note, there’s trouble brewing in his business. Velesta is supposed to be one stop of many. I’m slowly getting the feel of his holdings and operation procedures.” Hawk paused, then added softly, “His sex-slave operation’s very big.”
“That part of his business is his credit card. Your goal, lieutenant, is to look for the hidden weapons, especially the most recent ones that were dropped off while Dilaver was in Asia. I know he’s human trash, but it isn’t your job to take care of him that way.”
“I know that, McNeil,” Hawk said, “but I also want you to know that if I weren’t doing this as part of a joint mission between your agency and my team, Dilaver would be put out of commission. I have seen enough.”
Too damn much, in fact. The images of the locked-up young girls at the kafenas were starting to haunt his nights.
“Madison said you’re one of his best men. Tell me now whether you can do this, that you won’t let other things interfere with the main mission. We can’t afford any misstep here,” Jed said, his voice calm and assessing over the phone. “You must gain Dilaver’s trust, and that means getting your hands dirty. The admiral told me you could do this.”
Hawk had to give Jed credit. Bringing up his commander was good. As a SEAL, it was ingrained in him to handle anything to get the job done. Physically, he had barely any challenge—guiding the injured Dilaver and his men out of a particularly hostile Asian mountainous terrain was child’s play. Mentally, he had been taught to block pain and emotion when he was in the war theater, but watching women and young girls victimized had been—he hated to admit it, even to himself—very, very tough.
“McMillan.”
He realized Jed had been waiting for some kind of reply, and it had better be convincing or he’d be pulled off the job. “I have been doing it,” he said crisply. “Dilaver’s now going to different cities and I’m mapping out the routes. I’ll find out more very soon.”
“Good. I’ll wait for your communication. And Hawk…” Jed waited a beat to get his attention. “Don’t underestimate Amber. This business of ours isn’t black and white. You either learn to function within a gray area or be killed.”
Hawk looked thoughtfully at the cell phone after Jed rang off. As usual, he had more questions after talking to Jed. Why had Amber Hutchens been placed here for four years in the first place? And exactly what information did she sell to Dilaver? What did she get in return?
The more he learned about the lady, the more intrigued he was. Underestimate her? He hadn’t been given the chance. But she had shown her disdain for him by initiating this pissing contest, introducing herself with a…memorable and naughty handshake.
He pocketed the phone. Gray ethics, huh? He could only misbehave in return.
Brad frowned. She was here. Amber hadn’t mentioned it—would she be joining them for dinner? It had been almost six weeks since she had gone off on one of her “trips.”
He stepped out of his car and locked it, his eyes trained on the little European car parked two cars down. He wasn’t going to let her leave this time without first talking with him. The problem was, Llallana Noretski wasn’t an easy person to corner.
The Last Resort was a small café, decorated like an American diner, with out-of-the-way things like a scarecrow sitting on a rocking chair in one corner and pictures of American movie stars and NASCAR drivers on the walls. Things from home for homesick young American peacekeepers. Even the tablecloths looked homey, with their cheerful prints of Americana.
As usual, it was bustling with activity, filled with hungry men looking for home cooking. They all recognized him, of course, and he nodded to those who made eye contact. Unlike the previous department head, he hadn’t gone out partying and thus was getting to know some of these men casually. He didn’t like some of the entertainment the men had gone for, and one of these days he would address that problem, too.
“Those are beautiful flowers, Brad,” Amber said as she walked toward him.
And as usual, all male eyes followed the owner of the café. Amber Hutchens wasn’t just attractive; she was strikingly beautiful, of the All-American blond and blue-eyed variety. She had pulled her shoulder-length hair into a chignon, showing off the gold loops in her ears. The smile she gave him lit up her eyes.
“I spent a fortune,” he told her, as she kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Then I’d better make sure dessert’s richer than usual,” she said.
He smiled back and followed her to his table in the back. It was screened off from the rest of the dining area, sometimes used for private parties. It also reinforced the assumption that Bradford Sun was more than just a client to Amber Hutchens, especially when he would disappear through the door marked “Privat” later for what he knew others thought was more intimate time.
Amber was a superb hostess. She steered clear of politics during dinner, amusing him with anecdotes of peacekeepers’ gossip. She was also a good listener, letting him bring up various topics that interested both of them—the new opera in town, the book he was currently reading, the big wedding of a mutual friend. There was not one mention of the latest bombing victim just a few streets from the café. Or the news of the restaurant downtown that had to shut down because the owner had mysteriously disappeared. Or the scandal about a number of peacekeepers caught literally with their pants down in a kafena.
They retired into the back room for drinks and dessert. Brad settled back in the sofa comfortably, sipping his wine, as he watched Amber bring in a covered dish.
“Did you hear that the younger prince of Modevia gave up his eligibility to be second in line so he could marry his civilian sweetheart?” Amber asked, as she served him a piece of cheesecake.
“I read it in the paper,” Brad said, taking a bite of the dessert. It was strawberry cheesecake. “This is simply delicious, Amber.”
“Have another piece.” She smiled. “Take some home.”
“Thanks. That would be…” Brad put down his fork. “Hello, Llallana.”
Llallana Noretski was slim and tall, her dark coloring a direct contrast to her girlfriend’s. She was dressed in a pantsuit, with swirling patterns that reminded him of a bright sunset. She walked slowly into the room, carefully studying everything around her. Brad knew from past observation that she never moved her head but her dark eyes were constantly darting, taking in every little thing. They were large, fanned by long eyelashes that she sometimes peered under, especially when she was pretending not to look at him.
“Hope I’m not interrupting dinner or anything,” she said, without returning Brad’s greeting. She sat down across on the adjacent sofa seat. “But I heard you wanted to see me?”
Brad had casually asked Amber a few weeks ago when Llallana was coming back into town, using business as an excuse. It was frustrating he couldn’t bring up what she was doing because he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have any knowledge of any illegal activities. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder. The woman sitting nearby seemed incapable of doing anything illegal other than attending the art soirees in Europe to bid for her clients.
Fine, she didn’t want niceties. “How did the last trip go?” he asked.
Llallana shrugged. “Didn’t Amber tell you that it went fine? If there was anything wrong, I’m sure she’d have informed you.”
Amber had silently retreated to a corner of the sofa. Brad suspected she was hiding a smile behind the cup of coffee. Unlike with her, he was always sparring with Llallana Noretski.
“I just wanted more details,” he said.
“I thought you said before that you didn’t want any details,” Llallana retorted. “Didn’t he, Amber?”
“I think Brad meant that certain things, like how you secured the passports and whom you talked to, are off-limits,” Amber said smoothly. “He’s interested in where the girls are and how they’ll fend for themselves in their new homes, Lily.”
“Is that right, Brad?” Llallana asked, her brows arching sardonically. “As long as your hands are clean, hmm?”
“We’re on the same side on this,” Brad said softly. “You know I want to help those girls as much as you do.”
“And you’ve been helping,” Amber assured him.
“Then why doesn’t he take scum like Dilaver off the street?” demanded Llallana, her eyes blazing with sudden fire. “You have the power, don’t you, Brad? Or are you just a puppet?”
He wasn’t going to discuss UN protocol with her. She wouldn’t understand how his hands were tied by votes and red tape. He put down his glass of wine. “We all have a job to do, although you seem to have more freedom than me because of your…shortcuts.”
He watched as Llallana straightened her shoulders. Well, it wasn’t his fault—she attacked him first.
“My shortcuts save lives,” she told him.
“You’re dealing with gray people and breaking international laws,” he reminded her.
“I get my job done. Do you?”
Ouch. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“And yet, supposedly, you have all avenues at your disposal.” Llallana tilted her head. “Capture Dilaver. He’s in town. What’s so tough about that?”
“He’s KLA.”
“Oh yes, UN-sanctioned ‘good’ guys.” Llallana laughed. “You can get around that.”
“Break the laws I uphold?” Brad narrowed his eyes. “And what would that make me? There are consequences each time I compromise.”
“Oh yes, it might affect your way up the diplomatic chain of command,” she said, a cynical smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Who would want to stay here in this hellhole?”
Before he could reply, Amber interrupted. “Now, Lily, be fair. He’s helping as much as he can, especially now that he’s found out what we do,” she said, leaning forward to pour more wine into the glasses, her eyes catching Brad’s.
As always, he wondered about the two women’s relationship, both of whom seemed to contrast so in style and manner. One was calm and assessing and the other bothered the shit out of him. Yet, he’d caught them laughing in the kitchen before, giggling like females sometimes did when they were talking naughty stuff. Maybe he just hadn’t tried hard enough with Llallana. Hell, how could he be friendly with a woman who corrected him each time he called her Lily? He wasn’t a friend. Fine. He’d stopped after the first few times.
“That’s because you’re contracting with the CIA and he feels obligated.”
“Is that what you think?” Brad asked, curious. She wasn’t wrong, but she was also assuming that he approved of the CIA. Llallana shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. He had a feeling that there was more to this than surface accusations. “Tell me how they’ve hurt you, Llallana.”
Bingo. Something flared up in those beautiful eyes for a moment, then she dipped her head to study her fingernails. She gave him that sideways glance that always managed to hide her thoughts. “Getting melodramatic, aren’t we? Now, what is it about the girls you wanted to know again? Where are they? Out of this country. How are they? Better than before. Those too afraid to go home have enough money to survive for a while. Will they get better care?” She paused. “I don’t know. I hope so. Some of them are in bad shape, as you know.”
Her voice had lost some of its passion, as if she were trying to control her emotions by being businesslike. Brad didn’t miss the way her hands clenched and unclenched on her lap.
“When you”—he stopped to find another word for “smuggle”—“move them, don’t the authorities question some of those in bad condition? I’d be suspicious if a few girls boarded my plane with bruises and cuts.”
Some of them had more than bruises and cuts. And all of them were psychologically damaged.
“I try to give them some downtime, Brad. It isn’t easy preparing a girl that age for a journey away from everything she’s known. But then, she’s already suffered a fate that’s beyond anything girls her age should know. I try to prepare them. This is their chance to escape and they know this. There aren’t many choices, you know.”
“That’s why getting them before they’re destroyed by the kafena thugs was a good strategy,” Amber said, then added with a small smile, “and it was Brad’s idea.”
“That’s the information I can easily get without raising too many eyebrows.” After all, it was his job to trace the drugs and illegal human trafficking. “And I do know the risks you take to get them to a safe place, Llallana.”
He still couldn’t believe the woman sitting across from him was also in charge of some team of thugs or mercenaries—she wouldn’t tell and, of course, he wasn’t going to ask—who literally played highwaymen, pretending to be going after the girls for their own gain. Where did she meet with these men?
“Let’s drink to the success of the next road trip, shall we?” Amber lifted her glass. “Brad has more information, Lily.”
Brad picked up his glass and drank to the toast as he broodingly studied Llallana. He wanted to get her alone with him…like the last time. Part of him wanted to kiss her again.