From Mission To Marriage

“What do you think, Dani?” Jack asked Danielle Sweet, the latest hire, a former army brat who could kick some serious butt on the mats at the gym. She was a deceptively dainty brunette with a master’s in international relations from Georgetown. Though people generally underestimated Dani because of her looks, Sweet’s IQ was off the charts, her powers of reasoning were outstanding and she could charm her way into or out of anything.

She graced Mercier with a benign smile. “Excellent credentials. She’s awfully gung ho, isn’t she? Who grins like that for a mug shot?” Then she grinned herself. “But we like gung ho, don’t we?”

“Absolutely.” Jack turned then, silent for a moment as he regarded Clay. “Fine, we agree Walker’s a possible. She’s on a case, Clay, so if you go and give her a hand, you can see how she handles herself. You’ll be pulling double duty here. Recruiting and investigating. I only found out about Walker’s current case because I called to see when she might be available to meet with you. When I identified myself, her Agent-in-Charge assumed I was following up on the report submitted to his superior and promptly filled me in on what’s going on.”

“What kind of case?” Clay asked.

“A bomb detonated at one of the casinos on the Qualla Boundary.”

“That’s the Cherokee reservation in North Carolina?” Cate asked.

“Yes, and technically under federal jurisdiction, at least for a case such as this. Agent Walker was at the scene when it happened. Someone had called her and told her a friend of hers was in trouble at the casino and being held there by the manager. A ruse to get her there, of course. It’s all in the report.

“I got the okay for you to partner with Agent Walker on it while you check her out, Clay. We’ll go with your final recommendation about bringing her on here.”

Clay nodded as he scooped up the folder of information and scanned it briefly for more details.

There wasn’t much. Vanessa Walker had taken a phone call that had come in to the Asheville bureau. James Hightower, a former fishing guide and resident of Cherokee, had been convicted for manslaughter and had served four years. After his release, he’d returned to a small community just outside the boundary and had taken rooms with a woman called Lisa Yellowhorse.

Yellowhorse had made the call to Vanessa Walker, saying she suspected that her tenant was responsible for the bombing and might be planning something worse.

It shouldn’t take long to round up this guy and find some proof, or at least some answers to the allegation. Clay just hoped he was there long enough to get some indication as to how their prospective hire performed.

“Mind telling me what Ms. Walker’s claim to fame might be?” Even though he’d read her folder, he wanted to know her peculiar gift, the one that had prompted Mercier to suggest her above a number of others with equally impressive credentials. No doubt she would have some extra tricks that weren’t in that file. They all did, ranging from excellent instincts to outright telepathy.

Jack inclined his head. “She’s ingenious. Very inventive and thinks fast in a crunch. Her main talent seems to be staying alive against impossible odds. Vanessa Walker keeps cheating the grim reaper on a regular basis. Seems she has more lives than the proverbial cat.”

“No reference to that in her file,” Clay remarked, thumbing through it idly.

“I know,” Jack said, not volunteering how he had discovered the information. He stood, signaling the meeting was over. “You’ll need to determine whether her miraculous escapes are due to luck, skill or premonitions.”

Clay understood what Jack meant. Luck could run out at any time. But if her skills or a talent for premonitions were what kept Walker landing on her feet, COMPASS had found the third teammate.

Chapter 1

Asheville, North Carolina—September 25th

C lay’s ears ached, his head hurt and, after the flight, he was in no mood for a cheerful greeting. He could see he was about to get one, though. The candidate was waiting for him, wearing that same wide smile she wore in her photos. No one had told her yet that she was being considered for COMPASS. As far as she knew, he was only there as a rep from Homeland Security, come to assist her in the investigation.

She held up a hand-lettered sign with his name on it and looked straight at him. He nodded and strode over to her, his most intimidating glare daring her to be chipper.

She stuck out her hand. “Agent Senate? Thanks for coming, sir. I’m Vanessa Walker.”

Cate had been right—this one was small, probably pounds, and she looked about eighteen years old. He knew better, though. She was twenty-seven.

“Agent Walker,” he acknowledged, shaking her hand. Hers felt delicate, but her grip was strong. Not surprising. She had graduated second in her class at the FBI Academy and weaklings didn’t get through there.

She laughed self-consciously and broke the connection, tossed the sign into a nearby trash receptacle and tried to take his carry-on away from him. It weighed a ton, so he held on. She let go with a shrug. “Okay. Off to baggage claim. You have a nice flight?”

He grimaced ahead of them at the young mother dragging the five-year-old with the whine and the twitchy feet, who’d performed a horizontal River Dance on the back of his seat. “Not really.”

“Turbulance?” she persisted, following his line of sight to the kid. She didn’t bother suppressing a chuckle.

“You might say that.”

“Sorry. Would you like a drink?”

He stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

“Can you? Drink, that is?” Perky. Too perky.

“Of course I can drink.”

“Do you?”

“Not much. Why?”

She shrugged. “Some people have a problem with alcohol. I like to identify the ones who do and avoid them in working situations. Got shot once when I didn’t. Friendly fire, too.”

Clay mumbled a curse.

“Don’t get touchy. It’s a fact. Do you smoke?”

“An occasional cigar, never around loaded weapons.”

She laughed, a low sensual sound that did something salacious to his insides. “Ah, a sense of humor. Here we are!” As if reaching the baggage ramp were a feat to celebrate.

They stood silently as they waited for the baggage to begin making its slow circle. But silence seemed more than she could stand for long. She took a deep breath and released it. “So, where are you from?”

“Why?”

Her lips tightened with exasperation. “I’m making polite conversation. Is it a secret?”

He focused on the empty baggage ramp. “McLean, Virginia.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Conoy, Manahoac or Delaware?”

“Do you really need the family history?” God, he sounded grumpy, even to himself. He tried to temper the question with a smile. It wasn’t her fault he was exhausted.

“Nope.” Again she shrugged. “Just wondered. My mother was Italian, by the way. Daddy met and married her when he was in service. Most of us aren’t full-bloods. And with those eyes of yours, it’s pretty obvious—”

Clay couldn’t believe her lack of tact. “Why would you care?”

“No reason. I just think it’s good they sent an Indian. You’ll understand what I mean when I say I’ve got a feeling something’s gonna pop.”

“Oh, right,” he said cynically. “That mystical thing we have going. How could I forget all those movies I watched?”

“You like to scoff, don’t you? But you know it’s so. My boss thinks my informant’s just a woman taking potshots, trying to get this guy locked up because she found out he was an ex-con and he scares her. Me? I take it seriously when somebody discovers a possible threat and bothers to call it in.”