Strangers When We Meet

“How’s it going out there in cowboy country?”

“It’s going,” Dodge replied.

After a succinct status report that included his initial impressions of the three Russians, he broached the reason for his call.

“I need you to check out a dude by the name of Hank Barlow. He’s the CEO of E-Systems.”

“Hank Barlow. E-Systems. Got it. Anything in particular you want me to look for?”

“See if he has any connection to our visiting Russians.”

“Roger that. I’ll get back to you.”

Blade hung up and keyed the name into OMEGA’s computers. While the supercomputer did its thing, he skimmed a glance around the busy control center.

It was geared to operate 24/7. Active and passive electronic countermeasures prevented interception of its encrypted emanations. Communications techs kept the array of computers and wall-size digital displays humming. Even the field-dress unit, which could turn a grungy agent just back from three weeks in the jungle into a tuxedoed James Bond in the blink of an eye, had at least one team member working some esoteric disguise or another.

Blade dragged his chair closer to the operations control panel to key in the name of the individual and company Dodge had just requested data on. Blade intended to run both through a wire-tight screen. He’d done enough covert ops for OMEGA to know success or failure on any mission hung by a thread. A late contact, a small detail buried under others, a blurred photo—any or all of them could spell disaster. He’d just started skimming the info that came when his nemesis strolled in.

“Oh, Christ.”

Victoria Talbot, code name Rebel, caught the low mutter and pasted on a saccharine smile.

“Good to see you, too.”

Blade blew out a slow breath and swung around to face the honey-haired operative. She was dressed in her usual leather: bomber jacket, thigh-hugging pants, boots, all the same thin, supple black. All she needed to complete the image of an oversexed biker babe were a few tattoos.

It wasn’t that Blade disliked the woman. Hell, the truth was, she turned him on. But they’d had this love/hate thing going ever since they’d clashed during Rebel’s first week at OMEGA. It had been a simple misunderstanding, for Christ’s sake. She didn’t need to knock Blade flat on his ass. Wouldn’t have, if he’d had the least inkling she would even try.

They were both professionals. They’d smoothed things over. On the surface, at least. But they both knew whatever the hell was going on beneath that surface would blow up in their faces one of these days.

“You need something?” he asked, with a credible attempt at civility.

“No. Just wanted to check on Dodge.” She cranked her too-sweet smile up another notch. “I thought I could help, since he and I are both former air force.”

And Blade wasn’t. Obviously she thought his stint as a lowly army special-forces grunt didn’t count for squat when dealing with one of her fellow hotshot pilots.

“Thanks anyway, but I’ve got it under control.”

“You sure?” Her glance flicked from him to the screen. What she saw there made her lift a brow. “Hank Barlow? Is that the E-Systems guy?”

She crowded closer to peer at the screen. Too close, dammit. Blade got a whiff of her scent as she leaned over his shoulder. How the hell could leather smell so sexy?

“E-Systems,” she murmured. “Yep, that’s him.”

Much as it galled him, Blade had to ask. “You know him?”

Rebel hitched a hip on the console, forcing him to scoot his chair back to give her room.

“I hauled Barlow across the pond a couple times when I was still flying VIP transport,” she commented. “He was heading some high-powered trade delegation. Had ambassador status, or something close to it. Why are you checking him out?”

“Dodge says he’s at F. E. Warren.”

“So?”

He stifled the urge to tell her this was his op and she could take herself and those come-get-me leathers elsewhere. Talbot might rub him exactly the wrong way, but she was as good at this business as any operative he’d ever worked with.

“One of the members of the Russian inspection team froze up after a chance encounter with Barlow. Dodge wanted me to see if the man has a connection to Moscow.”

“I can answer that,” she said with only a trace of smugness. “The trade delegation I just mentioned? They were negotiating with the Russians.”

Chapter 3

Dodge was still chewing over the information Blade had relayed when he crossed the parking lot between the VOQs at oh-dark-thirty the next morning. The insulated bomber-style jacket he wore over his flight suit provided more than adequate protection from the predawn chill, but not from the doubts swirling around inside his head.

Blade had confirmed Larissa Petrovna’s presence in Moscow during at least three of Barlow’s visits to that city. What was their connection? And why had she denied there was one? OMEGA was digging deeper into Barlow’s background. In the meantime, Dodge would do his damndest to find out what was going on behind the major’s ice-maiden facade.

Lieutenant Tate and Senior Master Sergeant Lewis were waiting at the entrance to the VOQ. They peeled off to collect their charges, and Dodge rapped on Petrovna’s door. When she answered, he almost did a double take. The woman looked like a ghost in the dim light spilling into the hallway. Purple circles shadowed her eyes. Tired lines were etched into her face. She wore a black turtleneck sweater under the jacket of her navy suit instead of yesterday’s white blouse. The dark shades contrasted cruelly with her pallor.

Jet lag must have smacked the major right between the eyes. Or was her obviously restless night connected to her knee-jerk reaction yesterday? Dodge’s gut told him it was the latter, but he kept his expression polite and his voice casual as he offered a choice of breakfast establishments.

“There’s a Burger King on base as well as the chow hall. Or we could drive into town if you prefer.”

“The dining facility is best. I will get my briefcase, then we go.”

She left the door standing open while she disappeared into the bedroom. Dodge was careful not to step inside uninvited. The treaty protocol had emphasized that inspectors’ living quarters were to be accorded the inviolability given to the private residences of diplomatic agents.

Dodge’s duties as an escort required him to make sure the major’s basic needs were taken care of, however. He scanned the living area with a quick glance. Interesting that Petrovna hadn’t yet left her mark on the room. No clothes or books lay scattered over the furniture. No dirty dishes sat in the sink or on the kitchen counter.

The only personal item of any kind was the eight-by-ten framed photo on the desk. The photographer had captured a pigtailed girl of five or six. She was holding a kitten up to the camera. Her gap-toothed grin was so mischievous that it drew an answering smile from Dodge.

“Pretty little girl,” he commented when the major walked back into the living room.

Her glance went to the photo. “So do I think.”

“Is she your daughter?”

He wasn’t prepared for the effect the simple question produced. Before his eyes, Larissa Petrovna’s face softened and a hint of a smile curved her mouth.

“Da. That is my Katya.”

Well, damn! The woman was a stunner even when encased in ice. Without it, she took on a transcendent beauty. Hoping to prolong the transformation, Dodge ventured another observation.

“She looks like she’s a handful. A youngster with a lively spirit,” he interpreted, at her questioning look.

“A most lively spirit.” Her almost-smile turned rueful. “She does not understand the meaning of nyet, that one.”

For a few dangerous moments, Dodge stopped thinking of Larissa Petrovna as a Russian and the target he’d been sent to keep in his sights. She looked all too human as she gazed at the photo of her daughter. Human, and surprisingly fragile.