soothed her frayed nerves.
She faltered. Never in a million years did she think she’d utter the words that hung on the tip of her tongue.
“Lil...”
“I’ve been compromised.”
“What? Who?”
“Not sure. But, Ben, I think he’s from 67.”
“Why is that?”
Lily heard the unspoken question veiled within those three words—Are you burned?—and her head spun. No, that wasn’t possible. Was it? Destroying all passports and 67-issued equipment, she’d gone dark, covering her tracks and doubling back multiple times to ensure she wasn’t being tracked before heading to Omaha.
The only people on the planet who even knew she was in Omaha were Ben and George, and only because they were the only family she had left.
“How else would he know so much about me? The alternative is one I refuse to consider. I can’t go there, Ben.”
Lily shut her bedroom door, turned the lock and moved to her closet. To the casual observer, it appeared to be a massive walk-in closet for a woman who was obsessed with shoes, clothes and jewelry. But she wasn’t that woman. They were all props. Lily didn’t care about any of that stuff. She only cared about what it concealed.
“I want to know who he is, and why the hell 67 sent him after me.”
“You and me both,” Ben grumbled, his voice hard as steel.
“Well...” She stopped in front of the tall dresser, flipped up the jewelry tray and pressed her hand to the cool, smooth surface underneath. A screen—doubling as a smaller mirror hanging on the wall—appeared and scanned her palm. “Let’s find out. Shall we?”
The display lit up, and she quickly keyed in her code and started scanning through the lobby’s video feed.
“Yes. Let’s.”
Despite the agitation rapidly firing from one nerve to the next, Lily grinned. She could almost see Ben’s face growing as stormy as the Pacific Northwest in the winter.
Within minutes, she’d found her running buddy. Apparently he’d managed to slip in a shower before invading her personal space. Fantastic.
Despite her best efforts to be pissed off at this stranger, she couldn’t help a twinge of admiration. He was tall—six-two, or maybe six-three—defined and, even in his casual attire of jeans and T-shirt, damn right beautiful. His black T-shirt was snug, but not obnoxiously so, and she could see muscle definition beneath the dark fabric. No doubt the result of rigorous training. She rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to be imagining anything about this guy.
He looked directly up at the camera, mischief in his blue eyes, and winked. Lily snorted. Nothing subtle there—the guy had balls of steel.
Lily tapped the screen. Got you now.
She froze the image and took a screen shot. “Sending over a picture. Can you check him out?”
“I’ll get my IC people on it.”
Lily couldn’t help but smile. Ben’s people were her people, or at least they had been. On the books, they were all part of the United States Intelligence Community, or IC, which was led by the Director of National Intelligence, and each had their own cover story. To those outside of Unit 67, Lily Andrews was a CIA computer analyst, the best hacker to come through Langley’s doors in a decade. Off the books was a whole other ball game, and one she missed desperately. Unit 67 fell under a separate director, one that reported directly to the president himself, and was unknown by any of the other sixteen separate government agencies.
Though she’d gone dark, Lily still had allies within the intelligence community—all Ben had to do was mention her name, and they’d have the intel on this joker, 67 agent or not. No one within 67 tolerated a breach in protocol, and showing up unannounced to another agent, potentially blowing their deep cover, was a serious one.
“You want me to come get you?” Ben’s voice grew serious.
“No. I don’t take people flushing me out lightly.” She eyed the photo. Her mind pulled images of him straddling her, and heat surged through her body, which royally pissed her off. Not a chance, buddy. “This is my home. I’ve been doing just fine here for a year. I’m not leaving.”
“Lil.”
“No. I’m staying. Besides...” She moved over and tugged at the massive mirror hanging on the far end of the closet. It swung open on cleverly concealed hinges, revealing row after row of firearms and ammo lined up on hidden shelves. She reached for her favorite Glock and pulled it from its bracket. “You and I both know this place is my own personal Fort Knox. If he gets past George, which is very doubtful, he’ll regret it.”
“I still don’t like it,” Ben grumbled.
“Me neither.” She closed the mirror-door. “But I’m not leaving. End of story. I’ll meet you tomorrow, and we’ll go over what we’ve both scrounged up tonight.”
“Call me if you need anything. And no heroic shit. We don’t know who this guy is.”
“Promise.” She hung up.
Oh, she’d keep her word to Ben, but she’d track this mysterious man until she knew the type of toothpaste he used. She didn’t appreciate her life being interrupted or her anonymity being blown.
Lily shook her head. Who was she kidding? She was spooked this stranger had not only found her and snuck up on her like a freaking ghost, but he’d also caught her attention...more than she cared to admit.
She reached for the .32 sitting on the dresser, tucked it into the small of her back and grabbed her tablet. Whistling for Dakota, her three-year-old malamute—the only good thing Jackson had left her with—Lily walked into her bedroom and sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed. Dakota lazily sauntered in, jumped onto the bed and curled up against her back. Lily reached over and ran her hand over his heavy coat. She loved that dog, had since the moment Jackson presented her with him as a puppy, complete with a blue ribbon tied around his neck.
She pointed the tablet at the seventy-two-inch flat screen and pressed another button. The screen blinked to life and divided into four separate displays—each one granting her access to a different ABC government agency.
“Not sure who you think you are, buddy, but you messed with the wrong woman.”
Lily keyed in her search requirements and, for the first time in thirteen months, felt alive. Like the woman she’d been before Jackson dropped her from that window. Bringing that bastard in would be her life’s mission, but she couldn’t deny that she missed this—the researching, the tracking...the hunting. Worse yet, she was bored, and a bored agent eventually became a threat to themselves, or worse...
They ended up dead.
Tuesday, September 16, 6:00 a.m.
LILY BURST INTO Keystone Café and glanced around the coffee bar that could have been plucked from Tuscany itself. The tension in her shoulders evaporated. Everything about the small shop invited her in, calmed her nerves: the tan walls peppered with shots of the Italian coastline; the dark, hand-scraped wooden floors; the fireplace nestled into the farthest corner, its flames softly flickering. The whole ambience of the café beckoned her to sit, relax.
Ben looked up from behind the tall, black granite coffee bar and greeted her with a weary smile.
“Mornin’, Lil. Here you go.” The big man reached over and handed Lily her usual latte in her favorite burnt-orange mug.
“Thanks, B.” She grabbed a wooden chair at the farthest table facing the door