Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

“Not tired at all.”

v

Just before 1800 hours, Wes finished writing a prescription for

one of the groundskeepers who had severed the tip of his little finger

while attempting to clear ice from his snow blower. He hadn’t been

able to find the missing piece of tissue, so Wes had shortened the bone

fragment beneath his nail and closed it with a local skin flap. A week of

antibiotics and a protective splint ought to be all he needed. His finger

would be a little bit shorter, but he should have no functional deficit.

He was lucky. She walked down to the treatment area where the PA on

duty with her was splinting the digit. “Here you go. Stop by in two days

for a bandage change. We’ll get the stitches out in a week or so. How

does it feel?”

The groundskeeper smiled. “Doesn’t bother me at all. Can I go to

work tomorrow?”

“Is there work you can do one-handed, because I don’t want you

taking that splint off.”

“I’ll manage.”

“The splint stays on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, then you can go back to work.” She clipped the

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prescription to his chart and went back to her office to finish her notes

and shut down her computer. Five minutes later she headed for the

briefing room she’d been in that morning. When she walked in, Evyn

was there, sorting through an array of equipment on the table.

“Hi,” Wes said, eyeing the small receiver and attached wires.

“What’s happening?”

“The director asked me to suit you up.” Evyn looked up. “You

need to be wired.”

Wes loved the hazy purple of Evyn’s eyes, a sure sign her

emotions were running hot. She hoped she was the cause—even if the

timing was bad. Even if that turmoil in Evyn’s gaze was annoyance

rather than attraction. Anything was better than the indifference and

distance Evyn was so adept at hiding behind. “What do you want me

to do?”

“Just take off your shirt and loosen your belt,” Evyn said

neutrally, her attention back on the equipment.

Wes removed her blazer, folded it over the back of a chair, and

unbuttoned her shirt. She tugged it from her pants and laid it with her

jacket. She opened her fly and pulled up the bottom of the silk tank she

wore beneath her shirt.

Evyn held up a slim black box about the size of a deck of cards,

only thinner. “This audio transmitter is small enough we should be able

to secure it inside the waistband of your trousers in the middle of your

back. Unless you get...cozy, it won’t show.”

“I’m not planning to get cozy.”

Evyn grew still, her expression flat and closed. “Really? How do

you plan on extracting personal information if you don’t?”

“People tend to relax in a social situation, even when it’s not

intimate. They talk about their schedules, what they plan to do the next

day, where they plan to go. Any of those things might help us pinpoint

a potential exchange point.”

“You’re right,” Evyn said abruptly. “And I apologize.”

Wes grasped Evyn’s wrist, stilling her in mid-motion. “This

morning, you said last night wasn’t over.”

“I remember.”

“What changed overnight?”

“I know you have no reason to believe this, but I did.”

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“How?”

“I thought if I really connected with you, if I really let myself be

open to caring about you, to letting you close, I’d lose my edge, lose

control. Not be able to focus on what mattered.”

“Is that what happened this morning in the briefing?”

Evyn grimaced. “Yeah, it kinda looks that way. I hope I didn’t

make you—”

“I said I liked that you care, and I meant it.” Wes moved around

the table and gripped Evyn’s shoulders. “I don’t want to make you

unhappy.”

“That’s just it, you don’t. The closer we are, the more I feel like

myself, and that really scares me. Because if I need you for that, what

happens when you’re not here?”

“What happens if I don’t go?”

“A whole other reason to be scared,” Evyn said, her heart belying

the words. She was anything but frightened by the idea of having Wes

around all the time. She was exhilarated.

“I get being scared—you walked away last night, and that hurt.”

“I know. And I know sorry doesn’t cut it, but I am.”

“I guess we’re both a bit scared,” Wes said.

“Yeah. And I don’t like that much.”

“Neither do I,” Wes said, “but you’re good at handling the tough

jobs. So am I. We ought to remember that.”

Evyn grasped her hand. Threaded her fingers through Wes’s. “I

will if you will.”

“You’ve got a deal, Agent Daniels.” Wes wanted to kiss her—but

Evyn needed to keep focus. So did she. “Later.”

“What?” Evyn frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you when this is over.”

“Then let’s finish getting you wired so we can find out what the

hell is going on and put a stop to it.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Do I have to say be careful?”

“I don’t mind when you do, but I promise I will be. And I’ll see

you at the end of the night.”

Evyn’s lips parted slightly, her face flushing. “I’d like that. A

lot.” The tightness in Wes’s belly warmed her until she was close to

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forgetting everything except the softness of Evan’s mouth and the taste

of her skin. She pulled away. “Good.”

“Don’t take any chances,” Evyn whispered.

“Don’t worry. We have unfinished business, and I plan to take care

of it.”

v

“Can I get you a drink?” Jennifer took Wes’s coat and hung it on

a wrought-iron coat tree just inside the door of her town house.

“Scotch and water would be great,” Wes said. The town house

in Adams Morgan was small but impeccably restored. The hardwood

floors gleamed, the walls were painted in nineteenth-century period

colors, the wood staircase leading to the second floor was adorned with

a hand-carved newel post and banister. The furniture and thick area

rugs were understated but obviously expensive. Jennifer lived well on

her military salary.

“Have a seat, I’ll be right back.” Jennifer disappeared through

a door beyond the staircase that Wes assumed led to the kitchen. She

settled on the sofa and studied the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves

opposite her. American classics for the most part, a few contemporary

titles. Nothing to help define Jennifer as an individual. On the short

Metro ride, Jennifer had asked about her most recent posting and how

she was finding the job. The kind of casual conversation individuals

getting to know each other had. At one point as they walked, Jennifer

had slipped her hand through Wes’s arm, an invitation or maybe a

query. Wes pressed her arm closer to her body, securing Jennifer’s

hold, signaling—she hoped—interest. Jennifer had responded by

leaning into her shoulder a little more and squeezing her arm.

“Here you go.” Jennifer held out a crystal rock glass with two

inches of dark amber liquid inside and sat on the sofa next to Wes with

a glass of wine.

Wes sipped the scotch. Smoky, dense, expensive. “Thanks.”

Jennifer sighed. “This is nice. How about I order in? There’s a

great little restaurant down the street that delivers quickly.”

“Sure, unless you’re too tired. I can go—”

“No.” Jennifer pressed her palm to Wes’s thigh. “Not now that

I’ve got you here. I’ll get you the menu.”

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“Don’t bother. Order what you like—surprise me.”

Jennifer smiled. “I plan to.” She rose and set her wineglass on the

end table. “I’ll be right back.”

When Jennifer returned, Wes asked, “So where does your sister

live?” “Ohio,” Jennifer answered immediately. “She and her husband

have a dairy farm there.”

“Just you and her or a big family?”

“Just us. My parents met later in life and they’re both gone now.”

“Sorry.”

“I was looking forward to my sister and her family coming here,

but her husband’s mother needed emergency gallbladder surgery. That

put an end to the Christmas plans. What about you?”

“Three sisters. I would’ve gone home for the holidays—I generally

take my annual leave at this time of year—but I’m here.”

“You didn’t have much notice, I guess.” Jennifer cradled the

wineglass in one hand, drew her legs beneath her on the sofa, and rested

her free left hand on Wes’s thigh.

Wes tightened automatically and Jennifer made a sound as if she

were purring. Wes tried to remember the question as Jennifer’s fingers

stroked slowly up and down the inside of her leg. “I wasn’t expecting

this job, true.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Jennifer leaned into Wes a little

more. “They certainly got you on board at lightning speed.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t a drawn-out process.”

“I guess they explained what happened to Len—the heart attack

out of the blue?”

Wes chose her words carefully. Jennifer might be searching—

trying to find out if Wes had any suspicions about O’Shaughnessy’s

death—or her questions could simply be curiosity. Somehow,

though, Wes doubted it. “Nothing unusual on his post. Probably an

arrhythmia.”

“You just never expect it, when someone’s in such good shape—”

Jennifer’s cell rang. “Oh, sorry. That must be the restaurant. They

always forget to ask about the hot sauce.” She grabbed her phone.

“Hold on. Hello?”

Jennifer frowned. “I’m sorry. Let me just take this—it’s a friend

from out of town.”

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“Of course,” Wes said as Jennifer rose. “Take your time.”

“Hi, Tom,” Jennifer said, walking toward the kitchen.

Wes hesitated, uncertain how good her audio would be a room

away through the old thick walls. She got up and walked toward the

kitchen, pausing outside the archway.

“Ellie told me you’d be calling. Are you in town long?”

“I’m afraid tonight isn’t a good night. I think it would be awkward

for me to change my plans. But if you’re on a tight schedule—”

“No, no, I’m more than ready. What about breakfast?”

“There’s a diner a block from my apartment. Eva’s.”

“Seven thirty?”

Wes registered the silence a second before Jennifer appeared in

the kitchen doorway.

“Sorry,” Wes said quickly. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

Jennifer smiled thinly, her eyes narrowing. “Top of the stairs on

your left.”

“Thanks. Be right back.”

“The food should be here soon.” Jennifer traced a fingertip over

the top of Wes’s hand. “I hope you’re as hungry as I am.”

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chapter thirty

Evyn called Cameron Roberts. “We’ve got something on audio.

Sounds like she’s arranging a meet.”

“E-mail me the audio file,” Cam said.

“It’s on its way.” She glanced at Block, crowded next to her in the

back of the surveillance van. They’d parked around the corner from

Jennifer Pattee’s town house, within range of the transmitter Wes was

wearing but out of line of sight. Block was focused on monitoring the

audio feed—he wasn’t paying any attention to her. “We can’t get both

sides of the conversation, but the subject is coming through clear. She

mentioned a mutual contact—Tom. There’s no way he—”

“That doesn’t concern us right now,” Cam said.

She knew their priority was locating and securing the stolen

biocontagion, but no way was she letting Tom become a suspect. “I

just want to go on record that I’m the best one to have observed his

activities, and nothing suggests he’s involved.”

“I appreciate that, and I’m sure he will too. We picked up the name

on a few scattered communications over the last few weeks, but we

haven’t been able to put anything together. At this point, we’re simply

being cautious.”

“I understand. There’s something else,” Evyn said. “I think she

made Wes.”

“Hold on. Let me listen to this,” Cam said. “I’m downloading it

now.”Evyn chafed in the sudden silence and switched to watching the

video feed from the camera they’d mounted on a light pole halfway

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down the block from Jennifer Pattee’s front door. If she didn’t occupy

her mind, she was going to drive herself crazy imagining what was going

on with Wes inside that house. They didn’t have eyes inside—there

hadn’t been time to get anything in place. So she was left to imagining

Wes and Jennifer’s activities by following the audio transcript on the

computer next to Block. The impersonal words appeared as if a ghost

were typing them, but she had no difficulty hearing Wes’s voice. She

knew Jennifer Pattee well enough to recognize hers too. As the words

scrolled down the screen, Evyn saw Jennifer with Wes.

She’d always found Jennifer attractive but aloof, which had

never bothered her because Jennifer wasn’t her type. She was capable,

competent, and sexy if you liked aggressive femmes, but she’d always

sensed something just a little bit calculating about her. Jennifer was

nothing like Wes—Wes didn’t play games, didn’t pull her punches,

asked the hard questions, and didn’t run from the answers. Wes didn’t

run from anything, which was why she was sitting in Jennifer’s house

tonight with no backup close enough to help her if something went

sour. The thought curdled her stomach.

She reread the transcribed message. Even without the audio to