Double Deception Read online

  Iridescent waves of aviation fuel shimmered above the hot tarmac. Rebel sucked in its stink greedily and wondered how many missions she’d flown out of Andrews while assigned to the Presidential Support Squadron. A hundred? Two? Wishing to heck she could be at the controls of the sleek executive jet sitting in its chocks, she led the way into Base Operations and out to the aircraft. The pilot was in the cockpit, the copilot waiting at the hatch. She didn’t recognize the young captain but he recognized her.

  “Good to finally meet you, Major Talbot. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “All lies,” she countered, grinning.

  He laughed and waited for his passengers to buckle in before providing an update on weather and fuel. “We’re estimating two hours fifteen minutes flying time.”

  Rebel nodded. “That’s how I figured it.”

  “Now for the civilians on board…”

  The young captain shifted his attention to Blade for the required safety briefing. When he was done, he swung back to Rebel.

  “I gotta ask. Did you really tell the Air Force Academy Superintendent he must have crawled out from under a rock back in the Pleistocene Age?”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t use those precise words.”

  “But you did refuse to submit to some of the more sexist forms of hazing.”

  “Actually, I refused to submit to any form of sexist hazing.”

  “Nothing’s changed there,” Blade murmured as the captain went forward.

  Rebel shifted in her seat to regard Clint Black. He returned her look with a bland one of his own, but she knew he was thinking of their titanic clash during her first week at OMEGA.

  Black had been kidding around with two other agents. Didn’t have a clue OMEGA’s newest recruit was in the vicinity. Or that she would prove so damned touchy when he wondered aloud whether she had the training and/or skill to take down two hundred plus pounds of raging male. She’d smiled sweetly, batted her lashes and proceeded to toss him on his ass.

  They’d put the incident behind them. They were both too professional not to. But memory of the thud when he hit the floor still gave Rebel a private chuckle. What didn’t amuse her was that she couldn’t quite forget how Black’s lean, hard body had felt when she flipped it over hers.

  She’d tried. God knows, she’d tried. The last thing she intended to do was get involved with someone in the same outfit. Especially someone who attracted women like junkyard dogs attracted fleas. She’d done that once, with disastrous results, and wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  Her divorce wasn’t the primary reason she’d opted to leave the Air Force and take Nick Jensen up on his offer to join OMEGA, but it had certainly factored into the decision. At times she missed the military and the thrill that came with piloting multi-million-dollar jets. But only at times. Her civilian job as an adjunct instructor at the National Defense University and her missions for OMEGA kept her hopping.

  Like now. Shoving aside the annoying thoughts of ex’s and hard bodies, she got down to business. “All right. Tell me why we’re on our way to Texas.”

  “We have an appointment with a woman named Vivian Bauer.”

  “Because?”

  “Because Ms. Bauer recently cleaned out her deceased grandfather’s attic and found what an NYU art history professor thinks may be a piece of the Amber Room.”

  Rebel jerked upright in her seat, eyes wide. “The Amber Room? The one some Prussian king gave Peter the Great back in the 1700s?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Holy crap!”

  “Yeah, that seemed to be the general consensus.”

  He filled her in on what he knew, then passed her the file he’d assembled.

  “Here’s what we’ve got so far.”

  They touched down at an Air National Guard base on the outskirts of Dallas. A hot, muggy Texas evening instantly enveloped them, made to feel even hotter by the last rays of the blazing ball of the sun reflected in the windows of Big D’s skyscrapers. Wishing she’d brought something to pin her shoulder-length hair off her neck, Rebel led the way through Base Ops. The vehicle Tank had advised would be waiting for them sat just outside the entrance.

  “Nice.” She eyed the midnight-blue Mustang convertible with approval. “The boy has taste. I’ll drive, you navigate.”

  Ignoring the flash of annoyance in Blade’s eyes, she slid behind the wheel. She was used to being in command—of a jet, a vehicle, her badass bike.

  Once they were headed out of the lot, Blade called their contact. “My associate and I are in Dallas, Ms. Bauer.”

  He paused, the phone to his ear.

  “That’s right. We’re with the government.” Another pause.

  “It’s a small agency. One I doubt you’ve heard of. But I can tell you the Department of Defense is interested in the information you posted about your grandfather.”

  Along with the Department of State, Rebel thought wryly, the Department of Justice, and, oh, yeah, the White House.

  “Why don’t I give you my office phone number?” Blade was saying. “They’ll verify my identity as well as that of my associate. Yes, it’s open on the Fourth of July. We’re a 24/7 operation.”

  Bauer obviously had second thoughts about two government agents knocking on her door, but Blade was gentling her like a spooked mare.

  He was good at it, Rebel had to admit. Too good. The betting among OMEGA’s female agents was that he owed his code name more to the swath he cut among the female of the species than his deadly skill with a knife.

  And why not? The man was six-foot-two of lean, hard muscle. His lazy, come-hither grin and golden-brown eyes only added to the package. And to the list of reasons why Rebel kept her distance.

  “Call the number I just gave you,” he instructed their contact in a smooth, friendly tone that invited confidence. “Our Operations Center will verify we’re on the level.”

  “What’s the problem?” Rebel asked when he cut the connection.

  “Hang on.”

  He thumbed a single key on his communications device. Like hers, it contained biometric and electronic scanners that could verify his identity with something close to the speed of light. Sure enough, it took him all of five seconds to reach Tank and warn him to expect a call.

  “Our contact’s turned skittish,” he advised Rebel when he finished with Control.

  “So I gathered. Why?”

  “I don’t know. She was cooperative enough when I talked to her earlier.”

  His phone pinged again a few minutes later. This time he put the call on speaker, and Rebel picked up instantly on the edge to Vivian Bauer’s soft Texas twang.

  “I, uh, talked to your office. They vouched for y’all.”

  “Good. So there’s no problem?”

  “No. Not really. It’s just…” She gave a nervous laugh. “I got the strangest call a while ago.”

  “Strange how?”

  “I couldn’t really understand him. He spoke with a heavy accent.”

  “He was asking ’bout my grandfather, too,” Bauer continued. “I never imagined my Facebook entry would generate so much interest. Oh, well…”

  Obviously trying to shrug off her unease, she confirmed that she would wait for them at her grandfather’s house.

  She wasn’t on the porch when they pulled up at the single-story, ranch-style home in one of Dallas’s older neighborhoods. Nor did she answer the bell. Frowning, Blade tried the door and found it locked.

  His glance cut to the late-model Nissan parked behind the older Buick in the carport. “That’s probably her car.”

  When he leaned on the bell a second, Rebel felt the hairs on the back of her neck stir again. Going with her gut, she fished a flat, pencil-thin rod out of her bag. Two twists, a click, and it was done.

  “Well, what do you know?” She nudged the door with her toe. “It’s open.”

  She heard him mutter something about illegal entry as she crossed the threshold—then stopped so ab
ruptly he almost walked up her back.

  With a smothered oath, she dropped to one knee beside the chunky brunette sprawled in a puddle of blood.

  Chapter 2

  Rebel found a pulse in the woman’s neck, but the beat was as faint and fluttery as the wings of a dying bird. Most likely because of the bullet hole drilled through her throat.

  “Call 911!”

  The wound oozed hot, dark blood. Rebel slapped her palm against it while Blade whipped out his phone. His voice clipped and urgent, he relayed the situation, the address and his name and confirmed that he didn’t know whether the shooter was still in the vicinity. All the while, Rebel kept pressure on the seeping hole.

  “Hang on, Ms. Bauer,” she pleaded. “Hang on. We’re calling for medical assistance.”

  Blade tossed his phone at her. “Stay with her and keep the line open to 911. I’ll conduct a search.”

  She groped one-handed for the instrument and saw him extract his Sig Sauer from its ankle holster. A bone throwing knife slid into his other hand. Palming it, he melted into the deepening shadows inside the house.

  Frantically, Rebel searched her mind. Her Air Force survival training had included emergency first aid for some pretty drastic injuries. A bullet through the throat wasn’t one of them. The fact that Vivian Bauer hadn’t already bled out suggested the bullet had missed her jugular. Judging by the blood seeping through her fingers, though, Rebel guessed it had at least nicked the carotid.

  She searched the dim interior for something to staunch the blood. She needed a towel, a jacket, anything. But the house had obviously been stripped of most of contents and scrubbed down after its owner had died. It was now mostly bare walls and unadorned furnishings.

  Swearing, she yanked up the hem of her tank top and dragged it over her head. She had the stretchy fabric wadded and pressed against the hole when Vivian Bauer’s lids fluttered up. Her eyes were blank for a second or two, then dazed, then, abruptly, flooded with terror. She jerked, trying to escape the pressure against her neck.

  “Don’t move, Ms. Bauer! We’ve called 911. The EMTs are on their way.”

  The woman’s mouth opened. Her throat muscles worked. A bloody froth bubbled on her lips. “Sssss…”

  The sound tore at Rebel’s gut. “Hang on, Vivian. Just a little longer.”

  “…ssscar.”

  Oh, Christ! She was trying to say something. Rebel leaned closer to bubbling red froth.

  “Don’t try to talk. Just hold on.”

  “Sssscar.”

  It was a whisper, a cry, a desperate plea.

  “Okay. Okay. I got it. The person who shot you had a scar.”

  “Above…left…eye.”

  The last word came out on a sigh. Vivian Bauer’s lids drifted down. A second later, her muscles went lax. Rebel knelt beside her, kept the wadded tank top pressed to the wound, but knew it was no use.

  She was still on her knees when Blade returned. She angled her chin. Met his eyes. Shook her head. Biting out a curse, he holstered his weapon and reached down a hand. She wasn’t too proud to take it. Not at that moment.

  Somehow his arm ended up around her waist. A corner of her mind whispered that it felt good to lean against him for a moment. Then the wail of sirens had her pushing away.

  His arm tightened, locking her against his side. “Hold still.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Just hold it.”

  The sirens screamed closer. Strobes flashed like summer lightning in the windows. Brakes squealed outside.

  Irritated now, Rebel elbowed his ribs. “Dammit, I’m all right. Let me go.”

  “Hell, woman, I know you’re all right. I just thought you might want a cover-up.”

  She glanced to the side, saw his free hand working the buttons on his denim shirt. Belatedly, she realized the only thing between her and the first responders was the silly scrap of lace she’d opted for this morning instead of her usual sports bra. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he drawled, releasing her so he could work the last two buttons. “Oh.”

  When he tugged off the shirt and handed it to her, the sardonic glint that irritated the hell out of her was back in his eyes.

  The Arlington police weren’t real thrilled to learn a pair of government agents were on the loose within their jurisdiction, but Rebel and Blade managed to smooth their ruffled feathers. Particularly when they relayed information about the call Bauer had received and her last agonized whisper. That info and the hollow-point slug the Crime Scene Unit dug from the floor under the body provided the only clues to her killer’s identity. CSU found no skin under her nails, no foot-or fingerprints, no tossed cigarette butt that might have provided a trace of saliva. Nor, apparently, had she been sexually molested or robbed. Her purse sat on the passenger seat of the Nissan, wallet and credit cards intact.

  “So tell me again,” the lead homicide detective said after the body had been removed from the scene and the house searched. “Why were you meeting with the vic?”

  “She was going to show us an item of possible interest to the U.S. government.”

  He hiked a skeptical brow. “A chunk of Russian amber.”

  “Right.”

  “That she found among her grandfather’s possessions.”

  “Correct.”

  His gaze cut to Rebel’s blood-stained hands, then back to Blade. “Well, we didn’t find any amber on the body or anywhere on the premises. So I guess we can assume whoever shot her had a possible interest in it, too.”

  “Guess so. You need us for anything else?”

  He tapped the notebook where he’d recorded—and verified—the number for OMEGA control. “I know where to reach you if I do.”

  Neither Rebel nor Blade said much until they were headed back to the airport. She broke the tense silence first.

  “We need to get Tank and Dodge working with Interpol. They might have someone in the system who speaks English with a heavy accent and has a scar above his left eye.”

  “Several someones, I would guess.” Blade already had his phone out. “I’ll also have them do a trace on the call she received. And the hits on her Facebook site. Be interesting to see who visited the site besides the folks who left comments. Then, I think, we need to pay a visit to this NYU professor who floated the idea that the amber piece Bauer found in her grandfather’s attic might be valuable.”

  Lightning concurred with their agenda when they briefed him late that night. He also advised them to take their passports with them to New York City.

  “We’ve cleared you with the Russian government for a visit to St. Petersburg. Whatever Professor Dawson doesn’t know about the Amber Room, the restorers working on-site at Catherine Palace will.”

  Rebel’s pulse leaped. She’d visited St. Petersburg several times during her Moscow tour. He’d never made it out to Catherine Palace, though. The prospect of an up-close-and-personal tour of the fabled palace got her juices going.

  The prospect of visiting it with Clint Black, she realized with some dismay, added to the kick. Her glance slid to where he conferred with Tank and Dodge Hamilton. She had to admit they were all prime specimens. Tank with his father’s black hair, laser-blue eyes and the muscled shoulders of a Harvard sculler. Dodge with his rangy rodeo-rider’s build that did wonders to a pair of jeans. Blade…

  Hell! She had no business wondering if his sable dark hair was as soft and springy to the touch as it looked. Still less burying her nose in the collar of her borrowed shirt to sniff the faint leather-and-lime scent of his aftershave. She’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t about get all goofy over a pair of whiskey-colored eyes and a killer grin.

  Too bad Renee Dawson didn’t share the same discriminating taste. The ash-blonde NYU professor started salivating the moment Blade introduced himself.

  Rebel had to admit he’d triggered a similar Pavlovian response in her when he strode out to the taxi taking them to the airport this morning. The man looked hot as hell in jeans and a T-shirt. I
n slacks, an open-necked white shirt and a summer-weight sport coat he was sex on the hoof.

  Rebel had dressed for travel, too, although the three-inch spike heels she’d paired with a slim black skirt, wide leather belt and cap-sleeved white blouse might not have been the best choice. The heels did put her almost at eye-level with Blade, however.

  Not that the added height gave her any advantage with Professor Dawson. The fortysomething blonde had zeroed in on Blade like an unmanned Predator drone on a hot target.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black.”

  “Same here. And this is my partner, Victoria Talbot.”

  The professor gave Rebel a nod and pushed her glasses up on her forehead. The amethyst color of the frames matched her eyes, which remained locked on Blade.

  “I had to rearrange my schedule a bit, but the dean said this meeting was important. He also indicated his call was from a very highly placed source.”

  Blade dodged the question behind that “very” and underscored the urgency of their visit with a blunt announcement. “The woman who posted a photo of what you suggested might be a medallion from the Amber Room was murdered last night.”

  “Oh, my God!” Shock leached the color from Dawson’s cheeks. “Do you…? Do you think her murder is related to the medallion?”

  “Since we didn’t find it in her possession, that’s a distinct possibility.”

  The professor struggled to recover. “What can I do to help?”

  “Tell us what you know about the Amber Room and why you think Bauer’s piece may have come for it.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  She dropped the jewel-framed glasses back onto her nose and skimmed the shelves lining her office before pouncing on a thick volume.

  “This is the best reference on the subject. Sit here, Mr. Black.” She gestured to the chair beside her desk. “Pull up that other chair, Ms…. Uh…”

  “Talbot.”

  Rebel didn’t roll her eyes. The gesture would have been wasted, since Dawson and Blade already had their heads together. She wanted to, though.