Between Love and Honor (Men of the Secret Service #3) - Tracy Solheim
Prologue
The photographer pressed her back against the hard stone of the building, doing her best to fade into the darkness. Several pairs of boots stomped along the cobblestones in pursuit. She held her breath, willing them to pass her by.
They didn’t.
As silently as possible, she released the safety on her handgun and let her training kick in. But just before they rounded the corner, a voice cried out in the distance.
“She went this way,” a male shouted in French.
A male who sounded an awful lot like her contact in the palace. As she released the breath she’d been holding, sirens began to wail in the distance. Stowing her gun back into her camera bag, she made her way down the hill to the marketplace. Still occupied by locals and tourists alike, the boisterous crowd was enjoying a warm Saturday night on the North African coast. The scent of saffron and chilies mingled with garlic floated through the air. With a skill born from years of practice, she mixed among the crowd as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Once she had navigated a path to the center of the bazaar, she ducked into one of the stalls to quickly cover her head with a scarf she had tucked into her camera bag. She reversed her jacket for added assurance. Strolling through another stall, she stopped and bought a linen blanket, deliberately paying more than the asking price to ensure the seller’s silence. She tied the blanket around her waist before wandering deeper into the market, relieved her sandals had been bought locally the week before. It would be another hour at least before she could make the exchange. If she wanted to remain alive, it would suit her well to blend in.
The wailing sirens grew closer. So did the shouts of soldiers. She took refuge among a group of German tourists, flirting coyly with one who claimed to be a famous football player. His celebrity didn’t matter to her as much as his brawn did. The crowd grew restless at the arrival of the soldiers and police. The Germans carried her with them as they swarmed the exit.
Once they had cleared the market, she suggested they all go meet her husband. As expected, the football star and his friends scattered. They were so predictable she might have laughed. But she had something more important to carry out before the night was over.
Keeping to the shadows, she entered one of the few remaining churches in Tunisia. The sanctuary was dark with the exception of the many votive candles in front of the altar. She made her way up front and lit a candle. Then another. And another. Once the signal votives were lit, she slid into the fourth pew on the right side of the church. A stained-glass image of angels watched over her. She took that as a good sign. In her profession, guardian angels were always appreciated. No more than three minutes later, a nun joined her in the pew. She reached a gnarled hand across the wooden bench.
“Do you have it?” the nun asked quietly in French.
“Yes.”
She dropped the micro card into the nun’s outstretched palm. The older woman squeezed her fingers shut and smiled.
“The Mariner has been foiled again,” the nun said. “Well done.”
“So it would seem.”
“You know what to do from here. Your papers will be waiting for you at the dock. Enjoy your respite.”
The woman’s knees creaked as she made her way out of the pew.
Enjoy your respite.
Disappearing after an op used to feel like a vacation. A reward for completing a successful mission. But the longer she was in the game, the more the “respites” began to feel like banishment. Still, she had to admit, a few weeks of isolation beat being burned. Gathering up her camera bag, she made her way out of Africa and into the shadows where she vanished yet again.
Chapter One
Ben Segar swore in frustration as he tugged at the eighteen inches of silk wrapped tightly around his neck. He was a former army ranger and trained Secret Service agent with advanced degrees from MIT and Stanford, for crying out loud. His fingers could dismantle an IED, fire a kill-shot accurately from fifty meters, and bring a woman to ecstasy in two minutes flat. Yet tonight, they couldn’t seem to wrestle a damned bow tie into place.
“Hey, Boy Genius, allow me.” Secret Service Agent Christine Groesch tapped him on the shoulder indicating he should turn from the mirror and