out there about a nine-year-old dead case of art fraud may bring on more heat than any of us want to deal with, Dav.” He sighed. “Not that I don’t want to help you, Ana. I do, but I get paid to keep Dav alive and anything that might draw more fire his way has to be carefully considered.”
“I’ve read about some of the threats he’s faced,” she said. “None of it good.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Gates muttered.
“Gates,” Dav reproved. “You must forgive him,” he said mildly to Ana. “He doesn’t do well on two hours of sleep, and being shot at pisses him off, all out of proportion.”
“He told me about that.”
Gates nodded, a sour look for his boss. “Not the first time, not the last, Dav. I’m fine.”
“Hmm. So you say, every time.” Dav rose and brought a cart closer to the table. Another thermal carafe of coffee along with several dessert options rested on lovely china. “Would you do us the courtesy, Ana?”
It was a poignant moment, harkening back to her days at her mother’s side, hosting tea parties at the embassy. Lifting the heavy silver cake server, she turned to Dav. “For you?”
“The torte, I believe, and more coffee if you would. Efarhisto.” He thanked her in Greek as she slipped the plate in front of him.
“Gates?”
“The strawberry shortcake, thanks. No coffee for me. I’ve got more caffeine than blood in my system as it is right now.”
She laughed. “Been there,” she said, serving his plate and making her own selection.
“Now, let’s be frank, shall we?” Dav began. He then outlined a course of action that had Ana’s head spinning, and Gates’s frown darkening with each word.
On her way back to the office, Ana tried to come to terms with what she’d been handed, free of charge. The keys to resources she could never command on her own. As far-reaching as the CIA’s databases were, they didn’t hold a candle to what the private sector could muster for some things, and she knew it. Sure, she could gather some information more effectively than Gates could, but his abilities were amazing, the truth of which had become far clearer in their discussion.
She was thinking so hard she nearly missed her turn into the garage under the building. Swiping her card, she clicked the button to raise the window. It didn’t budge. The car was getting older, and some of the electrical systems were going wonky. The thought distracted her from her pondering her attraction to Gates, her gratitude that he’d help her with database searches. Evidently that type of work was a specialty they shared.
“Jeez, that’s all I need,” she muttered, still jiggling the power window switch. “Another five or six hundred dollar car repair.” Leaning forward to jiggle the button saved her life.
She’d let the car roll forward as she worked the button, and the bullet aimed at her head shattered the reluctant window and buried itself in the headrest.
“Holy God!” Ana screeched in terror as she stomped on the gas. Fear and adrenaline were her safety net as the car shot forward, fishtailing to slide under the security bar. She gained the relative safety of the garage, her tires squealing as she wound down the ramp. She snagged her phone, dialing the emergency code. She’d never used the emergency code while in the States, so her fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar numbers but she managed to hit SEND.
“Agent Burton, entering HQ at Gate B, I think, off Seventh Street, shots fired,” she panted. “Shattered window, missed me. Kill shot though. Hit the headrest.” The thought of that made her blood run cold.
“On it,” a dispatcher snapped. “Are you still under fire? Do you need medical assistance? What is your location?”
“No,” she said, speeding down the last of the ramp and shooting into the main part of the garage. Several people, leaving for a late lunch or early exit, spun and crouched as she roared into the clear and hit the brakes hard. Above the engine’s whine and the huge noise of her heartbeat, she heard the clanking rumble of the garage lockdown doors. “I’m okay. Just the car. I’m at the elevator bank.”
Two uniformed guards exploded from the door to the building, racing for her car.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?” one snapped, opening her door, reaching for her wrist. “Do you need the EMTs?”
“No, no,” she said, panting in reaction. She thanked dispatch and hung up to talk to the guards. “I’m