Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,2
stiletto heels. But stilettos, paired with a short skirt to show off her runner’s legs, gave her an advantage very few men had: the power of distraction. And since she couldn’t wear her favorite accessory—the Ruger she liked to keep strapped to her thigh—she had to arm herself in subtler ways.
The staccato of her heels as she headed for the clandestine CIA station in New York City helped to soothe the frisson of unease that tingled up and down her spine.
Following her extraction from Venezuela, the CIA’s in-house psychologist had diagnosed her with post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d been prescribed mild sedatives, which she’d flushed down the toilet, and was benched in paperwork hell until they deemed her fully operative. Apparently she had passed her most recent evaluation with flying colors or she wouldn’t be here.
Thank God. Her imposed R & R was finally over! She couldn’t wait to get back into the game.
Swiping her CAC card by the engraving that read Department of the Treasury, Lucy shoved down a memory of the Elite Guardsman’s fist slamming into her cheekbone. You didn’t get to play with the big boys if you couldn’t handle what they dished out. She’d known that when she’d signed up.
Crossing the marble foyer, she surrendered her briefcase for inspection while negotiating the retina scan and then the metal detector.
“Have a good day,” murmured a security guard, his gaze sliding helplessly down her legs as he handed back her briefcase.
Sparing him a cool smile, she turned toward the elevators and, seeing one open, hurried to catch it, leaping into the soundproof space just as the doors began to close.
Oh, shit! It took all her training to conceal her astonishment at coming face-to-face with James again, though she really shouldn’t have been surprised, having discovered that he was HUMINT, a sector of the military specially trained to support the CIA.
“Hello, James,” she greeted him, managing to sound indifferent as she went to push the right button and found it already lit.
“Lucy,” he said, looking stunned, a little perplexed. His brandy-colored eyes slid from her glossy ponytail to her high heels. “How are you?” he asked, his gaze centering on the tiny scar on her forehead.
She could tell he was picturing her as he’d last seen her, with a river of blood bisecting her face. “Good,” she insisted, irritated by his frankly protective look. Hell, she wasn’t made of porcelain.
The elevator rose almost imperceptibly, leaving her no choice but to breach the awkward chasm between them. As with their last encounter, this grown-up James threw her off-kilter. He’d had plans to become an architect. Yet even in a gray suit and white-collared dress shirt, he looked like an advertisement for the U.S. Special Forces. It hadn’t just been the greasepaint that had made him look forbidding. Dressed as a civilian, he looked lean and powerful and downright dangerous to mess with.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to thank you,” she began, having to clear her throat first. “I was flown off the carrier before I got the chance—”
“You’re welcome,” he said, cutting her off. His gaze jumped to the buttons lighting up over the door, an indication that either he wasn’t interested in hearing her excuses or he didn’t require her thanks.
Okay. Lucy squared her shoulders and looked away. This encounter had the feel of an awkward morning-after situation, only they definitely hadn’t had sex the last time they’d been together. Too bad.
“What happened to becoming an architect?” She just had to ask him.
The gaze that swung her way reflected a stark emptiness. “Nine-eleven,” he answered flatly. “My father died in one of the twin towers.”
Lucy’s stomach fell to her feet. Oh, no. His father had been the lead architect working for a banking firm. He and James had been as close as father and son could be. No doubt James had fed on that bond to motivate him through the toughest military training conceivable. She’d known he was smart enough. Devotion to his father’s memory must have given him the mental toughness. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured sincerely.
With a nod, he looked away. The elevator slowed and the doors slid open.
With too much to think about, Lucy stepped out before him, heading down the hall toward the designated meeting room. She sensed rather than heard James following right behind her, his footfalls silent on the sturdy carpet.
As she reached the meeting room, curiosity prompted her to glance back.
“We must be headed to the same meeting,” he observed, coming to stand