Tempting trouble, p.18
Tempting Trouble, page 18
“Yummy.”
“Did you work on what I wanted?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he told her, finally looking at her. He smiled, pushed his glasses on top of his head and rubbed his eyes. “Took me all night, but I cracked it, babe.”
“You’re sure you didn’t get caught?” Grace asked, keeping an eye on the office door.
Tyler coughed indignantly. “Insults will cost you, my dear,” he warned.
“I apologize, babe,” she said, getting to her feet. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
He swiveled around on his chair, watching her as she made her way to her own desk, his hands laced behind his neck. “It wasn’t too difficult,” he drawled cockily. “So easy, you could have done it yourself.”
Grace moved several files around. “No,” she shook her head, “I don’t have the patience. That’s why I asked for your help. If I could do it myself, I wouldn’t have involved you.”
Tyler rubbed his whiskered chin. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m the Hackerator,” he declared. “So, do you want it now?” When she nodded, he handed over a thin file, adding, “There isn’t much.”
She eagerly snatched it from him, took a deep breath, and opened the manila folder. As he’d said, there wasn’t much, barely two pages. No identity was given. No description, no photos, no contacts. The information was skeletal, at best, and not what she’d expected. She’d thought there would be something more in-depth. If she were a client, wouldn’t that be the expectation? Why then would the information be this scarce? There must be a logical explanation for this, but right now, her mind was on one crucial bit of information.
“Well, well, well,” she breathed.
“Found something?” Tim asked, reaching for an opened box of cornflakes and pouring some stale-looking crumbs into his hand.
“You might say that.”
“Actually, I was surprised at how little the damned file revealed. You’d think, with the trouble they went through encrypting it, there would be some deadly secrets, at least an identity of the guy,” he said, voicing Grace’s thoughts aloud. “Do you know who he is?”
“Hmm,” she said, continuing to read. She had no desire to tell anyone what she knew, unless necessary.
“Mind explaining some of the stuff in there to me?”
Grace looked up. “Maybe. What do you want to know?”
Tyler was good at asking questions, a talent he seldom used, since he preferred to do his research through electronic means. However, when the fancy struck him, he was a pretty good investigator. “What is this agency that the Big C works for?” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “ C.O.S. Unit. What do those letters stand for, do you know?”
She stretched out her legs, closing the file. Studying her shoes for a moment, she then softly said, “Covert Subversion Commando unit, also known as COS Command Center, or Triple C, among the surveillance world. It’s a special forces intelligence battalion consisting of elite operatives culled from all the government branches—CIA, FBI, NSA, SEAL, you name it. COS Commandos are the grunts in the covert wars, the kind our government doesn’t want the world to know we meddle in. Covert subversion is the gray area of gray areas, so to speak, and those in the unit operate in shadow, independent of the other branches. I’m not sure exactly which is under whom in the order of command, but COS is a combination of all that the others do.”
Tyler gave a low whistle. “Wow, you learn something everyday,” he remarked. “How would a sweet young thing like you know this, by the way? Not from Wiki, I’m sure.”
Grace smiled. “Level Two, my dear,” she lied without blinking, “gives you access to all kinds of information.”
“So did what I found out help?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Not enough, but it yielded that one important missing piece of information. The Big Cat a.k.a Lance Mercy was COS, far more dangerous than a mere insider millionaire with a penchant for rescuing scholars. And now it was obvious the information held by the Chinese man was of more importance than a list of greedy senators, as he’d told her yesterday. She briefly wondered how much the information would cost, if he had to buy it from GNE. That is, she amended, if she got to the kidnapped victim first. She ignored the part of her that instinctively wanted to help Lance. Lie to her, would he? She was going to beat a tracker commando at his own game. He could track as well as he could, but she vowed to be at the finishing line before him.
“Must be something really big,” Tyler commented, watching her and munching cornflakes at the same time. “Look at them big thought clouds over your head.”
She laughed and went over to give him a quick peck on his cheek. “Thanks. Why don’t you clean up so I won’t be ashamed to be seen in public with you when we go for lunch?”
“Aw, you sure know how to flatter a guy¼.”
Laughing still, she walked over to the shredder and, within moments, the file was history. Tyler groaned. “Half a night’s work,” he moaned. “Babe, you killed me! I thought you needed the info!”
It’s all up here, kiddo,” she told him, tapping her head. “Photographic memory.” She pulled out another file and headed for the door. “See you later.”
“Ta.”
Practically skipping to the front office, she was elated to know who Lance Mercy was, and a little apprehensive. She wondered how he would react if he knew the whole truth about her, whether he would still want to be so friendly. Not that she would ever volunteer to tell him.
“Grace!” Sandra called from her office when she walked by. When Grace retraced her steps and stuck her head through the office door, she picked up her briefcase, and instructed quietly, “Follow me.”
They walked past the front office where the assignments and reports were gathered and distributed, passed Ed Maddux’s office and the conference rooms. Grace’s curiosity got the better of her. “Where are we going?”
She got the usual Sandra Smythe non-committal, “You’ll see.” They stepped into the elevator. Inserting a key, Sandy punched a code into the panel. The elevator door closed and they ascended past the third floor, which was the highest destination for those without the key.
Grace looked on with interest. She hadn’t expected this move by her superiors. She followed Sandra down the corridors, which were secretive and silent, unlike the frenetic energy of ground floor, where she worked. Turning the corner, they stopped outside the closest door; there was a similar panel to the side. Sandra inserted the key here as well, punched in a code, and she heard a lock released.
It was a mini-library, with files upon files on one wall. Books lined another, and on the far end, a whole row of computers sat side by side. No one was in the room. She cocked her head, waiting for an explanation.
“We’re giving you a key to use one of our libraries,” Sandra waved at the room. “Here, you will find access to all Level Three operative privileges. You’ve shown a proficiency with computers, so I don’t think you’ll have any problems learning your way around our database.”
“How much access?” Grace asked, not even bothering to conceal her surprise.
“More than you would need for your current little adventure,” Sandra replied, smiling. “You can access the U.N. files, all Congress dialogues here and overseas, all current observations up to Level Three, most of the reports being requested by our clients, and most of all, check the background of any of your acquaintances.”
Grace gave her supervisor a measured look. The last piece of information was thrown in as advice. “Why would I need to do that?”
Sandra walked to one of the computers. Opening her briefcase, she took out a magazine, thumbed to a bookmarked page and handed it to over. She watched while the younger girl looked curiously at the page, observing the flare of surprise that accompanied a hint of annoyance.
Grace immediately recognized the glossy Beaucoup. It was a gossip article about the Washington scene, and featured prominently on the page was a picture of Lance Mercy, international power broker, according to the writer, who went on to inform the reader of his new love interest, a Grace O’Connor. “Sources told us,” the article smugly ended, "that the two would be going to the bash of the summer, the Charity Invitational, together.” She wavered between exasperation and amusement. Yikes, Mary Tucker was better at this than she’d thought.
She glanced up at the watching Sandy and shrugged. “Gossip,” she said. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with my need to check anyone’s background, unless you’re suggesting I check up on Lance?”
“Grace, I won’t press for details on how much you know about your new friend, but don’t underestimate my knowledge about what’s going on,” Sandra said, her expression turning cool. “This is Level Three work, and I’m the one granting you limited access because of your talents. Level Three, in brief explanation, is contract work. You’re paid for good information, the kind that would bring GNE profits. Our field agents specialize, then pick and choose the different areas in which they wish to work. Some choose overseas observation; others remain here.”
Sandra paused to let the significance of her words sink in. Her young prodigy didn’t say anything, nor did she show any surprise. Maybe she wasn’t as readable as she appeared. The probability of Grace’s ability to project herself in various guises was getting higher by the week.
“At Level Three,” she continued, “you make most of your own calls, but you must learn to understand the danger of your situation as well as your responsibilities. You add your own reports into the database, selling the information to us, so to speak. You’d be given your own code and your own choices of assignments.”
How do I get paid?” Grace asked. Scenarios sieved through her mind, showing her all the possibilities available in this particular future. More than interesting. Very tempting.
“We set up an offshore account and your funds are transferred there. Level Three isn’t for the squeamish, Grace, and certainly a lot more dangerous than you think. Many have quit.”
“Even under the umbrella of non-alignment? I thought ghosts were untouchable?” Grace closed the magazine but didn’t return it, feeling pleased she remembered all the strange terms Sandra had tossed at her in their last conversation.
Sandra would have given her subordinate a Grade A for insight. Nothing got by the girl, and she was privately pleased. This gamble on her part might actually pay off big dividends in the long run. Already, her psych and evaluation file on Grace O’Connor was getting thicker.
“You’ll find out there are risks, especially with someone as cocky as you are,” she told her, “but this is all in the future. We feel you can go far with our kind of work and that’s why we’re giving you this opportunity. We want you to have a taste of what your future with us might be like. Hopefully, you’ll like it enough to stay with us.”
“A test run, then,” Grace murmured, tactfully not pointing out she was the one being tested.
Sandra nodded. “There’s more but I’ll leave that till the end of your current contract with us. Now, regarding background checks. You’re associating with people who are or will be checking up on you, so you might as well return the favor. Our business is information, and you’ll learn we’re the best because our information is put to good use by our operatives. Knowledge is foresight, and foresight is power.”
“Is there anything particular I should check up on about Lance?” Grace casually inquired. “Income bracket? Bank account?”
Sandra snapped her briefcase shut. “Level Three—your own little game. We have one more rule, and this clause is binding. We don’t, not ever, sell our clients’ personal information to anyone, so when you’re ghosting for Lance Mercy,” she waved away Grace’s initial denial, “please keep everything confidential. You’ll find all our files don’t cross-reference any clients or their agents. Everything is kept separate.”
Grace already knew that, having read one particular file that morning. “I understand perfectly,” she said. She’d just solved the puzzle several seconds ago. “Bad for business. We can’t have our clients eliminating each other, can we? We’d just lose our base.”
Sandra laughed, then moved toward the door. “You’ve a good head for this, Grace. Consider the offer. Here are the keys and an envelope with all the security codes for this floor. Please memorize and then destroy.”
“So I’m allowed to use this room for now without a contract? Or promotion?” She knew there would a price, and waited.
“Your little adventure, your own decisions,” Sandy reiterated softly. “You decide what information you want to sell to us, and if it brings us big profits, I assure you, your next paycheck will be a lot fatter. Okay?”
Grace nodded, and changed the subject. She’d suddenly found a whole new way to play Save-A-Nun. “Sandra, is there any way to access maps of important buildings and parking lots in our databases?”
Sandra considered for a moment. “Yes,” she replied, speculation in her voice. “We do have floor plans and blueprints of the parking lot and surrounding area of the convention center.”
A silent communication passed between the two women, and they smiled at each other.
“Thank you,” Grace quietly said.
The older woman nodded and said, “Be careful,” before closing the door behind her.
Grace hugged the copy of Beaucoup to her chest, surveying her new playroom. Making money through information. Her father would be amused at her accomplishments, then frowned when she thought about her plans for tomorrow night. No, he would probably be quite angry with her. She sighed. So would Lance. Her lips twisted derisively. He could always be her client, but somehow, she knew deep down she would end up paying the price. He’d gotten under her skin. She actually felt foolishly guilty she was doing things behind his back. She rubbed her chin on the top of the magazine as she wondered how a ghost would give out information when recorders were gagged by confidentiality and sworn to secrecy about their work.
Hmm. Didn’t ghosts leave clues? Chains clanging, mysterious footsteps, doors opening and closing without aid. A GNE ghost would find a way to let her favorite agent get the info. A snicker escaped her. She could always moan.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tuesday night
Grace took in a deep breath. Time to put her game face on. She fingered a few loose tendrils, took a step back from the mirror, and twirled around. She felt prepared. She’d chosen this particular outfit because it would be easy to tuck into the workout stretch-pants she’d managed to squeeze into her purse, a black beaded sack with a surprising depth, yet looked sophisticated and fashionable. Lying within were her little pants, a pair of plastic gloves, a two-headed screwdriver, a small mirror, and the four magnetic strips she’d taken off her refrigerator.
Not exactly a lady’s toilette, she grinned at her reflection. It was a risky plan she’d decided to undertake, but she knew she could do it. She had studied the blueprints and plans, cased out the convention center when she drove by that morning. After work, she’d parked her car close by and took a cab home. Everything she needed was in place. Now, everything else had to play out accordingly.
She stared at herself in the mirror, her face solemn as she critically examined her features. She looked…pretty damn good. Like a woman out with a hot date. Like a woman planning to make that hot date all hot too. Nope, not a thought about locating imprisoned male nuns was going through this young lady’s head.
She peered closer, looking critically to make sure none of her apprehension showed outwardly. Fear, her father had said, was normal. Concentrating within, she crushed the nugget of fear, telling herself she could do this. It’d been five years since she felt this pumping, heart-churning feeling. She had missed it—the fear, the anticipation, the power of adrenaline. A moment later, she looked outward again, and was satisfied at the confidence in her eyes.
The doorbell rang. He was here. Her heart rate increased again, remembering his hard body against hers. She had missed him and couldn’t squelch the irritation that came with it. It wasn’t possible to miss someone whom she’d just met, damn it. But then, she’d never met someone with whom she felt so familiar so soon, like she’d known him for a long time. Something about his eyes stirred a dark yearning in her. Something about his possessive behavior shook her insides even when her intellect rebelled against it. He was a disturbing man, with disturbingly exciting intentions.
Her breath caught at the sight of Lance in evening attire. Tall and impossibly handsome, he exuded enough sexual magnetism to make her break into a sweat. He was nothing like anyone she’d ever dated, and therein, she told herself, laid the challenge. His blue eyes swept appreciatively over her slender curves revealed by the figure-hugging dress and traveled down the length of her legs.
“How did you get into that outfit?” he asked, stepping into the apartment. Christ. Another long, hard evening ahead. If it weren’t for the operation, he would abandon the idea of a night out and just lock the door behind him, tear off that flimsy thing she called a dress, drag her into the bedroom, wrap those legs around his waist, and have her squirming under him. For the rest of the night. Hell, the next day too. Did she know what she was doing to him, looking like that? The dark maroon number stretched like a glove over her well-toned body. The simple plunging neckline and long sleeves gave him visions of tangling fingers drawing his head closer to explore the rounded curves of her cleavage. Her legs were perfect, tempting in tinted dark hose. He wanted to stroke her all over.
“I wrapped a wet swath of nylon and satin around my oiled body and hand-stitched it on. Then I had to blow dry the material slowly to get the wrinkles out,” Grace told him solemnly.
Lance grinned. “Well, in that case, I’d better enjoy this privately for a few minutes.” He sat down with an expectant expression, like a man inspecting goods. Giving a leer, he demanded, “Let’s see the back.”
She positioned her arms like a model and did a catwalk jiggle, slowly pirouetting in front of him, twitching her bottom teasingly when she turned to show him her back, which was also revealingly low.
