Sniffling, she eased out of his arms, swiping a tissue from a box by her computer and blowing her nose. “Sorry to fall apart on you like that. But after what happened today, I’m having a tough time being logical or smart.”
He wanted to kiss her so damn bad his teeth hurt. His hands slid up to cradle her face, and yeah, right now he couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t just go ahead and…
Kiss her.
His mouth covered hers, not in any crazy, out of control way. Not here, where someone could walk up to them at any second. Just her lips against his. He needed to connect with her, affirm that they were both alive and on a day like today, nothing else seemed to matter. He drew in the eucalyptus scent of her shampoo, the satiny feel of her skin under his fingertips. Stella. It was always about Stella and had been since the first time he…
Ping.
He froze at the electronic chime. Stella jerked back, her eyes wide. She pressed her fingers to her mouth for an instant before she whipped around to look at the computer.
“Stella?” He sat up straighter. “Do you have something?”
“Hold on…” She held up a hand while she hunched closer to the screen, clicking the scroll button as she analyzed data cycling in front of her in what looked like gibberish to him, letters, numbers, and words shifting, realigning into distinguishable lists. Names.
“Oh my God,” Stella whispered, horrified.
Shit. On a day like today, there shouldn’t be anything that could shock them. Only something beyond imagining. “What does it say? What’s wrong?”
“The words coded into the cloth…” Her hands hovered in front of the screen as if she could gather up the information in her palms. “I’ve translated them and they’re names. When I put those names into the database, it came back a list of U.S. and European operatives in the area. Both alive and dead.” Her throat moved a gulp and she reached for a drink that wasn’t even there. Her hands fell back to her lap. “I thought at first they had my name on here.”>She forced herself to keep rolling the mango without so much as a wince. Because that “archeology student from Maine” had been undercover from the CIA and they’d killed him during the interrogation.
Her chest went tight with… She capped the emotions.
Later, she would deal with that information, maybe climb up on a roof and scream out her rage at the top of her lungs. For now, she had to do her job, to put together the rest of the puzzle, pull in the other players responsible for today’s attempted attack, because no way did those three men in the truck plan this alone.
Mr. Brown stood, setting aside his tablet. “Agent Carson, I believe it’s time for you to turn the interrogation back over to us.”
The ominous tone in the agent’s voice had Harper fidgeting in his seat. The bastard was fine with seeing people suffer and die for his big stance against “the man.” Torture was strictly forbidden, but she knew there’d been breaks in protocol. She wasn’t sure she trusted Smith and Brown. They’d brought her in here for a reason and now they were just dismissing her?
“Carson…” Smith nodded toward the door. “I hear you should check your computer. Mr. Jones is waiting to direct you to a place we set aside for you.”
Mr. Brown tapped his iPad. Realization kicked in. She set aside her mango. Her computer—images of the second cloth. She had a different role to play, one she felt a helluva lot more confident in: breaking codes.
With one last look at the seemingly innocent face she’d risked her life to save, she swallowed back disgust and angled out the door. Once it clicked closed behind her, she sagged back in exhaustion.
Sure enough, Mr. Jones was waiting, wearing his outback hat and his sleeves rolled up, jacket ditched. The humidity from the rain made the temps worse. “How’d it go in there?”
Stella glanced back at the door. “He’s a great liar because he has absolutely nothing in the way of a moral compass. He’s into the next thrill—he called it drama. God, when I think about…” She couldn’t travel that pathway in her thoughts; she just had to know one thing first. “The team that secured the truck and the toxin—are they okay? Any ill effects after the decontamination?”
“They’re fine. Your guy—Cuervo—is fine.”
She nodded tightly, giving herself one selfish second for relief before getting back to business. “What about the teenager? Ajaya? Is he here too? Did you get anything more from him?”
“He’s in the room next door.” He took off his hat and swiped his wrist across his forehead. “The teenager isn’t as innocent as he likes to play it. He’s still holding back. But do I believe he’s responsible for a bio toxin being released at a national media event? No. I think he’s a foot soldier.”
“That fits.” Although so much else still didn’t make sense. She didn’t have a sense of the big “why” to all of this. What were the warlords or separatists responsible for this attempted attack trying to achieve other than chaos? It didn’t make sense. There was always a reason… “I believe Harper when he says Ajaya wouldn’t have had access to that level of information. I don’t think they would have trusted him with keeping that kind of secret.”
“But if they planned on killing the hostages, which I’m sure they intended…” Jones slapped his hat back on his head. “They still would have kept their circle tight in case the teenager got captured.”
“Or turned, which he did.” Brainstorming with Jones was actually helpful. She liked this guy with his honest eyes and a professionalism that went beyond his Cowboy Troy act. Her gut told her he was one of the good ones—but then her gut hadn’t been all that reliable lately. “He’s been doling out what little information he could, holding back details for when he needed them. He’s smart. But in comparing his statements, I found a place he contradicted himself. He said he was taken by people posing as electricians. Then he said his math teacher—a man named Mr. Gueye—was responsible.”
“Maybe they were working together?”
“Could be,” she conceded.
“The clock is ticking for us to sort through it all.” He gestured toward the row of computers. “Yours is just around the other side, at the end, in a cubicle for privacy.”
She’d gotten what she wanted… But for once, work held no allure. She wanted to be a civilian, free to check on the people she cared about. Free to check on Jose.