In the Works!

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Synopsis
Series: Black Ops
Book One: Dangerous Illusions
By Lisa Renee Jones

Amanda Marquest is more than a CIA Operative. She is a brilliant scientist, as was her mother. It is this gift that makes her a risk to a man she will later learn is her father. A man who operates on the opposite side of the law. And a man whose identity her mother has kept from her. A secret that ended her mother’s life and now puts Amanda’s at risk.
Danger and passion collide in a race against the clock. Two CIA agents thrown together by circumstances, both with a deep scar in their past, must join forces to stop a madman’s devious plan. With their lives and hearts on the line they must learn to do the thing they fear the most…trust each other.

Chapter One

He was here again.
The dark stranger who’d appeared the past three days in a row. A part of her had anticipated his presence. Even hoped for it. Something about him had lingered in her mind, invading her thoughts at odd moments. Her CIA training had taught her the importance of focus. Distraction was a mistake.
Mistakes could be deadly.
As a college professor, in her current alias, Amanda Marquest found teaching quite stimulating. Yet after finishing up a lecture to her Organic Chemistry class the prior day, she‘d found her thoughts turning to this stranger. A student had asked a rather simple question about the difference between SN1 and SN2 reactions and it had gone in one ear and out the other. Having him repeat himself had been nothing shy of embarrassing. Like she didn’t know such a basic formula to perfection. It was a sign her head wasn’t in the game. A problem she couldn’t allow to continue. She had to deal with this man one way or the other.
Amanda Marquest’s month long ritual of coffee and a chocolate croissant had suddenly become a bit more interesting. And perhaps…deadly. This little detail – that he might be one of the many who hunted her - should have made the tension over seeing him again all about danger rather than the little thrill of female anticipation she felt. But it didn’t.
Stepping into the warmth of The Java Drip Café, she escaped the chill of the cool San Francisco morning. And her eyes instantly found the spot he’d claimed as his own. A corner table away from the rush of morning visitors.
He looked up at the same moment and their eyes locked, causing a strange flutter in her stomach. She would have laughed had anyone described such a thing.
But what this man did to her was far from a joke.
Forcing her eyes from his, she walked towards the counter, and shoved a long strand of blond hair out of her eyes. Silently, she cursed her hormones. Why now, after so many years of being on her own and without male companionship, had her body decided to scream for attention?
But as much as she liked conclusive answers - after all, she was both scientist and doctor to the core - there wasn’t one. It came down to the animalistic way humans responded to sexual attraction. He had that thing, that certain something, that set off her instincts.
With a glance, she knew more about him than most would after an hour long conversation. An instant assessment came automatically. As natural as breathing. Evaluating risk was part of her life. At five foot five with a petite build few considered her a threat. But she was a deadly weapon. She was physically fit and well honed to take on the enemy. Even if this stranger hadn’t been so intriguing, she would have known everything about him.
He had the look of a renegade.
Shoulder length hair, dark as night, a square jaw with a dimple in the middle, high cheekbones, and as usual, jeans a little too worn. His skin was a light brown. His eyes, dark, though she couldn’t be sure of the color.
She guessed him to be Italian, though it was possible he was Hispanic.
Sipping his coffee, he watched her. She felt his eyes like a warm blanket, touching her with the certainty of his stare. In her mind’s eye she could see his full lips, the bottom more so than the top, touch the paper cup. A white scar went from on side of his mouth to his nose. Small and thin, but an excellent point of identification.
She ordered her coffee and pastry, her mind racing with possibilities over his sudden and repeated appearances. The past month she’d made this stop daily. Treating herself to a morning indulgence of her sweet tooth was out of character. She trained hard in the gym each evening and fed her body to enhance her performance. Already her little indulgences felt like a sin. Now, with this stranger’s appearance, she knew it had been a dangerous gamble. Repeating her actions, being predictable, was against the core of her training. Yet, she’d been certain the radar screen no longer carried her mark.
For six months now, she had been living a normal life. Or so it seemed to the rest of the world. Amanda wasn’t quite sure what normal was. Only that calm and peaceful didn’t touch her life for this long of a time. The past few weeks there had been a time bomb ticking in her head. Of course, she’d outstayed her visit. She knew this. Moving again just felt like a never ending hell. Talking herself into staying a little longer had been easy. Convincing herself she had achieved her goal…to disappear. To be forgotten so that she, the hunted, could become the hunter.
She’d tried the aggressive attack approach years before. Seeking out those who wanted her dead. But with each step, someone had anticipated her move. Laying low had seemed her best option. Perhaps it had done nothing but waste time she could have spent finding answers.
For a moment, Amanda flashed back to the night of her mother’s death…to the coded message that had warned her of a danger she must outrun. Of her mother pleading with her to trust no one…not even her own government.
But surely if this man was one of those who tracked her, he wouldn’t show himself. And she’d seen the heat in his eyes. There was no doubt, he was attracted to her.
To be suspicious after so many months of quiet was probably a reflex of paranoia. People who were attracted to one another made a point of meeting again. Still…maybe she should approach him and eliminate the doubt from her mind. She paid for her coffee, and turned, determined to meet this man, to put her mind at ease.
But he was gone.
***
Someone was following her.
Pulling her jacket tighter around her neck, Amanda kept her posture relaxed.
An intentional façade.
Adrenaline charged her body as the familiar rush of awareness took hold. She was alert and ready for confrontation. Even after months of dormancy, her skills were second nature so that her defensive actions were automatic.
Turn the tables.
Become the aggressor.
Poignant and nasty, something sinister laced the air like a fine mist spoiling the sweetness of the San Francisco night. Deep inside, Amanda felt the pain of her past crashing into her created newly reality. In an instant, her pursuer had taken any hope she’d been forgotten.
The outcome was inevitable. No matter how this confrontation ended-and there would be a confrontation-she would be on the run once again.
With each stride forward, she was aware of the darkness on her heels. She could almost hear it laughing at her. Taunting her for her stupidity. For thinking time could play to her advantage. Coming out of hiding so soon had been a mistake. But she had been desperate to experience some semblance of freedom. She had rationalized her actions, convincing herself years of being a ghost, hiding in dark places, had been enough. And staying so long- well, that had been like the nail in her coffin. Somewhere along the way she’d developed some fairy tale notice of normalcy. This little life had felt nice. Safe. Better than being underground. But deep down, she knew the truth.
She had been born and bred into a life that would never be even remotely normal.
Discreetly, Amanda surveyed her surroundings, deciding on the best departure route. The night was the darkest of any she had experienced since her arrival. Appropriate for her departure, yet again, from normalcy. Eerily, the silence seemed to grow. It aided the menacing impact of the panel of clouds that even the air she breathed seemed damp and heavy. Her footsteps faded into the oblivion of the night.
Her lips thinned as the actual stillness of the air seemed to invade her lungs, thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. Gone was the normal California breeze, as if in hiding.
Like the man following her.
She knew it was a man from the shimmer of movement she’d heard, heavier and more masculine than a woman’s.
As she reached the end of the block, she took the corner, flattening herself against the wall, preparing for her attacker. Wishing for the absence of the street light robbing her of coverage.
Becoming the aggressor.
Amanda Marquest, ex-CIA operative, was now ready for battle. She waited, waited, and then moved, kicking her foot, and making direct contact. A small success before she felt the return kick of her attacker.
The blows, wrist to wrist, came one after another. Only his seemed defensive, never making the first move. Her attacker was well trained, clearly matching her skill with his own. A man, well over six-feet-tall, and strong as an ox, his blows were calculated and clearly not meant to be fatal.
His intent was clear…to capture her.
He was strong, agile, and capable of succeeding in his task. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Maneuvering in circles, she paced herself, meeting his stare, feeling his intensity.
She knew him. It hit her with a sudden impact. The man from the coffee shop. There was no time to curse her stupidity. Later. Her focus had to remain on the battle.
They were like two wild animals, stalking each other, not attacking, but preparing, waiting. When she moved, he moved. The shuffle of a can hit her feet, and she seized the opportunity it offered. Kicking it at her attacker, knowing he would have to adjust his footing, she reached for her weapon.
Securing it from her jacket, she pointed, and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
She found herself staring into the barrel of her attacker’s gun. Damn, he was good. Even with a distraction, he’d responded with perfection in his timing. But then, she really hadn’t expected less.
Going up against well trained opponents was all a part of the game. You trained hard physically to earn the opportunity to outsmart the enemy.
She looked straight into her attacker’s dark eyes. Black. Now she knew. Assessing him as she knew he was her, she knew he had an advantage. He already knew who she was, and probably a great deal about her strengths and weaknesses.
It was critical she identify his.
Those eyes spoke of his nationality, but not necessarily his allegiances. She repeated her words, needing to hear his voice. Knowing his origin might hint at his employer.
“Who are you?” Her words were enunciated perfectly.
His voice was calm, his tone like cold steel, and completely without accent. “A friend.”
She laughed, adrenaline pumping through her veins, an old high still too familiar. “I don’t think so.” Then, all sighs of humor gone, “Try again.”
He showed absolutely no signs of reaction. “Your country needs you, Amanda.”
Inwardly, she cringed. Damn it! Why had she come out of hiding so soon? Impatience had cost her. “You’ve got the wrong person. There is nothing I have to offer my country.”
“Dr. A has much to offer.”
A chill raced up her spine. No matter how she tried to disappear her past found her. “Dr. A is dead.”
“You can’t erase what is,” he said quickly, firmly. “You’re needed.”
For what and by who was the question? And with what hidden agenda? “Who are you?”
“Duran.” The name was dimly familiar. “If I found you, others can as well. And believe me, they’re looking.”
Reality never tasted quite so bitter. Her eyes narrowed. Her trigger finger itched. “Who sent you?”
“You don’t just walk away from duty. It calls to you, Dr. A.” Then with an authoritative edge to his voice, he added, “You are needed.”
Through clenched teeth she bit out her response. “I’m not Dr. A.”
“Yes,” He stepped forward. Automatically, she stepped backwards. His words were spoken slowly, adding emphasis to their meaning. “You are.”
“Stop.” Amanda waved her gun. One more step, and she would be against the wall, trapped like a rat. The thought didn’t set well. “Don’t think I won’t use it,” she warned.
His expression showed nothing. His voice remained calm. “I know you won’t hesitate to take out an enemy.” He had stopped walking. “But are you so sure that’s what I am?”
There was no hesitation before her response. “Are you sure you want Dr. A?”
His brow inched up. “I have found Dr. A.”
Her chin tipped as she looked him squarely in the eyes. “Then you’re the enemy.”
His face was free of expression, but she sensed the calculation going on in his head. “What if I told you there were lives at stake?”
She snorted. “There always are. Surely you can do better than that.”
He was very still. Too still. “People will die without your help.”
She corrected him. “Dr. A’s help.”
He inclined his head ever so slightly. “Precisely.”
“Why should I care?” she asked, trying to be flippant. Human life was not something she easily snubbed her nose at. She’d lived her job. Still did.
“Because I know you’re not as cold as you are trying to seem. You have a reputation for helping those who need help. People need you.”
Her brow dipped. “Who are you?”
“I told you,” he said, “a friend.” He paused, “One of your own.”
She knew he meant CIA. Sarcasm laced her response. “Oh, well, there you have it. Now everything is so simple. I should put down my gun and trust you, right?”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How about I lower mine? Then will you hear me out?” Slowly, he began lowering his weapon.
Her weapon didn’t move. She held it steady, aimed at his forehead. He put the safety on his weapon, and stuck it in a holster under his jacket. His eyes held hers as he moved.
Clearly, trying to earn her trust, his hands went out to his sides. “What do you say? Have a cup of coffee with me, and listen to what I have to say.”
“You attack me and then ask me to have coffee with you?” she asked in astonishment. “I should shoot you just for the pure stupidity of your actions.”
“Hey,” he reasoned. “I didn’t attack you. I followed you. You’re the one who went all wild and started throwing punches.”
“You were following me,” Amanda The flash of understanding in his eyes told her he knew she meant the coffee shop. “Not shooting at you.”
“Your point?”
“I just wanted to talk. And that’s what I want now,” he explained. “To talk.”
Her chest rose and fell several times. “You have a funny way of making conversation.” Her weapon stayed pointed at him. Aimed for the spot between his eyes.
“You attacked, not me.”
“You want to talk?” she asked. “Talk.”
And then he said the name that got her attention. “Dr. Roger Franklin.”
Her blood felt as if it had suddenly frozen.
Franklin had all but succeeded in taking out thousands in a subway poisoning in China years before. He had planned to blame Americans and launch a war against the red, white, and blue. It was Amanda and her mother who had come up with the antidote that had made America look like the hero not the enemy.
Letting out a breath, she lowered her gun slightly. “You’ve got my attention.”
***
Antonio Duran felt a rush of relief when Amanda responded to Franklin’s name. He wanted that man to go down worse than he wanted the retirement he’d soon be taking. The man had an itch to hurt the American people like he’d never seen before. No way could he walk away from the agency with a clear conscious without catching this guy.
He eyed Amanda with interest hoping his instincts about ditching his weapon were right. It had been a sign of good faith. Hopefully not a foolish one. No wonder she’d been a hell of an agent at one point. In the week he’d watched her, it had been impossible to miss her beauty. She had that sexy girl-next-door thing going on that could be used to manipulate. Now, with her skills put to the test, she’d proven she was a damn good fighter as well.
Those things along with her track record of dealing with Franklin would make her an excellent asset. That was, if she wasn’t dirty. He couldn’t be absolutely sure. His observations to this point said she wasn’t. So did his gut. But his instincts had failed him once before, and it had cost lives. And that had been over a woman as well. He’d never be that foolish again. Amanda Marquest was the enemy and she’d stay that way. He didn’t care how damn innocent and good looking she might be. All he cared about was stopping Franklin. Once he’d finished using Amanda, the agency could deal with her.
With his hands by his sides, unmoving, he tried to ensure Amanda knew he wasn’t an imminent threat. He eyed her hand, still wrapped in ready position around her weapon. He’d feel a hell of a lot better if she’d follow his lead and lower her weapon. Despite the feminine side he’d glimpsed those mornings in the coffee shop, there was no doubt, she could be deadly.
“How about putting yours away, Dr. A.” It wasn’t a question.
She did the opposite, taking aim again. “Don’t call me that.”
He laughed and held up his hands. She had a little temper. All sweet as sugar on the outside but not so much so on the inside. “Alright you win. I can respect a sensitive subject. Can I at least call you Amanda? Or do you prefer your current alias of Tiffany Roberts?”
“Don’t call me anything,” She said her stare as chilly as ice. Nothing like the warm look of interest she’d given him just this morning. “Say what you have to say, and be done with it,” she added.
“It’s a little dark back here,” he said, arms lifting, indicating the alley. “How about that cup of coffee?”
She gave him a sharp look, and lowered her weapon to her side. “I’d have thought you’d had your share of coffee by now.”
He smiled. Her directness about their morning encounters didn’t surprise him. But their attraction to one another had been both unexpected and unwelcome. Business and pleasure didn’t mix. And sleeping with the enemy, which she could well be, was a good way to die.
“I didn’t try to hide from you,” he said.
Her brow inched upward. Despite only having the dim glow of a streetlight to see by, he could see the brilliance of her mind at work “Why is that, I wonder?”
“It was a simply act of good faith. I wanted to be clear from the start. I have nothing to hide from you. Yes, I followed you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t dirty.”
Her voice was sharp. “I’m not dirty.”
“An operative that goes MIA is most likely dead or working for the other side.”
She repeated her words. “I’m not dirty.”
“Then you’ll want to help your country in its hour of need.”
“You need Dr.A’s help not mine.”
“Let’s stop talking in circles.”
She was silent for long moment. “Fine. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes at Joe’s Diner.” She didn’t give him an address. “Sit at a table near the back and by a window. If I don’t see you, I won’t come inside. Now turn and walk away. I’ll follow.”
His brow lifted. She had reason to be cautious but then so did he. Giving his back to a stranger wouldn’t be smart. “We walk out of this alley side by side. Then I’ll go right and you go left.”
A hint of defiance flashed in her eyes. He could tell she wanted to force him to go ahead of her. “Fine,” she said, after a moment, “but don’t try any funny stuff. Test me and you won’t like the results. I have no reason to trust you.”
“Nor I, you,” he stated, pinning her in a knowing look.
Several seconds passed until, in silent agreement, they turned to walk to towards the street. Two strangers, side-by-side, ready to act.
He didn’t trust her. She didn’t trust him. They’d made that perfectly clear. But if Amanda was Dr. A and she hadn’t gone dirty, she knew as well as he that somehow they had to get to the same page.
To trust enough to defeat Franklin…together.

Posted by Lisa Renee Jones :: 12:39 PM :: 1 comments