Free Fall (Elite Force #4)(37)
Author: Catherine Mann

“What’s his call sign?”

“Saint.” An odd one they still hadn’t quite figured out yet, but he was willing to ponder on it if that gave Stella more time to nose around about translations on the cloth. “There are several rumors about how he got his call sign. His first name is Dominic, so Saint Nic, like Santa. Others say it’s because he’s holier than thou.”

“Not popular with the team.”

“I didn’t say that exactly.” But he’d been thinking it. “He’s just—how can I put this?—a really good guy.”

“What about the kid, Fang?”

Jose smiled at the tradition. “The acronym says it all.”

Fuck, Another New Guy. A new guy needed to be watched until he proved himself—or didn’t.

“There has to be more on Sergeant Zane Thomas.”

“He’s been around awhile.” Too long as the newest team member, actually. “It’s past time for a new Fang, but government cutbacks and crap… We’re making do.”

“Stretched thin. I feel you there, brother.”

And what the hell? He’d come out here to divert Smith so he didn’t walk in on Stella. The last thing he’d expected was a warm and fuzzy bonding moment. “Never thought I’d be on the side of a spook.”

“We’re all on the same side,” Smith said with such a somber air the fella could have been a hundred and ten rather than…

How old? Smith had that ageless look most CIA dudes wore like a suit of armor. Best guess? He must be in his forties. Did he have a family back home? Kids? Or was he married to the job?

“With all due respect to your secret agent awesomeness, since when did you stop marking your territory?”

“Everybody needs a smoke break once in a while.”

“Fair enough.” Jose tucked away his unused cigar. “What’s in your file about me?”

“You’re a recovering alcoholic.”

Wow, that one came out fast. Smith’s first thought about him. Nothing to do with successful missions or training. Just that big albatross hanging around more than his neck. It was chained to him for life.

Then he shrugged off the defensiveness long enough to realize a nuance to Smith’s words. “Recovering.” Rather than recovered or reformed because those words could never be assumed, not by someone walking the walk. “You know the lingo.”

Smith stared at the ground for a moment before answering. “My wife’s in the program.”

“I’m sorry.” Damn, he hadn’t wanted this kind of bonding.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s working.” He rubbed his empty ring finger. “She’s doing well.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The missing wedding band didn’t mean anything. Most agents and warriors out in the field didn’t wear one, preferring to keep their private life off the grid as much as possible. So why was Smith sharing?

Smith stared straight into his eyes. “Your file says you got your name because you nearly suffered alcohol poisoning from a bottle of Jose Cuervo the day your mother died.”

Fuck.

One look at Smith’s eyes told him he’d been played. All this sharing and bonding was just an act. Smith had played him, waiting to go for the jugular to get a real read off of him. What did the dude want from him?

How much of what Smith said had even been real? Had the story about the wife been fake, just to get him to loosen up and talk? “What is it that you really want to know?”

“Is your girlfriend through yet?” Smith asked, confirming Jose’s suspicions.

Nothing got past this guy. And while he respected the dude for doing his job well—intel kept them all from dying in this crazy-ass, mixed-up world—right now he was damn glad to be on the rescue side of things rather than living in that dark hole of secret ops.

Where Stella lived.

His stare-down with Smith lasted a good sixty seconds before the sound of someone approaching sent them both on alert. Steady footsteps echoed along the side of the hangar, not at all stealthy, which should be a good thing. Bad guys snuck up. Nonthreats just walked.

Still, Jose rested a hand over his 9 mm just as Mr. Smith did the same. The afternoon’s attack was still too fresh in his mind, the smell of the mortar exploding, the feel of Stella’s heartbeat against his.

The steps came closer and Jose realized he recognized the tread well. So well, it should have unsettled him all the more.

“Stella,” he called out, “Smith and I are out here just shooting the breeze.”

She probably already knew, but best to be sure.

A second later, she rounded the corner, fire shooting from her eyes. Her arms pumping, her braid swaying with her every determined step, she stalked straight up to Mr. Smith and said softly through gritted teeth, “When the hell were you intending to tell me they’re trying to set off a bio toxin in the middle of a diplomacy visit?”

Chapter 9

“Bio toxin?” Jose jerked to attention, his every instinct narrowing to block out anything that distracted him from Stella’s words.

Ironic as hell since Stella was a walking, talking distraction by just breathing the same air space.

But for now he blocked out the planes roaring overhead, the sun baking down, the overpowering urge to take Stella somewhere, anywhere, and hide her away safely. Instead, he zeroed in on the moment, one of those instances that battle-honed instincts told him was a crucial, defining instant. She smoothed her palms down the thighs of her jeans, leaving a hint of perspiration before tucking them in her pockets. She tugged the tunic, flipping back her braid nervously.

Shit. If Stella was sweating, this was beyond bad.

An angry tic twitching at the corner of one eye, Smith snapped the cigar in half. He stepped closer, his voice low. “Agent Carson, you’re going to need to be more specific with what information you’ve uncovered and how.”

Stella’s bracing sigh wasn’t reassuring. “I accessed the writing on the cloth and ran them through some programs. I’m assuming your programs didn’t decipher the pattern yet or you sure as hell wouldn’t be standing around shooting the breeze, taking a smoke. Bottom line, I realized I only have half the puzzle because there’s another cloth out there somewhere. But from what I can put together, the separatist group responsible for my capture has a nerve toxin. I believe it’s a variation of the tetanus toxin, one so intense a regular vaccination won’t do anything but delay the onset of symptoms for a few extra minutes.”