Countdown To A Kiss A New Year's Eve Anthology

Countdown To A Kiss A New Year's Eve Anthology Page 27

David Carter tapped his finger against the forms on his desk, the ones that wrapped up an extortion case on which Leo had taken the lead. His steady brown eyes held a smile. "You did an excellent job as supervisory relief."

Leo leaned back in his chair. "It wasn't hard. You've developed a hell of a squad." His mind drifted to Devine before he pulled it back.

"The best. But even the sleekest ship takes a steady hand to steer it. You've got that." Carter glanced at his watch and a harried expression crossed his usually placid features. "I have a full schedule today and my wife is expecting me to pick up the babysitter on my way home. Let's schedule a meeting for next week and I'll update you on some phone calls I've made. There is a supervisory position open that may be a good fit for you."

"I'll have Joan schedule me in on your calendar." Leo had met with Carter a couple of weeks ago to begin discussions on his next career move.

The phone on Carter's desk rang and he held up a finger as he picked up the receiver, indicating Leo should wait. "Yes? Put him through, Joan."

Leo stood and walked over to the window that looked out onto a gray, overcast sky, unsettled and on edge. Grace Devine didn't belong in any decision making process about career. But honesty forced him to acknowledge that six months ago he'd been ready to approach Carter about this move. His busy schedule wasn't the only thing that had prevented him from finding the time.

The woman had short-circuited his brain, something he'd been able to deny until that day at the Pit.

His fingers curled into a fist as he remembered the electric shock of her tongue against his skin and the taste of her when he'd retaliated. Some switch in his brain had permanently flipped and a new neural pathway had been forged. He couldn't think about her without getting hard. Since he couldn't get her out of his head, he walked around in a perpetual state of semi-arousal, with about as much control over his hormones as a teenage boy. He'd been responding to old fears that night at the Pub when he shut her down cold. He and Devine needed to have a serious discussion.

He turned from the window when he heard Carter hang up the phone.

Carter sighed. "I swear to God, something always comes up on a holiday when you're rushing to get out."

"Anything I can help with?"

"That was the Raleigh resident office. Devine is apparently friends with a man the NSA is hot to recruit. The SSA at Raleigh wants her to contact the guy since their boys haven't had any luck."

"Who's the potential recruit?

"A mathematical genius named Kampmueller. The cryptanalysts at Fort Meade are hyperventilating over an algorithm he's developed for a video game called Code Breaker."

"Kampmueller developed Code Breaker? Hours of my life have been spent playing it." Leo might have to kiss the man himself. He loved that game.

"You, my son, and half the world's male population--not to mention a good portion of the female population, as well. The NSA requested an initial background screen from Raleigh. Then, when they were unable to close a deal with the elusive Kampmueller, they figured the Raleigh agents who did background might have an easier time contacting him. Raleigh hasn't been any more successful than the NSA. Kampmueller doesn't pick up phone calls, return messages or keep appointments." Carter's phone gave a beep and he grimaced. "Five minutes until my next meeting. Anyway, Raleigh just made the connection between Kampmueller and Devine. Now they're salivating at the opportunity to dump the NSA request in Devine's lap. She left last night for her parents' place in Henderson, North Carolina, right? "

"I'll do it," Leo said abruptly. "I know where Kampmueller is tonight. I'll find him and arrange a meet with the NSA. If for some reason I can't, I'll pull in Devine and use her influence."

Carter gave him a long look. He didn't question Leo's willingness to take on the shit task. He didn't ask how Leo knew where Kampmueller would be. He simply wrote down the NSA contact information. "Call this person when you're ready to set up a meeting."

Leo took the paper and shoved it in his pocket. The gray day suddenly seemed brighter. He stopped at Joan's desk on his way out, gave the attractive older woman a New Year's kiss on the cheek, and asked her to put the meeting on Carter's calendar for next week.

Then he stopped by his desk to pick up his jacket and headed for the elevator. Henderson was about a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Washington. He had time to go home and change before leaving for the party.

The elevator opened and he stepped in. A single occupant filled one of the corners, blond head bent over his phone. "Wolfram."

The other man looked up and nodded a greeting. "Ramos."

Leo crossed his arms and took up position in the elevator's opposite corner. He and Wolfram had been introduced several times and had shared drinks with a joint group of friends once or twice as well. "Enjoying your Quantico holiday?"

Wolfram grimaced. "I feel like I'm back in college. Advanced Psychology and Geographical Topology intermixed with Tactical Strategy. I'm brain dead."

"I hear you're pulling together a task force to go after the Isaac Cult."

"The local office in Salt Lake City is swamped and doesn't have the time or resources to close this case." Wolfram's face was grim. "Pulling this together has been a lesson in bullshit bureaucracy." He gave Leo a thoughtful look. "I want Grace Devine on the team. She asked permission to discuss it with a few people and she mentioned your name."

"She told me." Leo met the man's straight blue gaze, his own eyes narrowed. "Devine's still relatively new. I heard you were looking for experienced agents."

Wolfram shrugged. The elevator door opened and both men headed toward the entrance doors. "Devine's got special skills. She's one of the best field interviewers I've seen. She connects easily and quickly with people. Men, women, and children want to be her friend when she flashes that warm smile of hers. We'll be interviewing in some remote regions where folks don't easily talk to strangers. She'll fit in well with the team I'm assembling."

"She fits in well here, as well." Leo kept his tone mild.

Wolfram must have caught some inflection, however, because he swiveled his head sharply to look at Leo. "Rachel Sherwood has already been assigned to the task force. She'll be the perfect mentor and role model for Devine."

Leo couldn't argue with that. Sherwood was a legend in the FBI. Working with Wolfram and Sherwood would be an invaluable experience for Devine. "What exactly is your relationship with Devine?" Leo asked as he pushed through the glass door out into the brisk afternoon air. Both men came to a halt beside an empty concrete planter.

"That's a personal question only someone close to one of us has a right to ask." The hint of amusement in Wolfram's expression irritated Leo.

"She's on my squad," Leo said. In his book, that meant he had the right to watch her back, regardless of any personal feelings. "I don't want her hurt."

"I don't have the ability to hurt her, Ramos. You might. So tread carefully." Wolfram's phone beeped and he glanced down. "I have to take this call." He headed off toward Fourth Street then paused and looked back. "We have more to talk about. I'll be in touch next week."

Leo nodded curtly and watched him stride away, phone to his ear. Wolfram was an excellent choice to head this new task force and a smart man to want Devine on his team. The question was whether he also wanted Devine for himself.

His gut clenched at the thought of the two of them together. Wolfram was an honorable man. He had more to offer a woman like Grace than the month of empty sex that constituted most of Leo's relationships. That knowledge acted as a cold slap of reality. Was he asshole enough to drive all the way to Henderson on New Year's Eve and crash the Devine-Kampmueller Ball on a flimsy excuse when he wasn't sure what he had to offer her?

The phone in his pocket buzzed, signaling a text message.

A full-length picture of Mandy Jenkins appeared on the screen in a shining silver dress cut to her navel, full breasts barely covered. What kept the material sticking to her? He squinted to get a closer look. A small silver bell hung against the taught muscles of her abdomen, attached to a silver loop through her navel. She held a flute of champagne up to the camera. Underneath were the words: Reconsider. Party is at my place.

He shoved the phone back in a pocket and headed for his car.