dead guy on a terrorist watch list, and the wounded one in custody is wanted for questioning in Sweden in conjunction with the foiled kidnapping of a member of parliament.”
She gave a low whistle. “So the yacht being in Chesapeake Bay so close to Washington, D.C., that’s probably no coincidence.”
“Definitely not. The bay gives ready access to the Potomac River, which runs practically straight to the White House. I think it’s a pretty safe bet our boys were planning something nasty, with D.C. as the target.”
“And possibly involving a nuclear trigger.” The thought raised the hair on the back of her neck. “But what, exactly?”
“That,” he said determinedly, “is what you and I are going to find out.”
“How do you propose we do that?” she asked, ever practical. Even with the two men’s names, they had precious little to go on. And their only living suspect was in surgery for his gunshot wound and wouldn’t be available for questioning for hours, if not days.
Alex leaned back in his chair. “First thing is to search the yacht. If we’re lucky, we’ll find the trigger somewhere onboard.”
“Unless that blur of movement I saw before the ship exploded really was another terrorist jumping overboard, and he took it with him,” she said with a frown.
“We should be able to tell from our search how many men were on the boat.”
“True. Except for one minor detail,” she reminded him. “That yacht is now at the bottom of the bay.”
“Not an obstacle,” he said evenly. “Ready to go diving?”
She hiked her brows. “Excuse me?”
He gave her what might have passed for an impish smile, except it didn’t quite reach his half-lidded eyes. “You and me. Sexy wet suits. Sharing oxygen. Finding booty . . .”
The double meaning was a little too obvious to miss, but she pretended anyway. “Alex, you know very well I haven’t been scuba diving in years.” They’d always talked about her getting recertified so they could dive together, but it had never happened.
The curve of his smile didn’t alter, but something distinctly unhumorous dimmed the sexual glitter in his eyes. The air shifted like quicksilver. “That’s not what I heard.”
For a second she was confused. Then she realized what he must be alluding to: the trip to the Caribbean she’d taken in January with SAC Wade Montana. Someone must have told him about it. Helena most likely, since she and Alex had still been happily engaged at the time. Or maybe Gina or Rainie. Rebel had stayed in touch with both women after Gina’s rescue last December.
She looked Alex in the eye. “You heard wrong,” she said.
He shrugged but didn’t look away. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I can recertify you myself.”
“Since when?” she asked, surprised. This was new.
“Since I got bored at Haven Oaks and did the full instructor course there. Commander Quinn can fax your recert to the boat if you pass. Which you will.”
She straightened at the part he’d glossed over. “What boat?”
This time, his lips curved for real. “STORM has arranged a cabin cruiser for us.”
The man was just full of surprises today. She arched her brows again. “What, the Coast Guard’s ships aren’t good enough?”
“Let’s just say we have some specialized equipment.” As he said it, he finally broke eye contact and looked down at the file he still held in his hand.
She was getting a little tired of hearing how great STORM’s resources were. What was the FBI? Chopped liver? “Such as . . . ?” she asked.
“Besides,” he said, adroitly sidestepping her question, “I don’t like being dependent on other agencies.” He opened the file and began to peruse it. Completely avoiding her gaze.
A curl of suspicion threaded through her. “Alex, what are you not telling me?”
At that, he did look up. Aloud, he said nothing, but in his expression she could read the answer perfectly. Plenty .
Just then, Special Agent in Charge Carballosa
She gave a low whistle. “So the yacht being in Chesapeake Bay so close to Washington, D.C., that’s probably no coincidence.”
“Definitely not. The bay gives ready access to the Potomac River, which runs practically straight to the White House. I think it’s a pretty safe bet our boys were planning something nasty, with D.C. as the target.”
“And possibly involving a nuclear trigger.” The thought raised the hair on the back of her neck. “But what, exactly?”
“That,” he said determinedly, “is what you and I are going to find out.”
“How do you propose we do that?” she asked, ever practical. Even with the two men’s names, they had precious little to go on. And their only living suspect was in surgery for his gunshot wound and wouldn’t be available for questioning for hours, if not days.
Alex leaned back in his chair. “First thing is to search the yacht. If we’re lucky, we’ll find the trigger somewhere onboard.”
“Unless that blur of movement I saw before the ship exploded really was another terrorist jumping overboard, and he took it with him,” she said with a frown.
“We should be able to tell from our search how many men were on the boat.”
“True. Except for one minor detail,” she reminded him. “That yacht is now at the bottom of the bay.”
“Not an obstacle,” he said evenly. “Ready to go diving?”
She hiked her brows. “Excuse me?”
He gave her what might have passed for an impish smile, except it didn’t quite reach his half-lidded eyes. “You and me. Sexy wet suits. Sharing oxygen. Finding booty . . .”
The double meaning was a little too obvious to miss, but she pretended anyway. “Alex, you know very well I haven’t been scuba diving in years.” They’d always talked about her getting recertified so they could dive together, but it had never happened.
The curve of his smile didn’t alter, but something distinctly unhumorous dimmed the sexual glitter in his eyes. The air shifted like quicksilver. “That’s not what I heard.”
For a second she was confused. Then she realized what he must be alluding to: the trip to the Caribbean she’d taken in January with SAC Wade Montana. Someone must have told him about it. Helena most likely, since she and Alex had still been happily engaged at the time. Or maybe Gina or Rainie. Rebel had stayed in touch with both women after Gina’s rescue last December.
She looked Alex in the eye. “You heard wrong,” she said.
He shrugged but didn’t look away. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I can recertify you myself.”
“Since when?” she asked, surprised. This was new.
“Since I got bored at Haven Oaks and did the full instructor course there. Commander Quinn can fax your recert to the boat if you pass. Which you will.”
She straightened at the part he’d glossed over. “What boat?”
This time, his lips curved for real. “STORM has arranged a cabin cruiser for us.”
The man was just full of surprises today. She arched her brows again. “What, the Coast Guard’s ships aren’t good enough?”
“Let’s just say we have some specialized equipment.” As he said it, he finally broke eye contact and looked down at the file he still held in his hand.
She was getting a little tired of hearing how great STORM’s resources were. What was the FBI? Chopped liver? “Such as . . . ?” she asked.
“Besides,” he said, adroitly sidestepping her question, “I don’t like being dependent on other agencies.” He opened the file and began to peruse it. Completely avoiding her gaze.
A curl of suspicion threaded through her. “Alex, what are you not telling me?”
At that, he did look up. Aloud, he said nothing, but in his expression she could read the answer perfectly. Plenty .
Just then, Special Agent in Charge Carballosa
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