Read Online Burned (Vanessa Pierson series Book 2) by Valerie Plame, Sarah Lovett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Valerie Plame, Sarah Lovett
Ads: Link
turning her focus outward again. “We still don’t know
who
is passing our ghost his information so he can compromise my ops.” Even with a full-time Agency task force bent on finding a mole, they hadn’t ferreted him—or her—out. And Vanessa knew as well as Chris that the Agency’s track record on finding moles quickly was, in a word, dismal.
Chris raised one palm. “Give them time to get results, Vanessa.”
“We don’t have time!”
Vanessa’s thoughts were racing now, her mind filled with too many questions to allow her to make connections. She stared at Chris. “Why me?”
Chris frowned. “I know it feels like you’ve been singled out—”
“No, I mean,
why me?
I
have
been singled out. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to set me up. They kidnapped my asset and sent a double so . . . so I’d get blown up, too? Doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t, and I don’t like any of it,” Chris said. “You sure you want in on Team Viper?”
“I can’t believe you’d even ask that question.”
He scrubbed one hand atop his buzz-cut hair, a habit when he wasn’t at ease with his own thoughts. “We’re going to have to declare you to the French.”
“Shit,” she breathed. Her career was careening everywhere—from highs to lows to potentially nonexistent, and it was hard to keep up and sort it all out.
“It’s an order from Headquarters and I don’t see any way around it, I’m sorry. After today, after everything that went down last year, you’re too inside of this whole thing.”
Resistance sparked through her even though she knew he was right. It wasn’t a step Chris took lightly—every time an ops officer is declared to a foreign service, her effectiveness is diminished—they both knew that. She picked at the edge of her sweater, but her eyes stayed on him.
“The best we can do is stick to first names,” Chris said, staring into his coffee mug. He made a face, looking around restively. “Is there anything stronger?”
Without a word, Vanessa walked the short distance to her room to retrieve the half-full bottle of Blanton’s from the side table. She also collected her lighter and an unopened pack of Dunhills, pushing them into her sweater pocket.
As she returned, she held up the bottle. “Hey, look what I found. And I haven’t collected this particular stopper yet,” she added, referring to the distinctive series of unique bottle plugs. She knew it was alittle juvenile, having a collection of
anything, but it amused her. It also connected her to her father’s memory; Blanton’s had been one of his favorites.
As she poured three fingers of bourbon into each of their mugs, Chris eyed the bottle appreciatively. “Either the French have seriously upgraded the amenities in their safe houses, highly unlikely, or—”
“This is my personal upgrade from a little shop down the street.” She managed a lopsided half-smile. “Glad you’re here.”
“Glad you’re alive,” Chris responded—but his eyes went to her hand that held the drink. She was shaking so badly the amber liquid shivered up the sides of the glass.
Vanessa clamped her free hand on her wrist. “Sorry. I’ve managed to keep it together all day until now.”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t shaking after everything that happened. You are, after all, human.”
She bit her lip and nodded as Chris clicked his glass against hers. He took a slow sip, watching her as she swallowed half the glass of bourbon. It went down tasting of fire and honey.
Vanessa set her mug hard on the pitted, stained wood of the Beaux-Arts table. “So that’s that . . .”
She knew it was pointless to argue. She would survive the declaration—at least it meant she was officially on Team Viper, in spite of possible pushback from Fournier. And indeed, if the French had placed more than one bug in the safe house, she’d been declared anyway.
“Chris, there’s something else . . .” She said it slowly,
who
is passing our ghost his information so he can compromise my ops.” Even with a full-time Agency task force bent on finding a mole, they hadn’t ferreted him—or her—out. And Vanessa knew as well as Chris that the Agency’s track record on finding moles quickly was, in a word, dismal.
Chris raised one palm. “Give them time to get results, Vanessa.”
“We don’t have time!”
Vanessa’s thoughts were racing now, her mind filled with too many questions to allow her to make connections. She stared at Chris. “Why me?”
Chris frowned. “I know it feels like you’ve been singled out—”
“No, I mean,
why me?
I
have
been singled out. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to set me up. They kidnapped my asset and sent a double so . . . so I’d get blown up, too? Doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t, and I don’t like any of it,” Chris said. “You sure you want in on Team Viper?”
“I can’t believe you’d even ask that question.”
He scrubbed one hand atop his buzz-cut hair, a habit when he wasn’t at ease with his own thoughts. “We’re going to have to declare you to the French.”
“Shit,” she breathed. Her career was careening everywhere—from highs to lows to potentially nonexistent, and it was hard to keep up and sort it all out.
“It’s an order from Headquarters and I don’t see any way around it, I’m sorry. After today, after everything that went down last year, you’re too inside of this whole thing.”
Resistance sparked through her even though she knew he was right. It wasn’t a step Chris took lightly—every time an ops officer is declared to a foreign service, her effectiveness is diminished—they both knew that. She picked at the edge of her sweater, but her eyes stayed on him.
“The best we can do is stick to first names,” Chris said, staring into his coffee mug. He made a face, looking around restively. “Is there anything stronger?”
Without a word, Vanessa walked the short distance to her room to retrieve the half-full bottle of Blanton’s from the side table. She also collected her lighter and an unopened pack of Dunhills, pushing them into her sweater pocket.
As she returned, she held up the bottle. “Hey, look what I found. And I haven’t collected this particular stopper yet,” she added, referring to the distinctive series of unique bottle plugs. She knew it was alittle juvenile, having a collection of
anything, but it amused her. It also connected her to her father’s memory; Blanton’s had been one of his favorites.
As she poured three fingers of bourbon into each of their mugs, Chris eyed the bottle appreciatively. “Either the French have seriously upgraded the amenities in their safe houses, highly unlikely, or—”
“This is my personal upgrade from a little shop down the street.” She managed a lopsided half-smile. “Glad you’re here.”
“Glad you’re alive,” Chris responded—but his eyes went to her hand that held the drink. She was shaking so badly the amber liquid shivered up the sides of the glass.
Vanessa clamped her free hand on her wrist. “Sorry. I’ve managed to keep it together all day until now.”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t shaking after everything that happened. You are, after all, human.”
She bit her lip and nodded as Chris clicked his glass against hers. He took a slow sip, watching her as she swallowed half the glass of bourbon. It went down tasting of fire and honey.
Vanessa set her mug hard on the pitted, stained wood of the Beaux-Arts table. “So that’s that . . .”
She knew it was pointless to argue. She would survive the declaration—at least it meant she was officially on Team Viper, in spite of possible pushback from Fournier. And indeed, if the French had placed more than one bug in the safe house, she’d been declared anyway.
“Chris, there’s something else . . .” She said it slowly,
Similar Books
