successfully hide a counter-code.
With dark, hand-carved paneling and numerous photographs of homes from all
around New Orleans from the French Quarter to the Garden District on the walls,
she’d had a thousand sound possibilities about where the scientist might have
hidden the sought-after sequence.
Unfortunately, none of her theories had held together. Her
best shot had been a combination of the addresses and street names of the
houses pictured on the wall, but no matter how many times the computer ran the
data, a successful match to the characteristics of known counter-codes would
not emerge.
The clues had been so promising, she’d nearly questioned the
accuracy of the software—until she reminded herself that Bogdanov had written
the program himself long before his mind had started to wither away.
So she’d worked from sunrise to sundown exclusively in this
room, skipping her nap and putting off her search of the library until
tomorrow. Now hungry, tired and teetering on the edge of surrender, she
flopped onto the overstuffed couch, threw her head back against the cushions
and allowed herself to think about Dante for the first time today.
She slipped back to the moment, shortly before dawn, when
she’d heard the lock click open on the bedroom door. Awakened by the sound,
she’d kept still beneath the covers, regulating her breathing so she appeared
asleep. Luckily, she was on her side so he couldn’t see how her nipples had hardened
at the mere possibility that he’d enter the room and finish what he’d started last
night.
Several silent, still moments later, she’d finally realized
he wasn’t coming in, no matter how much her body ached for him.
The disappointment had rolled with her out of bed in a rush,
causing her to jam her arms back into the robe with more force than necessary.
She had to give the man his props—he’d succeeded in getting under her skin.
For the first time in years, she wanted to know why he’d
betrayed her. Up until now, the fact that he’d ruined her career to further
his own had been enough to keep her from ruminating about the past. What was
done was done.
But maybe she’d done them both a disservice by taking off
without asking for his side of the story. The promises T-45 had made to lure
her away from the Arm had been an irresistible salve for her personal pain. With
her choice of assignments, she could travel the world, pocket impressive financial
rewards and gain access to the world’s most advanced technology—all without the
red tape and old-boy network so prevalent in the CIA.
In her anger, she’d blamed Dante for her lack of advancement
in the Arm, when, in truth, he couldn’t have stonewalled her on his own. And
why would he have? The powers-that-be would never have tapped her for a
leadership role over him.
She was good, but he was better—so much better that he’d
managed to force himself back into her life and make her face the truths about
their past through eyes unclouded by raw emotions, righteous indignation or
rage.
She loved her new life. She had no regrets. In many ways,
her leaving Dante—and the Arm—had been best for both of them. Nine years ago,
neither she nor Dante had been ready for a real relationship. They’d been too
young. Too ambitious. The man she’d known then couldn’t have been able to be patient
or gentle. The woman she’d been then wouldn’t have known what to do with a man
who could orchestrate a seduction with the same precise detail as a covert
operation.
He’d changed. And so had she.
Damn him. Damn them both.
She hadn’t wanted change. She’d found peace in her new
life—or at least, she’d found a niche she could fit snugly inside of—a niche
that left little room for a real relationship. She wasn’t even sure she knew
what that was anymore. The nature of her job would keep her from ever having a
normal marriage like her parents had. Her dad owned a car
With dark, hand-carved paneling and numerous photographs of homes from all
around New Orleans from the French Quarter to the Garden District on the walls,
she’d had a thousand sound possibilities about where the scientist might have
hidden the sought-after sequence.
Unfortunately, none of her theories had held together. Her
best shot had been a combination of the addresses and street names of the
houses pictured on the wall, but no matter how many times the computer ran the
data, a successful match to the characteristics of known counter-codes would
not emerge.
The clues had been so promising, she’d nearly questioned the
accuracy of the software—until she reminded herself that Bogdanov had written
the program himself long before his mind had started to wither away.
So she’d worked from sunrise to sundown exclusively in this
room, skipping her nap and putting off her search of the library until
tomorrow. Now hungry, tired and teetering on the edge of surrender, she
flopped onto the overstuffed couch, threw her head back against the cushions
and allowed herself to think about Dante for the first time today.
She slipped back to the moment, shortly before dawn, when
she’d heard the lock click open on the bedroom door. Awakened by the sound,
she’d kept still beneath the covers, regulating her breathing so she appeared
asleep. Luckily, she was on her side so he couldn’t see how her nipples had hardened
at the mere possibility that he’d enter the room and finish what he’d started last
night.
Several silent, still moments later, she’d finally realized
he wasn’t coming in, no matter how much her body ached for him.
The disappointment had rolled with her out of bed in a rush,
causing her to jam her arms back into the robe with more force than necessary.
She had to give the man his props—he’d succeeded in getting under her skin.
For the first time in years, she wanted to know why he’d
betrayed her. Up until now, the fact that he’d ruined her career to further
his own had been enough to keep her from ruminating about the past. What was
done was done.
But maybe she’d done them both a disservice by taking off
without asking for his side of the story. The promises T-45 had made to lure
her away from the Arm had been an irresistible salve for her personal pain. With
her choice of assignments, she could travel the world, pocket impressive financial
rewards and gain access to the world’s most advanced technology—all without the
red tape and old-boy network so prevalent in the CIA.
In her anger, she’d blamed Dante for her lack of advancement
in the Arm, when, in truth, he couldn’t have stonewalled her on his own. And
why would he have? The powers-that-be would never have tapped her for a
leadership role over him.
She was good, but he was better—so much better that he’d
managed to force himself back into her life and make her face the truths about
their past through eyes unclouded by raw emotions, righteous indignation or
rage.
She loved her new life. She had no regrets. In many ways,
her leaving Dante—and the Arm—had been best for both of them. Nine years ago,
neither she nor Dante had been ready for a real relationship. They’d been too
young. Too ambitious. The man she’d known then couldn’t have been able to be patient
or gentle. The woman she’d been then wouldn’t have known what to do with a man
who could orchestrate a seduction with the same precise detail as a covert
operation.
He’d changed. And so had she.
Damn him. Damn them both.
She hadn’t wanted change. She’d found peace in her new
life—or at least, she’d found a niche she could fit snugly inside of—a niche
that left little room for a real relationship. She wasn’t even sure she knew
what that was anymore. The nature of her job would keep her from ever having a
normal marriage like her parents had. Her dad owned a car
Similar Books
