Set Up With The Agent. Lori Harris L.

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СКАЧАТЬ frowned. Why would the FBI’s leading counterterrorism specialist have any interest in what had taken place here tonight? In a simple shooting?

      Mark suddenly broke away from the other men and walked toward Tom and Beth. When he reached the dead shooter, he stopped to examine the body.

      Beneath the beige trench coat, Mark Gerritsen wore a dark suit. The collar of his white oxford-cloth shirt was open, and his hair looked as if he’d plowed his fingers through it more than once.

      Not so amazingly, as she watched the FBI’s best-of-the-best straighten and walk toward them, her thoughts had nothing to do with national security, and everything to do with the last time they’d met. A meeting where she had come off as completely foolish and sophomoric. A meeting she was hoping he didn’t recall.

      But it probably hadn’t been all that memorable for him. During her sixteen weeks of new recruit training, he’d been her counterterrorism instructor. There hadn’t been a female in the class who hadn’t been in lust with Mark Gerritsen, her included. After all, when it came to aphrodisiacs, power coupled with intellect, looks and honor was damn potent.

      Back then he’d been newly divorced and had a couple of kids. Was that still the case?

      Tom had stood as soon as he’d seen Gerritsen, but she waited until he reached them to get to her feet.

      Tom held out his hand, his expression anything but welcoming. “Gerritsen, let me introduce—”

      Mark’s gaze connected with Tom’s briefly before immediately shifting to Beth. “We’ve actually met.”

      It was only when he extended his hand to her that she realized she still held the bloody napkins. After quickly shoving the wad into her pocket, she shook his hand, lifting her gaze to his face at the same time.

      His eyes were brown, and at the moment the brows were drawn down tight over them. There was a rawness to his features—eyes that were deep set, a nose that wasn’t quite straight, a mouth that rarely smiled. But when it did, there was a dimple just to the left of it. She’d seen it on only one occasion—the one she was hoping he’d forgotten.

      “I hear you had a rough night,” Mark said.

      “Oh, I don’t know.” She tried for a confident tone. “All in all, I’d say mine was better than Leon Tyber’s.”

      Mark’s lips shifted toward a smile, but it never actually appeared. He now glanced over his shoulder at the body, too. “At what point did you discover he was wearing body armor?”

      “When my first two shots didn’t stop him.” If he was impressed, it didn’t show.

      “How many rounds total?” He seemed to be studying her a little too intently, and she again wondered what his interest could be in the shooting. She couldn’t imagine Tyber having any connection to terrorism.

      “He got off three, I fired four.” She was aware that Tom still stood beside her and that there was some animosity between the two men. She wondered about its origin.

      “And you think Rheaume hired him?” Mark asked.

      She paused. How would he have known that? Then she realized the other agents had undoubtedly filled him in. What else had they said? “It went down like a hit.” She took half a step backward. Somehow it suddenly felt as if he’d invaded her space. “Not to mention the fact that street punks don’t usually carry twelve-hundred-dollar weapons and wear body armor.”

      “What makes you so certain it isn’t linked to another case?”

      “Because the Rheaume case is the only one I’m involved with.” She wasn’t about to elaborate on the reason that it was her only one. If he didn’t already know about her current employment problems—something she figured was fairly unlikely since that kind of thing tended to get around the Bureau pretty quickly—she saw no reason to enlighten him. To make herself look worse in his eyes.

      “What brings you here?” Tom asked.

      Mark’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps you could excuse us, Tom. I need to speak with Beth.”

      Those words took her by surprise. Especially since she’d assumed he was there to see one of the other agents or even Tom. What would Mark Gerritsen need to discuss with her that he wouldn’t want to talk about in front of Tom Weston?

      Tom glanced at her. “Are you okay here?”

      What was he asking? Why did he seem so hesitant to leave her with Mark? Was it concern for her? Or was he simply worried she’d do something to make their boss look bad? And that as the senior special agent at the scene, he would somehow be held responsible?

      “I’m fine.” Those two words were quickly becoming her new mantra.

      Mark waited to speak until after Tom walked off. “Fine might be an overstatement. If you haven’t already had someone look at your head, maybe you should.”

      “Thanks for the concern, but I’m okay. And I’m curious about what would bring you here tonight.”

      Mark turned his back to the breeze. “I just came from trying to see a friend of yours.”

      Hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat, she leaned against the car fender, even more perplexed. “What friend?”

      “Rabbit Rheaume.”

      The name took her by surprise. “Really?” Glancing down, noticing the ripped-out knee on her pantyhose, she immediately lifted her gaze again. She wanted to look more confident, more together than she felt. “I plan to pay him a visit tomorrow. To give him the good news about Leon Tyber.”

      Mark stared at her. “You’ll find him at the morgue.”

       Chapter Three

      Mark followed Beth into her small bungalow. It hadn’t taken much to convince her to let him bring her home. Or to control the conversation during the drive. They’d covered the recent weather and a number of other unmemorable topics. And the only time she’d brought up Rheaume’s death, he’d suggested they wait until they reached her place. Her agreement had come in the form of silence.

      Just inside the door, she stopped to disarm the security system and to turn on the foyer and living room lights, but then kept moving. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to put on some coffee.”

      “Sure.”

      As she walked on through to what he assumed was the kitchen, he didn’t follow. He wanted to give her some space. Even if she wasn’t displaying any of the obvious signs of distress, she was still coping with it internally. He recalled the first time he’d used lethal force, the way his hands had shaken for hours afterward. How, for nearly a week following the incident, even when he hadn’t been thinking about the shooting, his hands would suddenly start to tremble again.

      Turning, he checked out the living room. Though the house and neighborhood dated before the 1940s, the inside of the home had been decorated with an almost loftlike starkness. Lots of metal and wood and bright colors.

      He СКАЧАТЬ