The Agent's Proposition. Lyn Stone

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      This could prove really dangerous if it involved a serious criminal element and not just some greedy hacker testing his skills.

      Her carefully blank expression and lack of any telling body language indicated she could be lying about taking this on by herself. But what if she wasn’t? Intel personnel had to be stretched pretty thin across the board these days with so many cuts in funding. They might send her out alone, thinking there would be little chance of physical danger involved.

      “Please reconsider,” she said. “I know how much that last op cost you. Think about it, Cochran. Here’s your chance to turn that around.”

      She couldn’t know all he had lost. That wouldn’t be in his record for her to read. Some things couldn’t be turned around no matter what he did. Like Brenda.

      She had deserted him the minute she found out he’d been forced to leave the Company. Losing her was probably the only stroke of good fortune associated with his fall from grace, but at the time he hadn’t seen it that way. He had needed love and support. He had gotten a halfhearted apology and his ring back.

      Even that was more than his family had offered. His dad, still disgruntled about Cameron’s career choice, had muttered a pointed “I told you so” and extended a grudging job offer. Cameron’s polite refusal had nearly cut all ties with his parents, but he could not see himself as an accountant making his bones in order to inherit Daddy’s firm eventually. This was his life, damn it.

      Now even his mother thought he was a bum and wore a look of despair every time he visited. They lived less than ten miles away, and he, an only child and the black sheep, rarely saw either of them. His weekly call to check on their health and say hello was both bittersweet and excruciating.

      Yeah, he had lost, all right, but he still had his self-respect and his independence. He made a fair living and answered to nobody. Could he give that up on the off chance he could prove he was a good agent? Even if he succeeded, who was left to care?

      Who was he kidding? He cared. He damn well cared.

      The sudden leap of hope made him furious with himself. And with her, for causing it. He hated the reminder of what he had once been and what he was now. How many times had he dreamed of being called back, being needed to do what no other agent could, and of saying a nonchalant “no thanks” to the ones who had betrayed him?

      Now he faced a decision, welcome revenge or a chance at redemption. What if he took the chance and failed? What if, again, they engineered his failure?

      She watched him, her expression hopeful.

      Even if he wanted to say yes, what could he do with his hands tied? “I can’t leave the country. The authorities lifted my papers and warned me not to.”

      “Taken care of. Passport, badge and credentials, Everything you’ll need. You also get your CRYPTO clearance back. C’mon, you get carte blanche.”

      Cameron put down the warm beer again and stood up. So much for his sense of self-preservation. He needed to ditch his pride and do this. Had to, and not just to keep her out of trouble, he admitted. There might never be another opportunity for him to set things straight. “I’ll need a few days to make arrangements for my business here.”

      “I’m sorry, but this has a short fuse. We have to leave today. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get ready.” She was obviously grateful and relieved he was in, but the offer sounded a little stiff in spite of that. He suspected she hadn’t agreed with her boss’s orders to recruit him. She sure deserved a solid A for effort, though. She had set the hook and reeled him in.

      That uptight attitude had to loosen up a little if they were going to get along at all. He grabbed the shirt hanging over the arm of his chair and pulled it on, then stepped into his deck shoes. “My car’s up at the café. Let’s go.”

      “Where?” she asked. “You’re not planning to drive anywhere, are you?” She glanced pointedly at the discarded beer bottle. “You’ve been drinking.”

      “Half a beer doesn’t affect me.” He beckoned her to his side of the deck and lifted her onto the dock. She yelped a little when he almost dropped her on purpose.

      “I’m driving!” she declared when he joined her.

      “Suit yourself.”

      He led the way up to the parking lot and waited for her as she paid her fare and sent the waiting cab on its way back to town. When she rejoined him, he ushered her into the café and hailed Bobby Ray, who was sitting at the bar, sucking down a draft. “Hey, take over for me for a couple of weeks, will you?”

      “Yeah, sure, no problem,” Bobby Ray muttered.

      Cameron tossed him the keys to the boat. “Hire a mate. Don’t take her out by yourself. Tomorrow’s still open. Take care of the Duck for me, or I’ll wring your skinny neck.”

      Bobby Ray nodded and pocketed the keys. He never said much. Clients probably didn’t enjoy his company, but he was careful on the water and damn good at finding fish.

      “Are you sure you can trust him?” she asked as they were leaving the café. “He looks sort of…disreputable.”

      He did at that. Scrawny, dressed like a bum, rarely shaved, missing a few teeth. But he was a good man. Cameron inclined his head and took her arm to guide the little agent to his car. “We’re a disreputable lot, and that’s a fact, ma’am, but we look out for each other. And I have really good insurance.”

      “Don’t call me ma’am.”

      “It’s a Southern thing, sign of respect.”

      “You don’t know me. How do you know I deserve respect?” she snapped.

      “Call me an optimist.” He stopped beside the Chevy, opened the passenger door and got in. The window was already down, so he reached out and handed her the key. “Here you go.”

      She took the key ring and stared at it, frowning.

      “So, you driving or what?” he asked, prompting her to get a move on. If they had a short fuse on this like she said, they needed to get busy.

      She hurried around the rust-spotted hood and got in. After a cursory assessment of the interior, she remarked, “There aren’t any seat belts.”

      “Or air-conditioning. She’s an old car. We have to go only about two miles, though. You’ll be safe enough.”

      She stuck the key in the ignition and twisted it. Cameron smiled at the deafening rumble. Who needed a muffler to go two miles? He rarely drove anywhere but to the house and back.

      “Hit the main drag and hang a right.”

      There were no more comments about his ride, and he gave her points for that. He had bought the clunker from Bobby Ray for a couple of hundred when the boy had needed money.

      “Are we going to your house?” she asked, shifting gears rather expertly.

      “Yep. Turn right here. Third house on the left.” He pointed to a small clapboard cottage with blue shutters.

      “Cute,” Bradshaw commented СКАЧАТЬ