Secret Agent Reunion. Caridad Piñeiro

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СКАЧАТЬ called them SNAKE for short—Syndicate of Nasties, Assassins, Killers and Evildoers.”

      “So, that old SNAKE acronym is still alive and well?” Lazlo asked. “In my day it stood for something else. I assume it still refers to the old Dumont family group?”

      Mitch also chuckled. “SNAKE. I like it. Who are the Dumonts?”

      “We believe Maximilian Dumont ran the crime organization for years. He recently passed away and we’re not sure who is calling the shots now. My job was to infiltrate and identify the current power, plus try to get the goods on them,” Dani explained.

      “SNAKE and the Dumont family go way back,” Lazlo said. “I had a run-in with the family years ago. With the son and daughter.”

      With a nod, Mitch continued with his earlier explanation. “SoAidan and I were trailing Kruger—the SNAKE courier—because a Lazlo client believed that his competition was illegally selling conflicts diamonds, which Kruger was transporting. We reported Kruger’s location to Lazlo. When we went to take him, however, Kruger was already on the run.”

      “Someone from SNAKE gave me his location. SNAKE hired the Sparrow to eliminate him because he’d ripped off one of their clients,” Dani added, surmising that Kruger’s whereabouts had come courtesy of the Lazlo Group leak.

      Mitch didn’t need to say that it had also allowed Dani to find him in one of the side streets leading away from Kruger’s hideout after he had been knifed and left for dead.

      “SNAKE’s knowledge of Kruger’s location just supports Agent Lama’s theory that someone in our group may have leaked the information either to SNAKE directly or to someone at SIS. It’s possible the Lazlo leak also provided information related to the Silvershire affair as well,” Lazlo jumped in. “I can see already that bringing the two of you together will be quite helpful in discovering what’s going on.”

      “We need to somehow interrogate Kruger,” Dani said, and Mitch agreed with a nod.

      “That may be difficult. First of all, everyone believes you’re both dead and I don’t want to reveal your existence at this time. Second, SIS may not be willing to allow anyone from our organization to interview him.”

      “Kruger is Ground Zero as far as we know, Corbett. If we can identify his contacts over the course of those few days, we may be able to determine who was feeding him information,” Mitch advised and watched as Dani seconded his assertion with a quick bob of her head.

      “Mitch and I can assume different identities for the briefing. Plus I’m sure that a man with your connections can arrange for a short interrogation,” Dani added, her tones saccharine.

      Silence came across the speaker. Then, “You and Elizabeth are quite alike, Dani. She said much the same thing to me some time ago. I’ll see what I can do.”

      The plasma monitor shut off as did the phone connection, leaving Mitch staring at Dani across the width of the conference room table. It might be only four feet, but he knew that the chasm between them was much greater than that.

      “Are you prepared to work on this assignment together?” he asked, unable to read much into her body language and facial expression.

      Dani slowly rose from the chair, her gaze trained on him as if she was actually contemplating refusing the mission. But then her green eyes darkened, and a grim smile came to her face.

      “I let something personal interfere with my assignment once before. It not only nearly cost me my life, but my sister’s. I won’t let that happen again.”

      Mitch didn’t know how to react to the statement. That there was still something personal between them—something that could still bother her—was clear. That she thought she could shove it aside rankled.

      What bothered him the most, however, was that he still cared what she thought and how she felt after her year of lies. After discovering, as he had lain dying, that she was the Sparrow.

      Needing to build his own defenses, he nodded and slouched back in his chair, trying to seem disinterested as he said, “Who says anyone wants it to get personal again?”

      Miserable, cold-hearted bastard, Dani repeated with each jab, punch and kick as she pounded the heavy bag in the gym, working out her frustration over the earlier meeting with Mitch.

      Miserable, deceiving, alive son of a bitch, she thought, as with a final punch, she sank down onto the mat and leaned against the wall. Bringing her knees up tightly to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, buried her head there and began to weep.

      Mitch was alive.

      How many times in the three years since his “death” had she wished for just that thing? Wished that they might have had a chance at a life together? A life without SNAKE and guns and violence and death.

      How many times had she pictured the two of them, living in Leonia in a home near her sister, Elizabeth, whom she fondly called Lizzy Bee. Children running around them along the gardens and shore much as she and her sister had done before their parents’ deaths.

      She wasn’t sure such a life was possible for her now. Maybe it never had been, she thought, and swiped at a tear only to scratch the skin of her cheek with the exposed edge of the Velcro along the wrist of the boxing gloves she still wore.

      She snagged the edge of the glove’s wrist-wrap with her teeth while drawing a shuddering breath and pulled it open. Then, she tucked the glove under her arm and removed its partner.

      As she stood she swiped the remnants of the tears staining her face and vowed not to cry again over the things she couldn’t change. Tears hadn’t brought back her parents. They hadn’t brought back Mitch….

      Well, at least they hadn’t brought back Mitch during the three years when she had cried for him regularly. But now…

      The door to the training room opened, and Mitch walked in.

      Dani hurriedly dashed away the last of her tears, turned and executed a series of bare-handed blows against the heavy bag, although not as powerfully as before due to the absence of the gloves. The last thing she needed was to break something, she thought, watching Mitch’s approach from the corner of her eye.

      When he stood about a foot away, hands tucked into the pockets of his tight jeans, she asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Agent Lama?”

      She never broke the rhythm of her routine, nor directly faced him, and yet there wasn’t a thing about him that didn’t register.

      He seemed more muscular than he had before. Bigger. His shoulders broader beneath the polo shirt that hugged them and the well-defined muscles of his chest. On his right arm was the intricate tribal tattoo that she had found undeniably sexy and dangerous when she had first discovered it beneath the elegant suits and clothing that Mitch generally wore.

      His hair was a trifle shorter around his ears, but longer up top and stylishly gelled into slightly punkish spikes that brought out the sun-streaked highlights mixed in with the brown.

      Again, not as elegant as the haircut she had known him to wear, but she liked this one more—it framed the strong lines of his face better and brought attention to his eyes. Startling slate-gray eyes that were following her every move and darkening with what she suspected was annoyance.

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