Medusa Seduction Read online

He grinned. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Me, neither,” she confessed.

  Brian cleared his throat with just enough emphasis to demand her attention. Why didn’t she feel at ease with him like the others? He made her tense. Nervous. Edgy. Was it that he was simply an uncomfortable man? Or was it something else? Some undefined tension between them?

  He broke into her train of thought, announcing, “We have work to do, and time’s critical. The Medusas are stuck out in the middle of the desert with their necks on the line, waiting for us to give them something to help them complete their mission.”

  “Where do you want to do this?” she asked in resignation.

  “Here at the table’s fine if you’re comfortable.”

  She glanced around. “Don’t you want to video this? At least tape-record it?”

  Brian didn’t exactly lurch. In fact, he didn’t actually move at all. But she’d definitely startled him. “Uhh, that’s okay. We just want to talk with you. Nothing so formal as all that.”

  Stoner and Scottie came back in from the kitchen and sat down again. She caught the infinitesimal nod Stoner shot Brian. The recording equipment must all be in working order. Brian Riley was easy to look at, but what met the eye was most definitely only the surface of this secretive man.

  She took a deep breath. Let it out. “Okay, gentlemen. Uncle Sam went to a lot of expense and trouble to get me here. What can I do for you?”

  “Ahh, if only they all said that,” Brian quipped.

  She tossed him a quelling look.

  “Sorry.” He was almost boyishly cute with that contrite look on his face. Then he said more seriously, “How about we start at the beginning? Where were you born?”

  Sophie answered their rapid fire questions without pause for the next hour. The sheer volume of information they extracted from her was astounding. And the amount of it they retained was even more impressive. Often one of them would refer back to something she’d said earlier, an off-hand comment or minor detail, with unerring accuracy. For all their flirting and inane banter, these were three highly intelligent men.

  After they’d filled in the details of her childhood, notably minus her contact with the Sollem family, they took a short break. Sophie went to the restroom, and when she came back, Brian was just setting a cup of hot tea and a plate of lemon wedges down on the table in front of her chair. He looked up guiltily as she stepped up behind him.

  “I didn’t want your voice to give out,” he mumbled.

  “Thanks. That’s kind of you.”

  He grimaced. “Now there’s a word I don’t hear applied to me very often.”

  “What? Kind?”

  He shrugged.

  Darned if she didn’t suffer a momentary attack of shyness as he pulled out her chair and held it for her in silence.

  “Sugar?” he asked.

  “Honey if you’ve got it. But I’ll take sugar in a pinch.”

  “I think I saw some in a cupboard.”

  He was back in a minute with a plastic honey bear that looked ridiculous in his powerful grip.

  Scottie returned just then. “Dude. Less than one day and she’s already domesticating you!”

  “Nobody’s domesticating me,” Brian snapped back. Then his gaze flashed to her, alarmed.

  Hmm. Was he actually worried about what she thought of him? He seemed intent upon maintaining his macho image for her. But he kept slipping up and showing flashes of the nice guy within. Must not get out around women too often.

  She asked abruptly, “You don’t date much, do you?”

  His gaze widened in shock, then narrowed into a scowl. “Not much time for it in my line of work,” he finally muttered. He avoided eye contact with her and glanced over at the tall palm tree in the corner.

  Ahh. That must be where the video camera or one of the concealed microphones was hidden. No way were they conducting this interview without making a complete record of it. She leaned back in satisfaction. The other two men joined them in a few moments.

  Brian picked up where they’d left off. “That brings us to Freddie Sollem. Tell us about your earliest memory of him.”

  She complied, spending the next hour describing a fairly routine upbringing in a traditional Middle Eastern family ensconced in America. Her brain was starting to feel distinctly like mush when Brian looked over at Scottie and asked quietly, “Would you bring us the pictures?”

  His teammate left the table and came back in a moment with a thin folder. Brian opened it to reveal a stack of eight-by-ten photographs, some clear, some grainy and blurred, all of Middle Eastern men in their early-to mid-thirties.

  “Look at these, Sophie. Do you recognize any of them as Freddie Sollem?”

  She picked up the first one. Stared at it in dismay. “I haven’t seen Freddie since he was ten years old! How am I supposed to recognize him fully grown, with a beard and turban?”

  “It’s called a keffiyah,” Brian replied. “Don’t worry if you don’t recognize him. Take your time. Study each picture. See if there’s anything in one of them you recognize. A look about the eyes or an expression.”

  She put aside the first picture. “I’m pretty sure that’s not him.” She picked up another photo. Studied it carefully. “This one might be him.”

  Brian nodded and started a second pile.

  Carefully, she sorted the pictures into those she was certain were not him and a half-dozen pictures that could be Freddie. Brian took notes as to why she thought each of those pictures might be the terrorist.

  She handed Brian the last picture to be added to the definitely-not pile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  He smiled at her. “You did fine. And these will help us more than you know. We’ll analyze your comments and the features common to all the pictures to develop a hypothetical composite. And, you’ve eliminated nearly two-dozen men from being mistaken for Sollem and killed.”

  Her gaze snapped to the pile of pictures now in his left hand. Life and death had hung in the balance while she was looking at those pictures? Nausea rumbled ominously under her ribs.

  “You shouldn’t take my word for all this,” she said quickly. “Get someone else to look at those pictures. I’d hate to have something so important ride on my opinion. I could be wrong—”

  He interrupted her gently. “There is no one else, Sophie. To our knowledge, you’re the only Westerner alive in the world today who knows Sollem well enough to identify him.”

  “That’s not possible! We went to school with dozens of kids. Freddie had three or four good buddies he hung out with all the time. They were all American.”

  “And they’re all dead. Tommy Thompson, Ethan Cassopolis, Larry Macintyre, Eddie Delgado. All four have died of other-than-natural causes.”

  “Are you accusing Freddie of killing them all?” She gasped in horror. She hadn’t heard those names in years, but every one conjured up a laughing boy running around the playground at school and being a general pain. And they were all dead? At Freddie’s hand? “It can’t be!”

  “It can and probably is. You have to admit it would be a hell of a coincidence otherwise.”

  “Then why am I still alive? I knew him better than any of the rest of them.”

  “That’s an excellent question, Sophie. One to which we were hoping you could give us the answer.”

  She blinked rapidly, absorbing the myriad implications of that. Did they think she was a terrorist after all? In cahoots with Freddie somehow? After all, here she was, all alone in the middle of a Navy base, surrounded by at least three commandos and a bunch of SEALs. Was she under arrest after all? Was this all a giant ruse to trick her into talking to them without them having to reveal their real motives to her?

  Why hadn’t Freddie killed her? They’d shared a fairly innocent crush on one another as kids. Was that enough to stay his hand? Or was it simply a matter of the adult Freddie—apparently a thoroughly ultraconservative Muslim these days—discounting her as a threa
t because she was female?

  Very belatedly, she commented, “I have no idea why he didn’t kill me.”

  “Has he ever contacted you since he and his family moved away?”

  She was aware of the intent looks all three men were giving her. A great deal rode on her answer to this question, apparently. If they didn’t believe her, she suspected all semblance of a pleasant debrief would evaporate instantly. She looked across the table at Brian and said as calmly and openly as she could, “No. I’ve never seen or heard from Freddie or anyone in his family since they moved away. We moved away from Virginia not long after they did. I doubt he’d know how to find me.”

  Brian studied her for a long time, obviously weighing her answer. Why was this so important to him? As long as he got the information he wanted about his terrorist from her, who cared if Freddie had left her alive by accident or otherwise? He was holding out on her. No doubt about it. There was something huge about this whole trip to California that he wasn’t telling her.

  She leaned forward and looked him square in the eye. “I’ve answered all your questions so far, and I’m prepared to keep doing so. But it’s time for a show of good faith from you. What aren’t you telling me? Why all the secrecy? What’s really going on here?”

  Scottie and Stoner both leaned back, crossing their arms and, for all the world, settling in to enjoy the show.

  Brian looked out the window at the night without. Exhaled heavily. Looked back at her. “Freddie Sollem isn’t just any terrorist. We think he’s the mastermind behind a global network of terrorists. I won’t spell out all the attacks we think he planned and engineered unless you want to hear about them, but take my word for it, the list is impressive. Your boy Freddie isn’t just smart. He’s brilliant. In our estimation, he’s one of the most dangerous men alive on the planet today.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  “His intelligence extends to his personal security. He’s highly disciplined and doesn’t make mistakes. We’ve had round-the-clock satellite and ground surveillance on this guy for months, and we haven’t gotten a single break. Not only have we had no chance to kill him, we’ve had no chance to even see him. We know where he is. But that’s all we’ve got.

  “And then we found out that you exist. For some unknown reason, Freddie either neglected to or chose not to kill you. I must emphasize, you’re the only person alive on this side of the war on terror who’s ever seen him and might be able to identify him today.”

  She just knew she wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “We were hoping you could look at this stack of pictures and immediately spot Sollem and make a positive ID on him. But you couldn’t. So that means we have to move on to Plan B.”

  “Which is?”

  Brian startled her by standing up. Pacing a lap around the open living room. Finally, he stopped and stared down at her, tall and imposing. Dang, he was good looking.

  “I’ve racked my brains to find the right way to break this to you. And I’ve come up empty.” He paused. He’d been fretting over this ever since he’d picked her up. What could wrap a man like him—a soldier, a commando, for goodness’ sake—so tightly around an axle?

  She spoke quietly. “I’ve sat in on client-attorney meetings for years. And in my experience, everyone feels better if they just blurt out what’s bothering them. Even axe murderers feel better once they’ve confessed. You’ve got me anticipating the very worst, so unless you hurt small children or torture puppies, I’m bound to be relieved when you finally just come out with it.”

  His troubled gaze met hers. The man clearly felt truly bad about whatever was coming next. Inexplicably, a wave of emotion swelled up within her. Maybe it was nothing more than misplaced attraction to him. Maybe it was appreciation for his finally being honest with her. Or maybe she was just a sucker for a big, strong man showing a vulnerable side. Compassion, forgiveness, flowed into her eyes, and his gaze widened fractionally in response. Gratitude flashed back in his stormy gray gaze. And then the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile. A private one from somewhere deep inside. And her heart melted a little.

  He nodded resolutely. “Okay, then. Here goes.”

  Chapter 4

  “The police do not have her, my Leader.”

  The man cringed as Fouad exploded in a spate of furious Arabic on the other end of the phone. His Leader’s tendency toward violence when he lost his temper was famous, and he quailed at this display of it directed at him.

  “Then find her! And kill her!”

  “It shall be as you decree.”

  “Just do it. Now!” Fouad roared.

  The man disconnected the call and took a nervous, reflexive look over his shoulder. If he didn’t find the Giovanni woman soon and eliminate her, he hadn’t the slightest doubt that more of Sollem’s men would come, but this time with him in their sights.

  He’d called his contacts in every police agency in the state of Utah, and not one of them had a thing on the Giovanni woman. She’d never even had a parking ticket; she certainly had never been arrested. So who had that tall man been? The one with the badge.

  If not a local or state law-enforcement agency, that left only Federal agencies.

  And it couldn’t be good if the woman who knew Sollem’s face had fallen into the hands of the United States government.

  He had to find her. Had to. Soon. He must protect one of the Cause’s greatest warriors. Plus, he really didn’t want to die. At least not without the glory of a martyr and the commensurate rewards to follow in Paradise.

  He sighed. His informants within the United States government were few and were hard to contact. The favors they owed were limited and must be cashed in sparingly. But if this was not a worthy cause, he didn’t know what was. He took a deep breath and dialed his phone.

  Brian took a deep breath. She was an extraordinary woman. And he hated to do this. “So here’s the thing. We can’t just go around killing people who might look like Freddie. When we do the deed, we have to be sure. Not only for moral reasons, but also because if we miss him, he’ll go so deep into hiding we’ll never get a shot at him again.”

  Sophie nodded.

  “We need someone to get close to Freddie. To positively identify him. To tell us which man is Sollem, without a shadow of a doubt.”

  Sophie’s big brown eyes widened in dawning horror. Yup, she saw it coming now. He forged on relentlessly.

  “We need you to find Freddie.”

  “And finger him for you?”

  He flinched at her choice of words, but nodded reluctantly.

  “Forgive me for my ignorance of things military, but won’t that be incredibly dangerous? Suicidal, even? You yourself said Freddie has already killed all the other kids who knew him well.”

  He met her frightened gaze head on. “You’re correct. However, we don’t intend to send you on this mission without a safety net. We have a plan.”

  “Which is?”

  Her voice sounded more than a little wobbly. It wasn’t often that some random woman going about her business got pulled off the street one afternoon and asked to risk her life for her country. He had to give her credit. She wasn’t falling apart completely. At least not yet.

  He said gently, “Promise me you won’t say no right away. Hear me out. And then think about it for a while before you give me your answer.”

  “You’re scaring me, Brian.”

  It was the first time she’d used his name. And the sound of it on her lips all but brought him to his knees. He couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. To a woman who knitted, kept a picture of her mother beside her bed, and smelled of peaches.

  “We’d like to train you. In covert operations. Special Forces procedures. Armed and unarmed combat. And then we’d like to send you inside the Sollem family compound to locate and mark Freddie for us.”

  “Mark?” Her voice was thin. Fragile. Hell, he didn’t blame her.

  “We’ll provide a nanoburr—a tiny microtra
nsmitter nearly invisible to the naked eye—for you to attach to his clothes. We’ll have receivers nearby to track the burr. Once you activate it our people will move in, acquire the target and take him out.”

  Sophie sat unnaturally still. Said nothing. An uncomprehending look blanked out all expression on her face. He flashed Stoner and Scottie a hand signal to retreat. The two men arose quietly and left the room without a word.

  And still she said nothing. The file he’d read on her said she was highly intelligent. That she was an orderly and logical thinker, capable of making intuitive leaps of logic. He could almost hear her mind working its way through the unspoken implications of what he’d just said. He sensed that she needed a little while to process the bomb he’d just dropped on her. He opted to retreat, too, and turned on silent feet to head for the deck.

  He leaned against the railing, staring out to sea and calling himself a dozen kinds of bastard for several minutes. The door behind him slid open. He felt her join him at the railing.

  “Go for a walk with me?” she asked quietly.

  “Sure.”

  They paused at the base of the bleached wood steps to kick off their shoes. The sand was cold and damp between his toes. It sent a quick chill through his normally oblivious body. He followed Sophie down to the water’s edge. The tide was all the way out and she crossed the wide stretch of flat, hard sand to dip a foot in the water. She jerked it back fast and he smiled reluctantly.

  “Welcome to the Pacific Ocean. It’s that cold year-round.”

  “And people swim in this?” she exclaimed.

  He grinned. “If you want me to take you down to the BUDs training facility in the morning, you can see a whole bunch of guys jump in at five o’clock.”

  She shook her head and took off walking—beyond the reach of the shallow sheet of surf rolling up on the sand. He caught up to her and fell in beside her. They strolled in silence for a couple of minutes.

  Then she asked, “Am I correct that you said you’re a Ranger?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re commandos or something, aren’t they?”