Medusa’s Master Page 8

She shared an overlong handshake with the eager detective, then turned to leave. She spoke to Jeff in approximately the same tone she might use to address a Great Dane. “Come along, Mr. Steiger. I need a decent cup of tea before I retire. I sincerely hope I can get one on this island.”

  “Along with a rousing game of cricket and some kippers,” Jeff grumbled under his breath in a fake British accent.

  She bit back a smile as she sailed out of the police headquarters. The car had pulled away from the curb before Jeff burst out, “Lloyd’s? What if D’Abeau checks your credentials with them?”

  Not going to say anything direct to her about flirting with the detective, was he? Smart man—he must realize she would call him on the little game he’d played with the woman back in the evidence locker.

  “One cover story coming up.” She dialed H.O.T. Watch Ops on her cell phone. “Hey, Jenn, it’s Kat. I need you folks to patch a phone call through for me. Lloyd’s of London. I know it doesn’t open till nine London time, but they’ve got a twenty-four-hour number and they’ll connect me to the person I need.”

  The H.O.T. Watch staff found the number and put the call through impressively fast. In a few moments, a woman’s British-accented voice said briskly, “You’re speaking to Lloyd’s of London. How may I help you?”

  “I need to speak to Michael Somerset. Could you ring me through to his home number straight away? Tell him it’s Cobra. He’ll take the call.”

  To the operator’s credit, she didn’t make any comment on the strange request. A familiar, albeit sleepy, voice came on the line.

  “Cobra? What can I do for you at this lovely hour of night?”

  She laughed. “I need a cover. For the next few weeks, I need to be a contract investigator for Lloyd’s. Can you arrange that?”

  “Sure. The boys owe me a few favors after the mess I just helped them clean up.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Anything else I can help with? Do you need any information from Lloyd’s to assist in this investigation of yours?”

  “Now that you mention it, I could use a list of properties in Barbados. Private homes in particular with insurable art collections.”

  “I assume we’re talking about high-end pieces?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need it now, or can I roll over and take care of it first thing in the morning?”

  “Morning’s soon enough.”

  “Is Mamba with you?” he asked hopefully.

  Mamba was Medusa Aleesha Gautier’s field handle. She and Michael had met and fallen in love on a mission two years ago. “Alas, no. She’s still doing what she has been for the past several weeks.”

  “Got it.”

  As special operators, both of them were conditioned never to mention the specifics of any training or mission over a telephone line, secure or otherwise.

  “Thanks, Michael. You’re the best.” She disconnected and noticed Jeff glaring over at her. “What?”

  “Who in the hell is Michael Somerset?”

  Amusement flashed through her. My, my. Was Mr. We’ve-got-to-set-this-thing-between-us-aside jealous, perchance? Apparently, after her flirting with the detective, a middle-of-the-night phone call to another man to collect a major favor was too much for Jeff to swallow.

  Entertained, she shrugged. “I met Michael on a mission a couple of years back.”

  “And?”

  She blinked innocently. “And what?”

  He glared for a moment, but then, oddly, his features smoothed out. The jealousy drained from him as quickly as it had flared. “You wouldn’t be teasing me if you actually had a thing going with him.”

  He smiled over at her, a lopsided expression conveying chagrin. “Okay, so I deserved to have you yank my chain like that. For some inexplicable reason, I’ve developed a jealous streak as far as you’re concerned. And no, I don’t usually react this way around women. You’re an anomaly. Normally, I’m the soul of nonjealousy. But then, I don’t usually meet the woman I’m planning to marry, either. I plead the novelty of that event to explain my weird behavior.”

  He stopped babbling to shift lanes of traffic.

  “Are you done yet?” she asked, now truly amused.

  That earned her a baleful look.

  Chuckling, she took pity and let him off the hook. “Michael helped the Medusas stop a cruise-ship hijacking. It was a dicey mission we couldn’t have pulled off without him. He’s British Intelligence, and he happens to be finishing up an undercover op at Lloyd’s at the moment.” She paused. “He’s engaged to one of my teammates, if that makes you feel better.”

  Jeff digested that in silence for several minutes. Then he asked, “So how does it work when one of you ladies wants to get married?”

  “Well, the man usually decides to pop the question, then he buys a nice engagement ring, and he thinks up some romantic and creative way to ask the Medusa in question—”

  “Very funny. I’m talking about your careers.”

  She shrugged. “How do you guys get married and maintain your Special Forces careers?”

  He frowned. “It takes a special woman to marry an operator. She has to understand the long absences, the inability to talk about our work, the psychological and emotional residue of missions….”

  “It works the same for us. We have to find men with the same qualities. Plus, they have to be okay with being around women who are a wee bit athletic and trained to do violence.”

  “So I gather jokes about PMS and mood swings are not recommended around y’all?”

  She smiled. “Probably not at the time of the actual mood swing, no.”

  “Duly noted.” A pause. “What about kids?”

  “I’ll let you know. Our team leader is pregnant right now. She’s the first one of us to cross that bridge.”

  “Will she go back out in the field after the baby’s born?”

  “I don’t know. The best female marathon runners in the world claim they don’t reach their peak until after they’ve had a child. She should be able to make the physical comeback. I suppose it’ll boil down to whether or not she wants to leave her baby and go back out.”

  “What’s the military’s take on it?”

  “They’ll work with her. They don’t want to lose her.”

  Thankfully, the rather bizarre conversation broke off as they reached the hotel. Jeff took charge of checking them in. It was nice for a change to let someone else take the initiative and do the work. She was so used to being independent, a loner even, and to doing for herself that she almost forgot people occasionally interacted with, and even helped, each other. Her teammates aside, of course. They were family, and they all looked out for each other. It was the Medusa way.

  The folks at H.O.T. Watch had arranged for a two-bedroom suite in an elegant hotel and it was ready and waiting for them. Together, she and Jeff did a routine check of the suite for bugs and cameras, and it was clean. Not that she expected otherwise. They hadn’t been on the island long enough to attract that kind of attention.

  When they finished, Jeff asked, “Are you up for a little field trip?”

  “To the Valliard estate to figure out how the Ghost pulled off last night’s heist?”

  “Exactly. I thought we might indulge in a bit of breaking and entering.”

  She laughed up at his sparkling gaze. “How romantic. I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Hey, do I know how to sweep a girl off her feet or what for a second date?”

  Another date? Oh, boy. They both knew it couldn’t really be a date—not after their encounter in the helicopter—but even the mention of one sent her pulse racing. Meditation. She definitely needed some serious meditation. She hadn’t been this jumpy and emotional since she was a kid.

  She was a calm human being. Rational. In control.

  And one hundred percent in lust with Jeff Steiger.

  Besides kissing like a god, the man made her laugh, for crying out loud. How was she supposed to resist that?<
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  Chapter 8

  In preparation for their little field trip, Kat changed into a pair of black stretch leggings and a black turtleneck. She almost took a minute to put on a little makeup and brush her hair, until it occurred to her what she was contemplating. Disgusted with herself, she grabbed her utility belt and stuffed it into an oversize purse. Regardless of her determination not to regard this scouting mission as a date, she failed entirely to banish the thought from her mind.

  They drove south from Bridgetown to the exclusive, beachfront area where the Valliard estate was located. The mansion was not visible from the road, but shielded by a thick stand of bearded ficus trees and tropical foliage. Jeff parked the car well off the road. They did a quick radio check of their headsets and mouthpieces, and then climbed out.

  “I’ll take point,” he murmured.

  They made their way swiftly through the trees. Quick electromagnetic emission scans revealed no motion sensors or cameras. The estate’s security must all be concentrated up around the house. Jeff flashed her a hand signal to follow him as he made his way to the edge of the broad lawn surrounding a tall, ultramodern structure of glass and steel. Frankly, it looked like a giant, white shoebox—and was about as ugly as one.

  Jeff donned a nifty set of night-vision goggles that allowed him to see infrared light, heat and even look through the home’s walls. He commenced studying the estate.

  “What have you got?” Kat murmured.

  “Motion-sensing grid all over the lawn. A mouse couldn’t get through there. I’d lay odds there are pressure sensors to match.”

  She gazed at the concrete walk leading up to the wide porch and its three-story-high overhang. “Is the sidewalk clean?”

  Jeff studied it. “Yup. Just a sec.” He adjusted his lenses. “Rotating cameras are spaced at even intervals covering the walk.”

  Kat looked where he pointed, and was able to pick out the small, rotating cameras. “With the right timing, those should be easy enough to slip past.”

  “Agreed.”

  “What about the house itself?”

  Jeff studied the structure at some length. “I see all kinds of mechanical locks and energy sources inside the doors and windows. We’re talking museum-quality security.”

  Her gut said the Ghost had approached the house on the sidewalk. It was certainly what she would have done. No need to take the hard way in if the easy path was wide open. As for entrance to the house itself, if the windows and doors were impenetrable, what other means could the Ghost have used to get in? She eyed the industrial-homage building. It even boasted ugly commercial air-conditioning units on the roof.

  The roof. If she could get up there, she might find a way in from above. She eyed the trees on either side of the house. Too far away to jump from one to the roof. She eyed the house itself. The Ghost might have used suction cups to scale the walls, but the rough, stucco exterior would have made using them difficult and likely would have left circular scars on the stucco. Surely Detective D’Abeau was competent enough to have spotted something that obvious.

  Maybe the Ghost could’ve gone up one of the tall windows with the cups, but not all glass would hold an adult’s weight. It would be a big risk to scale those three-story-high glass panels. How, then?

  “I’ve got it,” she announced. “I think I can get in.”

  “How?”

  “Up the sidewalk, then up one of those porch columns. Across the roof to an air-conditioner vent and inside.”

  Jeff eyed the smooth concrete columns flanking the front of the house. “You couldn’t climb those without damaging them. They’ve got no hand- or footholds. And I don’t see anything at the edge of the roof that would catch and hold a grappling hook.”

  “I could climb one.”

  “Hey, I know you’re a monkey, but come on. Those things are six feet across. You’d get no purchase on it. Even with a lumberjack’s rig, you couldn’t get enough traction with your feet to do it.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. I’m telling you, I can do it.”

  “This I have to see.”

  He actually wanted her to try it? “You gonna come up on the roof with me and take a look around?”

  He murmured, “I’d never ditch a lady on a date.”

  While she gaped at him in surprise, he added, “If you can get up there without setting off the alarms, send a rope down. I’ll come up and play with you.”

  “Hold my gear.” She stripped down to only her basic climbing equipment to reduce weight, slung a rope and carabiners across her chest, then pulled out a small spray can.

  “What’s that?”

  “Stickum. Athletes use it—illegally, in most cases, I might add—to make their gloves or hands sticky. Helps them make the crucial catch in the big game. Since cricket’s a national obsession in Barbados and it involves catching balls, I assume this stuff’s available on the island.”

  “Wouldn’t it leave a residue on the column that the police could find?” Jeff asked.

  “The good stuff that the pros sneak onto their gear evaporates quickly. Leaves practically no residue. That’s how they get away with it.”

  Ready to leave, she paused and asked impishly, “Care to place a small wager? I say I can do it.”

  He grinned. “Winner gets to kiss the loser.”

  She laughed under her breath. No matter who won or lost, they’d get to kiss again. “You know we can’t do that. Once we start, we’ll never stop. How about loser pays for dinner?”

  “You’re on.” A pause, then he added, “Chicken.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I assume you’re announcing what you plan to eat, for surely you wouldn’t call me that.”

  He grinned mischievously at her and said deliberately, “You’re a chicken. Coward. Yellow belly. You’re scared to kiss me again.”

  “And you’re not scared to kiss me?”

  He shrugged. “I’m willing to take my chances. I think we can be lovers and still pull off the mission. But you—you’re scared of letting go. Of losing control. At the end of the day, you’re more scared than I am.”

  Her knee-jerk reaction was to retort that she wasn’t, but honesty stopped her. Was she that afraid to kiss him? What if she couldn’t stop the next time? Then what would she do? Then she’d be in a hell of pickle, that’s what. A pickle she had no intention of allowing herself to fall into, thank you very much.

  Without replying to his oh-so-accurate assessment, she took off running, skirting the edge of the lawn until she reached the sidewalk, where she crouched down. Spotting the cameras, she timed their rotation cycles and then did some quick math. In two minutes and ten seconds, they would align perfectly.

  She counted down on her watch, and as the first camera swung past her, she walked quickly along behind its arc. A quick dive onto her belly as the next camera swung her way, then she was up and walking again, behind its arc. She repeated the maneuver until she stood behind one of the massive porch columns.

  She pulled out a long rubber strap and passed it around the column. A quick spray of her shoes with the stickum, and she was on her way up the column. It was awkward clinging to the curving surface like a fly, but it was definitely doable. Pausing about halfway up to re-spray her shoes was tricky, but she managed.

  She lunged upward with one hand to grab the edge of the roof. In the other hand, she maintained her grip on the climbing strap. For a hazardous moment, she hung precariously by her right hand, three stories above the concrete porch below. But then she flung the climbing strap around her neck and reached up with her second hand. From there, it was a piece of cake. She threw a leg up and scrambled onto the flat roof.

  She ran lightly to the big air-conditioning unit, found a sturdy structural post, and attached her rope to it. Then it was back to the edge of the roof and lowering the rope until it hung a few feet above the ground. Jeff mimicked her progress up the sidewalk, then climbed the rope hand over hand quickly to join her. Dang, he’d made that look easy. Some
times she envied the men their incredible upper-body strength.

  “Now what, Spider-Woman?”

  “Over here.” She led him to a flat vent on the roof. “Does that caulk look fresh to you?”

  Jeff knelt down beside the grate, fingering the white gel oozing out around its cracks. “Yeah. It’s not entirely dry. Smells like a liquid adhesive.” He grinned up at her. “Shall we pry it up and see where it goes?”

  She grinned back. Who’d have guessed breaking and entering with him would be this much fun? “After you.”

  “I hate to say it, but you probably ought to go first. You’re so much smaller than I am; if you get stuck, we know I can’t make it through. And if you do get stuck, I’ll still be up here to haul you out.”

  “Your call, boss.”

  He pulled out a small crowbar and pried up the grate. The glue gave way with a moist, sucking sound. She lowered herself into the rectangular hole. After about four feet, the vertical ventilation shaft connected to a horizontal one of similar size. She eased along the low aluminum tunnel to another grate like the one above. This one showed fresh scratches in the galvanized aluminum around its screws. Yup. They’d found the Ghost’s entry point.

  She whispered into her microphone. “Come on down.”

  In a few seconds, Jeff touched her foot. “Is there room for me to slide up beside you and take a look below with my goggles before we go in?”

  Kat murmured an affirmative. It was only after he’d joined her in the now very tight space, their bodies pressed against each other, rib to rib, hip to hip, with breathtaking intimacy, that it occurred to her he could’ve just passed the goggles forward and let her take a look around. She ought to be annoyed at him, but strangely enough, she wasn’t. Such was the desperation of her craving to be near him like this. Oh, man, was she in trouble.

  As they banged elbows yet again, trying to maneuver in the close confines, he whispered, “Roll on your right side.”

  She complied, and was stunned when he rolled onto his left side, bringing them belly to belly, chest to chest. An errant urge to ravage him right there made her freeze in shock.