Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(30)
“That’s not going to happen.” He hoped.
She inched forward. “Just in case it does, you will buy my silence.”
Paying her one dime was tantamount to admitting he really did run this rogue program that no one knew about. He kicked back, purposely putting his shoes on the desk in a defiant act of swagger. “Going to see my old man, are you? Don’t forget to genuflect.”
She barely shrugged. “Well, you know his fascination with British intelligence. He’s become rather fond of our visits.” She gave a dry smile as if she knew how much it bothered him that she was invited to visit the elder Drummand, and not his own son. “He always asks about you. And I always tell him you’re doing the most important work at the agency.”
Fear, loathing, and disgust rolled around in his belly. He was doing nothing at the agency. What he was doing was far, far outside the auspices of the CIA, and it was very important work. Very important.
The fact that this bitch figured it out and threatened to expose the program made him want to kill her. But he didn’t dare. Instead, she’d get what she wanted, which, like any soulless person, was money.
“I honestly don’t have the amount you want.”
She lifted a brow. “Then get it.”
He swallowed hard. She had no weaknesses and a computer for a brain. A dangerous combination.
His gaze returned to the report on his desk. There was a good reason he kept track of Malcolm Harris. If that man decided to dig deep or go back to Cuba or have an in-depth conversation with his old pal Alana Cevallos, Roger’s world could crumble.
But there was money…and if anyone could access it, it would be Malcolm Harris.
“Mr. Drummand?” she prodded.
He puffed out a breath and pushed the report to her. “Maybe you could help.”
She looked disgusted. “That’s not generally how this works.”
“You want the money or not?” he shot back. “Find out where former agent Malcolm Harris is.”
Her eyes flickered. “The embezzler from Gitmo? The one that earned you a juicy promotion after you discovered what he was doing?”
“The same.” He gestured toward the report. “If you can find him for me, I might be able to get your money.”
She scanned the page. “Who’s the woman he was with before he disappeared?”
“Gabriel Rossi’s sister, who continued on to the resort where Rossi works now.”
She kept her eyes down, reading.
“You’ve heard of Rossi, right?” he asked. Lila may have come from MI6, but anyone who’d been around any international intelligence knew of Gabe Rossi, famed consultant and renowned bad boy highly regarded among the female agents.
She shook her head, already on the third page of the report. Speed-reader, of course. “Name means nothing to me, but I know about Mal Harris. Looks like he’s quite adept at making himself unfollowable after his little tryst at the airport hotel.”
“I had good people on him, too.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself to this little blackmailer. “My agent pulled some slick shit to get into the hotel room while Mal hung out in the lobby with the woman. I have good people.”
“Not that good.” She flipped the page. “They lost him.”
“But not the girl, and the girl leads to her brother, and her brother…”
She lifted her gaze. “Her brother what?”
“Is a pain in the ass.”
The faintest flicker of what might be humor hidden deep in the heart of a hardened woman passed over her expression. “Sure. I’ll go to a lush resort on your dime, Roger. I’ll see what I can find out.” She leaned forward and speared him with a look. “And I’ll be back in time to meet with your daddy. He’s still big and strong, but that ninety-year-old heart might not endure a shock like finding out his son made the front page of The New York Times for his role in placing terrorists in our country and calling it a CIA program.”
Nausea threatened. “You have no proof of that.”
She closed the file. “You sure would blacken the Drummand name.”
It was a bluff, wasn’t it? Sweat stung under his armpits. How the hell had he gotten into this situation, and how was he going to get out? Mal…and the money.
She stood. “I’ll call you from the beach.”
Relief at the reprieve seeped through him. “Watch your step around Rossi,” he warned, trying to sound much cooler than he felt. “He can smell an agent from a mile away.”
Her mouth tipped up, as if the challenge turned her on. “He won’t smell me.”
* * *
Chessie rolled away, but Gabe kept Mal pinned to the ground. “I heard you,” Gabe ground out the words through clenched teeth.
“Get off me!” Mal shoved hard, forcing Gabe to vault to his feet.
“You need to tell me and tell me now what the f*ck is going on.” Gabe turned his gaze—his awfully damned dry-eyed gaze—to Chessie, who scooted back more from the force of his look than any real fear.
“We were…working out the details of our cover story,” she said.
Gabe pierced her with a look of distrust she’d known her whole life. For all his bravado and jokes and bad words and big heart, her brother didn’t trust anyone. And for good reason, in this case.