Snowbound With The Secret Agent (Silver Valley P.D. Book 7) Page 15

  * * *

  She watched through the hole she’d rubbed out of the condensation on the diner window as the Silver Valley Police car pulled up and around the diner parking lot, saw it park next to the truck she’d noticed was often in the same spot. One thing none of them expected was that she’d take a job as a waitress, which allowed her to piece together who was who in this simple American town.

  The man she’d fought with, thought about killing in the courtyard behind the homeless place, was in the truck. She was certain it was him—he’d come in here for coffee one time when she was on shift. She always took the night shift, as her real job required her to do all ROC duties in full daylight. She was the best at undercover work and they needed her where their other people couldn’t operate. So the night, the darkness, was left to the amateurs, as far as she was concerned.

  It was an amateur who’d not received the information she’d left in the library, not like he was supposed to. So it sat for another day, until tomorrow, when she’d have to make certain it was picked up. Otherwise Ivanov would have her head on the chopping block. Ivanov didn’t like it when anyone screwed up, and this was a costly operation. She’d heard him tell his number two, a new man, since too many others had been either killed or incarcerated, that the sales from the heroin would take ROC to an operating value worth more than many governments.

  It didn’t matter to her, once this mission was complete. She’d have her new identity, and begin a new life somewhere else, far from this.

  As the police officer and other man spoke inside the truck, she couldn’t see their lips, couldn’t begin to guess what it was about. But she knew the man was at least an undercover cop. Based on his hand-to-hand combat skills, he was former military or FBI, probably both. No matter. All she wanted from him now was to get to the librarian. He had personal interest in the woman or he wouldn’t have worked so hard to keep Ludmila from her.

  “Melissa, can you take care of table three?” Bob, her clueless night manager, addressed her by the pseudonym she’d carefully generated.

  “Sure thing, boss.” She prided herself on her faultless American accent, the red wig she wore, the way she walked just like the locals did. Without the constant sense of being followed that most Russians lived with each day. It was something she always lived with, because she knew ROC would cut her from the payroll the minute she was no longer needed. She wouldn’t just lose a paycheck, though, but her life. Once an ROC operative, always ROC. There was no such thing as quitting or leaving the group. Which was why she’d planned her disappearance so thoroughly.

  Kyle and Josh sat at the Formica-topped dinette and bantered about the storm as the waitress approached. It was never smart to talk business anywhere but SVPD or TH headquarters, as they didn’t know who could be listening.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” The redhead’s eyes didn’t meet his and Kyle figured she wanted to be home for the storm, not taking care of a cop and his buddy in the midst of it.

  “I’ll have a coffee, black.” He’d be up most of the night anyway, sorting through the data he’d downloaded onto his portable laptop in the truck.

  “Same.” Josh waited for the waitress to be out of earshot. “I’ll get the stick to TH tomorrow for analysis. From what you just downloaded, it seems to me it’s a normal old USB stick, though.” Josh had encouraged Kyle to download whatever was on it.

  “I don’t think it’s anything but a digital storage device, Josh. Which makes me want to put it back on the shelf. We’ll catch the handoff.”

  “True.” Josh sat back to give the waitress room to place his coffee cup. He watched her as she walked away. “I don’t recognize her. Do you? Not that I know every server in here, but most at least look familiar.”

  “No. And yes, I’m thinking what you’re thinking, but unless she’s slapped a bug under the table, she can’t hear us.”

  They both laughed. Kyle knew that as a mission drew to its successful end, tensions made it easy to be paranoid.

  “The ROC operatives around here have gotten more sophisticated, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t put it past them to have spotters in this diner, the coffeehouse down the road, maybe even the library.” Josh’s concern echoed Kyle’s thoughts.

  “They most likely do, but not in the library. There haven’t been any new hires there in six months, and they began this particular branch of business only in the last two.”

  Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts.

  “How long do you think it’ll take you to figure out what’s going on with the data?” Josh’s voice was quiet, concern in his tone.

  “I’ll figure it out pretty quickly. Many of the ROC thugs use different idioms, but I’ve had training in most. Fortunately, they’re not usually big on making their directives complicated.”

  “But they don’t usually go to such extremes with their communications, either.”

  “True.” Kyle finished his coffee. “I’ve got an information technology expert on hand, though. She’ll see whatever I miss.”

  Josh slammed his cup down. “Portia’s not law enforcement of any kind, Kyle.”

  “I hear you. But the information isn’t classified on its own, you know. And if she can make it go faster, why not?”

  Josh’s face brightened. “One thing Portia enjoys is helping out. From what Annie’s been telling me, Portia’s bored to tears out there.”

  “She seems to keep herself busy, though. She’s still planning the gala.” He noticed the waitress heading back to pour refills. Had she heard him say anything?

  They continued their conversation after she walked away.

  “Do you think she’ll be able to attend it?”

  “I’ll make sure of it.” He hadn’t realized it until he’d said it aloud, but he was in fact going to get Portia to that gala if he had to take her himself. He’d worry about it looking too much like a date later.

  * * *

  Portia had never spent so much time without contact with other human beings in her life. And the one person she had access to, Kyle, was the very man she needed to protect herself from.

  Sometimes life just wasn’t fair. She walked around the house and checked every egress point as Kyle had shown her, making sure the doors and windows were secure. There was no telling when he’d be back, and she needed to get some rest. She had one week until the gala and just as much work to accomplish. It was easier when she was at the library, as she could see at a glance who’d dropped off auction items as they came in. As it was, she had to rely on her staff to email her, and since the gala was a charity event, it didn’t trump daily operations. The extra cold winter had a booming effect on library patronage, as reading and watching DVDs were two cold-weather favorites.

  As she checked the fasteners on a stair-landing window, she saw headlights approach down the long drive. Fear snuck around her carefully constructed serenity, reminded her that she’d almost died not only on the train tracks but had been targeted by the ROC woman at one of her safest places—the homeless shelter.

  Please let it be Kyle. She repeated the mantra, not stopping until she recognized his shape as he got out of the same truck he’d driven her back here in. Relief was short-lived, however, as she watched through the curtain of wind-driven snow and saw him open his back door and pull out several objects. She prayed it was the snow, but the shape of one of them was undeniable.

  Why had Kyle brought weapons to the house? She knew he carried a pistol, expected him to always have it on his person. He was law enforcement; it was part of his job. But if what she watched him carry toward the house were indeed a rifle and possibly other firearms, what did he expect to do with them?

  She ran down the stairs to the front door and threw it open just as she heard the scratch of his key.

  Kyle’s face was lit by the foyer light that spilled from behind her. His expression barely
registered surprise but she did note something more welcoming—pleasure?

  “Here.” He didn’t greet her except to shove one of the objects at her, which she accepted. Her hands closed around a long barrel, confirming her suspicions.

  “What are you doing, bringing these guns out here?” She had to shout over the roar of the wind. How he’d made it back from town safely was beyond her.

  “Get in the house.” He didn’t have to shout—his voice sliced through the high pitch of the wind with little effort. And wrapped around her a little too tightly.

  “I don’t take orders from you, Kyle.” Still, she backed up so that he could come in. He stomped his snow-covered boots on the front porch, and then again after he’d shut the door behind him, locking it with purpose. When he turned to face her, he shoved his hood back and took off his ski cap. His eyes found hers and he waited to make sure he had her attention. As if she’d ever be able to ignore him.

  “I meant to tell you about these earlier. We’re up against a cold-blooded assassin here. She won’t hesitate to kill you. You don’t have to like having weapons in the house, but right now we don’t have a choice.”

  Portia’s throat constricted against the retort she’d planned to hurl at him, to remind him that she was here willingly but her cooperation stopped short of housing an arsenal of killing machines. Unbidden tears flooded her vision and when she blinked, huge drops fell and ran down her cheeks.

  “When you put it like that...” She gulped, steeled her spine. “I’ve never fired a gun before, but I’m sure you can show me how.”

  Her stomach sank at the prospect but she was determined to help where she could. If keeping herself safe helped Kyle spend more time on his work, and hastened the capture of ROC’s major players, then so be it.

  * * *

  Kyle watched as her conflict played out in her expression. He fought his hands as they itched to drop the weapons and wipe away Portia’s tears. To kiss her until she forgot her life was at risk.

  But that wasn’t what a good protector did. And he was her protector, even if it was a self-assignment.

  “Let me get my coat off, and then we’ll go through this. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

  “I did, too, but the wind is louder than I’ve ever heard it. And I’ve lived—”

  “Here your entire life. I know.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’ve told me, and it’s one of your many admirable traits.” He hung his parka on the hooks just inside the door.

  “Why is that?”

  “You could have gone anywhere in the world, still could, but you brought your talents back to Silver Valley after you graduated.”

  Doubt clouded her eyes. “I keep forgetting that you know everything about me.”

  “Not everything, just the highlights of your resume. And maybe a little more.” Like her birthday, the fact she’d dated a dirtbag politician last year and, much to his great gratitude, dropped the dude when she’d discovered he was a wanderer.

  They walked to the kitchen, where he made use of the oversize island and nodded for her to set down the rifle, while he laid down two handguns, his backpack and his personal .45.

  “None of these have any ammunition in them yet, that’s in my backpack, but I’m going to show you how to check to make sure the chambers are clear and how to use each one. We’ll do it in the morning, when you’re most alert.”

  “Fair enough.” He loved the steel in her voice. Portia was courageous if nothing else, and she was a lot else. In fact, she could easily become everything to the right man.

  It can’t be you.

  “I’m going to stay up for a while, going through some evidence. I can work in the basement rec area if you need me to.”

  “Not at all. I don’t hear much in my room, unless I walk out onto the balcony, and there won’t be any of that tonight.”

  At the mention of the private deck, his jaw tightened. There weren’t any stairs attached, and it was two stories up from the ground that sloped away, as the house was built halfway up a mountain. But still, someone trained in rock climbing or rappelling, or a highly trained burglar, could use it as an entrance point. He mentally saw how he’d do it, with the right equipment. How he’d scale the house wall with the aid of a rope he’d fasten to the deck with one carefully aimed throw. But instead of himself, he saw Ludmila Markova, her profile.

  And his insides froze.

  “Kyle, what’s wrong?”

  “Son of a bitch.” Quickly he told Portia about the waitress at the diner. “I thought something was unusual about her, but she didn’t have an accent and she was in a perfect disguise. But the profile—I know it was her.”

  “Can I know her name?”

  He looked at her, weighed the risks. “Ludmila Markova is the name I have, who she was when she immigrated to the US almost three years ago. She’s been working for ROC ever since, under many aliases.” So many that he couldn’t be certain of all the intelligence TH had on her. Random reports could mean something but could also be throwaway, useless information that was meant to distract American law enforcement.

  “Ludmila Markova.” Portia leaned her hip on the island. “She sounds like a Russian spy.”

  “As she was trained to be, most likely. But she’s here now, and our problem until we figure out what she’s protecting.” He pulled his laptop from his backpack. “I have hundreds of pages of spreadsheets loaded on my computer that I’m going to spend the night looking at.”

  “I’d love to help if you’d like. I don’t see myself being able to sleep through this.” At that instant a huge gust hit the house and he felt the shudders vibrate through the hardwood floor under his stockinged feet.

  Portia’s eyes widened. “That had to be a seventy-mile-an-hour gust, at least, to make this big place feel it.”

  Kyle agreed. The house was the best money could build and he wouldn’t have expected it to feel the effects of the storm at all.

  As they stood in the kitchen, gazes locked, he felt the heat he’d been fighting return as strongly as the raging snowstorm. Portia felt it, too, and as he wavered between leaning in and kissing her or running down to the basement to keep them both safe from whatever it was that they shared, the lights flickered. Once, twice and then they were plunged into total darkness.

  “Kyle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please tell me a house this fancy has a generator somewhere.”

  Chapter 14

  Kyle used the flashlight he kept in his backpack to find and start up the generator, located along one side of the sprawling house. Portia was relieved to know she’d still have access to Wi-Fi and her library system. Although if the rest of Silver Valley lost power, it was a moot point. The library had a generator but it was minimal, existing only to keep the emergency lights on. The computers and server that were the gateway to her work wouldn’t be available.

  “I have an extra battery charger in my room. I keep it in my bag. It has enough power to restart a dead car battery,” she said as she scoured the columns of the spreadsheets on Kyle’s laptop. “We don’t have to worry about how long this takes.”

  They sat next to one another at the dining room table, she wrapped in a down throw and he in sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal shirt, with a flannel shirt as an added layer. The house generator could handle the heating system but not at the constant rate needed to keep up with the plummeting temperatures.

  “I’m sure we’ll need it. It’s going to take days to get through this information.” She heard the despair in his voice.

  “To summarize, you think that there’s a heroin shipment inbound and it’s going to be collected here, in Silver Valley?”

  “Yes. We know it’s inbound but we’re not sure when or how. In the past, ROC has used shipping containers, mostly those on long-haul trucks instead of trains. They like t
o hide the drugs in with random goods being shipped here on a regular basis. Then they take out the truck driver and get the illicit drugs. We’ve found traces in everything from major appliance to kitty litter shipments.”

  “Okay. So we need to take a look at these spreadsheets and keep the big picture in mind. Figure out the commonalities, and if we can find a delivery timetable.”

  “Portia.”

  She looked up from his laptop. His eyes were on her, his expression soft. “What?”

  “I did run it by Claudia to make sure I have the okay for you to see this information. But it isn’t your job, babe. I’ve got it.”

  “Apparently you don’t ‘have’ it, or you wouldn’t look like you’re about to pull your hair out.” She ran her fingers through his hair and gave him a sound kiss on the lips, surprising herself with how easy it was to partner with this man. “And you have lovely hair, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

  “It was insane to think you could ever do this on your own, Kyle. You’re looking for a needle in a haystack, you know.” Portia spoke as if she were an expert at intelligence analysis, and Kyle’s deadpan expression made her giggle.

  “Um, yeah. That’s why I got permission from Claudia to have you help me with this.”

  “At least the snowstorm will keep the trains from running, so that buys you some time, right?”

  He nodded, his face taut with concentration in the light of the laptop screen.

  “Wait—what did you say about a train?” His five o’clock shadow had turned into two-in-the-morning sexy scruff and she longed to touch it. To lick it. Portia blinked, and not just to keep the spreadsheets from blurring. She leaned back from the display, put some inches between her and Kyle.

  “You’re looking at the products carried on trains that pass through central Pennsylvania, and thus Silver Valley.”

  “How do you know this, from just looking at these spreadsheets?” His skepticism was punctuated by fatigue.