Striking Distance. Debra WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 5

      Tasha North tossed her bag into her car and yanked off the confining double-breasted suit coat that had felt like a straitjacket all day. This stuffy attire was just one more thing she hated about her new job. She flung the inside-out garment into the back seat and dropped behind the wheel of her Volkswagen Beetle. She breathed a sigh of pure, unadulterated relief. Whenever she settled into the white leather seat of her little yellow Bug she felt normal...almost.

      Jerking the pins loose from her hair, she shook the blond shoulder-length mass free and pushed her sunglasses into place. She cranked and revved the engine. Thank God it was Friday. She couldn’t wait to get out of here.

      Tires squealing she rocketed out of her designated parking slot and zoomed toward the exit of the mammoth parking garage. At the security checkpoint she slowed for the guard to ID her, gave him a big, friendly smile, which he returned sheepishly, and then proceeded forward.

      Once off Langley property she floored the accelerator and headed home.

      Frustration pounded in her brain. She hadn’t joined the elite CIA to sit behind a desk. All day long she did the same thing: reviewed intelligence reports, looking for tidbits others had missed. Oh, she’d found an item here and there, especially the past couple of days. But that wasn’t how she’d seen herself fitting into the agency she’d been in awe of all these years. At any rate, when she’d graduated from training, her superiors had insisted that her battery of assessment tests had determined that this was the best assignment for optimum use of her skills.

      In her opinion that was a load of crap.

      So what if she had a near-photographic memory and felt like cyberspace was her second home or that she could hack into the Pentagon’s computer system as easily as checking her e-mail? Would they never forget that little incident?

      She rolled her eyes as she merged onto the expressway. She’d only done it once. Good grief, she’d been seventeen. Kids did stupid stuff like that. She was more sensible now, played by the rules, thought before she acted... Well, most of the time, anyway.

      But at seventeen she’d been impetuous. Still, once the hoopla had settled down, especially the part about no charges being filed, and her parents had stopped having cardiac episodes, she’d actually gotten a little excited about having stepped knee-deep in national security shit. A CIA recruiter had come to see her at high school. It had all been very secretive. Her first covert briefing. He’d told her how impressed he was with her skill and how he’d personally kept her out of trouble. Had said that he’d be watching as she moved through her college career. Then, with a mysterious “I’ll be in touch,” he’d disappeared just like the spy she dreamed of being. And just as he’d promised, on graduation day he’d shown up at the university to recruit her.

      And what had they done?

      They’d stuck her behind a metal desk reading boring reports all day every day.

      Oh, the training program had been great. She’d loved it, kicked ass and taken names, coming out top in her class.

      Those intensive weeks had been exhilarating...had felt like the CIA she’d dreamed of joining.

      This—she glared at the skirt and low-heeled pumps she wore—was not. She looked just like her mother for heaven’s sake.

      Tasha took a breath. Okay, okay. She knew the deal. Paying her dues wasn’t the end of the world. Impatience had always been her most glaring flaw. She was almost twenty-three. It was past time she’d learned how to take the waiting in stride.

      “Grow up, Tasha,” she grumbled. “You have to earn your way in the real world.” How many times had her father told her that theatrics didn’t pay off? “Patience is a virtue,” he’d say at least once a day while she was growing up. Be that as it may, in high school she’d gotten noticed by proving she could do what no one else could—like cracking the Pentagon’s cyber security.

      Another sigh heaved from her chest. This wasn’t high school. Being slick and cagey and, as bad as she hated to admit it, irreverently arrogant wasn’t going to put her at the top of the food chain when her superiors, those rating her ability, were all replicas of her dear old dad. She had to be patient. Had to prove her worth behind a desk before she graduated to field operations. Hadn’t she learned a good deal about the human psyche in college? A degree in psychology taught her one thing if nothing else—meet the expectations of the humans in charge and life was much easier.

      She could do it. Five days a week, eight hours a day, for a while longer. Her time would come...eventually. All she had to do was play it cool and bide her time. She reached to turn up the volume on the CD player just as the sound of her cell phone ringing drew her hand in another direction. Groping around in her bag she fished out the phone and flipped it open.

      “North.”

      “Tasha, this is Martin.”

      Her respiration came to a screeching halt before accelerating into double duty. Her recruiter. A major player amid the powers-that-be at the Agency. Could this be the call she’d hoped for? “Martin, how’s it going?” she asked when she had reclaimed her voice, then moistened her lips in nervous anticipation. Why would he be calling now? She hadn’t heard from him for nearly three months...not since surviving training...and being shackled to that damned desk. She’d all but given up.

      “We have to talk. Can you meet me right now?”

      A frown worried her brow as she considered the urgency in his tone. What was up with that? “Sure. Where?”

      “Take the next exit. There’s a gas station on the right once you’ve cleared the overpass. I’ll be waiting.”

      Her frown deepening, she closed her phone and tossed it in the general vicinity of her bag.

      What the hell was going on?

      She slowed for the upcoming exit ramp and took it as instructed.

      But...she glanced at the discarded phone, then back at the expressway she’d veered from...how did he know where she was?

      Tracking device. She’d heard rumors that all new agents were injected with the latest technology. A device so small that it could be installed with nothing more than a subcutaneous pin prick. With all the immunizations required in training, she could have been injected with anything and not known the difference.

      She shrugged it off. Just part of the business. If they wanted to keep tabs on her comings and goings she didn’t mind. Anything for the job.

      She stopped at the end of the exit ramp, then made a sharp left.

      The highway that cut beneath the overpass was one of those takes-you-nowhere kind that sprawled off into the woods in either direction. To her surprise there was a gas station up ahead. It looked deserted. As she eased into the parking lot her assumption was confirmed. Not simply closed but out of business.

      On the far side of the lot Martin waited, leaning against his shiny black Jaguar. Smiling in spite of the buzz of warning going off in her head, Tasha pulled up next to him and climbed out. This was Martin. The man who’d held the door to the CIA open for her. He’d assured her that he had his eye on her and would see that her future turned out the right way.

      Maybe he had news along those lines for her now. A jolt of irritation shot through her. He’d better have good news. She was sick of all talk and no action.

      “I’m glad you came,” he said as he removed his dark glasses. “We need to talk.”

      She nodded, slipped off her eyewear and tossed the designer sunglasses onto the dash of her car. He was right. They did need to talk. If he didn’t have an offer for her now, he’d better get things in motion. She’d had about all the nine-to-five grind she could tolerate. Moving closer, she propped a hip on the rear quarter