Bridal Armour. Debra & Regan Webb & BlackЧитать онлайн книгу.
One
Denver International Airport,
Thursday, October 16, 3:21 p.m.
“I don’t know how the pilot managed, but we landed safely.” Thomas Casey relaxed his grip on his cell phone and drew in his first deep breath since the pilot had announced a sudden winter storm had hit Denver only minutes before their scheduled landing. The storm had descended rapidly and with the same ferocity as the Bronco Blizzard from another mid-October day a few decades ago.
According to the weather update Thomas had caught on a local newscast since his flight arrived, the forecast called for at least a foot of snow in the coming twenty-four hours. The temperature had dropped dramatically in the past hour, icing the streets of the city and threatening to shut down every form of transportation.
“Any chance you’re getting out of there this afternoon?” Lucas Camp, Thomas’s longtime friend and colleague, asked, hope in his tone.
As soon as he’d gotten off that damned plane, Thomas had put through a call to Lucas. His old friend and his wife, Victoria Colby-Camp, were already ensconced in the small village resort where the wedding would take place.
Despite being a twenty-year veteran of black ops, Thomas felt his knees weaken just a little. He’d never been married nor had children of his own. Casey Manning, his niece, was like a daughter to him. When she’d asked him to give her away at her wedding, he’d choked up so damned bad he could scarcely cough out an answer. Casey was his sister, Cecelia’s, only child. Cecelia’s husband had passed away suddenly just a year ago. Standing in was the least Thomas could do.
If he could get out of this damned airport.
“It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a little snow to keep me away from that wedding,” Thomas promised. “You tell my niece I’ll be there.”
The village was only two hours from Denver, half the distance from here to Aspen. He’d crawled across deserts in the Middle East and scaled mountains in the dead of winter in Eastern Europe. How hard could it be to manage a hundred or so snow-covered miles in Colorado?
“The rehearsal dinner isn’t until tomorrow night,” Lucas reminded him. “Tonight’s reception is just a casual affair. Stay in the city until morning if the roads are too hazardous for safe travel.”
Thomas grinned. “I think you’re getting soft, Lucas.” The next thing he’d be telling Thomas was to be sure to wear his seat belt—which he did anyway. “Ordinarily you’d be suggesting I find myself a pair of cross-country skis and hoof it on over to your location.”
A belly laugh boomed across the connection. “I can see you’ve never been a member of a wedding party, old friend. Once wedding plans are in place, God help the unfortunate soul who throws a wrench in the works. The sweetest young woman will become bridezilla in a heartbeat. I’m not worried about you, Thomas. It’s those of us already here with the bride-to-be who have to worry.”
“I’ll be there, Lucas.” Thomas ended the call and tucked his cell into his pocket. He picked up his carry-on and followed the signs to the lower level and ground transportation.
* * *
JOHARA DEROSSI’S HEART was still lodged in her throat. The way the storm had dropped on the city, she’d been convinced Thomas Casey’s plane would ice up and tumble to the runway like a radio-controlled toy with no battery life. While that might have put a convenient end to her task here, it wasn’t at all how Thomas Casey should leave this world.
The enigmatic director of Mission Recovery owed his country an explanation—her, too, if she was being honest. But her questions were not the priority.
Having disguised herself as one of the many flight attendants from a nearby airline milling about deciding how and where to wait out the storm, she’d cloned his cell phone. Now, listening in on her target’s phone call, she silently thanked Lucas Camp for helping her cause. If the wedding party wasn’t expecting him to arrive until tomorrow, she had a head start.
As Thomas left the gate area for the lower levels, she trailed at a respectable distance, but kept him in sight. He couldn’t be crazy enough to try to pick up his rental car in this weather. She had to presume he’d call a hotel for availability and then pick up a ride on a courtesy shuttle.
It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to make it that far anyway.
What did matter was that her window of opportunity was closing fast, the already tight schedule accelerated by the storm. Good thing she thrived on pressure or she’d need serious medication about now.
As a member of the Initiative committee, the small group charged with the oversight of ultra-covert teams like Casey’s Mission Recovery Specialists, her life was rarely dull.
When his name had crossed her desk, along with the report listing the privileged information that had roused the suspicions against him, she had immediate and mixed reactions.
She didn’t want to believe it. Men weren’t built any more dedicated or patriotic than Thomas Casey. The idea that he may be guilty of treason—or worse—made her stomach churn. As an investigator, she knew better than to prejudge an operative or a situation, but Thomas was different. She didn’t want to go digging into his past, but more important, she didn’t want anyone else digging into it.
On some level she recognized just how screwed up that was.
Be that as it may, having served with him on a mission near the time period in question, she was eminently qualified. With that in mind, she’d checked his schedule and counted it good fortune that she would be able to deal with this away from the prying eyes in Washington, D.C.
She walked by him as Thomas paused near the rental car lines and pulled out his phone. Listening in again, she was pleased by his predictable behavior as he made his first call to a nearby hotel. Smart man, she thought, as he booked the room without blinking at the storm-inflated price. The hotel clerk promised the next shuttle would be at the appropriately marked stand within ten minutes.
Adjusting her timetable for the shuttle and the road conditions, Jo started for the parking garage. It took all her control not to skid to a stop when she spotted another familiar face among so many strangers.
Specialist Jason Grant, one of Thomas Casey’s rising stars, was coming down the escalator. Though his eyes were shadowed by dark glasses, she knew his gaze was sweeping the crowd.
Damn it. She’d checked the itineraries for all of Thomas’s team over the next week. Grant wasn’t slated to attend the wedding. According to her information, he should have been working recon on a new case in Vegas. With one conversation, he could ruin her plans for a clean capture. She had only seconds to head him off.
Well, that’s what plan B was for, she mused. Jo popped open one more button on her blouse and rushed back toward Thomas. “Excuse me, sir? Seat A2, right?”
His brow puckered and she knew he was trying to place her from the airplane. “I worked coach,” she explained. “But I spotted this in your seat on my way out.”
She flashed an overly bright smile and handed him a passport. “That’s you, right?”
He opened it and, startled, gazed up at her. “Who are you?”
“You know me,” she murmured, leaning closer. “Thomas.”
His eyes went wide as he recognized her voice under the disguise.
“I need you.” The words were out, full of more truth than she cared to admit regarding their past, present and quite possibly their immediate future.
He nodded once, all business, and fell in beside her as she headed toward an employee access. She refused to look back, though she could feel Grant closing in as the door locked behind them.
“This way.”
“Tell me what’s going on, Jo.”
She ignored the ripple