Show No Fear Read Free

HUMINT, a sector of the military specially trained to support the CIA.
    “Hello, James,” she greeted him, managing to sound indifferent as she went to push the right button and found it already lit.
    “Lucy,” he said, looking stunned, a little perplexed. His brandy-colored eyes slid from her glossy ponytail to her high heels.
     “How are you?” he asked, his gaze centering on the tiny scar on her forehead.
    She could tell he was picturing her as he’d last seen her, with a river of blood bisecting her face. “Good,” she insisted,
     irritated by his frankly protective look. Hell, she wasn’t made of porcelain.
    The elevator rose almost imperceptibly, leaving her no choice but to breach the awkward chasm between them. As with their
     last encounter, this grown-up James threw her off-kilter. He’d had plans to become an architect. Yet even in a gray suit and
     white-collared dress shirt, he looked like an advertisement for the U.S. Special Forces. It hadn’t just been the greasepaint
     that had made him look forbidding. Dressed as a civilian, he looked lean and powerful and downright dangerous to mess with.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t get to thank you,” she began, having to clear her throat first. “I was flown off the carrier before I
     got the chance—”
    “You’re welcome,” he said, cutting her off. His gaze jumped to the buttons lighting up over the door, an indication that either
     he wasn’t interested in hearing her excuses or he didn’t require her thanks.
    Okay.
Lucy squared her shoulders and looked away. This encounter had the feel of an awkward morning-after situation, only they
     definitely hadn’t had sex the last time they’d been together. Too bad.
    “What happened to becoming an architect?” She just had to ask him.
    The gaze that swung her way reflected a stark emptiness. “Nine-eleven,” he answered flatly. “My father died in one of the
     twin towers.”
    Lucy’s stomach fell to her feet. Oh, no. His father had been the lead architect working for a banking firm. He and James had
     been as close as father and son could be. No doubt James had fed on that bond to motivate him through the toughest military
     training conceivable. She’d known he was smart enough. Devotion to his father’s memory must have given him the mental toughness.
     “I’m so sorry,” she murmured sincerely.
    With a nod, he looked away. The elevator slowed and the doors slid open.
    With too much to think about, Lucy stepped out before him, heading down the hall toward the designated meeting room. She sensed
     rather than heard James following right behind her, his footfalls silent on the sturdy carpet.
    As she reached the meeting room, curiosity prompted her to glance back.
    “We must be headed to the same meeting,” he observed, coming to stand beside her.
    Concealing her surprise and studying James from the corner of her eye, she gave a swift knock on the door. Why would they
     be summoned to the same meeting? Was this about the warehouse incident, or would they be working together on something new?
    “Come!” boomed the familiar voice of SIS Gordon Banks, Lucy’s supervisor. “Ah, good, you’re both on time,” said the black
     man, glancing at his watch as they stepped inside. “Close the door, would you, Lieutenant?”
    Two men stood with Gordon, the trio backdropped by the dazzling architecture of the UN Plaza visible through the floor-to-ceiling
     windows. Gordon’s companions were middle-aged, one stocky and bald, the other slim and dark.
    “Lucy, Gus, thanks for coming. This is our Colombian branch chief, Louis Stokes,” Gordon said, introducing the balding man
     first. “Louis, Lucy Donovan.”
    Stokes pumped her hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard stories about you,” he warned.
    “All lies,” she assured him, her heartbeat accelerating at the mention of Colombia, so close to Venezuela and the memories
     of violence that clamored within the locked box in her mind.
    Gordon