Exit Strategy. Kate Donovan

anti-Brigade op either way, and that was all she really wanted out of this—a chance to redeem herself. To prove her value to the company.

      If one more encounter with Ortega could get her that, then all she could say was, Bring it on.

      Chapter 3

      O rtega had chosen a perfect location for his self-imposed exile. A twisty mountain road provided the only access to the parcel, which was surrounded by jagged outcroppings and steep terrain that would discourage even the most adventurous hikers. According to the file, Ortega had installed some sort of monitoring system to alert him when a vehicle approached, which Miranda guessed didn’t happen very often, and never by mistake. It was simply too inhospitable a drive for anyone to undertake without a very, very good reason.

      By the time she was within a thousand yards of the place, she knew he knew she was coming. He would be prepared. And luckily, so was she, mostly because of the eight-month stint she had served on the Farm—the CIA’s training facility that doubled as an ongoing societal experiment. During Miranda’s stay, she had been inserted into a hostile society with disorienting customs. Surrounded by people she couldn’t trust, in an atmosphere of duplicity and challenge, she had honed the skills needed to thrive in such an environment.

      She had done well. Now she was headed for another such experience, and she had no doubt she’d survive again. The prospect of seeing Ortega, while distasteful, was overshadowed by the excitement she felt over the anti-Brigade operation. She knew that if she focused on the goal, and didn’t get distracted by the alibi disaster and its accompanying humiliation, she’d do fine. And if he tried to manipulate her in any way, well, he’d be surprised. Because thanks to him, she had had a full year of developing her own manipulative skills!

      Not that she really thought he’d try anything. A close reading of the file suggested he really did want to be alone, which meant that the worst he’d do would be order her off his property, as he’d done to every other person who had tried to visit him.

      If that happened, Miranda could go back to SPIN and report that she had done her best. She had no doubt that McGregor would keep his word. And thanks to a late night phone call she had gotten from Kristie Hennessy, she knew the spinner would accept the truth and move on, too. In fact, Kristie had almost tried to talk Miranda out of going to Ortega after all, belatedly noting what all the rest of them had been trying to tell her: that she “might have” miscalculated, and “maybe Ray won’t be as receptive to this visit” as she had hoped.

      As the cabin came into view, Miranda was able to confirm the spinner’s prediction firsthand. Ortega was standing in the gravel driveway, his hands on his hips, his expression murderous. And despite all of her preparation, she felt a twinge of intimidation, not only from his stance, but from the fact that he looked bigger than she remembered. Bigger and more dangerous.

      He was wearing a black cotton outfit resembling a martial arts uniform, but tied at the waist with a simple length of rope. His skin was darker than it had been a year earlier, and his wavy black hair was shaggier than before. Everything about him confirmed the fact that he had radically altered his lifestyle and his relationship with the world.

      Stopping her rented Subaru Outback while still twenty feet from him, she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Okay, Miranda,” she told herself firmly. “Like he used to say, it’s showtime. Just remember why you’re here and you’ll do fine.”

      Pushing the car door open, she second-guessed her attire and quickly grabbed a black hooded sweatshirt along with her knapsack, then pulled the sweatshirt over her bare arms as she exited the vehicle. It was a hot day, and the white sleeveless top she was wearing with her jeans was appropriate and not overly sexy, but still, she didn’t want there to be any hint that she was trying to appear attractive. It was bad enough her hair was highlighted to bring out more red. She must have been crazy to let her hairdresser talk her into that when she went in for a simple trim!

      Standing straight, she pulled off her sunglasses and returned Ortega’s stare without saying a word.

      Then to her surprise, a broad grin spread across his face. “Miranda?” Striding forward, he added warmly, “You’re the last person I expected to see out here. Or anywhere for that matter.”

      “Hey, Ortega,” she murmured, intimidated again, this time because she thought he might be about to do something monumentally offensive, like hug her.

      But he stopped a few feet away, insisting quietly, “This is a surprise. But I’m glad you’re here.”

      “It’s not a social call. SPIN sent me.”

      He hesitated, then nodded. “I should have known. I actually thought you were Kristie herself when I saw that the driver was a female. I can’t believe she’s using you to get to me.”

      “Yeah, what kind of a monster would use a person for their own selfish purposes?” Miranda drawled.

      He winced, then laughed it off. “I’m just glad for the chance to apologize to you in person. I’ve never forgiven myself for the way I hurt you.”

      “The hurt lasted about five minutes. It’s the burn that had staying power,” she assured him, adding with a confident smile, “If you really want to make it up to me, go pack a bag. There’s a flight leaving at 2:30. We can make it if we hurry.”

      “Where are we going?”

      “SPIN headquarters.”

      Now he did step closer, so that she could almost feel the heat of the sun stored in his bronzed flesh. “Why would I want to go there?”

      She forced herself not to step back, even though his nearness intimidated her. He had been in good shape the last time they met, but now he seemed even leaner, more muscled, and definitely more physically powerful. “They want you to talk to Jonathan Kell,” she explained carefully. “To see if he knows anything that can help Kristie figure out the Brigadier’s identity.”

      Ortega shook his head, visibly frustrated. “She could crack that case right now if she wanted to. She’s got plenty of information, and she’s a whiz. She’s just using it as a ploy to get me back in the game.”

      “Come to SPIN with me and tell her that to her face.”

      “I’ve already told her….” He shook his head again, then gestured toward his cabin. “Come on. We can argue inside. Want something to drink?”

      “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

      “You’re not afraid to come inside with me, are you?”

      She laughed dryly. “Actually, I’m dying to see the place. The story is you’re trying to get in touch with nature, but I count five antennae and a satellite dish. Kinda high-tech for a nature boy, don’t you think?” Without waiting for him to respond she walked past him and up to the front door, which was already wide open.

      He caught up to her in a few strides. “For the record, I came here to get in touch with myself, not Mother Nature. But you’re right, I’ve got a lot going on, equipment-wise. I wanted to keep my options open in terms of getting information from the rest of the world. And I have a couple of security systems. Old habits run deep.”

      Stepping through the open doorway, she scanned the living room, noting the profusion of monitors and computers, as well as shelves lined with books, videotapes and DVDs. An overstuffed recliner in front of a rustic fireplace occupied one corner of the room. The only other furniture, aside from the desks, was a small wooden table and four chairs between the living room and a kitchen. A ladder led to a loft, which she assumed was Ortega’s bedroom.

      “Come and sit.” He crossed to the table and held out a chair for her. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

      “About Kell?”

      “No. About Kristie. And about that mess with Jane Smith. I owe you an explanation as well as an apology.”

      Miranda almost growled from frustration. “I don’t care