Perfect Weapon. Amy J. Fetzer

on> PERFECT WEAPON

      PERFECT WEAPON

      AMY J. FETZER

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To my editor and friend

       Kate Duffy,

       for believing I could do this and

       giving me the writer’s ultimate dream:

       creative freedom.

       And that world domination plan?

       I’m right there with you, girl.

       Thanks,

       Amy

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      One

      Shenandoah Mountains, Virginia

       600 feet beneath the surface

      6:45 A.M. EST

      Southern girls could charm the pants off a scarecrow.

      Dr. Sydney Hale was only trying for one U.S. Marine guard. She didn’t want him sans his camouflage uniform, of course. She drew the line at robbing the cradle. She just wanted to soften him up enough to let her go above ground for some fresh air. But when he saw her coming down the long corridor, Corporal Tanner snapped to attention and gave her that no one gets past on my watch look.

      Not a good sign.

      “Come on good lookin’,” Sydney said with a smile. “Let me through.”

      “I can’t, ma’am.” His gaze remained straight ahead. “Wait for the end of the shift like the rest of the staff.”

      “That’s a long time off, Corporal. We’ve been cooped up since before midnight. Besides”—she cocked her hip—“I’ve been going up topside for two years, Corporal. You’d think a body’d get used to the routine.”

      Only his gaze shifted. “My entire life is routine, ma’am. I like routine.”

      He was trying hard to be stern, bless him. “I thought Marines craved adventure, danger?”

      “Working down here with all those chemicals is danger enough. I want an enemy I can see and shoot…ma’am.”

      She understood that. Surrounded by chemicals was tough work. Surrounded by the elements of Sarin gas was quite another. Wanting to see the sky more than chat about dangers and the ethics of warfare, she moved past him and stood near the stainless steel elevator disguised behind artificial cinder block. She tapped her foot. When he didn’t key her in, she folded her arms and gave him her best boss-to-underling look.

      He held tight to his resolve for about three seconds, then folded like a retriever under a petting hand. Growling under his breath, he punched the codes and inserted the key, then glanced behind him to check if the corridor was clear. Fake cinder blocks slid back to show the steel lift.

      “Do I have to search you?”

      She held up the penlight and water bottle. The granola bar he could see sticking out of her pocket.

      Syd leaned close. “Was it my smile this time, Tanner, or my hard-ass look?”

      He snickered. “Hard-ass? You?” The door hissed open. “To be honest…it’s your tight ass in that short skirt.” Shaking his head, his gaze locked on her behind as she stepped inside. “Sweet…ma’am.”

      She grinned, facing him.

      “I’m gonna be dragged before my C.O. if you get caught,” he warned softly.

      “I’ll say I forced you. Pulled rank. Pitched a hissy fit.”

      He made a face, folding his arms and just staring. Nothing could get past this guy, she thought. Armed to the teeth, he towered over average people, and her by about nine inches.

      “Stay out of sight.” He glanced back again when he heard something. “I swear I don’t know why I give in to you.”

      “Because you want to get into my panties.”

      He flashed her a grin that brightened his features. Oh, to be ten years younger, she thought.

      “Is it working?”

      The doors started to close. “No.” She winked. “But then, Marines never give up, do they?”

      She heard a soft ooh-rahh before the door sighed closed and she leaned back against the steel hull. Nothing like being locked inside your lab like a rat, she thought and couldn’t even feel the elevator shoot to the surface. When the door opened, she hurried down the short corridor of rock, then pushed on the outer escape hatch. She couldn’t count the times she’d missed it coming back down because it was disguised to look like a pile of dead logs and vines.

      Cloak and dagger spy stuff. She hitched up her jacket to pull her notes from the waist of her skirt, then twisted off the top of her water bottle. For a moment, she stood still and inhaled the unfiltered, un-reconstituted air, then she moved between the trees, her steps high. Shoulda worn jeans, she thought; instead she wore her best black skirt and a new Dior blouse. Because she was being inspected today, as well as the facility. She hated that once a year people who knew next to nothing about her work would be prying into her files, looking into the way she ran things six hundred feet below the surface. And pull her funding if they didn’t like what they found. The inspectors weren’t due to arrive for another three hours. Let Handerson take care of it, she thought. It’ll make her assistant feel official.

      Sitting on a rock and leaning back against a mossy tree, she propped her feet on a rotting log. The hint of the rising sun coated the world in a hazy purple glow. Clouds bumped and threatened rain. Time strolled by out here. Closing her eyes, she snacked on a granola bar. Low carbs are a waste for good calories, she thought and wondered if Tish would join her for a decent breakfast. She awarded herself five minutes of empty thoughts, listening to the breeze push against the dry leaves. Then she snapped on her mini flashlight and studied the latest test results, excited enough to know she was a couple tests away from a perfect formula. Mentally calculating the process, the degree changes she’d take next, her palms went clammy. Gulping water, she blinked at the printout, reading it twice.

      Oh my God, I did it.

      6:45 A.M. EST

      A forty-forty rifle cradled in his arms, Jack sat in the tree stand, needing coffee and contemplating his life as he usually did when he was stuck in a tree waiting for deer to conveniently cross his path. Since returning to the States, his life had gone from dull to boring so he skipped dissecting it and watched the terrain below. Thinning the deer population for Fish and Game was never a challenge. Hunting one deer, that was sport, and some good eating.

      A whisper of conversation came over the radio. Jack put it to his ear. “Radio silence mean anything to you shit heads?”