Striking Distance. Debra Webb

had done nothing but get her in trouble today. Still watching him warily, she moved to the closest chair, which put her directly across the antique-trunk-turned-coffee-table from him. She eyed his cane skeptically and let him see her dubiousness. “How the hell did you manage to climb through my window?” she asked bluntly. Beating around the proverbial bush had never been her style.

      He smirked. “Who said I climbed through the window?”

      Her gaze narrowed then cut to the front door. Sure enough the lever was turned to the unlock position. She’d known the whole window thing was too easy...staged.

      “I only opened the window to make you think I’d climbed through,” he explained unnecessarily. But then he did that on purpose, wanted to rub it in.

      “Okay, so you have my attention now. What’s this about? I’ve endured about all the head games I intend to play today. And you don’t look like the type who has to force the ladies to do his bidding. So what do you want?” Despite being over the hill and using a cane, the guy was attractive, in a smart-ass sort of way, definitely distinguished looking.

      That last jab won her a genuine smile. Her heart fluttered. When he smiled, wow! Those gray eyes sparkled with mischief and something deeper...something curiously fascinating. She scolded herself. That was just the kind of thinking that usually got her into trouble. This stranger had broken into her home and had unloaded her weapon. He could be armed. She surveyed him again. Probably was. Besides, she wasn’t supposed to notice how cute he was. He wasn’t a frigging stray dog looking for a home. In fact, she’d bet he was about as far from domesticated as one could get. Another concept crept into her thoughts. Had Martin’s schemes moved to a new level?

      “My name is Lucas Camp. I’m here because I need you for a mission.”

      Whatever he’d said after his name was lost on her. “Lucas Camp?” She lowered her weapon. “You’re a legend.”

      Another of those charming smiles. “Some would disagree with you on that.”

      What the hell was a superspook like Lucas doing in her living room? “Former Military Intelligence turned CIA,” she said aloud, recalling all the rumors she’d heard about the legendary Lucas Camp. “Then the story gets a little murky. Everyone knows you’re out there, but no one knows any more than that. You’re the best of the best. No one can touch you.” She’d never say it out loud but he represented all that she wanted to be. Made Martin look like a pussy. Well, okay, maybe not a pussy, but she was a little pissed at him right now.

      “Unless I choose to allow them access,” Lucas said with a pointed look at her.

      Her breath caught in her chest. He was allowing her access. This was Lucas Camp—in her home—talking to her. Her eyes rounded and she passed the back of her hand over her burning lip. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Beer?” Dammit, he probably preferred coffee and she didn’t even own a coffeemaker. She winced again at her stinging lip.

      “No, thanks, Ms. North. As I said, I’m here to discuss a mission with you.”

      She felt her eyes go even wider. A mission? Had he said that before? “With me?”

      He nodded. The amused expression he wore told her she was making a complete idiot of herself. Time to pull it together and act like a professional. She’d survived CIA training after all. And today’s final test. She was no lightweight. She squared her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. “What kind of mission?” She sounded strong, professional. Just when she would have given herself a mental pat on the back she remembered how she looked—like hell for sure.

      While she tugged at her blouse to keep it closed he reached into his briefcase, withdrew a phone, entered a code and offered the device to her. “The profile is pretty sketchy, but this is what we have.”

      She reviewed the meager contents, scrolling forward one screen at a time. John Doe, estimated age thirty, approximate height and weight six-two, a hundred and ninety pounds. Living somewhere in Chicago, specific address unknown. She surveyed the shot someone had taken from a considerable distance, probably zeroing in with a mega zoom lens. Blondish hair, similar to her own. Blue eyes. Chiseled good looks.

      She looked up at Lucas and asked, “You don’t know who this guy is?” Which was a dumb question since he was listed as John Doe. Duh.

      Lucas shook his head. “Not a clue. We believe he’s an assassin.”

      Now that got her full attention. “Who’s his target? The president?” Another rush of adrenaline seared through her veins. This might just be her lucky day.

      “Nothing politically related or that high profiled,” he told her without going into specifics, which was par for the course. Intel was doled out on a need-to-know basis only.

      “What part do you need me to play in this mission?” She emphasized the word need. No matter how he downplayed the scenario, this had to be big or Lucas wouldn’t be involved. Maybe not White House big, but big in any case.

      “We need to know who this guy is and, more important, we need to reach out and touch the man who hired him.” Lucas pointed to the phone. “The next face you see is the one we’re looking for.”

      Tasha studied the final image on the screen with new curiosity. This one was older. Gray hair, gray-blue eyes. Five-ten, a hundred and sixty pounds. This one looked almost harmless. She flipped back a screen or two. Now this one—she studied the younger man’s grim features—looked deadly. “So, you want me to get to know the assassin. In hopes he’ll lead me to the man who hired him.” Her gaze connected with Lucas’s. “Is that it?”

      Lucas nodded, then quirked one brow a fraction higher than the other. “That is, if you think you’re up to it. The personal requirements might be steep. To get as close as you need to...” He allowed the unfinished statement to linger in the air a moment before he continued. “We’ll be watching from a distance, but not close enough to keep you safe. You’ll be on your own.”

      Another charge of excitement went through her. “I’m up to anything you can throw my way.” She knew what he was worried about, and she could handle it. Her training had included intensive profiles to see if she could tolerate mental as well as physical abuse of all kinds. All results indicated she would hold up under pressure exceedingly well. She licked her busted lip for emphasis. She would die before she’d break. Fooling a polygraph as well as tactics to fight the effects of certain drugs were all a part of her vast repertoire. “Sounds almost too easy,” she admitted.

      “We don’t know anything about this assassin,” Lucas said grimly. “We have to assume he’s extremely dangerous. There’s no way to guess how many people he’s killed in his career or what his MO is. If the man who hired him is who we believe he is, then you can rest assured that our assassin is highly trained and well experienced.”

      She could read between the lines. This was a mission that contained a definite “suicide” element. Getting close to the target and staying alive would entail a great deal of skill and more than a little luck.

      “What’s in this for me?” she wanted to know, undeterred. They might as well get to the heart of the matter. “If I’m going to risk life and limb for you, what will you do for me?”

      Lucas looked pleased that she’d asked. “You succeed in this mission and you’ll come to work for me with the best of the best.”

      Struggling with the desire to do a victory whoop, she clamped down hard on her outward reactions. Stay cool, don’t let him see that you know this is an opportunity of a lifetime. A route through all the BS and straight to the kind of work she longed to do. It was rumored that the elusive Lucas Camp headed some sort of elite top secret organization. A club far more exclusive than anything under the CIA umbrella.

      “And if I fail?”

      “Then it won’t matter,” he said flatly. “Because you’ll be dead.”

      That was the answer she’d expected. If she got close to