Code Name: Bikini. Christina Skye

the capital of Michigan.”

      “You never know. World politics are turning damned unpredictable these days.” Izzy looked down as his pager vibrated. “Hold on.” He pushed a button and scrolled through a data file, his eyes growing colder by the second.

      “Is there a problem with John Smith?” the doctor asked.

      Izzy slid the pager back into its clip. “Do you remember Marshall Wyckoff?”

      “Senator Wyckoff’s daughter? Sure, we saw her—what, two years ago? I heard that she’d recovered from her kidnapping. She was an honor student, head of her debate team.”

      “Was, Doctor. They just found her body floating under the third arch of Arlington Memorial Bridge. Three witnesses say she jumped.”

      “Suicide?” The surgeon looked back to the guarded room down the hall. “Trace was the one who brought her out. What are you going to tell him?”

      “The truth. It’s what we do.”

      “Tough bunch, aren’t you? Never take the easy way.”

      Izzy squared his shoulders. “Easy doesn’t get the job done.”

      Neither man noticed the glimmer of light in the quiet corridor outside Trace O’Halloran’s door. When the scent of lavender touched the air, they were halfway down the hall, arguing about bone reinforcement techniques.

      Neither guard looked up as a faint, spectral shimmer gathered near the door and then faded into the still air.

      TRACE DRIFTED SOMEPLACE cold, halfway between sleep and waking, his pain kept at bay by a careful mix of medicines too new to appear in any medical reference books or on pharmacy shelves.

      But his mind kept wandering, and none of his thoughts held. He was back in the frigid night again, waiting for an armed convoy to draw close. Distant gunfire cut through the air, and he felt the energy change even before he saw the first glow of illumination rounds.

      Three trucks. Ten men. They had no clue anyone was watching them.

      Trace strengthened the net, feeling the sounds and invisible movements in the night, his specially adapted senses humming on full alert.

      Time to come out of the shadows.

      Move fast. Head low, course uneven.

      Present no stable target.

      In sleep his body was tense, his breath labored. Eyes closed, he ran up an exposed ridge, drawing enemy fire beneath an orange-red fireball. His legs moved, carrying him into a world drawn straight out of nightmares.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THEY WERE coming.

      Gina Ryan heard tense voices echo in the hall. She scanned the big wall clock above her commercial double oven. Twenty minutes early?

      Unbelievable.

      She took a deep breath and rubbed the ache at her forehead, checking her last row of desserts. What was the point of having a schedule if you ignored it? Didn’t people realize that a wedding reception with formal seating required split-second timing and no distractions?

      Silver trays laid with white linen napkins?

      Done.

      Spun-sugar flowers arranged at each seat?

      Done.

      Mini rum cheesecakes plated?

      Ditto.

      Three-tier chocolate ganache wedding cake decorated with edible flowers?

      Perfect.

      Gina straightened the marzipan figures of two Olympic speed skaters, which the bride and groom happened to be. Through a porthole she saw clouds skirt a gleaming row of waves. Another glorious day at sea on a top-rated cruise ship, but she’d be too busy to enjoy it.

      Laughter spilled into the room. A door opened and the bride appeared, radiant in a chiffon halter gown with vintage lace that clung at her hips and neck. At her side, the groom stood tall in an elegant black tuxedo. A smile stretched over his happy, sunburned face.

      This was it, Gina thought. This was love, exactly the way it should be.

      Exuberant and gracious. Taking risks. Staying vulnerable. Not jealous and demanding, calculating selfish returns. And didn’t Gina know all there was to know about that kind of love?

      She pushed the thought deep, buried with all her other sad memories. A wedding was no time to dredge up the past. Besides, the champagne was chilled, waiting to be poured into Waterford crystal beneath a display of Orange Beauty tulips.

      Her staff was flawlessly efficient, the menu a perfect mix of classic and trendy for the young, excited bride and groom.

      She felt a knot form at her forehead. This was her second wedding that day. On a big cruise ship, weddings were the top guest request, and Gina was known for creating the best wedding cakes on any cruise line.

      The bride and groom held hands, flushing as eighty-five guests offered cheers and catcalls. At her nod, Gina’s skilled staff poured the first chilled champagne and circulated with tempting desserts.

      Music filled the room. Slow and soft, the notes tugged at Gina’s heart as she watched the bride and groom exchange lingering kisses.

      The dancing began and the regular waitstaff took over. Her team was done.

      As she straightened a silver urn of flowers, Gina had a quick impression of wary eyes, short cinnamon hair and a stubborn chin.

      Her eyes, her chin. A face too angular for beauty, and eyes whose strength made most men uneasy. Right now pain circled behind her forehead, vicious and swift.

      She was getting worse.

      The thought filled her with panic. She needed more time.

      “Hey, Chief, you okay?” One of her staff, a slender ex-kindergarten teacher from San Diego, studied her anxiously. “You’ve got that look again. It’s like last week when someone smashed your thumb with their heaviest marble rolling pin.”

      Gina forced a smile. “Hey, it’s called resting, enjoying the sight of a job well done.” She hid her embarrassment with casual dismissal. “Anything wrong with my taking a rest?”

      “Not a thing. But you never rest. And for someone trying to enjoy her success, you looked too worried.”

      Gina made a noncommittal sound and cleared the last serving tray. What was the point of dwelling on what you couldn’t change?

      Her vision was going. End of story.

      It wouldn’t happen in a day or a week. Maybe not even in a year. But the deterioration was noticeably increasing. Despite the newest medicines, her vascular problems were eating away at her vision neuron by neuron, robbing her of the career and future she’d planned with such care.

      Put it away.

      Shrugging, she headed to the kitchen door. “I’m not distracted now, so let’s move. We’ve got another event in four hours.”

      She took one last look at the bride and groom, who had joined hands to cut the first wedge of her exquisitely iced white chocolate cake with trailing sugar roses. The pair didn’t look back, oblivious to the world as they fell into another slow kiss.

      Gina wasn’t really jealous. In a world of bad luck somebody deserved to be happy.

      She’d believed in love, dreamed of it, felt certain the right man would appear. When he did, she’d know him instantly.

      Nice dream. Stupid dream.

      When the man had appeared, she’d chosen wrong. He’d robbed her of many things, the most important among them her innocence and trust. He’d taken her job and her reputation. Now she had no dreams left.

      One more line item to cross off your day