Mommy Under Cover. Delores Fossen
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objections?” Riley challenged.
Silence.
Not coupled with a glare, either, which didn’t make it any easier to take. Because he was almost positive he saw some disgust in her eyes. And worse, he saw sympathy, as well.
“Go ahead,” Riley insisted in a rough whisper. “Say it—you blame me for Colette’s death.”
Tessa dodged his gaze and stepped to the side, the sleeve of her precisely fitted indigo-blue silk jacket sliding against his mud-splattered arm. What she didn’t do was say it. No reminder of the fact that during that deadly assignment, he’d violated regulations by not excusing himself from a mission where he’d been intimately involved with his partner.
It had been a mistake.
One he’d regret for the rest of his life.
And one he wouldn’t repeat.
“This isn’t just about Colette,” Tessa said—finally. “I don’t like working with agents who make a habit of bending the rules. And let’s face it, Riley. You don’t just bend the rules, you break them. Often.”
Not exactly the heavy-fisted admonishment she could have hurled at him. But, like her semisympathetic eyes, it pushed a few buttons. Mainly because it questioned his competence. His rogue instincts had saved his butt on several occasions—and he was good at his job.
Damn good.
“You think Dr. Barton Fletcher will play by the rules, Tessa?” Riley shook his head. “I doubt it. In fact, I think he’d prefer being investigated by a yes-sir operative who can’t or won’t think outside the box.”
She mumbled some profanity under her breath. Since he was still close enough to smell her pricey mission-required perfume, Riley had no trouble hearing that profanity—which was mainly directed at him.
So he’d made his point.
If the point he was trying to make was that they could both be smart-asses.
That wasn’t a good thing since they’d have to work together. Plus, to bring Fletcher down, he needed her help and she needed his. A little fact that obviously wouldn’t make either of them happy.
Forcing himself to do some damage control, Riley caught her silk-covered arm again and eased her around to face him.
“Look, we have different approaches to what we do.” He kept his voice level. Or rather, tried to. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. And even if it were, it’s no longer an issue. We’re partners. Period.”
Judging from Tessa’s Arctic stare, she would have almost certainly challenged that—again—if the door to the meeting room hadn’t swung open. No knock. But Riley hadn’t expected the lanky, ginger-haired guest to announce his presence with a customary knock.
The man was John Abbot, the mission commander for this particular ops, and therefore their boss.
He was also Tessa’s father.
Abbot spared them both a glance, barely, before he flipped open a laptop and dropped down into the high-backed, burgundy-leather chair at the head of the conference table. “Let’s make this quick. I have two other missions launching today—”
“Sir, I’d like to request a different partner,” Tessa interrupted.
“Request denied.” Abbot didn’t even look at her, choosing instead to keep his attention fastened to the laptop screen. “Riley McDade’s the only agent with deep-cover experience who was available on such short notice.”
“Yes. But in my opinion, Riley’s much too close to the case.”
This time John Abbot’s eyes slid in their direction. Eyes that were an exact copy of the woman stewing next to him. Oh, yeah. Abbot could do that glare thing as well as Tessa.
She’d obviously learned from the master.
“Everyone in SIU is close to the case,” Abbot snapped. “It was my call to put Riley on the team.” He paused for a heartbeat. “A call he’d better not make me regret.”
And with that gruffly barked reprimand, Abbot motioned for them to sit. It wasn’t a request, either. Riley took the chair on the left; Tessa sat on the other side of the table. Directly across. Probably so she could still glare at him.
Abbot volleyed glances at both of them. Paused. Mumbled something. “Is it necessary for me to remind you two that you’re posing as a happily married couple who desperately want a baby?”
Riley looked at her.
Tessa looked at him.
“No reminder necessary,” Riley assured their boss.
Even though they might have to remind each other.
“Good.” Abbot turned his attention back to the computer screen where he was no doubt scanning the latest intel report. “Judging from what we’ve been able to hear with our monitoring equipment, you can expect to establish your first face-to-face contact with Dr. Fletcher this afternoon at fifteen hundred hours. He’ll probably go over the records we’ve created for you, but beyond that, we’re not sure what’ll be asked of you. Some lab tests, maybe. Perhaps more.”
It was that “more” part that had given Riley a few uncomfortable thoughts. Mainly because he didn’t know what “more” would entail. With Fletcher, it could be just about anything. Still, that wouldn’t stop him.
“I take it there are no pictures in the records you created for us?” Tessa asked. But there was a little too much hope in her tone for it not to set Riley’s teeth on edge. She obviously hadn’t given up on ditching him.
She was wasting her time.
“No pictures,” Abbot confirmed. “The Tates are supposed to be camera-shy recluses because they fear kidnapping attempts. But there are some fake bios in the records and the lab results from the tests Fletcher’s staff ran on you earlier this week. Plus, there are probably some extensive background checks that Fletcher had done.”
Tessa’s eyebrow lifted a fraction, the lift apparently aimed at Riley.
“I’ve studied the mission folder,” Riley volunteered. “I know what I’m supposed to do.”
“I’m sure you do,” Abbot interjected, pausing barely a second. “Neither of you will be able to carry a weapon or a communication device inside the clinic. With Fletcher’s extensive security measures, it’d be too risky. But we’ll have a team in the area monitoring you, and if something goes wrong, they’ll respond as needed.”
In other words, evasive measures. And there was absolutely no guarantee that those evasive measures would be effective, enough, or in time. If their cover didn’t hold, it could turn ugly.
Just as it had the day Colette was murdered.
That reminder was like a sucker punch. Riley quickly shoved it aside to concentrate on the briefing.
“Any indication that Fletcher is suspicious of us?” Tessa asked.
Abbot shook his head. “Just the opposite. From what we can tell, his people have dug no further than the records we provided.”
That was something at least. It meant they weren’t walking into a trap.
“While you’re at the clinic, Fletcher will arrange a time for the second appointment that should happen within the next seventy-two hours,” Abbot went on. “Well, hopefully he’ll do that. For that appointment, Fletcher will take you to an unspecified facility where we believe he’s been performing the medical procedures.”
Not a simple in vitro or insemination for couples having trouble conceiving. Oh, no.
During these medical procedures, Dr. Barton Fletcher would supposedly manipulate the DNA to get the made-to-specs designer babies that rich, self-absorbed couples wanted.
And