Code Name: Blondie Page 5

  Information washed over him, swift details of disparate chemical nuances. Hair spray. Wax, probably from an expensive candle, judging by the high amount of distilled perfume oil. She’d touched coconut oil recently, the food-grade kind, thick and unhydrogenated, without perfume additives. Below that was a layer of some kind of silicone.

  Max frowned. Expensive mascara. Also some kind of high-quality hair dye. He didn’t move, settling down into a spiral of hexones and fragrance oils as he picked up the threads of her life. There was some kind of personal-use lubricant, scented and very thick.

  His lips twitched as he searched his memorized catalogue of ingredients. Was it regular moisturizer or the kind of lubricant you bought for a rough and wild Saturday night with your latest lover? His hand tightened and he forced his gaze away almost instantly. You never second guessed the layers. You kept the sensory flow straight and clear, chemicals and hormones only, no counting on outside cues from clothes, complexion, age or anything else.

  Clean and simple. That was rule number one.

  Max figured that the rule applied to a whole lot more than his Foxfire observations. In life, clean and simple was the only thing that made sense. It was too bad more people didn’t seem to know that.

  But there was more to feel and he needed to work fast before she awoke. He moved his hand inside the curve of her ear, gentle as a whisper of air, searching for any chemical signature that would connect her with Cruz. The rogue Foxfire operative hadn’t known that one of his last chips was a scent marker designed to convey information unnoticed by the human nose but registered clearly by a trained government animal like Truman.

  Or by a special forces agent trained and enhanced the way Max was.

  He traced her ear gently, finding the small curves where wax clung, the places most likely to hold other scent clues. He found a hint of cigar smoke, the coconut oil again, more of that damned expensive perfume she seemed to love. Sunscreen. A little bit of very dry champagne, as if someone had sprayed her recently.

  A wild midnight party?

  But there was nothing else. Not a hint of Cruz’s marker. Nothing that suggested the special lubricants used in the stolen inertial guidance system. Nothing even remotely close to what Ryker was looking for.

  Max wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or relieved as he knelt beside her on the ground, watching her hair fan across her cheek and the faint trace of veins beneath her eyes.

  Feeling her skin, feeling her pulse. 98.4—she was probably in deep theta, given her heart rate. She’d had dental surgery within the last month. One or two fillings, since he could pick up the faint but acrid hint of mercury on her skin. That was one of the first ingredients he’d been taught to identify.

  She sighed and turned onto her side. Her hair spilled over his wrist, warm and soft, the sudden contact like a fist slammed into his chest. He picked up the hormone array of a vital woman in childbearing years. He read estrogen and cortisol, from stress and physical exertion, but he figured she was also a coffee drinker because he picked up kona notes, too.

  What would it be like to drink in those layers, to feed her chocolate and a fine roast coffee, letting the taste hum right down through her senses into his? Through her, lifted from her mouth and skin—

  He cut through the image, disturbed at his primal male reaction to her. When had his thinking turned personal? His Foxfire training had eliminated the concept of personal from his physical contacts.

  Or so he’d thought.

  Something pricked at the back of his neck. He was trying to figure out the source of that sharp sensation when she turned and flung up her arm, hitting him in the shoulder. The breath whooshed out of his lungs as he was caught in blurred impressions. Sea water and sunscreen. More of that damned Chanel No. 5, but still nothing that connected her to Cruz.

  He stood up quickly, catching his breath, distinctly disoriented.

  She reached out, this time her arm slamming against the cool earth wall. The impact made her breath catch and Max heard her gasp. Her eyes fluttered.

  He leaned down to check the man she’d called Dutch so she wouldn’t realize that he’d been touching her neck.

  She came fully awake and frowned at him. Anger blazed over her face. “What are you doing to him?”

  “Be quiet,” he said tightly.

  “Why do you keep saying—”

  “Do it.” Cold. Leaving her no doubt that he was deadly serious.

  She glared at him, then lifted her shoulders in an irritated shrug. Even this she did expressively.

  And bravely. She had no clue to his identity, no certainty of the risks before her, yet she faced him squarely and demanded answers. She’d make a damned good solider, Max thought. She prioritized in an emergency, handling what she could control rather than spinning her wheels over what was unchangeable.

  He realized that in the faint light of his Mini-mag with its narrow blue field she was striking. Not beautiful, but unusual. Probably a lot of men had told her that. Probably hearing it had gone to her head. With wild blonde hair and cheekbones like that, he figured she knew all about manipulating men with a single glance, a teasing smile and the lure of that rich body.

  Not that it mattered to him.

  She crouched beside him. Bending closer, she whispered in his ear. “How is he doing?”

  “Stable.”

  “Then why do we have to whisper?”

  “I don’t want to take chances.”

  “Chances on what?”

  “Keep quiet.”

  She moved back to the nearby cot, looking irritated. “He needs a doctor. A real doctor,” she snapped.

  “He’s going to be fine.”

  She continued to stare at Dutch. “What happens if he gets worse?” Her voice had turned uncertain.

  Max didn’t answer. He knew she wouldn’t want the truth, and tactically it was best not to lie any more than you had to.

  She looked down suddenly, rubbing her arm. “What did you do to me?”

  “Nothing.” His voice was a whisper. “You were lurching around in your sleep and you hit the wall.”

  Her eyes said yeah, right.

  Max figured it was time to ask his own questions. “I don’t know your name.”

  She stared at him. “That’s right, you don’t. Yours first.”

  “Max.”

  “Max what?”

  “Massey.” He lied without hesitation.

  A frown worked down her forehead. Probably she was surprised by the quick answer and after that she was trying to figure out if he was telling her the truth.

  “My name’s Jones. Ella…Jones.”

  “Sure it is. I’ll just call you Blondie.”

  That seemed to irritate her. “No blonde jokes or it won’t be pretty.”

  Max shrugged. He wasn’t up on current entertainment due to months of medical recuperation, followed by round-the-clock training at the Foxfire facility. “So where are you from, Blondie?”

  “Detroit.” She sat up slowly and rubbed her elbow. “Dad was a cop. Mom was a school nurse. Dinner conversation got pretty raw sometimes, what with sucking chest wounds and infectious impetigo.” She pulled the shirt around her shoulders, her eyes locked on his face. “What are you doing here?”

  The question was casual, Max thought. Like she had no particular interest. If she was working for Cruz, she was damned good.

  Of course Cruz would insist upon that skill in an operative.

  “I do chemical work.” Max used his arranged cover, every detail well rehearsed. “Microscope and chemical assay for hire, world wide.”

  “What kind of chemical work?”

  “Oil fields, that kind of thing.”

  “I guess that’s important.” Her eyes moved over the room and its small crates of stored equipment, and Max could see her putting the pieces together. “Why did you tie me up at first?”

  “Lady, you came down in a plane right at the epicenter of my exploration zone. I’m taking no chances.
I’ve been alerted that two other oil companies may be sending in unlicensed investigators, and that could cost my employer millions. Money aside, freelancers don’t always have scruples about how they get the job done. It’s the Wild West every day, everywhere when you’re talking about oil. We have a closed contract for exploration here for another two months, and no one is getting in here before that.”

  “People do that kind of thing? I mean, they steal corporate information in a deserted place like this?”

  Max thought she sounded surprised. Either she was very naïve about how business worked, or she was one very smart woman putting on a great act.

  He shrugged. “Where money’s at stake, people will do anything.”

  “You’re probably right.” She studied his Mini-mag. “So you’re here doing x-rays, things like that?”

  “More or less. Since it’s proprietary, I can’t really discuss it.” Max pulled his canteen out of his vest and held it out for her to drink. “You should rehydrate.”

  She took the canteen eagerly, then gave the opening a quick scrub with the hem of her shirt. “Nothing personal, but I don’t know you from Adam.”

  “Always smart to be cautious.” He watched her drink. There was something fascinating about the way her muscles rippled. Her hair was wild, a dozen different shades of blonde. Beads of water trailed from her mouth, over her chin.

  What would they taste like, mixed with her unique scent blend?

  Enough. You know she’s probably connected to Cruz. There are damned few coincidences in this line of work.

  When she stopped drinking, Max took the canteen, then raised Dutch’s head and poured a small amount into his mouth.

  “How is he doing?”

  “He seems stable. Heart rate in the normal zone.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know about stuff like that? Hardly standard procedure for engineers.”

  “I go into some pretty desolate areas, so I have to know basic bush medicine.”

  She appeared to think this over and then nodded. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I’d say it’s his lungs. His chest looks like it took some trauma, and he may have compression in the right side.”

  “How soon can we catch a plane back?” Her voice tightened. “You must have some way to communicate with your headquarters, right? They can send a plane for you.”

  “Not yet, they can’t.”

  “Why not?” She shot to her feet, banging her head on the earth ceiling. The woman was tall, Max thought, and she looked more than a little klutzy. Probably that was part of the act, too. “I want to leave now.”

  “Open your eyes. Did you happen to see any planes in the area?”

  “So call someone. Use a radio. You must have something.”

  “There’s a storm heading into this area. I doubt that any planes are flying right now.”

  “So when?” She winced, rubbing her head. “Dutch looks bad. I don’t think we should wait.”

  “I’ll try calling again soon. The weather situation could clear by then.” Like hell he would, Max thought grimly. He held up a cardboard-covered tray with a pre-packaged meal. “Are you hungry?”

  “I guess I should be, but I’m not. I had breakfast back in Tahiti and some coffee and a protein bar at the beach where we were shooting—”

  “Shooting what?”

  “Swimsuit stills and tropical backgrounds for a calendar.”

  “You’re a photographer?”

  “For ten years. I can’t think of any work I’d like to do more—and I’ve done most of it, believe me.” Something haunted filled her eyes. “I guess that’s all off, now that Vance is…gone.”

  “Vance was the other passenger? Big guy, balding?”

  “That’s him. He wasn’t breathing when I woke up. There was a lot of blood on the seat. You found his…body?”

  Max nodded. The sight hadn’t been pretty, the body swollen and pale.

  She cleared her throat and looked at him uncertainly. “Could I have more water, or is that something we need to ration?”

  “We should have enough, but don’t overdo it.”

  She took the canteen and splashed a little on her hand, then rubbed her face. “I’m sticky from seawater. What I wouldn’t give to clean up.”

  “Afraid I don’t have bath facilities.”

  She squirmed uneasily. “But you must have—I mean, what about the necessities?”

  Max pointed over his shoulder. “When you need to go, you find a quiet spot and do what you have to do. But be sure to bury everything. This is a fragile ecosystem,” he added, pretty sure that this would register.

  “Of course.” She turned and stared pointedly up the steps. “At least I can go back to the waterfall and wash my face. Unless you’re going to lock in me again.”

  “One, I didn’t lock you in. The door was always un-secured. Two, I left the dog so you wouldn’t wander out in the dark and hurt yourself. When I called him off, you went straight out and did just that.”

  For the second time, her eyes said yeah, right. “Well, it’s not dark now, so how about opening that door? I want to get some fresh air and clean up.”

  There was an answer to her question. Max just couldn’t think of it right that second. He could strong-arm her into staying. He could probably frighten her badly. On the other hand, what if she really was an innocent bystander having one nightmare day? Hell, she didn’t look or act like a trained professional. Her blond hair was matted from seawater, she had mascara clotted under her eyes and her legs were scratched up. Max had dumped her sweater outside, some kind of short, clingy thing that barely covered her arms, much less her chest. Now he noticed that stray white hairs covered her Hawaiian shirt.

  He plucked off one of the strands and held it up. “You’re shedding.”

  “It’s from my shrug.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Shrug. A short sweater…the new, new thing.” Her voice was ironic. “Actually, it was my own design. I knitted it between shoots back in Tahiti. Or was it the Marianas? After a while, all beaches start to look alike. Did you find it?”

  “Back on the beach.”

  She seemed relieved, smiling suddenly. The curve of her mouth fascinated him so much he almost didn’t hear her next question.

  “Why the leather gloves?”

  “Chemical sensitivities.”

  Miki frowned, then broke into a hacking cough. “Great. Seawater in the lungs. I think I swallowed some really nasty algae, too.”

  He thumped her hard on the back. “Dulse and sea plants are an excellent source of nutrients. The iodine and mineral salts are invaluable.”

  She stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a nutritionist along with knowing field medicine. That’s pretty impressive.”

  Max noticed that she didn’t bat her eyes when she said it. No simpering, either. He needed to decide if she was very innocent—or very clever, carefully trained by Cruz. He had a feeling that either way this woman was going to be big trouble.

  Since he couldn’t give her a good reason to stay underground and out of sight, he decided stalling was the best tactic. Fingering the white piece of thread, he sat down on the steps leading outside. “What do you call this stuff?”

  “Angora. As in rabbits and goats.”

  “And you used it for that…sweater thing you were wearing. How?”

  She stared at him, looking impatient. “I knitted it. Two sticks, one string. You may have heard of it,” she said dryly.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually do it.” Max rubbed the back of his neck. “How long does something like that take?”

  “Three or four days, more or less. It depends on how complicated the stitch is and what needle size you’re using.” She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have the slightest interest in knitting. You’re just trying to keep me in here. Why?” she demanded flatly.

  Max didn’t move. “Actually, I am interested. How does it work?”

&n
bsp; She stalked across the small space, angry and determined like a storm that couldn’t be contained. “Enough of the inquisition, buster. Let me out of here now or I’ll do something you don’t like. And trust me, whatever it is, it will be really loud.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “HOW ABOUT YOU RELAX?”

  “I can’t relax. I’ve been in a plane wreck, nearly drowned, and now I’m incarcerated with a crazy person. Also, I’ve got to tell you that glove thing of yours is too weird. I don’t buy that sensitivity story, either. You know what I think?”

  Max watched her, fascinated by the color pulsing through her cheeks and the anger in her eyes. Was she always so intense? “No, I can’t even imagine.”

  “I think you’re a criminal who came here to hide out. Probably you’re the kind who uses his brains more than brawn. Maybe you’re a high-tech thief, someone who masterminds money laundering. Not the chump change kind either, but a business that’s huge and far-flung and multinational. Out here you think no one can catch you.”

  “You’ve got quite an imagination.” Max watched, fascinated by her energy as she ran into a crate, stubbed her toe and hopped around awkwardly. “You may want to cool down before you hurt yourself.”

  “That’s very funny. You couldn’t care less about me. First you lock me up here in this…this awful cavelike place while you—”

  She stopped as Max stood up and calmly pushed open the small metal door, revealing a perfect turquoise sky.

  “Go on.”

  She stayed where she was, her face uncertain. “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  Wind ruffled her hair. “Up there? You won’t stop me, or send that big dog of yours after me?”

  Max reined in his impatience. It was a calculated risk to let her out, but risky moves could yield the best results. He figured she would need to find temporary bathroom facilities soon anyway. “You’ve got four minutes. There’s a place inland with some hibiscus plants to give you privacy. When you’re done, you can scrub your face with sand and a little water from the stream there. Don’t dawdle.”

  She looked at the canteen he was holding out. “You want me to wash with sand?” She caught a shaky breath. “I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. I could be dead right now, half-eaten by fish. What’s a little sand in comparison to that?” She took his canteen of water. “So I have four minutes?”