Live and Let Die

Chapter 1

I stepped out of the rental car and straightened the pencil-thin skirt and jacket I’d donned in deference to my cover.  In my ten years with the Bureau, I’d never worn such a ridiculous get-up.  My job as a cold case agent tended more toward slacks and flats or Rockports, not the pastel pink nightmare I was wearing or the ridiculous stilts I teetered on.  I looked like a freakin’ brunette Barbie Doll.  It was humiliating.  Then again, this wasn’t an assignment.  It was personal.  Special Agent Arin Thomas was now, for all intents and purposes, Arin Thomas, Investigative Reporter.  My skin crawled at the thought.

I looked up at the massive building looming over me and wondered what in the hell Wes Burke had gotten himself into before he’d taken his swan dive.  The Colorado Academy for Superior Intellect looked as imposing as its name suggested.  Hell, more so.

I pawned off the feeling that I was in someone’s crosshairs as nerves, even though I couldn’t quite shake it.  As secretive as this school was, I couldn’t imagine they were protected by long guns.  No, it was just nerves, brought on by the fact I wasn’t totally comfortable with what I was doing.  Wes had been an acquaintance, but one I’d come to like, respect, even.  I owed him a bit of my time, if nothing else.

But I had to wonder, as a trickle of sweat crept down my spine, if I wasn’t on a fool’s errand - or worse.

The double doors opened slowly, as if the sunny summer day was too much to take all at once.  The man who stepped out made my breath clog in my lungs even as he raised my hackles.  No man should be this beautiful.

Tall, with a runner’s build, he wore his blond hair too long for conventional purposes, the slightly curling ends brushing the collar of a pristine white polo shirt.  His face was classically handsome, marred only by a scar that slashed beneath his left eye, arcing upward into his hairline.  He was still too far away for me to see the color of his eyes, but I’d bet even money they were as arresting as the rest of him.

I stepped forward, hitching my stupid girly purse up on one shoulder, and climbed the marble steps, holding out my hand when I reached the top.  In my heels I was an inch taller than him.  Damn.  So much for appearing harmless.  “Arin Thomas, News Today,” I said, pasting a too-bright smile on my face.  “I’d like to speak to the honcho in charge.”

He regarded my outstretched hand like it was a poisonous snake, then lifted his gaze.  “Ms. Thomas,” he said, and it was easy to hear the curl of distaste in his words.  His voice was tinged with a slight drawl.  “I have nothing to say to the media.”

His eyes were a deep, rich chocolate brown.  The contrast between his fair complexion and those eyes was stunning.  But not stunning enough to make me forget why I was here. 

I assumed the persona of every newsperson I’d ever met and rolled right over his objection.  "So you’re Jonah Summers.  Outstanding.  I have a few questions for you.”

He looked past me, as if expecting to see a newsvan complete with cameraman lurking behind my SUV.  The distaste I’d heard in his voice now crossed his handsome face.  “And I have a standard answer.  No comment.  This is private property, and you’re trespassing.  I suggest you leave before the police arrive.”  He stepped back into the cool darkness of what looked like a foyer, pulling the door shut behind him.

I did what any self-respecting reporter would do and jammed the pointed toe of my stiletto into the rapidly diminishing crack.

“Just a few questions, really,” I wheedled in my best little-girl voice, hating myself a little even as I did it.  No, it was more like me to flash my badge and get in their face.  It’d worked damned well for me in the past.

The heavy door closed on my scantily-protected foot, making me yelp and jerk back less than gracefully.  And from behind the door I heard a distinctly amused, distinctly male chuckle.  Bastard.

Fine, he wanted to play that way?  Let the games begin.

****

Back in my hotel room, I massaged my aching foot and reread the dossier I’d compiled on the Colorado Academy for Superior Intellect - CASI.  A school for “gifted” children, even the Bureau information was thin - too thin, in my opinion.  The Meece Foundation, its corporate front, was more fleshed out, but barely.  The whole kit-and-caboodle was too sanitized for my taste. 

Meece was run by ex-NSA operative Heath Farrell, and had been in operation for several decades.  Interestingly, it was Farrell’s half-sister, Camille Pearce who held the purse strings to a massive family fortune.  The Meece Foundation funding was placed in a protected trust, accessible only by Farrell.  Which made me wonder what the family dynamics between Farrell and Pearce were.  And what had made the patriarch of this whole endeavor, Hugh Meece, separate the two businesses.  It might be a tax thing, but given how shadowy everything about this seemed, I seriously doubted it.

As for CASI, it had reopened it a year ago, and was now run by the very man who had damaged my damned foot.  Jonah Summers.  A Harvard-educated psychiatrist, despite the down-home drawl, he’d struck me as anything but a typical academic.  There’d been something more primal about how he’d handled the whole girl-reporter scenario, and I knew I’d have to do better the next time we met.  But damn, why did he have to look so good?

The school itself had apparently been in operation over a decade ago, but shut down suddenly, the reasons behind its closure hidden well and deeply.  I’d have to put out some feelers and see what she could discover about that little mystery.

Nothing tied into the anonymous phone call I’d received, and at first blown off.  After all, a lot of people knew I was less than satisfied with the Bureau’s explanation of Wes’ death, and I’d made more than a few enemies over my tenure as an agent.  But once I started looking more deeply into those whispered words: “The information you seek is at the Colorado Institute for Superior Intelligence, Agent Thomas.  You’ll find the truth about Wes Burke.  He was a student there.”

Because I just can’t let something to once I get my teeth into it, I’d investigated and found, surprise of surprises, that Wes had died not too far away from the secretive school, and that was just too coincidental for my liking.

So now I had to formulate a different plan of attack, and sooner than later, because I was burning my vacation time on this.

****

I sat in my truck in front of CASI bright and early the next morning, wearing normal clothes this time.  There was no way in hell I was doing a stakeout, even if it was totally obvious, in pantyhose and heels.

I can be just as much of a nuisance as the next person - heck, probably more, since working cold cases required a particular amount of doggedness.  Okay, a good bit.

Unwrapping my artery-clogging egg-and-sausage breakfast biscuit, I perched on the hood of the truck and settled in.  I gave it no more than half an hour before he was out here, cell phone in hand, the local PD on their way.  And that was just fine with me; I could take care of the locals easily enough.  It always amazed me how much cooperation a Bureau shield engendered.

Thirty minutes passed as I waited patiently.  It was something I was particularly good at, even if it chafed at me.  Then an hour was gone and still nothing.  I dug around in my purse and pulled out my iPod, dialing it to my flavor of the week, The Georgia Satellites.  The rockabilly tempo settled deep within me, recharging me from the inside out.

Hell, if nothing else, at least I was getting some primo relaxation time.  Never mind that it had been forced upon me with a ”use it or lose it” threat.  My Bureau supervisor Ben Carruthers wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety.  Along those lines, I knew he’d be less than pleased I was pursuing this, even if it was on my off time.  Actually, he’d probably be mad as hell, considering the clout the folks running CASI and Meece seemed to carry.

At sixty-five minutes, Summers came out, but I was only half-right about his MO.

He walked casually to the SUV, phone nowhere in sight and made a show of studying first the truck, then me.  His perusal was thorough, slow, as if he were sizing me up, and enjoying what he saw.

His eyes were hidden behind shades today, but that face was still just as gorgeous, just as dangerous to my hormones.  I wondered, for a brief, impulsive moment, what he’d be like between the sheets.  Spectacular, I’d bet.  It was the runner’s build that gave me that impression.  He’d last for hours.

His direct gaze lingered on me so long I felt myself stiffening up, regardless of my thoughts of just a few seconds ago, ready to turn the defensive into the offensive, when he blew everything to hell.

“What, exactly, do you want, Agent Thomas?”

Back to TL's WIP Page