Thin Ice Page 3

  Sliding out from the booth, Logan thought, On my own. That’s just how I like it.

  Sanders.

  So, where the hell is he? Logan stepped out of his H10 at the Fairbanks International Airport, having driven it into a hangar. Pulling his bags out of the back, he walked over to the vehicle he had arranged to be waiting for him. Eyeing the old, beat-up, dark blue Ford F-150 with approval, he climbed inside and started the engine. He told Greg to make sure the vehicle waiting for him would serve his needs while, at the same time wouldn’t set off any suspicions. Setting his GPS, he looked at his watch. He had also been told the scientist would meet him at his arrival so they could coordinate when they would begin working together. It was now already thirty minutes past the time he said he would arrive. Sanders can find me…I’m not waiting around for him.

  Heading north from the airport, he drove along Highway 3 as it curved toward the west. His destination was Ester, Alaska, a tiny suburb of Fairbanks. Originally, it was the site of a goldmine strike in the early 1900’s. Now known more as an artists’ community, he had read that most Ester residents were employed in Fairbanks or at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, an interesting fact since terrorists were recruiting from the University.

  A few miles down the forest-lined road, he pulled into a shopping center, eyeing a grocery store. An efficient trip inside allowed him to grab the necessities. Grumbling at the uncertainty of whether the house had a microwave, he skipped the nuke-ready meals in the freezer case, opting for lots of sandwich fixings. Placing the bags into his truck, he continued on his way.

  Seven miles later, he turned onto a gravel road, houses dotting the sides occasionally, surrounded by thick trees. The area was heavily wooded, maintaining privacy for the residents. Reaching the end of the street, he noted a round cul-de-sac with only two houses.

  Having already searched the property via computer, a quick visual assessment assured him this was the right place. Both houses, single-story ramblers with wooden planks on the outside, looked as though they had seen better days. Obviously built by the same builder and at the same time, they appeared to be mirror images of each other. Nodding approval, he knew that would make it easier to gather intelligence.

  He noted two cars in the neighbor’s driveway and another small, black, energy efficient Fusion parked on the cul-de-sac. Looks like the terrorists already have visitors…Greg said they had been recruiting.

  Pulling into the driveway of the house he would be occupying, he parked as close as he could without trying to hide his truck. Might as well have them get used to seeing who’s here. Stalking to the side door, with several grocery bags in his hands, he used the key already sent to him and opened it, stepping inside.

  Halting immediately, he blinked, momentarily uncertain he was in the right house. A used coffee cup sat on the counter next to a coffee maker that was turned off, but still contained the dark liquid. A few dishes were in the sink, rinsed, but not put away. Fuckin’ hell! No one cleaned after the last renters.

  Grimacing, he stepped further into the kitchen, looking around at the scrub-worn countertops, wooden cabinets and, glancing to his feet, the faded and yellowed linoleum floors. The appliances appeared to be clean, but older models. Placing the bags onto the floor, he rounded the counter dividing the kitchen to the dining area, where a scarred wooden table with four mismatched chairs sat. His gaze moved sharply to the living room, pleased to see a clean, worn sofa and two wooden chairs with thin, but also clean, cushions tied to the seats. A wood-burning stove sat in the corner on a brick platform, surrounded by wooden plank flooring. An entertainment center held a TV, not new, but not ancient. To his right was a hall, leading to what he knew were two bedrooms and one bathroom.

  The front door was to his left, straight from the living room to the front porch. Old. Worn out. Hell, it’s like me. Sighing, he turned to go back to the truck to get the rest of his supplies, when his senses went on alert.

  Cocking his head to the side, he listened carefully, hearing the faint noise of someone in one of the back rooms—not footsteps, but the sound of someone opening a drawer. Withdrawing his weapon from his holster, he moved stealthily down the hall, not making a sound. Quickly determining the sound came from the bedroom on the left, he glanced through the partially opened door. The person was behind the door, out of sight, but he heard a drawer being closed. Sliding slightly to the side, he peered through the crack in the door on the side of the hinges, seeing the intruder had a ball cap snug on their head and was looking down at what appeared to be the chest of drawers.

  With practiced ease, he flung open the door startling them, causing them to stumble backward, losing their balance. With one arm, he flipped them onto their stomach across the bed and planted his hand on their back, growling, “Don’t move asshole.”

  The intruder was not only short, but slight in stature, easily held in place by his hand. The fleeting idea of them being a teenager ran through his mind. Using the tip of his gun, he knocked the ball cap off, staring dumbly as long, silky, black hair tumbled across the bedspread, the body underneath his grunting as they tried to breathe.

  Jerking his head, with his hand still pressing down in the center of their back, he raked his gaze down his prisoner, seeing a dark green t-shirt that had ridden up over short shorts with long, naked legs hanging over the bed. Fuckin’ hell…a woman!

  Grabbing her right shoulder, he flipped her again, this time so that she was facing up. Her dark, wide eyes, stared back at him, flicking to the side where the gun rested easily in his grip. Her chest rose and fell with each shaky gasp. She opened her mouth slightly, as though to speak, but closed it quickly as she glanced at the gun once more.

  “Who the hell are you?” he growled, his rough voice filling the small bedroom.

  “I…I’m Vivian.” Swallowing audibly, she repeated, “Vivian Sanders.”

  5

  Sanders? Sanders!

  Logan stared, mute, for a second, not bothering to hide his surprise—and displeasure at the realization that the woman on the bed was his biologist contact.

  Vivian watched the man’s stance, noting when it relaxed slightly. Though, his face registered anger and it appeared to be directed solely at her. Swallowing deeply, her voice shook as she said, “You now know who I am…I’d like the same consideration, please.”

  With another glance down her body, Logan stepped back from her legs, watching as her hand moved to the bottom of her t-shirt, pulling it down to cover her sleep shorts. Glancing up, he saw the fear in her eyes. An uncomfortable guilt slid over him. An emotion he was unaccustomed to and immediately decided he hated. “Bishop. I’m Logan Bishop.”

  Her large eyes popped open even wider as she exclaimed, “You’re Logan Bishop? The man I’m supposed to be working with?” Pushing up on her elbows, she stared at him unabashedly before narrowing her eyes on the weapon. “Do you mind putting that thing away before you accidentally blow my head off?”

  His glower met hers as he re-holstered the gun. “When my gun goes off, I assure you, it’s not by accident.”

  Scooting to the edge of the bed and standing, Vivian skirted by him, returning to the chest of drawers, where she pulled out a pair of jeans. She looked at him expectantly for a moment, but when he didn’t get the hint, or decided to ignore it, she glared and jerked her shorts down before sliding the pants over her legs and ass, zipping them. Opening another drawer, she retrieved a pair of woolen socks, slipping them on each foot.

  Fully dressed, she turned to him, frustrated that the height difference had her eyes at the level of his chest. A very broad chest. Lifting her chin, she held his gaze, irritated that what met her ire was a very handsome man, rough around the edges with his chiseled jaw covered in stubble and penetrating eyes staring back at her.

  “Where were you?” His voice, like his looks, was rough as gravel.

  Her brow crinkled as she tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean, where was I?”

  “You we
re supposed to meet me at the airport so we could talk about arranging our work schedule.”

  “Tomorrow. I was given your arrival date as tomorrow.”

  “Today.”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “I was told tomorrow. Sorry, if your people can’t get things right.”

  At that, he bristled. “My people? Listen, missy, you’ve—”

  “Missy? Oh, no, Mr. Bishop. You can call me Vivian or Ms. Sanders. Your choice. But you Missy me again, and we’re going to have problems.”

  “Gonna have problems? Clue in, Ms. Sanders, we’ve already got problems. Where’s your vehicle?”

  Pinching her lips together at his quick change of topic, she replied, “Parked on the cul-de-sac. It’s the Fusion. The energy efficient car next to all these gas-guzzling—” Seeing him roll his eyes, she stood toe to toe with her fists on her hips and leaned way back to hold his gaze.

  Eyes flashing fire, she bit back, “What the hell is your problem? I was told to come to this house, get settled, and meet my partner tomorrow. Which, I might add, made no sense to me because you obviously have a vehicle. You didn’t need me to pick you up.”

  “Settled? Get settled?” he growled, his eyes narrowing even further. “Why the hell would you need to get settled in my house?”

  Blinking at his tone and his words, she stepped back, her hands dropping to her sides. “How else are we supposed to work together? I was told we would live here, pretend to be a married couple, and investiga—”

  “Pretend to be a married couple?” Logan shouted, the blood rushing through his veins causing a buzzing in his ears greater than one of his helicopter rides. “Hell, no.” Turning on his booted heel, he stalked from the room, pulling out his secure phone.

  Vivian heard him in the front room, his voice clipped as he argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. Finally hearing the words, “Yes, sir”, she dared to venture outside the bedroom. Seeing the back of the man, she felt the tension in the air as well as the tension in his stance. From more of a distance, she could see that he was not only broad-shouldered, but his physique tapered to a trim waist and his jeans fit perfectly over his ass. He had to be well over six feet tall, dwarfing her.

  Uncertain what to say, she sucked in a fortifying breath before walking down the hall. Skirting around him, she saw the grocery bags on the floor and moved to them. Attempting to keep her voice neutral, she said, “I also bought some groceries, but more is always better.” She began putting them away, haphazardly tossing the cans into the cabinets next to her purchases and the cold items into the refrigerator.

  “I see you bought 2% milk. I’ve got some 1% but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’ve never really tasted a difference, but figure all the fat I can keep off will help.” She plastered a smile on her face as she turned away from the refrigerator, but the dark expression on his had her turning quickly back to her task.

  Once his groceries were put away, she dared to face the silent man, still brooding. Now fully frustrated, she stomped over to him, stopping a few feet away, and declared, “Enough. Stop pouting!” Watching his expression morph from irritation to furious had her take a step backward, but his hand snapped out, grabbing her upper arms.

  Seeing the flash of fear in her eyes, Logan grimaced, immediately loosening his grip. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, Vivian stared up at him, sensing his frustration. “Look, why don’t we sit down and talk this out. Obviously, neither of us were completely informed about the situation, but we have to work together.”

  Nodding, Logan knew she was right and it galled him to admit she was coping better than he was. SEALs adapted. SEALs reassessed at a moment’s notice. Wondering for an instant if he had lost his touch, he let her go and moved into the living room. Not hearing her follow as he sat down, he turned his head to see her returning to the kitchen and retrieving two beers from the refrigerator before making her way to him. Setting them both on the old coffee table, she sat in one of the chairs, now facing him.

  Taking a long drink, he said, “I suppose we should start over. I’m Logan Bishop.”

  Her lips curved up, ever so slightly, as she responded, “Nice to meet you, Logan. I’m Vivian Sanders.” Taking a sip of her beer, she continued, “We might as well be forthcoming, so we each understand exactly what we have been told.”

  At his slight nod, she said, “I’m a biologist, employed by the Department of Homeland Security. I was hired to study and test the different chemicals and biologics that terrorists—”

  “I’m aware of the interest in biological warfare,” he interrupted. “I had the opportunity to meet Dr. Kendall Rhodes last spring.”

  At this, her eyes widened as her smile brightened. “Kendall? You know Kendall? I visited her lab in Louisiana when I was training. She’s brilliant. Her research for the International Olympic Committee is valuable for all of us in this field…uh…” her voice trailed off as his blank stare penetrated.

  He watched as her shoulders perceivably slumped and her smile, though still on her face, became less bright. He had not noticed in the bedroom, when they first met, how very pretty she was. High cheekbones and silky, straight, black hair indicated she had some Native American blood in her. Her dark eyes were clear and shining, no longer filled with fear, but doubt. His gaze dropped over her body, observing her slight stature paired with feminine curves. Jerking his eyes back to her face, he was relieved to see she was concentrating on tearing off the beer bottle label, missing his perusal of her body.

  Clearing his throat, gaining her attention once more, he asked, “What were you told about your work here?”

  “I was approached by a supervisor and told that I was to attend a meeting with another person in the Department, someone high up, but I hadn’t heard of them before. That’s not unusual, though. I’m just a lab rat. I went to the meeting, only to discover it was to be only him and me. He told me that there were terrorist groups in Alaska feared to be working on biological diseases that could easily be used to incapacitate thousands of people from all over the world. Either killing them outright or causing severe illness.”

  Seeing she had his full attention, she continued, “So, they needed someone to do the testing to determine what was being created.”

  “Why you?”

  Snorting, she said, “I’d like to say that it was because I was the best person they could send…but more likely it was because of my heritage.”

  “Heritage?”

  “You’re not much of a conversationalist, are you?” she joked, but her mirth died as she observed his expression was not changing. Sighing, she said, “I’m from California, but my parents were born in Alaska. My mother is full blooded Tanana Athabaskans. I think because of my appearance, it was thought that I would easily be disguised here. You know…integrating into the area and not really being noticed.”

  “And the so-called marriage?”

  Vivian bristled at the way he made the word sound, wondering if it was the state of matrimony or pretending to be married to her that he found so distasteful. Shrugging, “I was told that I would be in charge of determining what was being produced in the suspect’s house and, since I would be sharing a house with a specialist agent, we would have a cover of being married, so as not to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”

  “Specialist?”

  “Jesus, are you just going to keep asking questions? What about you? What do I need to know about you?”

  “I guess I’m the specialist,” he said, leaning forward to snag his bottle off the table, taking another long swig, letting her stew in the silence for a moment.

  Taking the opportunity, she observed her partner in more detail. His square-jawed face, with its day-old scruff, and short, dark hair gave him a dangerous, don’t fuck with me appearance. But it was his eyes. Greenish-grey. Or greenish-blue. Blinking, she felt pulled in by them, mesmerized.

  Realizing he was smirking, she shook her head
, snapping out of her trance. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said, can you tell me the rest of your instructions?”

  Blushing at having been caught gawking, she nodded. “I will, even though you still haven’t answered my question and yes, I do realize that. I was told that the security specialist would be in charge, letting me know what I needed to do, and would let me know when there were samples for me to test. I was also told that we would be sharing a house, next to the suspects, and that our cover would be to appear as a newly married couple.” Seeing his eyebrows lift, she hastened to say, “I assure you, I was equally surprised, but it makes sense. Why else would two people be moving to this remote location, living in the same house? A newly married couple that can’t afford anything nicer right away is perfect.”

  Logan had to admit the logic was sound—he just wished Greg had informed him of the complete cover. But then, he’d have figured that I wouldn’t take the mission. And, for a loner like me, he’d have been right.

  6

  “I can see this doesn’t make you happy, but that was what I was told. I don’t see any other way for us to make this work.” Vivian sighed as she leaned forward, her pleading gaze landing squarely on Logan.

  “I was basically given the same information,” he confessed, “although, I was just given the name of Sanders, assumed you were male, and had no idea we were to be sharing a house. And certainly not pretending to be married.”

  Standing, she collected the bottles and headed into the kitchen, chucking them into the trash. Her mind swirled with the new information. He clearly was not prepared for this and she had no idea what he was going to do. If he refused the mission the way it was, she would have to report back to work with nothing, and she hated not knowing what the neighbors were possibly cooking up in their house. Hearing a noise behind her, she startled, whirling around to find him standing right behind her.