Free dark ops 3 - Renegade by Catherine Mann Page B

dark, which makes me think she must have been close to see you. What do you think could have been her real motive?”
    “My guess? She’s pulling extra duty like most cops around the base, tightening up security before next week’s big show. Then there’s the serial killer scare.”
    Or she could have been snooping. “It’s tough to tell sometimes if we’re following an instinct or paranoia. It’s best to err on the side of our intuition.” Something he’d learned the hard way when he hadn’t listened to his gut a year ago when they’d shouted at him to spend time with his wife. “You’re the logical choice to check out a bit more information on Jill Walczak.”

SIX
    Lee Drummond charged down the main hallway in Mason Randolph’s test squadron, rounded a corner, and slammed smack into someone stupid enough to try to juggle coffee and a BlackBerry. Scalding-hot java splashed from Gucci’s paper cup onto Lee’s blouse.
    Gucci jumped back to avoid getting burned. Lee wasn’t so lucky. Pain fired deep.
    “Oh God, Dr. Drummond, I am really sorry.” Gucci tucked aside her BlackBerry and pulled three neatly folded tissues from the sleeve pocket on her flight suit. “I would dab it for you, but that would be, uh, rather awkward.” Gucci waved toward Lee’s shirt.
    Damn it. Lee plucked at the fabric, rage steaming hotter than the drink. This was her favorite silk blouse, and now it was likely ruined. Just because she was a PhD engineer didn’t mean she had to dress like a nerd. She spent a lot of time and money on her clothes.
    Of course, she’d learned to expect the misconceptions. When most people read her byline on scholarly pieces—Dr. Lee Drummond—they assumed she was a man. It wouldn’t have occurred to anyone that the young genius PhD who’d written groundbreaking papers pioneering new ideas in explosives could actually be a female—Ashlee, actually.
    Lee took the tissues and blotted the pink silk. “I can take care of it myself. Thank you.”
    “I’ll have it dry-cleaned for you.” Gucci threw away her cup in an industrial bin. “That looks like an Ann Taylor.”
    “It is.” Lee sniffed back some of her anger. At least somebody had noticed her clothes. Anger cooling faster than her stinging skin, Lee reminded herself why she was here in the first place—because of Gucci.
    The rumor mill had it that Werewolf and Gucci had been called into a closed-door briefing. No such invitation came Lee’s way when they should all be desperate for her opinions about the incident two days ago. Her ire heated up a notch again.
    She might not be an active duty aviator in this squadron, but by God, she was a civilian contractor for them, with the highest level of security clearance. They needed her. “How did the meeting with Colonel Scanlon go?”
    Gucci blinked fast, tucking to the side to let other foot traffic in the hall pass by. She ducked her head and lowered her voice. “You know about the meeting?”
    “I was consulted beforehand. It’s my equipment, after all, but I had a prior appointment and couldn’t make it over until now.”
    “Oh, right, of course you’re in the loop. We weren’t able to add anything new, though. The whole in-flight incident really has them stumped.”
    Good. Lee suppressed a smile. “That’s too bad.”
    Mason didn’t have a clue, and he wouldn’t, right up to the time she ruined his career in the middle of next week’s high-profile gathering. She hadn’t gotten this much satisfaction since she was nine years old in high school and realized she could pay back the girl who’d beaten her in the race for class president.
    Lee wadded the tissues in her hand. “Is there any fallout from local authorities?”
    “There doesn’t appear to be a problem, although I think the colonel’s a little concerned about why that camo dude was so deep in the testing range.”
    A simple phone call with an anonymous—and false—tip about the serial killer had sent Jill