Free Deadly Contact by Lara Lacombe Page B

She may know where he is. And do you want to know the best part?” he asked, unable to resist taunting this man a little.
    “Do tell.”
    “She’s got the know-how to complete the project. So even if we never see Dr. Collins again, we can still finish what we started.” He tried to keep the satisfaction out of his voice, but it was hard. He had done a damn fine job of salvaging the operation, and he deserved a little appreciation.
    There was a pause as the man digested his words. “That’s good,” he said softly. “But make no mistake, Caleb. You will find Dr. Collins, no matter what it takes. I don’t like loose ends.”
    Caleb swallowed the last of his vodka, hating the twinge of fear that danced down his spine at the implied threat. “What if he can’t be found?”
    “Then I’m going to blame you.” His tone was casual, as if they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “You’re a good operative, Caleb. You’ve done a fine job for us over the years, but you’re getting soft. You know how this operation works—failure must be punished.” He paused, took a sip of something and crushed an ice cube before delivering his final blow. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re irreplaceable.”
    A click and the sound of a dial tone saved Caleb from needing to reply. A good thing, too, because his tongue had gone thick and clumsy at the threat. He had seen the things that happened to people who failed, knew just what his “punishment” would involve.
    He took a deep breath, then stood and walked back to the mini-fridge and pulled out another bottle. Scotch this time. He wasn’t picky now; he just wanted the release it would bring. He poured it into a fresh glass and took a hasty gulp, concentrating on the burn as the alcohol made its way down his throat. Warmth curled in his stomach, and he returned to the bed and stretched out, enjoying the heavy feel of his limbs as he moved.
    He would fix this. He would find the professor and make him pay for this behavior. In the meantime, he pulled out the picture of the woman again and studied it, squinting to bring the image into focus. She was pretty enough, he supposed, with her auburn hair, hazel eyes and heart-shaped face. He could turn her, he thought, blinking against the glaring light of the bedside lamp. He could be very persuasive and charming when the occasion called for it, especially around women. He’d have her eating out of his hand within an hour. And if she resisted? Well, he’d just take her.
    He traced a finger along the curve of her cheek. “You’re mine,” he murmured. “Whether you want it or not, you’re mine now.”
    He reached over and placed the picture carefully on the bedside table, then switched off the lamp. The movement made him slightly dizzy and he lay back against the pillow, liking the pleasant spinning sensation. After a moment he closed his eyes, ready to surrender to the darkness.
    Time to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day, after all.
    For both of them.

Chapter 4
    S aturday dawned clear and bright, a direct contrast to Kelly’s mood. She hadn’t slept well; her thoughts had kept her awake for most of the night. She went over every interaction she’d had with George in the past month, trying to identify any sign that she had missed. Aside from the Saturday he’d snapped at her, there was nothing to indicate he was unduly worried. Either the FBI was wrong about his involvement or he was a very good actor.
    She frowned at the thought of the FBI as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. Despite telling them everything she knew, she suspected she hadn’t seen the last of them.
    She had invited James inside last night, which had been its own brand of torture, and had given him her key to George’s office. She didn’t think George would be stupid enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around, but he said they had to check it out.
    Having him in her apartment