Black Widow Read online

  Dawson had to admit he did, there no conceivable reason for this to be a lie. The question was whether what the man was telling him was accurate, not truthful. “Yes. I believe you believe you’re telling me the truth.”

  Chernov laughed. “You should go into politics, my friend.”

  Dawson chuckled. “As I told our President once, I’d probably kill too many of my opponents for them to ask me to stay.”

  Chernov roared. “I like you, comrade. You and I will drink some vodka together one day perhaps, when we are both old men, hiding from our governments.” The joviality suddenly disappeared. “Listen. This is legitimate. I saw it myself. If you do not stop them, I don’t know how many will die, but it will make 9/11 look like a training exercise.”

  5

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  “Raptor One, Sierra Four! Abort! Abort! Abort!”

  Dylan Kane bolted upright, his body dripping in sweat, his head throbbing in protest at the sudden movement. He looked around the dimly lit room, trying to gain his bearings. He was in an unfamiliar bed—not that that was unusual—and it was daytime, the sun mostly blocked out by heavy curtains, but from what he could see the room was immaculate, a print depicting the Chinese zodiac over the bed.

  Fang!

  He lifted the sheets, found his underwear still on, and breathed a sigh of relief. Lee Fang was a beautiful woman—gorgeous—but if they were going to sleep together, he’d definitely have wanted to remember it, and his throbbing headache suggested there had been a hell of a lot of alcohol enjoyed the night before.

  Yet it wasn’t that.

  If he were to sleep with her, he wanted it to be special.

  Which was totally out of character for him.

  His life was a string of short-term relationships based on the three most important things to him. Sex, sex and sex. Perhaps that was being unfair to himself. Good food, good drink and good company would probably be more accurate, though he often found that the good food and good drink led to the good company hopping in his bed for a good romp.

  And he had been quite happy with that for years, his job taking him into harm’s way more than it didn’t, his free time short and unpredictable.

  Hardly something to build a relationship around.

  Especially when you couldn’t tell a prospective mate why you might only see them half a dozen times a year, and not to bother making any plans since you might be called away at any minute.

  Which was why he was so confused about his feelings for Fang.

  His fetish was Asian women, though he found all women beautiful in their own way. It was probably because he spent most of his time in that part of the world, so that was what was available to him. And when you were in the Third World, it was easy to find a beautiful woman who was willing to have some fun for a few days or a week, if it meant living the dream.

  He wasn’t a pig. He treated with respect every woman he had relations with, and made them feel like a princess when they would go out for dinner. And everything they did for him, or to him, he liked to think was because they were appreciative.

  Though he knew deep down he was kidding himself.

  When off duty he was a self-destructive drunk who slept with as many women as he could, all in an attempt to forget what he did when sober.

  Kill people.

  A lot of people.

  The Central Intelligence Agency was a cruel taskmaster at times, and if he were FBI or regular forces, he’d probably have been pulled off the frontlines long ago for failing a psych eval. But being a Special Agent in the CIA meant training to beat any such evaluation, so they rarely bothered with them, at least not for the deep cover operatives like himself, who lived a cover day in and day out.

  He was Dylan Kane, Insurance Investigator for Shaw’s of London. A jetsetter who travelled the world to investigate large insurance claims and potential fraud for the large, well-known company that insured the rich and powerful for things State Farm wouldn’t touch.

  Like half-billion dollar yachts and gold trimmed 747s.

  The reality was much less glamorous, the shitholes he usually found himself embedded in fine examples of human progress like Yemen and Pakistan.

  He had lost count of how many people he had killed over the years.

  Though he knew exactly how many innocent people he had killed.

  Happy humming from the kitchen and the smell of something wonderful had him swinging his legs from the bed, eager to see the woman who had him completely confused, questioning his entire way of life.

  At least the downtime.

  Lee Fang was a Chinese national—a traitor, if you believed her government. Caught up in a scandal involving supporting an attempted coup here in the United States, she had been forced to kill a Chinese general and flee to America. Kane had been her contact.

  She was a member of the Beijing Military Region Special Forces Unit, an elite group of soldiers in the People’s Liberation Army, and exceptionally good at her job.

  Yet now she was an exile, living under an assumed identity, with no friends or family and no prospects, her agreement with the American government—who were providing a generous pension for life in thanks for her service—not allowing her to use any of her skills she had acquired over years of training.

  The last time he had seen her, recruiting her to help him on a mission here at home, he had made a promise to her that he would be that friend she needed. Hell, he only had one friend that he could think of, and that was Chris Leroux, an old high school buddy that now happened to work at the CIA as an analyst.

  And one more friend would do him good.

  She had happily, though shyly, agreed.

  He had stopped in yesterday, determined to show her a good time.

  With their clothes on.

  They had hit a nice restaurant, Fang clearly enjoying dressing up and getting out. She had been breathtaking, the line of her dress plunging down her back revealing a physique that had mini-Dylan demanding a peek. It had been everything he could do not to stare, then when he realized she actually seemed to enjoy his attentions, he simply gave up and admired her all evening. Dinner had been fantastic, then dancing at a club turned crazy with Kane impressed at how the tiny woman could hold her liquor.

  He had a feeling he had been conned though, he pretty sure she was tossing some of her shots.

  It had been the best time he could recall ever having.

  And I just wish I remembered it all.

  He looked about for his clothes and found none.

  Uh oh.

  He glanced down and just prayed she was clothed or his desires might be revealed.

  Pointedly.

  He stepped into the hallway and walked toward the kitchen and the singing, which had replaced the humming, a beautiful Chinese lullaby about a girl and her forbidden love.

  He smiled.

  I wonder if she realizes what she’s singing.

  And that I speak Chinese.

  “Good morning!” he called before rounding the corner, giving her a chance to prepare should she not be decent.

  You must really like this girl.

  He rounded the corner and found Fang standing at the stove, a smile on her face, something white on her forehead, standing out against her brown skin. “Good morning!” she beamed, clearly in better condition than he was. “Traditional American breakfast?”

  He glanced about. “Umm, what do the Chinese consider a traditional American breakfast?”

  “Gluttony with a side of greed is the official line, but this is from your famous Denny’s commercials.” She pointed at various stations around the kitchen. “Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.” She pointed at a stack of black—objects. “I tried pancakes. Much harder than it looks.”

  He laughed, stepping forward and wiping some of the mix off her forehead. “I’m sure everything is terrific.” He paused, looking at her then away. “Umm, awkward question, but, umm, did we, you know…”

  “Sleep togethe
r?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. You were a perfect gentleman until you passed out in the stairwell.”

  He flushed. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I carried you in, put you to bed then slept on the couch.”

  A sudden revelation had him staring at his underwear. “Wait a minute, these weren’t what I was wearing when we went out.”

  It was her turn to blush, her eyes quickly darting away. “Well, I had spilled my drink on you and you were soaked.” She glanced up at him. “And you were in no condition to change!”

  “Uh huh. And I’m sure you didn’t look.”

  She flushed again, turning away. “Of course not.”

  “Liar.”

  She glanced tentatively over her shoulder at him. “Are you saying that you’d look at me?”

  His cheeks burned. “Well, that’s different. I’m a guy and you’re gorgeous.”

  He heard her take a sharp breath. “You really think so?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Don’t you?”

  “Th-that wasn’t the question.”

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her back around, facing him. He tilted her head up and gazed into her eyes. “Trust me, you’re gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

  Gloom spread across her face as her chin dropped to her chest, her shoulders slumping. “No guy can have me. I’m damaged goods.”

  Kane squeezed her shoulders, chuckling. “You’re watching too much TV.” He tilted her head back up and smiled at her tear-filled eyes. “You’re perfect.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned toward him. He bent down, angling his head, his lips quivering in anticipation, his heart pounding harder than he could ever remember any other woman causing.

  This was special.

  This was different.

  This could be a big mistake.

  He closed his eyes, their noses bumped.

  And the smoke alarm went off.

  Fang darted away, grabbing the now smoking pan of bacon and tossed it into the sink. Turning the tap on, she threw a dishtowel to Kane and pointed up at the smoke alarm as she yanked open the window. Kane fanned the alarm as he felt his watch give him a slight electrical shock.

  Shit!

  The alarm stopped its wail and Fang held up the soaked bacon. “Umm, scrambled egg sandwich?”

  The toast popped.

  Burnt.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Scrambled eggs?”

  Kane laughed and pulled her toward him, giving her a hug. She returned it, holding him tightly, it the most comforted he had felt in years. There was something about someone who genuinely cared holding you, and he was pretty sure this woman did.

  There was something there.

  Something that would have to wait.

  He pushed her back gently, smiling down at her. “Let’s agree that I do the cooking in this relationship.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes dancing with happiness, bright and wide. “Relationship?”

  His cheeks burned and his jaw dropped slightly. “Umm, I mean, well—” He tapped his watch. “I gotta get this.”

  Fang’s eyes narrowed, clearly puzzled.

  He shook his head. “I’ll explain later. Just give me a minute.”

  She let him break the embrace and turned her attention to cleaning up the breakfast disaster as he headed for the bathroom. His CIA issue watch looked like any other luxury watch, but it had a few features most didn’t. Including a discrete messaging system that, when activated, would send a small electric pulse into his skin, a silent notification that he had a message waiting. It was completely undetectable.

  Unlike a vibration.

  Closing the door, he pressed the buttons in a coded sequence and a message scrolled on the special display, the glass face anything but. His eyebrows popped.

  Now what could he want?

  6

  1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - Delta HQ, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  A.k.a. "The Unit"

  “Secure call for you, Sergeant Major.”

  Dawson nodded, jogging to the secure communications room, he deciding to hang around after he sent his message to Kane. Sometimes he had to wait a while to hear back from the CIA operative, though sometimes he heard back within minutes.

  It all depended where in the world Kane happened to be.

  Or what he was doing.

  Kane had been a member of his Bravo Team before recruitment by the CIA. Dawson had been disappointed to see him go, but the guy had mad skills and was always a bit of a lone wolf. Dawson was too much of a team player to want to go CIA—not that they hadn’t asked. He had refused the offer, in no uncertain terms, and told the colonel about it, telling him to let CIA know not to bother ever asking again.

  They hadn’t, though the option was always out there if he wanted it.

  And he never would.

  He loved his team.

  Eleven of the best guys a soldier could ask to serve with.

  There wasn’t a man on his team that he wouldn’t trust with his life, even the new guys. If you could make it through Delta training, you were good.

  Damned good.

  Over one thousand people worked at the Unit, and he was but a small part of a much larger machine, everyone here the best of the best.

  And it was the only place he really thought of as home.

  He fit the headset on then hit the button.

  “Go ahead.”

  “You rang?”

  Dawson chuckled at the not-too-bad Lurch imitation. “I did. You busy?”

  “I have a few minutes. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got some intel I can’t act on, but someone has to. The colonel has tried to raise it to the Pentagon but his CO is dismissing it because of the source.”

  “Who’s the source?”

  “Colonel Kolya Chernov, Spetsnaz.”

  “You’d think he’d be reliable. What’s the problem?”

  “He’s made the top ten of Interpol’s most wanted.”

  “Really? Moving up in the world.”

  “Yeah, apparently he killed three of his men and some SVR agents who tried to arrest him.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Dawson’s head bobbed in agreement. “That’s exactly what I said. They’re claiming he’s involved in the theft of some Cesium.”

  Kane whistled, a burst of static in Dawson’s ear. “But he’s saying the opposite.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Who do you believe?”

  “Do I believe a man I’ve dealt with honorably on several occasions, or the Russian government? Hmm, let me think about that.”

  “Haw haw,” replied Kane. “Okay funny guy, what are we doing about it?”

  Dawson shook his head. “Nothing I can do here, but the colonel greenlighted me contacting you.”

  “Uh huh. So this is now my mess.”

  Dawson grinned. “Yup. Have fun with it.”

  “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  Dawson leaned back in his chair. “Give me a minute, I’m sure I can come up with a list.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m hanging up now before you truly hurt my feelings.”

  “Good idea. I’ve sent everything I’ve got to the usual place. Good luck.”

  “Thanks buddy. If you don’t hear from me, count the stars at Langley. Then blame yourself.”

  Dawson chuckled. “Hey, you chose a career path where no one has your six.”

  “Yeah yeah. Maybe I was just tired of Niner commenting on it.”

  “It is a nice six.”

  “Good bye.”

  The line went dead and Dawson pulled off the headset, laughing.

  And praying he hadn’t just set a friend up to die.

  7

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “What have you got?”

  CIA Analyst Supervisor Chris Leroux looked up from his desk as his boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Leif Morri
son, poked his head inside his office. Two of his analysts, Sonya Tong and Marc Therrien, jumped to their feet before Morrison could wave them off.

  Leroux motioned toward a spare chair. “It’s looking like the colonel’s story is true, as far as we can tell.”

  Morrison dropped into the chair, crossing his legs then reaching back to swing the door shut. “So he isn’t a mass murderer?”

  Therrien shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. He is Spetsnaz after all.”

  Morrison grunted. “They can be brutal. But usually only to their enemies. Career jackets aside, let’s focus on recent events. What can you tell me?”

  Leroux handed him a tablet computer. “The first three are from his unit. All found dead. Official reports show them all as murdered, but eyewitness reports and Internet postings suggest the first one was found hanging from his apartment balcony, the second one swallowed a bottle of pills, and only the third one was murdered. Shot in the head.”

  “And we don’t believe any of it.”

  “No, in the files the colonel sent he said they were all murdered by the SVR. He killed the team sent to terminate him but couldn’t save his own men. The only thing all four of them had done together recently was provide security for an SVR op in Chechnya.”

  Morrison shifted in his chair. “That’s the part of the story that piqued my curiosity. What have you been able to find out?”

  “Well, this is where it was a little more difficult to check. If SVR agents did indeed sell Cesium-137 to the Chechens like the colonel claims, they’re not exactly going to file a report on it. My guess is they were rogue agents and this was a retirement plan, not something sanctioned by Moscow.”

  “Agreed. There’s no way the Russian government would sell anything to the Chechens if they thought it might be used against them.”