The Equalisers
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“You’ll be going to Kuwait, not Mr. Colby?” That she sounded disappointed was not lost on him. She hoped that wouldn’t prove a strike against her, but she was a little disappointed. Jim Colby had been so sure he could get her son back. Was this man capable of the same promise?
“I’ll be handling your case,” Anders verified. To his credit he kept any resentment at her question out of his voice as well as his expression.
She’d let her feelings be known, no point beating around the bush about her bottom line. “Can you make the same guarantee Mr. Colby made?” She needed his reassurance. More than he could possibly fathom. This was far too important for her to be dancing around the issue.
Spencer wasn’t sure he should answer this woman’s question the way he would prefer. Jim Colby had put him in an awkward position. Yes, Spencer was relatively certain he could make this happen. He’d spent a decade in covert operations and a good deal of that time in the Middle East. He knew how to get in, accomplish his mission and get out. Not a problem.
But this wasn’t as cut-and-dried as a military operation. And it damned sure wasn’t black or white.
This was a child. A small boy, whose life and future hung in the balance.
As good as Spencer was, and he was very good at his job, stuff happened. A stray gunshot, unexpected extra manpower in a standoff—way more variables than he had time to contemplate could come into play. It wasn’t as simple as going in, nabbing the child and getting out.
Khaled al-Shimmari wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill Middle-Eastern rich guy. The man had connections, major connections. His family was extremely powerful, more so, Spencer felt certain, than this lady suspected. He didn’t see any reason to go into that with her just now.
There was one glaring detail in particular he planned to keep to himself for the moment: the fact that her ex was suspected of supporting terrorism. Spencer had logged into certain FBI files with the help of the new receptionist Jim had hired. She might not have much personality, but she could hack into anything. That skill could be very useful and at the same time extremely dangerous. But that was Colby’s problem, not Spencer’s.
Willow Harris stared at him expectantly. She wanted an answer to her question. Yes or no. He understood what she was looking for.
“I can tell you that I have extensive experience in the Middle East. I’m former military and my unit specialized in hostage retrieval. I have a perfect record, no failures whatsoever.” He hoped that answered her question without actually answering it. Being evasive wasn’t his intent, but he couldn’t make her the promise she wanted. Not in good faith anyway. Colby had put him in a hell of a position. Spencer wondered if his new employer really had that much confidence in him or if he was simply that desperate for business.
With her hands wrung together in her lap, she bit her bottom lip and analyzed his response for a moment. He took advantage of that time to do a little analyzing of his own. She was young. Twenty-eight according to his research. She had a degree in marketing with an emphasis on foreign trading. She’d been recruited right out of college with a firm that catered to Middle-Eastern investors.
Willow Harris had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. She’d graduated college with honors and appeared to be very conservative in behavior and dress. Her navy skirt went all the way to her knees. The white button-up blouse was buttoned all the way up. Silky blond hair fell around her shoulders. She was pretty and clearly too naive for her own good. Those big green eyes watched him now as if he were the only man on earth who could save her from a fate worse than death.
Poor kid. That bastard al-Shimmari had taken total advantage of her. Spencer had a bad feeling about just who al-Shimmari really was. The fact that he was on the FBI watch list might very well be only the tip of the iceberg.
He had his doubts as to whether this case was as straightforward as it appeared from a distance.
She inhaled a big breath, unintentionally drawing his attention to her lips. Nice lips. Soft, full. Spencer snapped his gaze to hers and gave himself a swift mental kick for being an idiot.
“Your military history is impressive, Mr. Anders.” She licked those distracting lips and seemed to struggle with her next words. “Can you… will you tell me why you’re no longer in the military? I mean, you look too young to be retired and I… well, I was wondering why a man like you would walk away from such an impressive career.”
Not as naive as he’d presumed, apparently. He considered lying to her. He was relatively certain she wouldn’t want to hear the truth. But she’d been lied to enough already. Six P.I.s in as many months. Nope. This lady deserved the whole truth.
“My superior officer accused me of being a traitor.”
Her pupils flared with surprise.
No turning back now. “He claimed that I sold information about an operation to the enemy. Since he couldn’t prove it, I wasn’t court-martialed to the degree he’d hoped. There were, however, other lesser charges backed up by supposed eye witnesses. In the end I was charged with insubordination and behavior unbecoming an officer. I was demoted and given the opportunity to start over. I opted not to.”
That was the condensed version. It was also all she would get from him.
Even those few sentences had bitterness and fury churning in his gut.
She blinked rapidly, concealing her initial reaction. “Oh.”
He knew better than to expect her to be anything other than shocked or appalled, maybe both. And yet he expected more somehow. He was sick and tired of people judging him wrongly for getting screwed by a ranking officer. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
But she couldn’t know that.
She would only understand one thing: her newest hope for getting her son back had been labeled a possible traitor to his country by the United States Army. That had to be a little scary.
“Well.” She cleared her throat delicately and sat up a little straighter, but didn’t look directly at him. “Were you…? A traitor… I mean?”
The anger and bitterness rushed out of him in a choked laugh. He had to hand it to the lady, she was original. Instead of ending the meeting and ushering him out, she flat-out asked what was on her mind.
“No. I wasn’t a traitor. I just got on the bad side of the wrong jerk, the man who happened to be my commanding officer. He used me as a scapegoat when he couldn’t find the real traitor.” Spencer had always wondered if his superior had been the real traitor… if the whole setup had been about some sort of vengeance since Spencer had outshone him numerous times. He supposed he would never know.
Willow Harris’s expression brightened as she let out an audible sigh. “Good. Now that we have that out of the way, when do we leave?”
“We?” Dread kicked into high gear. This was not a tactic he’d anticipated. Jim Colby certainly hadn’t mentioned her desire to be involved with the operation.
She folded her arms over her chest and set her chin to a challenging tilt. “I’ve decided that this time I want to be involved. Ata is my child. Maybe that was my mistake all along. I should be a part of the operation.”
No way that would work. “I’m afraid your presence would only complicate matters, Ms. Harris. You don’t have the proper training—”
“This is not negotiable, Mr. Anders.” She stared straight into his eyes, hers stone-cold determined. “I will be right there beside you every step of the way, otherwise I’ll have to take my business elsewhere.”
The last gave Spencer pause. Jim Colby would not be pleased if he screwed this up. He had accepted this case, and he wanted it done. ASAP. He damn sure couldn’t expect to stay in business by turning clients away. This job was Spencer’s chance to really start over. To build a new life with an employer who seemed to trust him implicitly.
If he tossed away this opportunity… would another one that offered the same come his way?
Not likely.
His hands shook. He could sure use a drink right about now. But that wouldn’t solve the problem. Jim Colby was counting on him. Spencer was counting on himself.
And this lady—his full attention settled on Willow Harris—was counting on him. She wanted her child back. She deserved her child back.
Spencer pushed aside all the reasons he would be out of his mind to move forward under these terms. “You understand, Ms. Harris, that this mission will be dangerous?” He wanted all the cards on the table. No misconceptions or misunderstandings. “Your presence could actually jeopardize my ability to react as swiftly as I may need to, in effect jeopardizing the whole operation.”
The delicate muscles of her long slender throat worked hard as she summoned a response. “I understand the danger. I’m fully prepared to take the risk.”
Was she? he wondered. She’d lived in Kuwait for three years or a little better. Did she really comprehend how bad it could be without the support and approval of her ex-husband? He doubted it.
“Just one more question.” This one would be the deal-breaker.
Her gaze locked with his. He didn’t miss the determination there or the underlying fear. She might want him to believe that she wasn’t afraid, but she was. She was very afraid. As she should be.
“If I have to make a choice between saving you or saving the child, I will save the child.” He allowed the ramifications of those words to sink in a second or two before he continued. “Are you prepared to die knowing that your death possibly equates to a forfeit?”
Three, four, then five beats passed.
“Yes.”
So much for his scare tactics. “In that case,” he relented, “we’ll begin preparations tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
Tuesday, February 22
Spencer spread the map of Kuwait City over his desk and considered his strategy. The major streets ran in east-west rings starting with 1st Ring Road in the heart of the city all the way to 6th Ring near the airport. North-south streets intersected the rings. The al-Shimmari estate sprawled in the Suilhibikat area wedged between 2nd Ring Road and 3rd. This was where most of the wealthy Kuwaiti families resided.
The al-Shimmari residence was twenty thousand square feet protected by towering security walls as well as armed guards. According to his mother, the boy, Ata, was never out of sight of the grandmother, who was extremely possessive, or at least one personal-security guard.
The ex-husband, Khaled, had high-level government connections. Which meant Spencer couldn’t risk entering the country accompanied by Ms. Willow Harris. Before she would have time to clear customs Khaled would know she was in-country.
That one was a no-brainer.
Spencer had been surprised at the kind of connections Jim Colby himself had right here in Chicago. Fake papers for Willow Harris and her son had been as easy to get as filling a prescription at a local pharmacy. The quality of the passports and driver’s license was remarkable. He wasn’t the slightest bit worried about her papers being flagged, here or there.
What did worry the hell out of him was her. His mission would involve getting as close to the target as possible without being noticed by the enemy. He had no doubt that, if given a careful block of instruction, he could count on her full cooperation in whatever capacity he deemed operationally necessary. His primary concern, however, was whether or not she would be able to maintain any sort of objectivity, much less keep a handle on her emotions. Seeing her child again for the first time after so many months would take an immediate toll.
He didn’t know her, other than what he’d seen and heard so far, but there was no reason for him to believe that she would behave any differently than any other mother thrust into a situation such as this.
Human emotion had no place in a covert operation.
He had been trained to set aside all emotion and to focus on attaining the target. Willow had no training whatsoever other than in how to negotiate and maneuver stocks and bonds. She was ill-prepared for this operation and, unfortunately, he hadn’t come up with a legitimate reason to change her mind about full participation. He had spoken with Jim Colby regarding his reservations about her involvement. Jim had left the ball in his court.
If Spencer didn’t think he could accomplish the mission with her in tow, then he could pass with Jim’s blessings. Willow Harris would simply have to go elsewhere for help in retrieving her son.
That was the thing, though. Spencer was reasonably sure he could accomplish the mission either way. It was those pesky variables that troubled him. If his or someone else’s timing was off, if there were unexpected changes in location or the body count of the enemy… any one of a hundred different scenarios could alter a single reaction, resulting in devastating consequences.
He didn’t want to get this woman injured or killed. He’d watched his team members slaughtered on that mission five years ago and he had no desire to go through an encore performance.
Every time he’d thought about telling Willow Harris that he just couldn’t take the risk, he remembered the haunting pain in her eyes. The elemental need to hold her child in her arms again. No one should have to go through that kind of agony, especially not alone.
When it came to variables there were plenty, it seemed, in Willow’s personal life, the circumstances with her child aside. She appeared to be completely on her own with no support network. Yet her mother and father, according to his research, were still alive. She drifted from job to job, sticking mainly with temporary agencies for any kind of work for which she possessed the qualifications. She lived in the kind of apartments most people would consider barely a cut above the slums. Evidently most of what she’d earned and/or saved had gone into the pockets of one P.I. after the other. She’d forked over the firm’s required retainer fee without blinking an eye. Yet the motel she’d selected was one whose clientele rented more often by the hour than the night.
From all accounts she had sacrificed a great deal in hopes of getting her son back.
Spencer scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Man, he couldn’t allow feelings of sympathy to sneak up on him like that. He was real sorry for her troubles, but sympathy, no matter how well-placed, led to trouble. He’d learned that the hard way. He could not—would not—get personally involved on this case or any other.
He had a fresh start here, he wasn’t about to let anything or anyone screw it up. He had a job to do, end of story. Feeling sorry for a client wouldn’t get the job done. He had to remember that. Allowing emotions to slip in would lead him straight back to his old buddy… booze. No vulnerabilities. If he permitted a single chink in his armor of determination he’d live to regret it.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, followed by the receptionist’s voice. “Spencer, your two o’clock is here.”
Willow Harris.
He’d told her to come in around two. He’d known it would take most of the morning to pull together the necessary documentation. Next he would lay out his plan for her approval. Moving forward with actual travel plans would be foolhardy prior to getting her on board with his change of identity strategy.
“Thanks, Connie. Send her on back.”
“Fine,” the receptionist huffed before disconnecting.
Spencer shook his head. He didn’t quite get this one. Connie Gardener was extremely intelligent and intensely focused. She was a definite asset when it came to research and planning. But the lady had no people skills. None whatsoever. She’d just as soon tell you to drop dead as to say good morning, depending upon her mood. And that predilection extended to the boss as well as to Spencer or the mailman or anyone else who stuck his or her head through the door. Somehow, Connie just didn’t get that she was a receptionist at this firm. Being receptive and polite was part of her job.
Spencer supposed Jim Colby saw beyond her prickly personality to the definite asset beneath. As long as she didn’t actually run off any clients, Spencer didn’t have a problem with her. Considering most of their clients would likely be as desperate for help as Willow Harris, he doubted even a snarky receptionist would keep those in need away. He had to assume Colby had some reason Spencer didn’t know about for hiring and keeping the woman in spite of her lack of tact.
Willow Harris appeared at his open door just then, dragging his attention back to the more pressing problem at hand. She wore another skirt today, this one pink. The hem brushed her knees the same as yesterday’s navy one had. Despite the conservative length of the skirt, the straight, slightly narrow fit flattered her petite figure. A pink sweater and sensible brown flats completed her wardrobe. She looked nice if not trendy.
“Good morning, Ms. Harris.”
Her lips tilted in the expected expression of politeness, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Mr. Anders.”
“Have a seat.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. “I was about to get a refill.” He picked up his coffee cup. “Would you like a cup? Or maybe a soft drink?”
“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” She took a seat, careful to tug her skirt down as far as it would go before primly crossing her legs.
“I’ll be right back.” He paused at his door and studied her a moment. With her back to him, he could do so without rousing her suspicion or her questions.
She shifted in her seat a couple of times before she appeared to get comfortable. Her hands trembled once, twice, as she attempted to figure out what to do with them.
As calm as she wanted to appear, she was nervous.
About whether or not he could get the job done? he wondered, doubt creeping in despite his best efforts.
Or was her apprehension related to returning to Kuwait and possibly having to face her former husband?
Spencer turned, his movements soundless, and headed for the small employee lounge. Her apprehension would have to be addressed before they moved forward. He would need to know exactly how she felt and why she felt that way. She needed to think long and hard about whether or not she could really handle the coming emotional storm. Nothing about this mission was going to be easy.
“Anders, do you have a moment?”
Spencer turned from the coffeepot at the sound of Jim Colby’s voice. His new boss and partner came into the lounge accompanied by a female. Thirty-two, thirty-three. Elegant business suit. Dark hair pulled away from her face, not a single strand out of place.
The prosecutor. What was her name? Oh, yeah. Renee Vaughn. From Atlanta. Colby had mentioned her. She’d come by for an interview yesterday, but Spencer had missed her.
“Sure.” Spencer sat his coffee cup aside.
“This is Renee Vaughn from Atlanta. She’s joining our team.” To the lady, he said, “Anders is former military—Special Forces.”
Vaughn thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Anders.”
Spencer gave her hand a shake. She had a firm grip and a definite no-nonsense air about her. “Good to have you on board, Ms. Vaughn.”
“Mr. Colby!” Connie shouted unceremoniously. “You’ve got a call on line one!”
Jim Colby excused himself, leaving Spencer and the newest associate to fill the abrupt silence.
Vaughn jerked her head toward the door. “What’s your take on the receptionist?” The humor sparkling in her eyes tipped Spencer off to her amusement with Connie’s unrestrained brashness.
“She’s one of kind, that’s for sure.”
“Definitely,” Vaughn agreed. “But I hear she’s a former computer security analyst. Spent time in federal prison for hacking.”
That certainly explained a few things. “Really?” Spencer filled his coffee cup. “I hadn’t heard the prison part.” Maybe he and Connie had more in common than he’d first imagined.
“She mentioned it to me as soon as I arrived for my interview yesterday. Maybe because I’m a former district attorney. I’m not sure if she thought I should be impressed or was simply warning me.” Vaughn shrugged her designer-clad shoulders. “I’ll assume both for the moment.” Her gaze settled fully on Spencer then. “What about you, Anders?” she asked. “Got any skeletons in your closet?”
“I’ll tell you what I do have, Ms. Vaughn,” he offered as he reached for a second cup and filled it. “A client waiting in my office. Help yourself to the coffee.”
“I’d tell you to call me Renee,” she said, reaching for a cup of her own, “but I haven’t been called by my first name since law school. You can drop the Ms. though. Vaughn is fine.”
“I’ll remember that.” He didn’t wait around for her to ask any more questions. He told himself that he wasn’t ashamed of his past; he just didn’t want to talk about it with a virtual stranger. But that was probably more lie than truth.
Back in his office, he pushed the door closed with his foot, then passed the cup in his right hand to his client. “Watch out, it’s hot.” His oversight hit him then. “Will you need cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.” She took the cup, cradled it in both hands as if she needed the warmth more than the caffeine. “Thanks.”
Spencer took his seat and prepared to launch into the details of the mission strategy he’d developed.
“When do we leave?” she asked before he’d even begun. “I don’t want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. I’ve wasted too much time already.”
“I understand.” He gulped a mouthful of coffee, ignored the burn, and braced for an argument. “I’ve had to make a few adjustments to our travel plans in order to avoid tipping off the enemy as to our arrival.”
Those wide green eyes searched his, too much recent disappointment setting her on instant edge. “What kind of adjustments?”
“Your ex-husband is well-connected. I don’t want to risk his being tipped off about our arrival.” He picked up the passports he’d had made and passed them across the desk for her perusal. “In order to head off that possibility, I thought we could travel as a couple.”
“Lana Anders?” She looked from the passports to him. “How did you get these pictures?”
The underlying suspicion in her voice wasn’t unexpected. “You left a copy of your driver’s license and the most recent photo you had of your son for your file.” The guy who’d made the new passports was a true artist. The absolute best Spencer had seen. Not that he’d associated with that many forgers in the past, but a man couldn’t work covert operations without rubbing shoulders with the underbelly from time to time. “The pictures were altered subtly, that’s why you didn’t immediately recognize them.”
She stared at the passports and new driver’s license for a moment or two longer. “They look authentic.”
“I don’t think we’ll have a problem getting through the checkpoints.”
Her continued hesitation had just about convinced him that she would balk at crossing this particular legal line, but then she surprised him.
“I’m glad you had the foresight to take this step.” She placed the passports and license back on his desk. “You’re right. He probably has me on some sort of watch list to ensure he gets a call if I show up in his country again. I should have thought of that.”
He contemplated explaining to her that it was his job to weigh all the possibilities, that he’d been trained for that very purpose, but that wasn’t necessary. When she’d had time to think about it, she would realize that rationale without him having to tell her. Right now he very much needed her to believe he regarded her as capable. Destroying her self-confidence any further would not be conducive to a good working relationship, a relationship he hoped wouldn’t prove to be a fatal mistake for one or both of them.
“We’ll be traveling on business,” he went on, laying out the rest of the plan for her. “Real estate. We have a client who hired us to scout out office space in Kuwait. I’ve booked a hotel already. I opted for something outside the main tourist areas in order to keep our profile as low as possible.”