“I’m thinking of dropping by earlier, if that’s all right with you,” he said.
“No problem. Hungry?”
“I haven’t eaten,” he confessed.
She laughed. “Sometimes I think you just come here for the free meals,” she teased.
“And the company,” Brad said with a smile. “There’s no lovelier lady in town.”
“Ah, a compliment. Definitely looking for a big meal.”
That was what was attractive about Amber Hutchens. She could put anyone at ease with a few teasing words. He’d seen her doing it with the peacekeepers who went to her café for her home cooking. Most of them were men who led stressful lives, trying to be policemen when they were soldiers, tiptoeing the gray line between law and lawlessness, and the small café right in the middle of town was like a haven, giving them a quick break while its owner cajoled them back into good humor.
“Do you need me to bring anything?” he asked.
There was a slight pause. “Flowers would be nice.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “The café was busy today, so I can afford a free meal.”
She was also a very smart woman, Brad mused. No other café was more fiercely guarded by the foreigners here. The local gangsters knew if they messed with Amber Hutchens, they would have several dozen peacekeepers messing with their illegal businesses that had been previously overlooked. Thus, the safest place to hide in town was a coffeehouse appropriately named The Last Resort.
“I’ll be there soon,” he said, “with flowers.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Picking up fresh flowers at this late hour wasn’t an easy task and he had a feeling that Amber knew this. He wondered what she was actually doing when he called. The woman wasn’t always cooking; that was just a façade. Amber’s thing was information—hot, up-to-the-minute information—that she used to finance her side business.
Brad rubbed the back of his neck. Gray line between law and lawlessness—he straddled it himself. He was aware that he was a source of information for Amber, that her easy questions were more than general interest in his job. His answers were carefully crafted, but he also knew that he had given her many clues, sometimes unwittingly. Her skill had raised his suspicion. He had checked with some of his sources and had found out she was a CIA contractor. A CIA contractor in Macedonia in the guise of a café owner, to be exact. For four years.
He had only been at his job as department head for barely a year. He knew he had quite a bit to learn, even though he was given a big file to study by both his predecessor and the UN source. But the file never mentioned Amber Hutchens or the operation she was running. He had only found out because he followed his own instincts, and when he had confronted her with it a few months ago, much to his surprise, she hadn’t denied it. And now that he knew what she did, he approved. He sighed. Sort of.
Which brought up the subject of Llallana Noretski. Of which he didn’t approve. The woman was trouble, what with her criminal record and…the way he always responded to her whenever she was present. She was Amber’s close friend and partner-in-crime. From what he could gather, she did all the dirty work while Amber got together the information and packaged the jobs.
The woman didn’t trust him. From the first moment they had been introduced, she had been alternately rude, sarcastic, and aloof. He understood the reason—she was a criminal and he was the law. They would always be on the opposite sides.
Brad released another frustrated sigh. This was Velesta, damn it. Opposite sides were a joke. Everything merged into a grayness that bothered his belief in what was right and wrong. That was why it was essential to step up and do something with the rampant drugs and prostitution going on. He was determined to draw a line somewhere. His jaw set at the memory of some of thekafenashe had raided. Girls under sixteen enslaved by drugs and force. He wasn’t going to let fucking red tape stop him from saving those kids.
He swung into the parking spot in front of the florist, taking a moment before getting out of the car. Every time he thought of the scenes he had witnessed at those darkenedkafenas,a raging anger took over that made him want to bash someone’s face in. Especially anyone working under that scum Dragan Dilaver.
With limited help from his own department, Brad needed all the allies and help he could get. That’s where Amber and Llallana came in. They might be playing both sides of the legal line, but they both detested Dilaver, providing Brad with needed information to get the man where it hurt him most—his bank account.
The cold air outside calmed him down somewhat. Flowers. He’d take his time choosing a nice bouquet and let Amber finish whatever she was doing. Maybe she would have some valuable information about the next Dilaver truckload of kidnapped victims coming in. It would make his week to squeeze the bastard just a little harder.
Hawk replaced the back panel of his cell phone. One thing he had learned from Jed about wireless connections—how to convert a laptop into a hacking device of those tapping into the same airwaves. Someone had hacked into his phone line, stealing his directory. They were still connected through that tiny device planted in his cell, so all he needed were a few adjustments. He wasn’t a computer nerd, but he’d learned a thing or two from Jed’s people. His laptop, unremarkable-looking, was no standard notebook. He punched in the code and password to access the shadow hard drive, the one with the programs he needed for his task. It was going to take some time and he didn’t want any interruptions.
He locked the door to his bedroom, then picked up the old black telephone next to his bed. It was one of those rotary-dial ones from another era, the numbers on its face faded from use.
“This is Hawk. Where’s Dilaver?” His lips quirked. “Furniture-shopping? How long will he be gone? Let me know when he’s back, please. I’ll be working out.”
That should make them think he was doing his usual exercises. He had been very careful about explaining his tip-top shape, citing an interest in weight-lifting and body-training. He had exercised in different ways every week to get them used to his unusual program.
“I’m a guide,” he had told Dilaver with a shrug. “Being in shape comes with the job.”
“Don’t smoke, don’t have sex, what a boring fucker you are,” Dilaver had said. “What do you do for fun—pose naked in front of a mirror and admire yourself?”
Hawk had nodded gravely. “Yes.”
That had given Hawk the distraction he needed as the conversation moved on to more lewd topics.
Hawk remote-connected his cell phone to his laptop, making it easier to type text. Then he carefully screened off all the other programs behind a firewall. He unfolded the note from last night and read it again. It was written in English.
