Page 6 of High Treason
“Lori, a shipment of coffee beans is coming in. I’m sticking you with roasting them.”
“Who showed you how to use the roaster?” Lori laughed rather musically, and Monica bathed in the temporary relief. “When you’re ready, I’d like to hear what’s going on with your family.”
“No big thing.” Monica’s family had no clue how she occupied her time.
“My worry is the sacrifices you’re making. I hope your family appreciates you. Anyway, I’d like to think you’re on your way to Costa Rica. Some gorgeous Latin guy is waiting to sweep you off your feet.”
Monica sighed. The CIA was her family, and there was no gorgeous hunk in her path. “How did you guess?” Her five minutes were nearly up. “I have to run. Are we okay? I mean, I’m saddling you with all this extra work.”
“You deal with your problem. Prayers headed your way.”
Regret swept through Monica for hiding her career from Lori, the dear friend who sat beside her in church, where they sang praises and prayed together.
Pushing her cover life to the side, she needed to focus on the new assignment and process a ton of data. Add to the mix a partner who’d voiced his opinion about the two of them being a lousy fit. This had disaster written all over it. Working alone was herpreference. Taking on a partner complicated her trust issues, but she’d give it her best.
She dropped her phone inside her bag and stepped into the kitchen. There she eased onto the chair beside Agent Davidson.
The idea of Jeff entrusting her to a task force meant he had more confidence in her than she had in herself.
Jeff caught her eye contact. “You and Kord have notes to compare. We all do. Talk through the police and FBI reports sent to your phones while SAC Thomas and I continue our discussion in the sitting room. In five minutes, you two are to head out to investigate this morning’s crime scene. FBI and HPD are on it, but we want your perspective. Initial reporting confirms a sniper fired from the roof of Paramount High School.”
“Did anyone get my change of clothes from the trunk before taking my car?” she said.
“No. I’ll get what you need later.”
She’d deal with it. “Yes, sir.”
The two men left the room. She took account of the time. Davidson sat at the table poring over his phone.
“What can you tell me about Prince Omar?” she said. “I’ve heard the media claims of his extravagance, appreciation of beautiful women and fast cars. But who is the real man, the one you call friend?”
His gaze swung her way, not as harsh yet still chilly. “He’s a strong and powerful man. Outstanding speaker. Successful businessman. Excellent father. Media claims miss the mark of the real man. And he loves his country and mother.”
In which order? But she’d hold her tongue. All good stuff, except Kord had a bit of prejudice in his eval.
He pointed to her secure phone on the table, and she picked it up. “The last several hours are documented. With your memory, shouldn’t take long for you to answer your own questions.”
She slid him a sideways observation before navigating her phone. “Special Agent Davidson, do I hear sarcasm?”
He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Call me Kord. And nothing personal against you, but this won’t work for Prince Omar’s protective detail.”
“Because I’m a woman. I get it. Experienced it all in the Middle East.” She returned her attention to reading about Princess Gharam. His mother had not responded to typical treatments. Neither was she a candidate for a stem cell transplant. Sadly enough, she didn’t have the rank of the favorite wife. In fact there were rumors of a divorce. Poor woman. Monica hoped to befriend her. Knowing the prince cared for her raised his status from the tabloids.
“We need hours to analyze intel and process Middle East chatter, and we don’t have it,” she said.
“Can you only work with precise organization?”
“No. But it helps.” The report about Kord fascinated her. “You’ve worked a few impressive missions in Prince Omar’s part of the world.”
“I gain a lot of satisfaction from what I do. And I’m at my best working solo.” Not a single involuntary muscle twitch.
“So you’ve said. For the record, I’m not a partner kind of operative either.” She noted his black hair held a slight wave. Unlike her, his looks gave him the ability to pass for one of the prince’s team. “I learned a long time ago that life often tosses rancid garbage. Deal with what’s presented.”
His face reddened. “Ralph spoke of your missions in Iran and Iraq. What’s your experience with Saudi culture? Haven’t had time to read it yet.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You’d better if you want to stay alive.”
