The Cinderella Mission

Except her warm brown eyes deepened to onyx with excitement over the impending assignment, and he couldn’t help but wonder if sex would bring the same heat to her eyes. “Sir, with all due respect, I can handle this one alone.”

The spark in Kelly’s eyes muted to muddy brown. Ethan refused to let her wounded-puppy look sway him. He was just thinking of her safety.

Yeah, right. “I don’t need backup. Kelly can perform any language analysis from here without the risk of putting her in the field.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” The director’s restless feet tracked the room, taking him past a line of mementos down one wall that included diplomas from his scientific background. The man had been a grassroots planner in everything from missile programs to genetic testing. “I’m not willing to risk it. Davidson and Juarez will be at your disposal to coordinate anything you need back here at headquarters. Anything.”

Finally the director stopped by a four-drawer safe. Reaching toward the back, he pulled out a bottle of vodka. “Do you know what this is?”

Ethan worked to follow the director’s train of conversation. “Aside from the obvious? No, sir.”

He turned to Kelly. “Taylor?”

She shook her head, staunchly avoiding Ethan.

Hatch held the bottle up to light. “There’s an old tradition in the agency and the military. Many leaders keep a bottle similar to this. Whenever an agent or soldier dies, a toast is lifted in honor. The weight of responsibility is as strong as if a family member has been lost.” He traced his finger along the empty space a quarter way down the bottle as if remembering a face with every shot glass. “I don’t want a drink with Alex Morrow’s name attached.”

Ethan watched remorse flicker through his mentor’s eyes and surrendered to the inevitable reality of two weeks with Kelly. Aside from being honor-bound to protect his fellow operative like family, he owed Hatch for giving him a reason to live after Celia died.

If Hatch needed a kidney, Ethan would start cutting. “Consider Morrow found.”

Hatch nodded. He replaced the bottle with cradling care before turning back to face them, all traces of emotion long gone. The director had returned. “Taylor, this will be your testing ground. Succeed and I’ll expedite your request for upgrade to full operational status.”

She sat straighter, her hair sliding back over her shoulders, swinging along her bulky sweater. “I’m ready for the challenge.”

“Take the afternoon to review the directives uploaded to your computers and let me know if there are any questions.” Hatch stepped behind his desk in tacit dismissal.

Kelly stood, swiping wrinkles from her ankle-length skirt. “Thank you for this opportunity, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Ethan gave himself a three-second window to avoid bumping into her outside the door and rose slowly.

“Ethan?”

Hatch’s voice stalled his steps. Ethan pivoted. “Sir?”

The director pinned him with a calculated look that made Ethan want to check his back for an ambush.

“I realize you’re going above and beyond coming in off R and R. I consider this a personal favor that deserves to be rewarded. I pulled something for you from the CIA archives.” He nudged a battered-looking file forward. “The file on your parents’ deaths.”

The file’s ragged state declared it to be original, copies no doubt scanned and stored. All the same, those dog-eared documents from a time so close to his parents’ deaths brought phantom whispers of deep laughter and lilac cologne. Muddled memories quickly followed of the kidnapping attempt gone wrong that had left his parents dead and Ethan alone except for his father’s sister. He ached to know every detail his mind hadn’t been able to absorb at five years old.

Hatch’s words slowly filtered through the memories. Why would a simple kidnapping attempt on a Fortune 500 offspring warrant CIA classified status?

“Finish this for me, and it’s yours.”

To some it might seem cruel for Hatch to hold that file just out of Ethan’s reach. But he knew the rules of the office and that included nixing emotions to get the job done. He respected the man’s use of all weapons at his disposal, even as he longed to wrestle the file from the director’s desk.

Ethan’s elusive edge returned with a full burn. “I see now how you rose to your position.”

Hatch’s hand fell to rest on the edge of a potted plant beside his desk. “Family is everything.”

Kelly charged toward her cubicle, tears and anger battling for domination. Anger won by a long shot.

How dare Ethan try to ruin her chance with his poorly disguised—hell, blatant—disdain at the prospect of working with her?

She wanted to kick him right in his overblown ego. Instead, she took out her frustrations on her office furniture. She yanked her chair away from her government-issue metal desk and flopped down. A wall calendar grinned back at her with a dimple-butted angel.

Kelly ripped a Post-it Note off a pad and slapped it over Cupid’s face so hard the divider walls shook.

“Problems, sugar?”

Kelly inched her chair back to look at the woman in the next cubicle. “Not really, Carla. Thanks for asking, though.”

No one would suspect the willowy brunette punching away on the keyboard had once been a field operative—until a bullet to the back during dark ops in eastern Europe had left her in a wheelchair. Now she worked with Kelly in the operational support division, developing high-tech toys for the agents she used to stand alongside.

Carla always insisted she enjoyed her new position since operational support had direct contact with field agents, a fact that had soothed Kelly through two years of waiting for her chance. Hundreds of agency workers never knew the identity of a single agent. In fact, many agents never knew other agents.

All the same, Kelly knew that hadn’t stopped the yearning in Carla to step into the field any more than it had in her. Suddenly Kelly felt damned small for being angry when she had the very thing Carla wanted. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Men can be a real pain.”

“Men?”

“I couldn’t help but notice Ethan Williams joined your meeting. I assume he’s the reason you’re out of sorts.”

Carla Juarez’s pitying look stoked Kelly’s temper back to life. This ridiculous crush had gone on long enough.

With impeccable timing, Ethan rounded the corner. Of course, he would choose now to make his appearance.

And walk toward her.

There’d been a day when she’d waited for him to lounge on the corner of her desk. She’d lived for the occasional invitation to join him for a sandwich in the cafeteria where they would discuss his latest overseas jaunt. Not today.

Not anymore.

Ethan cruised to a stop beside her. The spicy mix of aftershave and masculine sweat wafted her way. Her heart pitched. Damn.

“Kelly, I guess we should get together and review before meeting with Director Hatch later.” He sat on the corner of her desk like countless times before.

“Whatever you say.” She scraped stray paper clips into her hand and dumped them into the magnetic holder as if cleaning her desk might somehow restore her chaotic emotions to order. “You’re the hotshot agent. I’m just a desk jockey.”

Confusion flashed in those sapphire eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The docu-binder suddenly looked like a not-so-shabby weapon after all if she used it to clock him upside his thick head. She spun her chair to meet him face on—and came a little too close to his knees for her comfort level. “Could you have been any more obvious in there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Quit being dense.” She inched her chair back. “You know exactly what I mean.”