Black Death 9 Agent: member of an elite group of men and women employed by the NSA for covert, off-the-books operations. A member’s purpose is to gain the trust of targeted individuals in order to gather information or evidence by any means necessary.

Five years later

Jack Stone opened and quietly shut the door behind him as he slipped into the conference room. A few analysts and field agents were already seated around the long rectangular table. One empty chair remained.

A few of the new guys looked up as he entered, but the NSA’s security was tighter than Langley’s. Since he was the only one missing from this meeting, the senior members pored over the briefs in front of them without even giving him a cursory glance.

Wesley Burkhart, his boss, handler, and recruiter all rolled into one, stuck his head in the room just as Jack started to sit. “Jack, my office. Now.”

He inwardly cringed because he knew that tone well. At least his bags were still packed. Once he was out in the hall, heading toward Wesley’s office, his boss briefly clapped him on the back. “Sorry to drag you out of there, but I’ve got something bigger for you. Have you had a chance to relax since you’ve been back?”

Jack shrugged, knowing his boss didn’t expect an answer. After working two years undercover to bring down a human trafficking ring that had also been linked to a terrorist group in Southern California, he was still decompressing. He’d been back only a week and the majority of his time had been spent debriefing. It would take longer than a few days to wash the grime and memories off him. If he ever did. “You’ve got another mission for me already?”

Wesley nodded as he opened the door to his office. “I hate sending you back into the field so soon, but once you read the report, you’ll understand why I don’t want anyone else.”

As the door closed behind them, Jack took a seat in front of his boss’s oversized solid oak desk. “Lay it on me.”

“Two of our senior analysts have been hearing a lot chatter lately linking the Vargas cartel and Abu al-Ramaan’s terrorist faction. At this point, the only solid connection we have is South Beach Medical Supply.”

“SBMS is involved?” The medical company delivered supplies and much-needed drugs to third-world countries across the globe. Ronald Weller, the owner, was such a straight arrow it didn’t seem possible.

“Looks that way.” His boss handed him an inch-thick manila folder.

Jack picked up the packet and looked over the first document. As he skimmed the report, his chest tightened painfully as long-buried memories clawed at him with razor-sharp talons. After reading the key sections, he looked up. “Is there a chance Sophie is involved?” Her name rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if he’d spoken to her yesterday and not thirteen years ago. As if saying it was no big deal. As if he didn’t dream about her all the damn time.

Wesley shook his head. “We don’t know. Personally, I don’t think so, but it looks like her boss is.”

“Ronald Weller? Where are you getting this information?” Jack had been on the West Coast for the last two years, dealing with his own bullshit. A lot could have changed in that time, but SBMS involved with terrorists—he didn’t buy it.

“Multiple sources have confirmed his involvement, including Paul Keane, the owner of Keane Flight. We’ve got Mr. Keane on charges of treason, among other things. He rolled over on SBMS without too much persuasion, but we still need actual proof that SBMS is involved, not just a traitor’s word.”

“How is Keane Flight involved?”

“Instead of just flying medical supplies, they’ve been picking up extra cargo.”

Jack’s mind immediately went to the human trafficking he’d recently dealt with, and he gritted his teeth. “Cargo?”

“Drugs, guns . . . possibly biological weapons.”

The first two were typical cargo of most smugglers, but biological shit put Keane right on the NSA’s hit list. “What do you want from me?”

His boss rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve already built a cover for you. You’re a silent partner with Keane Flight. Now that Paul Keane is incapacitated, you’ll be taking over the reins for a while, giving you full access to all his dealings.”

“Incapacitated, huh?”

The corners of Wesley’s mouth pulled up slightly. “He was in a car accident. Bad one.”

“Right.” Jack flipped through the pages of information. “Where’s Keane really at right now?”

“In federal protection until we can bring this whole operation down, but publicly he’s in a coma after a serious accident—one that left him scarred beyond recognition and the top half of his body in bandages.”

Jack didn’t even want to know where they’d gotten the body. Probably a John Doe no one would miss. “So what’s the deal with my role?”

“Paul Keane has already made contact with Weller about you—days before his accident. Told him he was taking a vacation and you’d be helping out until he got back. Weller was cautious on the phone, careful not to give up anything. Now that Keane is ‘injured,’ no one can ask him any questions. Keane’s assistant is completely in the dark about everything and thinks you’re really a silent partner. You’ve been e-mailing with her the past week to strengthen your cover, but you won’t need to meet her in person. You’re supposed to meet with Weller in two days. We want you to completely infiltrate the day-to-day workings of SBMS. We need to know if Weller is working with anyone else, if he has more contacts we’re not privy to. Everything.”

“Why can’t you tap his phone?” That should be child’s play for the NSA.

His boss’s expression darkened. “So far we’ve been unable to hack his line. I’ve got two of my top analysts, Thomas Chadwick and Steven Williams—I don’t think you’ve met either of them.” When Jack shook his head, Wesley continued. “The fact that’s he’s got a filter that we can’t bust through on his phone means he’s probably into some dirty stuff.”

Maybe. Or maybe the guy was just paranoid. Jack glanced at the report again, but didn’t get that same rush he’d always gotten from his work. The last two years he’d seen mothers and fathers sell their children into slavery for less than a hundred dollars. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. In the past he hadn’t been on a job for more than six months at a time and he’d never been tasked with anything so brutal before, but in addition to human trafficking, they’d been selling people to scientists—under the direction of Albanian terrorists—who had loved having an endless supply of illegals to experiment on. He rolled his shoulders and shoved those thoughts out of his head. “What am I meeting him about?” And how the hell will I handle seeing Sophie? he thought.

“You supposedly want to go over flight schedules and the books and you want to talk about the possibility of investing in his company.”

Jack was silent for a long beat. Then he asked the only question that mattered. The question that would burn him alive from the inside out until he actually voiced it. The question that made him feel as if he’d swallowed glass shards as he asked, “Will I be working with Sophie?”

Wesley’s jaw clenched. “She is Weller’s assistant.”

“So yes.”

Those knowing green eyes narrowed. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Yes. “No.”

“She won’t recognize you. What’re you worried about?” Wesley folded his hands on top of the desk.

Jack wasn’t worried about her. He was worried he couldn’t stay objective around her. Sophie thought he was dead. And thanks to expensive facial reconstruction—all part of the deal in killing off his former identity when he’d joined Wesley’s team with the NSA—she’d never know his true identity. Still, the thought of being in the same zip code as her sent flashes of heat racing down his spine. With a petite, curvy body made for string bikinis and wet T-shirt contests, Sophie was the kind of woman to make a man do a double take. He’d spent too many hours dreaming about running his hands through that thick dark hair again as she rode him. When they were seventeen, she’d been his ultimate fantasy and once they’d finally crossed that line from friends to lovers, there had been no keeping their hands off each other. They’d had sex three or four times a day whenever they’d been able to sneak away and get a little privacy. And it had never been enough with Sophie. She’d consumed him then. Now his boss wanted him to voluntarily work with her. “Why not send another agent?”

“I don’t want anyone else. In fact, no one else here knows you’re going in as Keane’s partner except me.”

Jack frowned. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone undercover with only Wesley as his sole contact, but if his boss had people already working on the connection between Vargas and SBMS, it would be protocol for the direct team to know he was going in undercover. “Why?”

“I don’t want to risk a leak. If I’m the only one who knows you’re not who you say you are, there’s no chance of that.”

There was more to it than that, but Jack didn’t question him. He had that blank expression Jack recognized all too well that meant he wouldn’t be getting any more, not even under torture.

Wesley continued. “You know more about Sophie than most people. I want you to use that knowledge to get close to her. I don’t think I need to remind you that this is a matter of national security.”

“I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen.” And not a day went by that he didn’t think of the ways he’d failed her. What the hell was Wesley thinking?

“It’s time for you to face your past, Jack.” His boss suddenly straightened and took on that professorial/fatherly look Jack was accustomed to.