Proving Ground
Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for Stanalei Fletcher,
Proving Ground
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
…he couldn’t reach the knife. Although handy in most situations, it would be useless against a gun. His only chance of coming out unscathed in this encounter would be quick reflexes and luck. Mostly luck.
Breathing slowly, he cleared his mind, took a cautious step forward—and froze when he heard the click of the gun’s safety release.
The time it took to consider alternatives should’ve been spent backing out the door. However, in his nearly thirty years, he’d only run away from one situation, which, although dangerous to his emotional well-being, hadn’t been life threatening. He wasn’t backing down now.
The gun didn’t waver. The person behind it remained shadowed, but steady hands indicated someone other than a fly-by-night burglar. Had one of Sean’s old nemeses come after him for some long overdue retribution?
“I don’t know who you are.” Mac kept his voice calm, soothing. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not the person you want to shoot.”
The snick of a switch and a blaze of overhead light prevented more talk. Blinded by the sudden brightness, Mac stood rooted to the floor, hands in the air, not daring to make any sudden moves.
“Damn it, Mac, I could’ve killed you!”
Caitlin Malone.
Mac’s heart stirred to life. Blood surged through his veins as his breath released on a whoosh. He lowered his hands, but his body refused to budge. His reaction had nothing to do with the fact Caitlin had greeted him with a shotgun, and everything to do with the woman herself.
Praise for Stanalei Fletcher,
2004 Utah Chapter of
Romance Writers of America
Heart of the West Contest winner
“A wonderful new voice in romantic suspense. Caitlin Malone is a true heroine: tough and intelligent.”
~Dana Marton, NY Times bestselling author
Proving Ground
by
Stanalei Fletcher
The Northstar Security Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Proving Ground
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Kim Finnegan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0111-2
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0112-9
The Northstar Security Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To The Kids: Chad, Ian, James, and Faith.
How wonderfully you’ve grown
into upstanding and responsible adults.
Blended families are a challenge
and I couldn’t be prouder of how each of you
make “family” mean something in our lives.
Acknowledgments
Thank you Mary, Kent, and Steve. None of my stories would be possible without your honest and helpful feedback.
Chapter One
Atlanta, Georgia
Flight 1533 arriving from Missoula, Montana via Salt Lake City to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International was late.
Caitlin Malone scanned the crowded terminal, ignored the urge to wipe her brow, and checked her watch again. Fifty minutes late. Maybe Northstar Security Firm received the wrong intel. What if the target wasn’t on this flight, but had already arrived at another terminal while she was just standing here?
She arched her back and silently cursed the ribbon of sweat between her shoulder blades. It was increasingly difficult to keep her frustration at bay. At least her wilted condition wouldn’t rate a second glance. Her no longer crisp, white cotton top and cargo shorts blended well with the vacationing crowds—many of whom showed similar signs of melting as the early September humidity taxed the overworked air-conditioning inside the terminal.
Shifting her weight to her other foot, Caitlin flipped to another page of her magazine, pretending to read. The assignment was simple. Fly from Dulles to Atlanta. Locate the target. Track his movements. Report back to headquarters. Nothing more. Yet the future of her career with Northstar rested on a successful outcome. Nearly nine months of training, drills, and simulations had prepared her for the real deal.
The practice targets had been a lesser menace than today’s assignment, but she was ready. She’d committed the case file to memory, which included a photograph of the target’s face, as well as his physical statistics: height, build, and eye color. For the past forty-five minutes, she’d scanned the multitude of passengers until her eyes burned. She was positive he’d not yet arrived. She trusted Northstar’s intel, which meant he had to be on the late flight. Or wasn’t coming at all.
Caitlin attempted to ease the dampness building inside the band of her shorts by sucking in her middle. The tactic didn’t work so well. This simple shadow and report assignment had all the hallmarks of walking a tightrope, requiring patience, composure and poise. None of which had been her forte when she’d joined the firm. She preferred action over contained anticipation. Nevertheless, the assignment called for finesse and she was committed to deliver. She’d been trained by the best Northstar had to offer, and wasn’t about to let her mentors down.
Glancing at the arrivals and departures monitor for the hundredth time, she noticed the delayed flight status from Salt Lake City had changed. Finally.
She punched number one on the speed dial of her cell phone. One ring sounded in her Bluetooth earpiece. “The plane’s landing now.” She spoke quietly to her unseen partner on the other end of the line.
“Roger,” replied Sloan Cartland.
Sloan had had been circling the pickup lanes in the rental car, awaiting her signal. His experience and seniority outweighed Caitlin’s, yet the director had made her the lead on the assignment. Sloan was her back-up and logistics coordinator. She tried not to think of him as a glorified babysitter. Logically, she understood and accepted that this was a test. She’d just never done well on tests and didn’t want to fail this one.
Through the throng of deplaning passengers, Caitlin spotted an average-build, brown-haired man weaving around businessmen and harried vacationers. This was the man in the file. Her heart rate escalated. Adrenaline surged through her eager limbs. The stale airport air no longer seemed o
ppressive as her vision sharpened on the target.
This guy wasn’t on Homeland Security’s watch list as a potential terrorist. A background check confirmed he was an American citizen. The government couldn’t simply detain him based on conjecture. Nevertheless, his alleged activities had put him on the Office of Inspector General’s radar. The OIG’s call to Northstar was specific. Monitor the flight arrival and confirm the target’s destination in Atlanta.
Caitlin studied the man as he traversed the long corridor toward her, taking note of his appearance—an everyman who could slip unnoticed into a crowd until too late. In fact, if she’d never seen his photo, and had only a physical description, she could not’ve picked him out of the swarm of passengers filing past the terminal security gate. His faded jeans, sneakers and light-blue, button-down shirt didn’t shout look at me. Instead, he garnered hardly a glance from his fellow passengers. But she had been watching. Had seen the purpose in his gaze and confident stride concealed under a nonchalant façade.
“Do you have eyes on him?” Sloan’s disembodied voice curled into her ear.
His cultured timbre and deliberate speech grated a little. She preferred casual communications. But there was a reason for Northstar’s professional protocols. According to the director, there was purpose behind everything in the agent handbook. Caitlin had learned to curb her innate impatience and accept that sometimes it was important to cross every t and dot every i.
“I have a visual,” she confirmed, using the predetermined verbiage drilled into her during training. Dumping the magazine in a nearby trashcan, she merged with the exiting passengers a mere ten paces behind the target as he strode past the retail stores in the main terminal.
Caitlin spoke into her headset. “He bypassed the baggage claim and is headed toward the center exit on Terminal North. Meet me there.” During her training exercises, she’d learned to trust Sloan’s experience. She had no doubt that he’d time his arrival for the same moment their target exited the building.
She followed the target another twenty yards, each step calculated to keep her within visual range, yet careful to appear as if she was just another passenger minding her own business. The exit loomed ahead. She resisted the urge to quicken her pace when the target stepped through the doors. Most likely, he would pause once outside. Get his bearings and arrange transportation. If she raced to follow, she’d draw unwanted attention to herself.
“He just exited the terminal.” Caitlin advised Sloan. “I’m right behind him.” She strode through the doors and glanced around, expecting to see the target at the curb, hailing a cab. Instead, he’d just disappeared.
Traffic, pedestrians, and skycaps all conspired against her reacquiring the man. Alarm boiled in her chest as she searched the crowds. Failure wasn’t an option. If she didn’t successfully complete this assignment, not only would she have another six months of probation, but Northstar would fail in its mission to determine whether this man was a potential threat to U.S. security. She refused to let the director down after he’d taken a chance on hiring her.
Scurrying around milling passengers, Caitlin nearly tripped over a baby stroller and gently moved it back from the curb before it was accidentally pushed into the road. “Thank you,” a woman said, holding a squalling child.
Caitlin gave her a distracted smile. “Sure.” She returned her gaze to the crowd. Don’t panic. He was just here. She slowed her breathing and centered herself, concentrating on the sea of people looking for their ride from the airport or getting dropped off.
Her earpiece crackled. “I’ve got him.”
“What?” For a moment, she didn’t comprehend the message. Then a silver Dodge Dart slid to the curb next to her. The side window whirred down.
“Get in, Malone. Hurry, before we lose him.”
Sloan’s words, less controlled than before, made her jump with urgency. She was barely seated before the car pulled into traffic. She closed the door inches before it collided with another car. “You trying to kill me?” she complained as she clicked the seat belt.
Sloan gave an uncharacteristic grunt as he accelerated to merge with traffic.
Caitlin ignored him and scanned the vehicles ahead, hoping a glimpse of the target would help ease her frustration at losing him outside. “Where is he?”
“Third taxi on the left.” Sloan nodded toward the line of cars leaving the airport terminal. “What were you thinking back there? I thought you had him.”
“I did.” She swallowed the rest of her retort. Letting her temper flare wouldn’t help. “I lost him when he went through the doors.”
Sloan raised an aristocratic brow at her excuse.
“Just catch up, okay?” she snapped. A warning in her head told her she’d gone too far. “Sorry.” She wanted to say more, but every word that came to her sounded like more excuses.
Heavy traffic flowed from the airport as they merged onto Interstate 85 and headed northeast.
“It looks like the intel was correct,” Caitlin said. “The taxi is heading toward downtown Atlanta. The CDC is in that same direction.”
“I agree.” Sloan’s expression was grim.
For the first time, Caitlin glimpsed a different side to her partner. She’d known that underneath his upper-class pompousness there had to be a fire-tested Northstar agent, but until this field assignment, she’d never really seen it. Too bad his handsome face, and the crisp aftershave that whispered on the air-conditioning, had no appeal. She preferred unpretentious, rugged.
Unbidden, an image of John MacAlistair, in his faded jeans and hiking boots, flashed through her mind. Given what Northstar suspected about this target, Mac would have tackled the target and tied him to a post with a zillion Boy Scout knots before he left the airport. That was Mac. Upstanding. Honorable. Untouchable. Caitlin tamped down the painful wrench that rose in her chest every time she thought of him. Focus on the job, not pipe dreams.
“How do you want to play this?” Sloan asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, then clicked her jaw shut. Man, she’d almost blown it. She was in charge. Everything that happened in the assignment was her call. Her responsibility.
“Malone?” he pressed, sounding impatient.
Caitlin mentally flipped through the intelligence she’d gleaned from the file. According to the intel from OIG, the target was allegedly assessing the country’s preparedness for containing a bio-hazard outbreak that could wreak havoc on the population. Even the possibility of a bio-threat could potentially close airports, businesses, and trigger a cascade of disruptions to the country’s infrastructure. Once Northstar learned the target’s flight destination was Atlanta, the logical assumption was that he would reconnoiter the Center for Disease Control for readiness—assess the facility’s security measures. Did he already have a pathogen? Some kind of genetically engineered virus or some super-strain of bacteria that had no cure? Her stomach clenched at the thought of any such disease let loose on the unsuspecting population.
She swallowed a lump of fear, accepting that she’d signed on for this. “Stay as close as you can. When the taxi drops him off, let me out, and I’ll follow him. I’ll stay in touch via cell phone while I track him on foot.” Any time of day would be problematic for a tail, but this late in the afternoon, negotiating the traffic around the CDC as well as Emory University would be particularly difficult.
“And…” Sloan gave her a sidelong look, before turning his attention back to the traffic.
“I’ve got my camera. I’ll take photos of him. If he’s at the site, that should provide enough intel to substantiate OIG’s suspicions.” Sloan started to speak, but Caitlin cut him off. “I know the assignment. No contact. The target can’t know he’s been followed.”
“Correct.” He nodded his approval.
She straightened and stared out the windshield. Maybe she was being overly sensitive. Maybe he wasn’t patronizing her. At least he hadn’t patted her on the head and
called her a good girl. If she was lucky, she’d come out of this assignment with a gold star. Hell, luck would have nothing to do with it. She’d been trained by the best. Followed in her father’s footsteps, much to his dismay. Above all, she was determined to establish herself as a worthy field agent for Northstar Security Firm, one of the most prestigious private agencies in the country.
Prestige was what landed Northstar this case. A threat blip had pinged OIG’s radar. A small blip. Not big enough to warrant a full-out investigation from Homeland or any of the other alphabet agencies, but enough to contract a top-notch civilian firm whose record for apprehending bad guys maintained an impressive ninety-nine percent success rate. The one percent was an unsolved case that resulted in the death of Katherine O’Neal, the director’s wife, and wounded Caitlin’s father, ending his career with the firm.
Caitlin shoved the history aside. Now was the time for vigilance as Sloan tailed the taxi through the interstate maze before veering onto I-20. He sped up to stay near the taxi as it exited onto Moreland Ave and headed north. For several minutes, they rode in silence. She concentrated on the man inside the taxi and the implications of the assignment.
What drove a person to turn traitor? To want to hurt so many innocent people? Greed? Power? Or was it some other misguided passion? As the firm’s profiler, Sloan probably had an idea, yet she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Asking questions wasn’t a sign of weakness or lack of preparation, but it opened her up to a vulnerability she’d rather not expose. It didn’t really matter anyway. Her job was to tail the target, not to overanalyze, especially when she was still developing her skills. Know your strengths; know your weaknesses. Another line in the agent handbook and a good rule to live by. To put it simply, her strengths landed more in the action column than in the cerebral. Thinking a bad-guy to death never made much sense to her.
“Don’t think about it too much,” Sloan said, as though he’d read her mind.
“I’m not,” she lied. “It’s a simple tail assignment, nothing more”