"We could do what I was going to do in the first place, Mack--go to the newspapers, put it on the Internet."
"They'll destroy you, Jaimie. Your reputation, everything. You know they will."
His hand dropped to her knee, just rested there, but she was terribly aware of the heat generated by his palm through her thin drawstring pants. "I hate the mysterious 'they.' 'They' rule our lives. What are we going to do? Sit around and wait for them to kill us off one by one?"
His gaze met hers. There was absolute purpose there.
Jaimie's heart jumped. "Mack."
"I need to know everything you've got on Earl Thomas Bartlett, along with every company he's associated with as well as friends and acquaintances. And don't tell me you don't have a file on him, Jaimie."
She didn't want to do this, give him the information he needed, but she knew she would. She'd much rather pretend she had found nothing at all, but instead, she nodded slowly. "He's big, Mack. I know Homeland Security is supposed to have taken over everything, and coordinate with all the various security offices, but you and I both know that's not altogether true. There are splinter groups that protect their superiors by being very compartmentalized. Everything Bartlett is associated with is shrouded in secrecy. I take it Javier gave you his name."
His smile was almost worth it. He looked at her as if she was amazing even as he nodded his head. "Javier found a reference to him on the computer you let him use. How did you find him?" His hand moved, made little circles just above her knee.
Jaimie wasn't certain he even realized how much he disturbed her with his touch, how her body responded even though they were talking about something so important. She took a deep breath to steady herself. "His name kept coming up. There was an obscure newspaper article I read. It should have been on the front page, but ended up buried. I knew the reporter had stumbled onto something big. Bartlett's name is on several small shell companies. Each owns a private jet and seems legitimate. In fact, the companies file taxes and never turn much of a profit, everything very under the radar."
"What kind of companies?" His hand moved up her thigh, those lazy circles getting wider. Closer. More compelling.
Jaimie could have stopped him. All she had to do was put her hand over his. He seemed to be just smoothing the pads of his fingers over her inner thigh absently. Her womb spasmed and she felt her panties go damp. She ached for him.
"Jaimie," he prompted gently.
She forced her mind onto briefing him. "Quite a few of the companies are to do with foreign investments, but what I found the most interesting is the research facilities. Bartlett has ties to Donovan Corporation, built just outside of this city. Whitney is the majority stockholder in that company. Bartlett's name appears on a company in Oregon as well as several tracts of land in Wyoming, Colorado, California, and Nevada. The land in Wyoming is supposedly used as a secret military training facility, as are all of the rest of them. We know the facility in Wyoming was really a research lab for Whitney's experiments, specifically his breeding program, because Kane was stationed there."
Mack's hand moved to the hem of her top and pushed at it. His fingers brushed against bare skin right at her waist. "Bartlett is the name tying all of these places together?"
Butterflies flooded her stomach. She swallowed hard but continued. If he could breathe normally, then so could she. "I believe that there are more secret places supposedly used for military training, but Whitney remains hidden and this fictitious Bartlett is helping him."
"You're talking about the CIA." His voice was soft. Sexy. He leaned into her just a little, bunching her shirt in his fist, raising the material inch by slow inch. He was looking at her body, not at her.
She was having difficulty breathing no matter how hard she tried to stay cool. "Bartlett's got to be their money man, Mack. And he doesn't exist anywhere."
"But you know who he is." He made it a statement as he bent forward until she could feel his warm breath against her belly.
Jaimie closed her eyes. "You won't believe me if I tell you."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Had his voice shaken? She didn't know. His lips were against her skin as he spoke. She could feel them, velvet soft, moving over her tummy. He moved into her, forcing her body back to give him more room.
"Because he was arrested and charged with murder and espionage and convicted. He was serving out his sentence in a military prison. According to his records, he attempted suicide by hanging himself and lost brain function. At that time he was transferred to a hospital for the insane and is currently residing there." She dared to touch him. To put her hands in his hair, that thick mass of short hair that felt so good moving over her skin.
"He does all this from the hospital with no brain function?" His tongue moved in her belly button. His fist yanked her shirt up over her breasts. He frowned at her. "Why the hell do you always wear a bra?"
"I'm modest."
"Take it off." He stood there, wedged between her thighs, angling her body back over the desktop, his fist holding her cami up. "Take it off for me, Jaimie."
Her fingers trembled. She glanced at the stairway, but she unhooked the front clasp and let the cups part in the middle, spilling her breasts out into the open air. There was relief as the cool air touched her skin. "I thought I was briefing you."
"You are. You were telling me about your suspect losing brain function and still running things from a mental hospital."
She took a slow breath, her breasts heaving. Mack just kept his head close to her body, his mouth pressed against her belly button. She could barely think with the roaring in her head. "I don't think he was ever in prison, Mack. I think someone else was taken to prison, probably this man . . ." She caught his head in her hands. "I'm going to need the computer."
"Then take off your top."
"You want me to brief you topless?"
"Yes." He stepped back slowly, his eyes moving broodingly over her face.
"Will you remember what I tell you?"
"Every damn word," he said, "will be etched into my brain."
"Well, then." Jaimie drew her top over her head and set it aside.
Kane, I need some time down here alone, Mack reached out to his second-in-command.
You got it, boss.
"Your bra," he prompted.
She let the bra straps slide down her arms and she placed the lacy scrap on top of her shirt. She heard his indrawn breath and found herself smiling as she turned to her computer, her fingers flashing across the keyboard to bring up a picture of a young, earnest-looking man with dark hair and scared eyes. "This is Thomas Matherson. He was an aide to Phillip Thornton, who happened to be CEO of Donovan Labs a couple of years ago. Matherson disappeared right after Thornton was arrested. Everyone thought he was involved and that he ran. The rumor is, he was paid off and is living the high life in Costa Rica."
Mack ran his finger down the side of her breast, but his eyes stayed on the screen. "But you think he's in a mental hospital as Phillip Thornton."
"Absolutely I do." Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "There are tons of documents with Bartlett's signature, Mack. There's no picture of him, but his signature is everywhere." She brought up a document and enlarged the signature at the bottom. "Earl Thomas Bartlett" had been signed with a flourish. "Now look at Thornton's signature. Our brain-dead Phillip Thornton." She placed a second signature beside the first.
Mack walked right up to the large screen and studied the two signatures. "You ran them both I take it and there's no mistake?"
"Numerous times, Mack. The signature was really the only consistent thing I had to ID him with, so I ran it against every single person that had a past with Whitney. Thornton worked for him, with him, for years. They went to the same school together. He was implicated in Whitney's supposed murder."
"You think he helped Whitney disappear and that he's assumed a new identity and is now providing Whitney with everything he needs to stay gone?" He turned away from t
he screen, his gaze moving possessively over her body.
Jaimie faced him, very conscious of the fact that he was fully clothed and she was half naked. There was something very sexy and exciting about having a man look at her the way he was, his gaze hot as it moved over her. "Yes, I absolutely believe he's the man covering Whitney's butt. I think he tipped off Whitney that there was a conspiracy to kill the GhostWalkers. General Ronald McEntire was assigned to the National Reconnaissance Office, building spy satellites. He was a major influence in the Donovan Labs getting government contracts. He went to school with Thornton and Whitney. They were all thick as thieves for a while."
Mack sank into a chair, rubbing his shadowed jaw as he looked at her. "Are you wearing panties, Jaimie?"
"Is that relevant? What exactly are you doing?" Now he was making her nervous.
"Looking at what's mine." He crooked his finger at her. "You've really dug deep, haven't you?"
She took two steps toward him. "I had to. Thornton has been Bartlett for years. Some of the documents have been around for years. He's got a lot of clout, Mack."
Mack pointed to the spot in front of his chair. "How in the world did you find his new identity?"
"He's been in the shadows for so long, getting away with his Bartlett act, simply because the agency covers his ass. He switched identities with his aide. Someone had to have been paid off at the prison to make the switch in the first place, and he had to create a third identity. Which isn't all that hard when you work for the CIA." She took the last few steps until she stood in front of the chair. Her knees felt weak.
"His signature," Mack guessed. "You nailed him through his signature."
"I have Thornton's prints from his records, but even that could have been tampered with. Yeah, I found him through his signature. I assumed he'd be very low profile this time, change his appearance, but Thornton had amassed a fortune. He wasn't going to let that go."
He was just looking at her, his gaze moving hungrily over her face and breasts. "How did he keep his fortune when he was convicted of espionage?"
"Mack, I can't think straight." He was killing her with need.
"Yes, you can." His hands reached out and caught the string at her waist. He tugged her a step closer.
She took a calming breath. "There's a lawyer, a man named Mark Scott. He seems to do a lot of business with these companies. He brokered the deal for three different private jets for three of the corporations. Strange thing is, he works for only a handful of clients, including a Shelton Barstow Reams who also has no driver's license or anything else I can find, but does have two post office boxes and a company in Virginia."
"Are Reams and Thornton the same man?" He played with the string at her waistband.
She shook her head. "No, Reams is another ghost living in the shadows, coming out only to sign documents and put companies in his name. He's like Bartlett. And Mark Scott just happens to be the attorney for both men."
"So this attorney, Mark Scott, really works for the CIA as well."
She shrugged. "I think it's a good bet. That's why I began looking into his client list. Believe me, Mack, it wasn't very long. I found this man." She tried to take a step away from him back to the computer but he held on to the string. "Mack, I need to . . ."
He pulled the string so that the bow slipped open. His hands caught the waistband and widened it so that the pants dropped around her ankles, leaving her standing in a tiny thong. It barely covered the front of her. His hand slid up her bare inner thigh, higher, until he found the junction and the damp material of her thong. "You don't need this, baby. Get rid of it."
She opened her mouth to protest, glancing once more toward the stairs. He pushed the material aside. "Look at me, Jaimie, not the stairs. This is about me. I had to lie in that bed all night, inhaling you, my hands on your body, and I couldn't do a thing. It was torture, so if I torture you a little, you can put up with it."
She hesitated and then hooked her thumbs in the narrow band and pushed the thong from her hips, stepping out of it. "Am I supposed to conduct the briefing completely naked?"
"Yes."
"And keep my mind on it?"
"I'll do my best to occasionally distract you."
Her body felt feminine and sexy, beautiful even, with him staring at her, drinking her in. She turned and walked to the computer, using a little hip action, knowing he was watching the sway of her butt. She bent over the keyboard, turning slightly to give him a bit of her profile, so he could see the swell of her breasts along with her bottom, accepting his implied dare.
Jaimie's overhead screen immediately held a photograph of an older, gray-haired gentleman with glasses. "Meet James Bradley Jefferson the third."
Mack's gaze reluctantly left her body to study the face on the screen. He waited while Jaimie's fingers flew over the keyboard again. A second photograph appeared beside the first. "This is Phillip Thornton."
The two men were the same height and weight, but their faces seemed different--their noses and jawlines. Thornton wore his hair very short, while Jefferson's was a bit wilder, giving him a rakish look.
"They both favor Armani suits," he said. "Are you telling me that's Phillip Thornton? Or Bartlett? They aren't the same man."
"I ran my handy, dandy program, Mack. It finds bone markers; their faces are structurally the same and it doesn't lie. His nose and chin have been altered, but that's Phillip Thornton. And Earl Thomas Bartlett. And James Bradley Jefferson the third. They're all the same man."
He shook his head. "I don't see it."
"I followed the money, Mack. Thornton's fortune was long gone when they went to find it. He had all his money in offshore accounts. The Feds managed to get his heavily mortgaged home and about thirty thousand dollars. I found fourteen million dollars in one offshore account and a second one holding an additional sixteen, both belonging to Thornton. The money disappeared, just vanished into thin air."
She straightened slowly and turned to face him, conscious of her body and the way his eyes jumped from the screen to her. "It just so happens that around the same time that Thornton's money vanished, James Bradley Jefferson the third suddenly came into being and guess what? He just happened to have the exact amount of money that disappeared from Thornton's account. And one more thing, Mack. Remember those private jets that can land on our military bases? He has one. And his most recent trip was to Oregon, or to be more precise, to a secret training facility."
Mack tapped the arm of his chair with restless fingers. "You really found the son of a bitch, didn't you, Jaimie?"
"Absolutely I did." She sent him a half smile.
"Come here, baby. I think you deserve a reward for all your hard work."
Her heart jumped, began to beat overtime. His voice was dark and sensuous, Mack at his most persuasive. It was always impossible to ignore that voice when he wanted her. That exact tone was one of the reasons she'd left him. She would never have resisted him. He didn't move from the chair, just watched her with hooded eyes.
She stood in front of him. Naked. Without a stitch. Her body was already betraying her. She could feel the damp nectar moistening her entrance. Every muscle was tight, crying out for him, straining toward him. His gaze drifted over her. Hot. Hungry. Making her mouth water and her body weep.
"You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" he asked, and slowly lifted his hand to her breast, stroking a caress almost absently over the creamy swell.
She closed her eyes, savoring his light touch, but she felt it deep, so that her body reacted with a tightening, a cry for his. His fingers tugged at her nipple, sending a wave of heat rushing through her.
"Cup your breasts in your palms. Hold them out to me." His voice lowered another octave, so husky now she could feel the rasp between her legs.
She couldn't help herself, blindly obeying, her hands coming up under the weight of her breasts, holding them for him like an offering.
Mack could barely breathe with wanting her. Anger and
arousal intensified his growing desire. His cock was rock hard and the sight of her, offering her breasts to him, her body bare, the moisture gathering on her tiny midnight curls at the junction of her legs, only made him all the harder. She had a lot to answer for, not the least of which was how she made him feel. Looking at her, knowing she had dared to leave him, knowing she'd entrusted her information to someone other than him, made him furious. And right now fury was alive and well, mixing with lust, giving him a need to dominate, to exert control, even to punish her for her betrayal.
She was so beautiful. Her breasts rose and fell, cupped erotically in her own palms. Her nipples were hard pebbles, her skin flushed. She trembled, her stomach tight with arousal, her thighs quivering. He took his time, his movements unhurried when desire coursed through him like a firestorm. His lips settled around her breast, drew the soft flesh into the heat of his mouth, his tongue flicking the taut pebble of her nipple so that a low moan escaped. He caught that little bead in his mouth, suckled strongly, raked with the edge of his teeth, so that she gave another choking, inarticulate cry.
His hand dropped to slide through the moisture gathered in her curls, now slick with welcome. Her body shuddered in response. He lifted his head and when she went to drop her hands he stopped her, shaking his head. "Just stand there waiting for me. Just like that. I love the way you look offering your body to me."
There was that note again, the one she couldn't resist. He didn't take his gaze from hers as he stripped off his clothes and tossed them aside. He was hard, beautiful, his shaft thick and pulsing against his stomach. His heavy erection looked almost as intimidating as the dark promise in his eyes. Her body was shaking now, every nerve ending stretched taut. She'd seen him like this before, and knew what was coming. Mack liked to prolong the anticipation, stretching her out on a tormenting rack of pure pleasure. He'd bring her again and again right to the brink of satisfaction and keep her poised there, never taking her over the edge until she was pleading with him for relief, for anything he wanted. And he always succeeded. His possession was her dark addiction and he knew it and used it whenever he was on edge.
"Get on your hands and knees, Jaimie." His voice was nearly hoarse, yet velvet soft and firm.