Operation Proof of Life by Misty Evans Page B

to what she says.”
    Her gaze zipped from him to the bathroom door and back. “You want me to eavesdrop on your conversation?”
    “I may need you as a witness.”
    “A witness to what?”
    Good question. Silence for an answer, he waved her toward the bathroom. “Go.”
    Julia’s instincts about Dr. Kent might be right on the money, but at the moment, that didn’t matter. Michael’s own instincts were flaring red. His world had grown too small in the past twenty-four hours, thanks to Brigit Kent, both personally and professionally. She was trouble, and while Michael disliked trouble to his core, he never ran from it. The only way to deal with it was balls first.
    Dropping the flash drive in his pencil drawer, he put on his game face and listened to the bathroom door click shut. He was about to find out just how much trouble Dr. Kent really was.
     
    The intelligence community considered information only as reliable as its source. If the source was bogus, so was the intel.
    Brigit sat in a padded chair near Michael Stone’s secretary and fiddled with her BlackBerry, playing Brick Breaker to keep her mind and fingers distracted while she waited to speak to the man. It also made her look busy and important. Not that she needed to look busy and important to anyone, but the secretary—Irene, her nameplate on the desk read—was the reincarnation of the multi-armed Hindu goddess Durga, fingers flying over her keyboard, handling multiple calls with her headset, fishing through her file drawers and sipping her bottle of Sprite as if she were accustomed to deftly juggling so many tasks. Which she probably was. The CIA’s secretarial pool had to be as elite as the men and women they served.
    She shot Brigit a dirty look, which was due to the mobile in Brigit’s hands. The little black ball on the screen careened off into BlackBerry oblivion and a message flashed on the screen. Game over .
    Brigit sighed at the terrible score, nowhere near her high, and hoped she’d do better breaking through Director Stone’s brick wall. The information she was about to lay in front of his baby blues was based on nothing more than inconclusive evidence and her own best guess. Since she wasn’t on the director’s Top Ten People to Trust list, she doubted she’d get far with her mission. Just like the little black ball on the screen, she was about to land in oblivion. Only, knowing her luck, she’d probably land in a special oblivion for people who repeatedly stepped on Michael Stone’s Turnbull & Asser loafers.
    “Deputy Director Stone will see you now,” Irene said, rising from her chair like nobility and motioning for Brigit to follow her. “Remember this is a special case. It’s rare anyone gets in to speak to him without an appointment.”
    That was the second time she’d mentioned the obvious fact the man behind the door was just as busy as his secretary. Brigit tucked her BlackBerry into her trench coat pocket, flashed Irene an insincere smile, and lifted the chain around her neck to wave the gold four-leaf clover pendant in front of the woman’s glaring brown eyes. “Good thing I wore my lucky charm today then, isn’t it?”
    Irene’s red lips thinned in a strained smile, an edge to them sharp enough to cut leather. Her eyes slid sideways in what Brigit recognized as a covert eye roll. She’d done the same thing more times than she could count during meetings and diplomatic parties when someone tried to pull lamb’s wool over her eyes.
    The moment the door to the inner office opened, though, all thoughts about Irene and her cutting charm evaporated. Michael Stone rose from behind his desk, wicked handsome in his black suit, the jacket now unbuttoned and showing off a beautiful sky blue silk tie she’d noticed earlier that morning in the Oval Office reception room.
    “Dr. Kent,” he said, moving around one end of his desk with the grace of a lion. The stiffness she’d noticed in him at the White House had