She hadn’t meant it that way, but she didn’t correct him. Better to have him angry at her than to have him wanting her. One more kiss and she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to stop it.
Cursing beneath his breath, Jake turned away and stalked to the window. Darkness had fallen. He stared out at the snowy landscape, his shoulders broad and square, his spine rigid.
Then he turned to her. As he did, his eyes were cool. “I’m going to pick up some supplies and get gas. I suggest you try to get some rest. We’ll leave in three hours.”
At that he yanked open the door and stepped into the night.
THE WIND HOWLED around the old grain elevator like a banshee. After an hour of tossing and turning, Jake gave up on sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the physical frustration of wanting Leigh or worry over Rasmussen, but he was too keyed up to rest.
For the life of him he couldn’t figure out how Rasmussen was tracking them. Had the international arms dealer traced the calls he’d made to Leigh? Jake didn’t see how that was possible, particularly with their being in a rural area.
Or had fellow MIDNIGHT agent Mike Madrid given them up? Jake didn’t want to believe that. He’d known Madrid for going on five years. They were friends. Or at least Jake had always thought so. If not a trace—or a mole within the ranks of MIDNIGHT—how was Rasmussen tracking them?
There was only one person he could think of who might be able to help. Fellow MIDNIGHT agent Zack Devlin. Devlin was an undercover operative—and an electronics genius. But with Jake turning in his badge, would the other man help him?
“Only one way to find out,” Jake muttered, and unclipped his cell phone.
A glance at the display told him it was nearly 2:00 a.m. But it didn’t matter. MIDNIGHT operatives answered their agency-issue cell phones regardless of the hour.
He dialed Devlin’s number from memory. Devlin answered on the fourth ring with an annoyed, “Yeah.”
“It’s Vanderpol.”
The beat of silence that followed told Jake that Devlin knew he’d walked away from the agency. “Any particular reason you’re calling me at two o’clock in the freaking morning?”
“I need to know how Rasmussen is tracking us.” Jake heard rustling on the other end, the whisper of a feminine voice.
“Kelly sends her best,” Devlin said.
“Same goes.”
“Jake, why the hell did you walk out? Cutter is frothing-at-the-mouth pissed.”
“He was trying to keep me off the case.”
“He was bloody right in doing so, man. You’re too involved to be thinking clearly.”
“They used her to get to Rasmussen last time,” Jake snapped. “I wouldn’t put it past Cutter to do it again.”
“You know as well as I do it’s probably the most expeditious way to nab that son of a bitch. Cutter isn’t going to let anything happen to her.”
I had to sleep with him. Leigh’s voice wrenched at him, and Jake closed his eyes.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“You know I will.”
Jake wasn’t the only MIDNIGHT agent who’d been known to skate a thin line. “Rasmussen is tracking us. Finding us when I’m certain we haven’t been followed.”
“Anyone know where you are?”
“Madrid.”
An uneasy silence ensued. “I know Mike,” Devlin said. “No way.”
“Unless they got to his family.”
“He doesn’t have any family. They were killed.”
Jake sighed, not yet convinced. “Rasmussen has called Leigh twice. Maybe he’s somehow tracing her cell phone.”
“Triangulation will only give the location of the nearest tower, if that.”
“We’re in a rural area.”
“You been shot at?”
The hairs at Jake’s nape prickled. “Several times.”
Devlin cursed. “There was a new tracking system invented by some Dutch scientists called Micronic GPS. A chip small enough to fit inside a pencil eraser. Two months ago, the firm was broken into. The technology was stolen. Conceivably these chips could be implanted inside a modified projectile.”
Now it was Jake’s turn to curse. “A projectile the size of a bullet?”
“These modified projectiles are designed to penetrate metal, but not pass through it.”
“Jesus.”
“Check your vehicle, Jake. Take pliers or wire cutters or a goddamn hammer. Pry open any bullet holes and see if there’s a device inside your vehicle. You’re looking for a black, plasticlike material that expands on impact. For God’s sake, there’s a possibility Rasmussen already knows where you are and is waiting for the right time to strike. Go!”
Chapter Eleven
Jake was out of the office and sprinting through the snow toward the old truck even before he hit the end button. He grabbed a big, flathead screwdriver from the truck’s bed, twisted it into the nearest bullet hole and pried open the sheet metal. Sure enough a flat, black plastic device clung like melted rubber to the interior mechanics of the driver’s-side door.
Praying Devlin had been wrong, he shone the flashlight on the tiny device, surprised to see that his hands were shaking. Even with the naked eye, he could see the copper wiring and solder of the miniature GPS chip.