Who was he kidding? He cared. He damn well cared.
The sudden leap of hope made him furious with himself. And with her, for causing it. He hated the reminder of what he had once been and what he was now. How many times had he dreamed of being called back, being needed to do what no other agent could, and of saying a nonchalant “no thanks” to the ones who had betrayed him?
Now he faced a decision, welcome revenge or a chance at redemption. What if he took the chance and failed? What if, again, they engineered his failure?
She watched him, her expression hopeful.
Even if he wanted to say yes, what could he do with his hands tied? “I can’t leave the country. The authorities lifted my papers and warned me not to.”
“Taken care of. Passport, badge and credentials, Everything you’ll need. You also get your CRYPTO clearance back. C’mon, you get carte blanche.”
Cameron put down the warm beer again and stood up. So much for his sense of self-preservation. He needed to ditch his pride and do this. Had to, and not just to keep her out of trouble, he admitted. There might never be another opportunity for him to set things straight. “I’ll need a few days to make arrangements for my business here.”
“I’m sorry, but this has a short fuse. We have to leave today. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get ready.” She was obviously grateful and relieved he was in, but the offer sounded a little stiff in spite of that. He suspected she hadn’t agreed with her boss’s orders to recruit him. She sure deserved a solid A for effort, though. She had set the hook and reeled him in.
That uptight attitude had to loosen up a little if they were going to get along at all. He grabbed the shirt hanging over the arm of his chair and pulled it on, then stepped into his deck shoes. “My car’s up at the café. Let’s go.”
“Where?” she asked. “You’re not planning to drive anywhere, are you?” She glanced pointedly at the discarded beer bottle. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Half a beer doesn’t affect me.” He beckoned her to his side of the deck and lifted her onto the dock. She yelped a little when he almost dropped her on purpose.
“I’m driving!” she declared when he joined her.
“Suit yourself.”
He led the way up to the parking lot and waited for her as she paid her fare and sent the waiting cab on its way back to town. When she rejoined him, he ushered her into the café and hailed Bobby Ray, who was sitting at the bar, sucking down a draft. “Hey, take over for me for a couple of weeks, will you?”
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Bobby Ray muttered.
Cameron tossed him the keys to the boat. “Hire a mate. Don’t take her out by yourself. Tomorrow’s still open. Take care of the Duck for me, or I’ll wring your skinny neck.”
Bobby Ray nodded and pocketed the keys. He never said much. Clients probably didn’t enjoy his company, but he was careful on the water and damn good at finding fish.
“Are you sure you can trust him?” she asked as they were leaving the café. “He looks sort of…disreputable.”
He did at that. Scrawny, dressed like a bum, rarely shaved, missing a few teeth. But he was a good man. Cameron inclined his head and took her arm to guide the little agent to his car. “We’re a disreputable lot, and that’s a fact, ma’am, but we look out for each other. And I have really good insurance.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
“It’s a Southern thing, sign of respect.”
“You don’t know me. How do you know I deserve respect?” she snapped.
“Call me an optimist.” He stopped beside the Chevy, opened the passenger door and got in. The window was already down, so he reached out and handed her the key. “Here you go.”
She took the key ring and stared at it, frowning.
“So, you driving or what?” he asked, prompting her to get a move on. If they had a short fuse on this like she said, they needed to get busy.
She hurried around the rust-spotted hood and got in. After a cursory assessment of the interior, she remarked, “There aren’t any seat belts.”
“Or air-conditioning. She’s an old car. We have to go only about two miles, though. You’ll be safe enough.”
She stuck the key in the ignition and twisted it. Cameron smiled at the deafening rumble. Who needed a muffler to go two miles? He rarely drove anywhere but to the house and back.
“Hit the main drag and hang a right.”
There were no more comments about his ride, and he gave her points for that. He had bought the clunker from Bobby Ray for a couple of hundred when the boy had needed money.
“Are we going to your house?” she asked, shifting gears rather expertly.
“Yep. Turn right here. Third house on the left.” He pointed to a small clapboard cottage with blue shutters.
“Cute,” Bradshaw commented as she parked in the shell-scattered driveway. “I’ll just wait in the car.”
“Come on in. You know you’re curious.” He shot her a daring grin. As long as he was committed to doing this, he might as well make up his mind to enjoy it.
Without further argument, she got out of the car and followed him inside.
“Make yourself comfortable while I pack.”
“All right,” she said, perching on the edge of the old sofa, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped. She surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Is this where you grew up?”
“Nope. Savannah. This was my granddaddy’s place. Now mine.”
“Does your family still live in Savannah?”
“Yeah. If you want something cold to drink, there’s tea in the fridge. Help yourself.” He left her there.
“So this is your retirement home?” she called out from the living room.
“I don’t have a retirement,” he snapped, wishing the bitter words back the instant they were out.
“That could change if this works out. You could move back to the D.C. area.”
He didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say. Pride wouldn’t let him admit to her that he wished he could get his old life back, square things with his superiors and regain his father’s respect. Until she made the offer, he hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted that. Yeah, he would go and he would succeed this time no matter what it took.
Half the country could suffer a power outage if he didn’t. A shutdown across the power grid could cause deaths and seriously impact critical infrastructures. The economy, in rough shape now, would tank completely. Clearing his name meant a lot to him, all right. And, of course, there was little Agent Bradshaw, who might run into trouble and get herself hurt or worse if he refused.
Enough analyzing. He had made a decision and that was that. He had never been one for second-guessing himself. Fully committed was the only way he knew to approach things. Full steam ahead.
Packing was simple enough. She had said the source of this threat was not in country, so he ought to prepare for any contingency. He included his tux and accoutrements, his best suit and the expensive casual things he hadn’t used since his last undercover gig in London. He added the forbidden laptop. Had they really thought he’d abide by that directive?
On the off chance that Bradshaw wasn’t providing equipment for him, he tossed in a pack of disposable wrist restraints, a penlight, his knife and his Kevlar vest. The Glock went in the bag next,