All the Queen's Men by Linda Howard

what you're doing?"
    "Probably not. But I'm doing it anyway."
    "Ronsard isn't anyone's fool."
    John was relaxed in one of the big leather chairs in Frank's library. He steepled his fingers under his chin while he studied the chessboard. They had resumed the game that had been interrupted two days before, when an agent brought over the preliminary report on the crash of Flight 183. "You're the one who brought her into it," he pointed out.
    Frank flushed. "I was being an interfering fool," he grumbled.
    "And a sneaky one, or are you going to tell me you didn't have it in mind that I'd be a lot more willing to step into your shoes if I had an incentive to retire from field ops?" He moved a knight. "Check"
    "Son of a bitch." Frank glared at the board for a minute, then looked up at John. "You have to retire some time, and I can't think of a better place for you to use your expertise than in my office."
    " 'Some time' isn't now. Until I'm compromised, I can do more good in the field."
    "Taking Niema Burdock into the field might make that sooner rather than later. For one thing, she knows who you are. For another"- Frank gave him a shrewd look-"could you leave her behind if necessary?"
    John's eyes went flat and cold. "I can do whatever I have to do." How could Frank ask him that, after Venetia? "And Niema is probably the best choice I have available. I wouldn't use her if she wasn't. I need someone else in there with me, and she's the one most likely to get an invitation from Ronsard."
    "What if he doesn't fall for it? What if he doesn't invite her?"
    "Then I'll have to do what I can, but the risks go up. With her, I have a good chance of getting in and out without being detected."
    "All right. I'll arrange for her to have an unspecified leave." Frank nudged a bishop into place.
    "That's what I thought you'd do," John said, and moved a pawn. "Check and mate."
    "Son of a bitch," Frank muttered.
    "I'm crazy," Niema muttered to herself as she rolled out of bed before dawn. Yawning, she dressed: sweat pants and a T-shirt, then socks and athletic shoes. "Certified loony."
    How had she let herself be convinced to help Medina on this job, when she had sworn she'd never let herself be sucked back into that life? Hadn't losing Dallas taught her anything?
    But Medina was right about terrorism, right about the applications of such an explosive, right about the innocent people who would die. He was
right,
damn it. So, if she could help, then she had to do it.
    She went into the bathroom and washed her face, then brushed her teeth and hair. The face that looked back at her from the mirror was still puffy from sleep, but there was color in her cheeks and a brightness to her eyes that made her hate herself. She was looking forward to this, for God's sake. Dallas had died, and she still hadn't learned anything.
    "Niema! Get a move on."
    She went rigid. Not quite believing what she'd heard, she opened the bathroom door and looked out into her bedroom. No one was there. She crossed over to the hall door and opened it. Light, along with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, spilled down the hall, coming from the direction of the kitchen.
    "What in the
hell
are you doing in my house?" she snarled, stomping toward the kitchen. "And how did you get in?"
    Medina sat at the island, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked as if it were nine A.M. instead of four-thirty, his eyes alert, his lean body relaxed in black sweat pants and black T-shirt. "I told you that you needed a new lock on the back door."
    "What about the alarm?
I know
I set the alarm."
    'And I bypassed it. With a pocketknife and six inches of wire. Have some coffee."
    "No thanks." Furious, she contemplated dumping the coffee on him. She had always felt safe in her house, and now, thanks to him, she didn't. "Do you know how much I paid for that alarm system?"
    "Too much. Get a dog instead." He stood up from the stool. "If you aren't going to have coffee, let's take a little run."
    Thirty minutes