Excerpt of Breaking All the Rules by Susan Vaughan

What the hell am I doing here?

Simon Byrne knew exactly. Postponing what he ought to be doing. And ogling the woman he'd avoided for over two years. She didn't notice him at the Technical Support Lab door because whatever gizmo she was fiddling with had her mesmerized.

Janna Harris wore a nondescript pantsuit, the type she'd adopted after her marriage. No more short skirts or cropped tops that bared skin. Professional, she'd insisted.

Boring, he'd said. He still thought so, but he hadn't called it nun wear out loud. He'd kept his trap shut to avoid friction with her new husband. No chance of that now since the man was dead.

Oblivious to Simon's presence amid the din of computers and techs speaking geek to one another, she carried the cigarette-pack-sized gizmo past metal cabinets, cubicles and other technicians to an empty worktable.

At least this outfit had a short jacket that didn't hide all the good stuff. A man could watch the sway of her hips, the stride of her model-length legs as sleek as a thoroughbred's. And the suit was nearly the same gray as her eyes. Eyes he could never forget, witchy eyes that invited a man to drown in them. Happily.

After gathering some small metal tools, she settled on a stool at a worktable. She plied a screwdriver to the gizmo and, after a moment, pressed a button. A light flashed. She smiled.

The sexy curve of her lips warmed Simon in inconvenient places. Damn! Time hadn't dulled her effect on him — one major reason he'd stayed away. He gritted his teeth.

She was the wrong woman for him. Why didn't his body listen to him?

Keeping her eyes on her work, she spared not even a sideways glance toward the doorway.

He might as well have been invisible.

Damn straight. As far as Janna was concerned, he preferred invisibility. For over a year, he'd checked on her, watched over her. Guilt had kept him at a distance.

The Anti-Terrorism Security Agency had other ideas. You're on, turkey. He strode over to her table.

"How you doin', Q?" He stretched his lips into a wide grin.

"I got a good one for you. How many software engineers does it take to change a lightbulb?"

A couple of other techs glanced up briefly before returning to computer screens and mysterious devices.

Janna slipped on dark-rimmed glasses before she faced him. She pushed them firmly on the bridge of her nose and peered down at him from her perch on the high stool.

When did she start wearing those things? He'd never seen her in glasses before.

Hard as granite behind the unexpected lenses, her narrowed eyes pinned him like a bug on flypaper. "If you think you can prance in here after all this time and pick up where you left off with the geek jokes, Simon, you're sadly mistaken."

He deserved that. And worse for what he was going to do over the next few days.

"I don't prance" was all he could muster.

Color bloomed high on her cheeks. "Simon."

He swallowed his emotion and another quip. He shoved fingers through his hair in a futile effort at control. "Look, I screwed up. After...after..."

"After Gabe's death," she prompted.

"After that, kidding around with you didn't seem right. He was under my command. I could've prevented his death."

Janna's gray eyes widened as she seemed to grasp that truth for the first time. She shook her head, her layered hair swaying like silk. "Simon, you're not responsible for Gabe's death. He was called Hero Harris for a reason. Even if you'd been there, you couldn't have stopped his reckless heroics."

He didn't buy it, but her forgiveness winked on a tiny light in the dark space inside him. "Thanks, but protecting my people was part of being the control officer."

"So that's the reason you deserted me."

He winced at hearing the truth aloud. He had deserted her, deserted their friendship. "Partly. As time passed, going back was weird...awkward." But no more awkward than this conversation. "Hell, I'm sorry."

He crossed mental fingers that she would let his apology go at that. In fact, he'd eased away from her even before Gabriel Harris. In her eyes, in her body language, he'd seen that she wanted more than friendship. Her come-on at Vanessa Wade's reception had rung wedding bells in her head and warning bells in his.

Impossible, but he hadn't wanted to hurt her.

If she pushed, what excuse could he give? That she deserved the home-and-family kind of guy, not a one-night- stand kind of guy like him? That was what he told himself when Gabe asked him to introduce them in the cafeteria. Regret had cinched his gut, even though envy made no sense and didn't change who he was. Or wasn't.

Or the more concrete excuse that, after Gabe had begun seeing her, he'd warned Simon off? Once Mr. Perfect had given her the rush, she had no time for Simon anyway.

"I understand. Really. Let's forget it." She offered no smile of encouragement, and wariness lurked in her eyes.

He'd take what he could get. "Sweet." He held out a hand. "A new beginning?"

After a moment's hesitation, she shook his hand. He wanted to hold on and savor her impossibly soft skin, but she pulled back and gripped her gizmo like an anchor.

"What've you got there?" He nodded toward the toy.

"An SC cam." She held the thing up proudly. "A self- contained video system. Watch." She slid the slim canister into a slot in a thick hardcover book. The camera's spy eye blended in with the lettering on the book's spine. "This baby's a one-fourth-inch CCD imager with 420 lines of resolution and a high-power 2.45-gigahertz transmitter. The self-charging battery has a run time of eight hours."

Janna began working for ATSA a few years ago here at its Washington, D.C., headquarters where he was a field officer. She'd been so green then she'd used the agency's letters instead of the usual acronym, At-suh. But green or not, he'd seen her create, modify and repair any low or high-tech equipment an operative could dream up.

"Way cool," he said. "I know a little about bugs, but the only words you said that sounded like English were camera and battery." He grinned, a little more at ease. "So what's with the glasses? It'd be a hell of a shame if working with microscopic bugs is ruining those beautiful eyes."

Lines formed between her brows. Setting down the book camera, she hesitated, then shook her head. "Simon, what are you doing in the lab? What do you want?" The corners of her mouth twitched toward a smile he could feel in his chest. "And don't call me Q."

Hot damn, he'd managed to dent her shield a little. She usually didn't mind the teasing, but he'd drop it. For now. If James Bond had ever had this beautiful tech genius instead of the old man, he'd never have left the lab.

When she smoothed her hair, he admired the effect. Around her head, light-toffee-and-cream layers curved, controlled like the woman. Her hair used to swing behind her like the shining mane of the buckskin horse he had exercised when he was a kid in Baltimore. But after her husband's death, she'd cut it short. He didn't expect to like the new look, but the sleek cap invited touching.

He gripped his portfolio to avoid reaching out to her. "I'm here officially. Raines assigned us to work together for a few days." He paused to let that sink in.

She pursed her lips, as though having to work with Simon left a bad taste. It might, given his other, covert job.

"The assistant director mentioned he was giving me a field assignment as a tech advisor and translator, but that's as far as his explanation went."

Simon shrugged, relieved she knew that much already. He'd followed her advancement to tech officer. Observed her on the shooting range and in martial arts classes. He hadn't expected to work with her, but the gig was only for three days.

"Secrecy is Raines's middle name. Goes with the territory. He's the control officer for this mission. That says how high priority it is. I'll fill you in. Where can we talk?"

Mouth prim and taut, she led him into an empty office. He stared at the portfolio. The report inside had triggered the assignment — at least, the official part.

The other part of the assignment was bad news. Raines had hinted at evidence, had called it checking on Officer Harris's loyalty. Simon called it spying on Janna. Bunch of crap, but what could he do? He knew her integrity was rock solid. True to his secretive nature, the AD had disclosed nothing more.

Simon didn't know what Janna was suspected of — only that ATSA's suspicions somehow tied her to this assignment. Did it have something to do with her dead husband? With some past assignment of Gabe's?

He didn't know much about their marriage except for Gabe's bragging about how happy they were. They'd moved into a fancy house in Virginia, away from her D.C. friends. Come to think of it, Simon hadn't seen them at parties or dinners except for those hosted by the director. Could Gabe have dragged her into something dirty?

The speculation was driving him crazy. "We're to go to New York," she prompted as she closed the door. She leaned against a desk stacked with files.

Nodding, he handed her a copy of his summary. "After a two- year undercover operation, the ATSA office in Manhattan has Leo Wharton in custody. Picked him up on his yacht in the Virgin Islands."

Simon noted Janna's blank stare. She didn't know who Wharton was. Good sign.

He continued. "Wharton is a former U.S. Special Forces colonel. He was booted from the military for having illicit side interests. Went mercenary for a while, then turned to buying arms for terrorist groups. We've wanted to nail him for a long time."

She glanced at the summary. "It says here that Wharton is suspected of buying weapons from an international arms broker named Viktor Roszca." She turned her penetrating gaze on Simon. "Why is that name familiar?"

"Intelligence reports from the NCTC conclude that Roszca was the big supplier to the New Dawn Warriors." The National Counterterrorism Center was the agency created to coordinate analysis and operations among all intelligence services.

She paled and a small gasp escaped her lips. "The terrorist group that set up the assassination where —"

"Yes, where Gabe was killed."

Pain flickered across her face before she could school her expression.

Dammit. She still loved her husband, was still mourning him, and Simon was supposed to find out if she was dirty. He was the one who felt dirty.

Her gaze dropped to the report. "Go on."

He cleared his throat. "We want this guy. I want this guy. Bad. Roszca's weapons and explosives have injured or killed countless people, including ATSA officers. If we can get evidence that he armed avowed enemies of the U.S., we can convict the bastard in a U.S. federal court." Simon's white-hot hatred had been tempered and forged into steely determination.

"I see. Go on," Janna said, her expression thoughtful.

"Part of New York's undercover investigation involved surveillance tapes." He slid out a picture taken from one of the videotapes and passed it to her. "A couple of the tapes show Wharton in meetings with Roszca and other arms buyers — one from August over a year ago and one from last month."

Janna let her gaze lift to Simon as she listened to his explanation.

His diamond earring winked at her, teased her like Simon used to. Never under control, his thatch of brown hair had been styled with something like a Weedwhacker trimmer. His perpetual two-day beard looked scruffy but soft and touchable.

Ever the rebel, he wore snug, faded jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the words Spies Do It Undercover. Not that every man in ATSA wore a tie, but at headquarters, most wore dress shirts and slacks. Higher-ups like the AD tolerated Simon's in-your-face attitude because of his sharp intellect and street savvy.

She and Simon were such opposites. How had they ever managed to be friends?

Once upon a time. No more.

When Raines announced her first field assignment, anticipation had tingled through her. But why did her partner have to be Simon? Why not someone dull? Married? Safe?

Simon was describing the arms broker's history. "Viktor Roszca comes from what is now the independent Republic of Cleatia. Even before the breakup of the Soviet Union, Roszca used his base there to build an arms-dealing empire. Since the Cleatian government exiled him, he's promoted himself as a respectable international entrepreneur.

"He moved from small-arms theft from the Soviets and later the Russians to American weaponry, including Stinger shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles. Word is, he armed former Iraqi-regime loyalists."

"I speak Cleatian fluently. Is that the translating part of it?" She needed the security of knowing her role in the op.

"After we view the tapes. The last meeting Wharton had with Roszca took place in a New York hotel. Soon after that meeting, Roszca vanished and hasn't surfaced. Also present were some bottom feeders in Eastern bloc organized crime, guys who've played both sides before. There's a chance they know where Roszca is. We'll go talk to Wharton and view the tapes. Then I'll need you to translate for the two goons. I'll want you to record it." A beat passed. "Standard procedure."

Janna wondered why he'd said that almost apologetically. Her stomach tightened as she began to grasp another implication. "Just the two of us, then? Not a team?"

"We're just talking to people, Q, uh, Janna. If we hit trouble, New York can provide backup. You okay with this arrangement? Us working together?"

Her heart did an anxious flip. How could she work so closely with this man who used to be her friend?