Cuff Lynx Read online

  In Praise of Fiona Quinn

  DIANE CAPRI, New York Times and USA Today Bestseller

  Not since Alias and Sydney Bristow has a young femme fatale been so engagingly human. Lexi is as sharp, clever, and unpredictable as she is deadly. Fast paced action never stops.

  KATE KELLY, USA Today Bestselling Author

  Hair-raising action was nicely balanced with slower, tender moments. And the author built a community of characters around the heroine that made Lexi more real to me. Ms. Quinn didn’t miss a beat with The Weakest Lynx.

  ALLAN LEVERONE, New York Times and USA Today Bestseller

  Smart, sexy, and independent, Lexi Sobado is a thriller hero you will never forget…

  ANGEL LIMB - WCVE Community Ideas Station PBS NPR

  Quinn’s spare yet illuminating first-person storytelling is perfect. . .

  JAMIE MASON, THREE GRAVES FULL and MONDAY'S LIE (Simon and Schuster)

  WEAKEST LYNX'S heroine, Lexi Sobado, is a rare jolt out of formula. She's sweet and sexy, but it's her background and the skill set she's acquired in a glorious tapestry of unusual experiences that lace this ride with smart adrenaline. Treat yourself to something truly fun and different with Fiona Quinn's WEAKEST LYNX!

  ALAN ORLOFF - Agatha Award Finalist

  I just finished reading a super-fun book, Fiona Quinn’s WEAKEST LYNX, featuring a kick-ass heroine, Lexi Sobado, with a few special abilities to back up her bravado. Snappy writing, great characters, and best of all: there are more books in the series on their way!

  JAMIE LEE SCOTT, USA Today Bestselling Author

  Quinn's protagonist, Lexi Sobado, is unique, tenacious, and a breath of fresh air for thriller readers.

  The Lynx Series

  Weakest Lynx

  Missing Lynx

  Chain Lynx

  Cuff Lynx

  ~

  Also,

  Mine, a novella

  Chaos Is Come Again, John Dolan and Fiona Quinn

  Table of Contents

  In praise of Fiona Quinn

  Other Works by Fiona Quinn

  Dedication

  Quotes

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  New Titles 2016

  Let’s Connect

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyrights

  This book is dedicated to the men and women who have given their lives, their bodies, and their minds, but whose virtuous actions we cannot publicly honor because of the bigger picture. Thank you for your sacrifices.

  More of this is true than you would believe

  ~ The Men Who Stare at Goats

  A human being is part of a whole, called by us the Universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts, and feelings, as something separated from the rest – a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.

  ~ Albert Einstein

  One

  Danger. I felt it hiss across my skin the very second I walked through the glass doors into Iniquus’ lobby. My limbic brain, the lizard part that tasted the air for threats, had gotten a mouthful. Instinctively, I slid behind the first column while I tried to re-orient myself. Slowing my breath, slowing the rhythm of my pulse, I used my martial arts training to blend with the shadows and disappear from view.

  With my senses tuned in, volume turned up full blast, I watched the lobby hustle with its normal early-morning activity. I tried to figure out why the heebie-jeebies—my personal warning system—would spark here, of all places. Iniquus was supposed to be my home. My safe haven.

  I scanned the room for a clue to the threat squeezing my gut.

  A stream of people dressed in their Iniquus uniforms moved toward the elevator banks - a movie scene of tight-hipped men in camo fatigues and black Vibram-soled combat boots. Their gunmetal-gray compression shirts displayed the effects of our company’s mantra: “Fit bodies house sharp minds.” The women all wore the requisite shades of black and gray. The only ones not dressed in uniform were our executives in their designer suits and me. Command didn’t make me follow the uniform rules – or any other rule, for that matter.

  The doors opened and another group moved into the open atrium and turned left toward the IT corridor. Everything looks normal. Maybe I was just being anxious. It had been a long time since I was on the job. A lot had happened in the nine months I’d been gone. I’d spent five months slowly dying in a Honduran prison; four months in recovery.

  Nerves?

  No, that didn’t seem right. Stress showed in people’s faces and gaits; the entire pace of Iniquus had changed.

  I turned my attention to the atrium itself. The sleek metallic décor, with no colors to punctuate or humanize the machinations of our job, was viscerally if not visually changed. I tried to conjure an image, a sixth-sense knowing—anything that would help me focus in on the threat I felt certain was here. The sensation I got was more than odd. The best way I could describe it was that Iniquus had unfurled. This was not the Iniquus I knew. The Iniquus I knew was a tight fist. Here, as a covert partner with the United States government, working to keep America safe, Iniquus was the guardian. And this was all wrong. Standing behind the column, I felt vulnerable. Naked. Exposed. I pulled my jacket tighter around me and watched.

  Four secretaries chatted together as they walked through the doors. I recognized Leanne Burns, the PA in our head honcho General Elliot’s office. I decided to follow behind, using Master Wang’s Shinobi shadow-walking technique.

  Leanne tilted her head toward the end of the corridor, calling the other women’s attention to the sleek red skirt, long shapely leg, and stiletto heel passing through the door.

  “She’s back,” one of the women’s voices sing-songed, as she watched the door swing shut behind the mystery woman.

  I wondered who that could be – red wasn’t a color usually seen around Iniquus. I moved into a dark recess and stilled. My eavesdropping felt rude because I wasn’t on a case. I was fishing for gossip, and this stepped over a boundary.

  “Yup I saw her, too. Scarlet Vine the Divine.” The brunette, Sharon, snorted.

  “Clinging Vine,” Leanne said.

  “You mean like poison ivy?”

  The women laughed, and Sharon reached out to punch the “up” button with an impatient finger.

  “I heard Lynx is coming in today, too.” Leanne’s hushed tone pulled the other women’s heads into a tighter huddle.
r />   Me? That upped the “I shouldn’t be eavesdropping” quotient by ten-fold.

  “Have you seen her?” The tall woman’s brow knit into what seemed like genuine concern as she spoke.

  “Lynx?” Leanne asked. “Not yet. From what I can piece together, they found her clinically dead at the scene of her plane wreck. Strike Force had to shock her back to life. I overheard Spencer say her captors had starved her down to eighty pounds. Just a lifeless bag of bones by the time our boys got to her. She wasn’t even recognizable the day she was rescued.” Leanne gave a whole-body shudder.

  “Dead? Holy crap. Can you imagine?” The woman’s eyes grew wide.

  “Makes me happy for my desk and chair,” Leanne said. “I don’t know why a girl would want to do that kind of job.”

  “Well, as bad-ass as she is, I think Lynx is a sweetie.” Sharon’s whisper was barely audible; I had to strain to hear her from my position behind the directory. “And I was all ready to hate her, too. Scarlet sets a bad precedent for spy girls.”

  “That’s for darned sure,” the woman said.

  “Do you think Lynx knows Scarlet?” Sharon asked.

  “If she didn’t know about her before, she’s going to soon.” Leanne raised a finger to her lips with a shhhh. “Spencer assigned Striker Rheas to Scarlet’s case – they’re partnered as a husband and wife team.” She gave an exaggerated eye roll, and adjusted her purse strap up higher on her shoulder.

  Spencer was one of the three owners at Iniquus. If he personally assigned this case, then the file was classified, and I wouldn’t learn a darned thing about it. Or Scarlet. Leanne was committing a security violation just by discussing it, even here at Headquarters.

  “A close-contact assignment with Commander Rheas? Scarlet’s dream comes true,” the woman said, disdain coloring her voice.

  “Like every woman here at Iniquus doesn’t have that dream?” Sharon raised a single perfectly arched brow.

  “Not Lynx,” Leanne said.

  “No,” Sharon agreed. “She probably hasn’t even noticed she’s working for a demi-god. She’s been too busy battling it out with the bad guys.”

  “That girl’s life is jinxed,” Leanne said, turning her head as the elevator thudded down. They waited for the guy to roll his dolly out of their way. “More crap has happened to Lynx than any human being I know.”

  “Why? What do you mean?” the other woman asked as they moved as a gaggle into the now empty car and the doors slid shut.

  I decided to walk up to my office. As I took the steps two at a time, I replayed their conversation. Scarlet Vine. I had never heard anyone talk about an operative with that code name before. I wondered which organization she worked for. Well, Striker would be undercover somewhere... Scarlet and Striker assigned as a married couple. Huh.

  I came to a standstill outside my office door, watching Gater move up the corridor.

  “Woot! She’s back!” Gater jumped up and tapped the ceiling with his hand.

  The stress that had me grinding my teeth evaporated as I shot him a grin. “Hey there.”

  Blaze whooped from down the hall. “Lynx is back in the saddle.”

  I gave him a wave and opened the door to the Puzzle Room. My team members crammed into my office – eight in all: me, Gater, Blaze, Jack, Randy, Axel, Deep and Striker as our commander.

  I looked over at Striker. Sharon was right. He was demi-god handsome with his rusty-blond hair cut military tight. His moss green eyes were full of intelligence, and he had carved his muscles out of granite during his SEALs training. He looked like sin on a plate. It made me hungry just looking at him. I still thought it was right to keep our engagement a secret here at the office. We didn’t need our relationship churned through the rumor mill.

  When I walked in, Striker smiled at me with that infectious grin of his – slightly lopsided, beautiful white teeth, hint of dimple. “Welcome home, Chica. the Puzzle Room hasn’t felt the same without you.”

  Gater put his hand between my shoulder blades as he sidled past to his chair. Heat radiated out from the contact point. As the sensation washed through me, I reached out and planted my palms flat on my desk for stability as a psychic impression gained form, flooding my system with the surprise of information. Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home. This psychic knowing came to me as the usual illuminated oscillating words. Your house is on fire. Your family will burn. And my mind leapt to find a meaning.

  I considered and rejected immediately my own house back on Silver Lake. As my consciousness brushed over my neighborhood and my neighbors—my real family, as far as I was concerned—I didn’t sense anything amiss. They were safe. Comfortable.

  I turned my attention to my surroundings, my Puzzle Room. While my neighbors were my extended family, the Strike Force team were my brothers and Striker my heart. I pushed the sleeves of my jacket past my elbows and brushed my fingers over my skin where an effervescence bubbled across the surface, the same sensation I experienced when I walked through the front doors this morning. Here was where the danger lay.

  I waited for an impression. I didn’t get much. But the understanding I pulled from the ether was that someone was using Iniquus like a girl who had too much to drink and couldn’t say “no”, so the boys all said “yes” for her. Emotions shifted across my face as the brunt of that thought enveloped me. I shook myself like a wet dog to pull away.

  “A knowing?” Striker stood wide-legged—about as moveable and vulnerable as a mountain.

  My nods were short and quick.

  Striker wrapped his hands around my waist and steered me out of the Puzzle Room, down the hall to his office, and shut the door.

  “Let’s try to figure it out.” Striker guided me into his chair then slid his hip onto his desk to sit opposite me.

  “The team?” Striker started the twenty questions game we sometimes played to help me home in on the whys and wherefores of a sixth-sense impression. Striker was trying to steer my otherworldly information toward the mundane. It often took a series of baby steps to turn feelings into thoughts and thoughts into words, one snippet at a time. I pursed my lips tightly and waited for the “ah-ha moment” that would grant me physical relief from the psychic stress. There was a confirmation, but just a whisper. “No, not you or our team explicitly.” I said.

  “Something here at Iniquus?”

  “Yes.” Bingo. Iniquus. All of it. Our whole organization. “We’re under attack.” And that thought physically hurt.

  Air hissed between Striker’s teeth.

  I opened my palms. “I haven’t got anything more. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you know what triggered your feelings?”

  “I felt odd when I came into the lobby a few minutes ago, but it really hit me hard in my office.”

  “I just came up from the lobby. I didn’t see you come in.”

  That brought a smile to my lips. “Thank you.”

  “Shadow walking, then? You must have had a full-on case of the heebie-jeebies.” He stood up, and pulled me into his arms. “Not a very good welcome back.”

  He planted an affectionate kiss in my hair as he nestled me against him. His solidity felt perfect. I wanted to stay here where I felt safe.

  Striker caressed a hand down my back. “I’m going to help you figure this out, but right now we have a time-sensitive case on your table. You’ve got to get your head in the game.”

  I pillowed my cheek against his chest and the sick sensation in my stomach eased. I breathed in the smell of his freshly laundered shirt and spicy aftershave. “Who’s the lead?”

  “Jack’s taking this case to lay ground work, though I’ll be in the field with the team later today. Spencer needs me on something else.”

  “So I understand. Who’s Scarlet Vine?”

  Striker’s muscles tightened beneath me. I looked up at his face; it had gone blank as he shifted to military mode.

  “Secret Service,” he said.

  Two

  Striker and I moved bac
k to my office, where we found the team busy drawing scenarios on the whiteboard. They were debating the setups for an extraction plan for a new case. The FBI required our immediate intervention. It looked like a radical boarder protection group, Defenders of the Oath Association, otherwise known as D.O.A., was involved in a series of disappearances of Sudanese immigrants – undocumented, and under FBI surveillance. Obviously not tight surveillance, though, or how would D.O.A. get to them? And why was this dumped onto the FBI’s lap instead of Immigration’s? This case didn’t fall under Iniquus’s normal protocol. The FBI had clearly called us in for what we liked to label a “CYA (cover your ass) assignment”. Some agent was trying to shovel his way out of a fixed post in Siberia.

  Our team would be out in the field, following the leads that our contractor ginned up. All of us except for Blaze and me. Blaze was tasked with monitoring communications, and I didn’t do daring deeds of do or die. Well, that was my mantra, if not my reality. My contract indicated that I am not a trained field operative and should confine my scope of activity to puzzling, data gathering, and, on occasion, maybe a little shadow walking and sleight-of-hand work. But nothing requiring bullets, camo-wear, or Kevlar.

  I swung into the chair next to Jack and fixed on Striker’s review of the intelligence, setting all other thoughts aside and focusing in. It was a welcome feeling to have my Puzzler hat back in place, though the hat seemed to sit on my head slightly askew. In the plane crash, my brain got pretty beaten up, and my thoughts often seemed a little foggy. Today, as I waded through the information—it was a little bit like shambling through a twilight woods. I usually worked things out much more quickly than this. I wished I could shine a clear light; I needed to find the roots that were bound to trip my team up. They were there. I just couldn’t pinpoint where.

  The doctors warned me this might happen. Two major head injuries in less than a year made for an unhappy brain. My mind created my identity. And I didn’t mean that in the way every human’s life was constructed around their thoughts and feelings. I relied on my mind like a pianist relies on her fingers. Like a ballerina depends on her legs. My brain was my paycheck. My intelligence and offbeat thinking were the only reasons I had my job.