Stolen Secrets

by Sherri Shackelford

  “Why don’t we have Lucy reach out?” Westover drummed his fingers on the table. “Get the ball rolling.”

  Though Jordan had considered the idea already, he hesitated. Lucy’s face was grave, and conflicting thoughts swirled through his head. His rusted nerve endings rattled and sputtered. He had an uncharacteristic desire to comfort her, but she needed a protector and a friend. He’d repressed his feelings for a reason, and that reason was still valid. She was off-limits.

  She needed to know her safety was his number one priority.

  “What’s the risk analysis on making contact ourselves?” Karp asked. “We don’t know if the impostor has initiated contact again. We could blow this whole thing.”

  “Let’s consider what we know for certain.” Jordan retreated to the familiar. There was no use in speculating. “We have evidence that someone is impersonating Lucy in order to steal classified information. Have we learned anything new about the impersonator?”

  Karp flipped his laptop screen around. “While the impersonator made a couple of trial runs, Consolidated Unlimited sent over the security recordings from the night she attempted to access the database.”

  The black-and-white time-stamped footage showed a woman driving into the parking lot. Her head down, the woman exited her car and used a fob to enter the building. The eerie silence lent the scene an unnerving quality, and the resemblance to Lucy was striking. The hair was a match, and the size and build were similar.

  Lucy gasped. “That’s not me.”

  Jordan agreed. Lucy had a unique, purposeful gait paired with an oddly distracted quality. The disguise was superficial at best. The suspect must have known the masquerade wouldn’t hold up under close scrutiny. She only needed to fool a night security guard who didn’t see Lucy on a regular basis.

  Karp collapsed the screen of the playback. “The fob was an unregistered backup kept at the reception desk in case an employee forgot theirs. The receptionist isn’t certain when it went missing. The intruder logged in to Vance Eagan’s computer at 8:32 p.m. Mr. Eagan kept his password written on the bottom of his keyboard. He no longer does that. The intruder then attempted to access a secure drive. The attempt failed. At 8:55 p.m., she exited the building.”

  “What about the car she drove?” Westover asked. “Anything traceable?”

  “Nothing. The plates were stolen. The make and model were similar to Lucy’s. Close enough to access a secure parking lot, anyway. We’re checking into police reports and impound lots. Chances are, it’s been abandoned by now.”

  Lucy shivered and rubbed her cheeks. “It’s such a weird feeling to see someone who looks like you but isn’t you.”

  “And we’re sure it wasn’t Ms. Sutton?” Westover rested his elbows on the molded chair arms and tapped his pencil against the table. “Have we checked her alibi?”

  Lucy flushed. “I was at the grocery store.”

  “Receipts and security footage back up her claim,” Jordan said, straightening.

  If Westover had doubts, he needed to raise them before Lucy was in the room. It was like having a Saint Bernard puppy in a tea shop. Some situations required finesse.

  “Got it,” Westover said. “Did Consolidated Unlimited identify the targeted files?”

  “Yep.” Karp almost cracked a smile. “We believe the buyer is after the secure satellite uplink. But the hacker failed to enter the proper code before she was shut out of the system.”

  “And since the buyer doesn’t know he was dealing with a doppelgänger,” Jordan added, “he’s putting pressure on the real Lucy to hand over the information.”

  Karp took a sip of his coffee. “My guess is that at least one payment has been exchanged, and the buyer wants his money’s worth.”

  “Clever.” Westover’s pencil stilled. “The impostor left Lucy on the hook and walked away with no one the wiser. Until the shooting, that is.”

  “That’s our working theory,” Karp said. “We uncovered the two previous texts sent to Lucy from the buyer. We believe her inaction precipitated the attack at the coffee shop.”

  “If they wanted my attention, they got it.” Lucy stabbed her fingers through her platinum hair, revealing the vivid blue highlights. “But how did they get my phone number in the first place?”

  “Anywhere,” Jordan said, distracted. He was fascinated by those blue streaks. The way they peeked in and out of her platinum hair was irresistible. “Ten minutes on the internet and I could have the private phone numbers of half the people in this building. And it’s probably not the first time this guy has dealt with a reluctant seller. People back out of deals all the time. Sometimes their conscience kicks in. Sometimes it’s just fear. Our buyer must have counted on the latter, because he went for the full shock-and-awe campaign.”

  Seven shots, fifteen seconds apart.

  Jordan’s stomach plunged. He had no illusions his actions had made any difference that day. The shots were fired with methodical precision, and they’d all been aimed well above Lucy’s height. The ploy was deliberate and risky. Whoever wanted the classified information was willing to play fast and loose with Lucy’s life.

  “So why the sudden radio silence?” Westover asked.

  “Something scared him.” Jordan sensed they were barreling toward a point of no return, and the muscles along his shoulder blades tightened. “Are we any closer to discovering the buyer’s identity?”

  He’d cling to the single slender thread of hope that might put an end to all this.

  “’Fraid not.” Karp clicked through a few more screens. A grainy picture of a dark-haired man in his midthirties appeared. “We’re not even sure if this picture is accurate. He’s got so many aliases we refer to him only as the buyer. As far as we know, he operates as a middleman. He steals the intel and sells it to the highest bidder. The one IP address the NSA was able to trace puts him local. We believe he illegally acquired the software used to shut down the power grids in three South American nations last year. This is the closest we’ve ever gotten to the guy, and I want him. I want him bad.”

  “Can’t we narrow down his identity through his customers?” Lucy asked. “Find out who wants a secure uplink to an American drone and go from there?”

  “These days, the answer is everyone.” Jordan rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. A bombed-out hotel and a flag-draped coffin flashed through his head. “We still have troops on the ground overseas, and American interests are often at odds with foreign investors. A lot of the areas with untapped mineral and oil reserves are still controlled by insurgents. Which is why they’re untapped. Few governments are willing to openly challenge the United States and support the insurgents for jurisdiction. If the uplink to the drones is compromised, the bombs miss their targets, or the camera points the other way and the foreign assets are protected. At the risk of American interests.” He let the weight of the ramifications settle over the room. “And American lives.”

  “Then what if he’s moved on?” Westover asked. “It’s been three days. What if the buyer has given up?”

  “Not likely.” Karp shuffled through his stack of papers. “We may have scared him, but he’ll be back. We need him to believe that Lucy is still interested in making a deal.”

  Jordan leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. “Then why don’t we send in an agent? A professional. Lucy is a civilian. She doesn’t need to be wrapped up in this.”

  “We can’t,” Karp said, his expression implacable. “Lucy has to go back to work. Everything should appear normal. This is an inside job. One of her coworkers set her up to take the fall. If they smell a trap, we risk blowing the whole operation.”

  “Then what next?” Jordan asked, collapsing back in his chair.

  “The risk analysis is clear.” Karp shut his laptop. “We send a message to the buyer. It’s the only way to know for certain.”

  A cold sweat br
oke out across Jordan’s forehead and neck. Even the idea of dangling Lucy as bait left him feeling as though he was careening out of control. “It’s risky. We have to consider Lucy’s safety.”

  “I want to.” Lucy spoke up. “We know where the listening devices are located in the house. I can go back home. Give him a show. Make sure he knows I’m still interested in selling the classified information. Maybe I can talk about having money problems or something. I can talk about being in debt.”

  “How is that safe?” Jordan threw up his hands. “This guy has walked in and out of your house like it has a revolving door.”

  “That was before I had you guys,” Lucy challenged. “Now we have our own surveillance equipment. The house next door is for sale. You guys can set up shop and keep an eye on me from there. That’s what they do in the movies, right?”

  Westover reached for his notepad. “I’m on it. I’ll call the Realtor for the property this evening.”

  “No.” Jordan didn’t even realize he’d said the word aloud until everyone turned in his direction. “I’m not certain she fully understands the risk.”

  “I understand better than anyone,” Lucy declared. “The warning at the coffee shop was meant for me. Someone was in my house. Someone has been listening to me for days, maybe even weeks. They took my privacy. They stole my sense of safety when they did that. I might as well lean in.”

  A silent battle raged between them. She was right, and they both knew it. Anything they did that was out of the ordinary risked tipping off both the buyer and the seller. They were walking a razor-thin line between two competing forces. Without knowing the identities of the two parties involved, they were flying blind.

  “We appreciate your dedication, Ms. Sutton.” Karp pulled a paper from the stack before him. “Which brings us to our second problem. The impostor—we’ll call her the seller. If the seller changes her mind about making the deal, it could blow everything. We have to approach the problem on two fronts. We have to discover the identities of both the buyer and the seller.”

  Jordan raised his arm before Westover had a chance. “I’ll go undercover with Consolidated Unlimited.”

  The other agent glared at him. Jordan suspected he wanted the opportunity to be near Lucy. While Jordan might be guilty of the same desire, at least he knew where to set the boundaries.

  “Excellent,” Karp said. “But before we waste that effort, is there any chance the employee who made the original deal was scared enough to quit work?”

  “Not likely.” Westover indicated a list on his notepad. “I spoke with the human resources department at Consolidated Unlimited. No employees have quit recently. No employees have been terminated, either. Not in the past six weeks and that’s within our time frame. We believe whoever instigated all this is still working there.”

  “Good.” Jordan’s unease was growing despite his outward support of the plan. “We’ll start by looking into employees, partners, spouses and relatives. We’ll look for anyone with Lucy’s size and build. If this was an inside job, then Lucy’s impostor has a connection with someone who works in the building.”

  He hoped his skills hadn’t rusted. He hadn’t been on a stateside assignment in years. Either way, he wasn’t backing down. He’d made a promise to look out for Lucy, and he meant to keep that promise.

  Karp threaded his fingers behind his head and leaned back. “Anything else I should know?”

  “One other thing,” Jordan said quietly. “I’ll fill you in privately.”

  Lucy cast him a sharp glance.

  He wasn’t ready to tell her about the duplicate ring just yet. There was no reason to conclude that it had anything to do with the current situation. There’d been an inquiry after the bombing, and Jordan had requested a review of the materials. He’d indicated his concern over the purchase. He’d done his due diligence. If something came of it, he’d add the information to what they knew.

  Until then, all he had was a ring. It had been lost for nearly a year; another couple of weeks wasn’t going to make a difference one way or the other. At least not to Lucy.

  She flashed her phone in their direction. “There. I texted. I told the buyer I wanted to meet.”

  SIX

  Jordan’s stomach plunged and the room descended into noisy chatter.

  Karp held up his hand. “Miss Sutton—”

  “You want everything to appear normal.” She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “And this is what’s normal for me. If someone ghosts me for three days, I’m going to reach out.”

  “All right. It’s done.” Karp flashed his palms. “We move forward. But Agent Harris is right. This is an extremely dangerous situation. We need to proceed with caution.”

  Jordan’s phone buzzed. Soon a cacophony of similar notifications ping-ponged across the table. Chairs were shuffled. People reached for the phones.

  He glanced at his screen, and his pulse spiked. “I guess that settles it.”

  “What?” Lucy glanced around the table. “What’s happened?”

  Any sense of control Jordan might have had evaporated.

  “Your message worked,” Jordan said grimly. For better or worse, this was out of his hands. “The buyer wants proof that Lucy is still in play.”

  He searched Lucy’s face for any sign of fear or reluctance.

  Her expression stoic, she sat back in her seat. “I don’t understand. Is he requesting a meeting?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “It’s what’s called a dead drop. You’ll leave the information, and we follow the trail.”

  Jordan sensed she was scared, but there was no way she was going to voice it. Lucy wasn’t skilled in deception. Not that he minded. He much preferred to know what she was feeling.

  “Two hours,” Jordan replied. This was a nightmare scenario. “It’s not enough time. We can’t scramble a local law enforcement team in two hours. We’ll be working with a skeleton crew.”

  “We only need a skeleton crew,” Westover said. “This is a test. If Lucy fails the test, it’s back to square one.”

  “We knew this was a possibility.” Karp lifted his phone to his ear. “I can have her wired for video and sound in an hour.”

  Jordan shook his head. “If the buyer shows up in person for the pickup, we can’t apprehend him with such a small crew.”

  “This guy is too smart to show up himself,” Karp said. “He’ll send a courier. A low-level delivery boy who doesn’t do us any good anyway. We take the opportunity to pass the buyer some intel as a good-faith offer. We don’t even have to run surveillance. We prove Lucy can deliver. Then we track him through implanted malware.”

  “I’ve got a map of the park where he wants the drop.” Using his thumb and forefinger, Westover expanded a picture on his phone. “Two entrances. We only need three teams. One on each exit, and one on Lucy.”

  “I’m in,” Lucy said. “I want to do this. The sooner we get this guy, the sooner things can go back to normal for me.”

  They didn’t have enough time for his peace of mind, but Jordan was waging a losing battle. That didn’t mean he was going to stop fighting.

  “Then I’m with Lucy,” he declared.

  There was no way he was sitting in a van while she was forced into a deadly game of cat and mouse with someone who wasn’t opposed to using violence to get his point across.

  Swallowing hard against his fear, he kept his expression neutral.

  He knew better than anyone how much life could change in a single day.

  * * *

  The steady tick-tick-tick of Lucy’s analog watch bored into her skull.

  She was supposed to wait on a stone stairway in an isolated section of the public park that was surrounded by trees and shrubs. The buyer had promised to provide further instructions from there.

  Normally she found the sound of her watch comforting—l
ike a peaceful heartbeat. Not today. Reaching into her pocket, she closed her fingers around the flash drive they’d given her. The decoy was loaded with enough data to pass any initial security scans. By the time the buyer discovered the intel was outdated, implanted malware would reveal his location.

  Rain clouds had gathered on the horizon, only partially visible through the canopy of tree limbs overhead. An unexpected cold snap had put a chill in the air, and she’d dressed in a boxy army-green raincoat over black leggings and lace-up black combat boots. She shifted from foot to foot and made an attempt to appear nonchalant.

  Leaves rustled, and her pulse jerked. It was dusk, and she’d only seen a handful of people on her way through the park. Normally she didn’t frighten easily, but today was not a normal day.

  Her retro cat-eyed sunglasses were equipped with a wireless video and voice transmitter. According to the rushed briefing she’d gotten in the van on the way over, the GPS beacon was good anywhere on the planet, but the remote recording and audio needed a dedicated signal, and that range was about a mile—two at the most.

  The plan had come together with such rapid precision she’d quickly realized Jordan and his team had been preparing for something like this since the first day she received the message.

  A noise whipped her around. A thin teenager on a dirt bike bounced down the shallow stone staircase. As he neared the bottom, she stepped out of the way. He skidded to a halt, his back wheel spinning around, kicking up dirt and pebbles.

  “Your friend is at the top,” he called, before turning away.

  “Wait!” she shouted.

  He sketched a wave over his shoulder without turning.

  The wind picked up once more, and she studied her surroundings.

  After only a brief hesitation, she said, “I’m walking up the stairs.”