“This guy wanted you to make sure Casey and Wentworth hooked up?” Martha crossed one leg over the other and kicked her foot back and forth.
“Exactly.”
“He targeted Casey, didn’t he? This man wanted Casey and only Casey for Wentworth. He already knew about her, knew she was an escort...knew she lived with Martha.”
Cam’s intensity had Tony shrinking back. “Y-yeah. It was all about reaching out to Casey and getting her to spy on her roommate, but Wentworth was definitely part of the equation, too. It had to be Wentworth for some reason.”
Martha rubbed the goose bumps forming on her forearms. “It was a plan to get to me.”
“I’m sorry. It was.” Tony scratched the scruff on his lean jaw. “But I don’t know the details about that, and neither did Casey. He instructed her to steal your computer password, stuff like that.”
“That’s how he hacked into my laptop, how he took over my camera.” She smacked her hand on the table, and her ice tinkled in protest.
“Look, Casey never got the impression this guy wanted to hurt you...or her. She wouldn’t have done it, otherwise.”
“Did she have a choice?” Cam’s jaw formed a hard line. “Did he threaten to expose her? Expose her lifestyle? Yours?”
“Maybe there was a little of that, but no way would Casey, or me, be down with violence.”
Martha folded the four corners of her cocktail napkin. “What about Wentworth? What was the plan with him?”
“Information. He wanted information from Wentworth.” Tony chewed on the edge of his thumb. “The night Wentworth died at your place? Casey had been ordered to bring him back there that night once he started feeling sick. Usually they went to the apartment he kept in town. Casey had access to all his stuff there.”
Cam tapped her thigh. “The emails, intel about Denver.”
Tony looked from Cam to Martha, a deep crease between his eyebrows.
“Once he started feeling sick?” Martha ran her tongue around her dry mouth. “Did Casey do something to make Wentworth sick?”
“She didn’t. No! She wouldn’t do that.” Tony dug his fingers into his spiky black hair, making it stand on end even more. “But she thinks someone slipped him something because her contact knew Wentworth would become ill that night and she had those orders to bring him back to her place when he did.”
“So he’d die in my town house.”
“Casey never thought that would be the endgame. She thought it was just a little information, some spy game that wouldn’t affect anyone.”
“Spy games always affect someone...including the spy.” A dangerous light sparked in Cam’s eyes. “Now you’re going to tell us about this guy. What does he look like? What does he call himself? How does he contact you? Has he been in touch since Casey’s murder?”
Tony spread his hands out on the table, his thumbs touching. “He introduced himself as Ben, but I’m sure we can all agree that’s bogus. He’s average, average everything except his beard. He wears a bushy beard and glasses. Without that stuff, I probably wouldn’t recognize him on the street.”
Martha glanced at Cam. “Disguise.”
“Yeah, probably.” Tony rubbed his brow. “Always wore a hat, too. He comes in here when he wants to make contact.”
Martha asked, “Does Ben show up at the bar when he wants to communicate with Casey or just you?”
“Both. He told her to get a temporary phone. They exchange messages that way.”
Cam’s eyebrows collided over his nose. “Did the cops mention anything to you about Casey having two phones, Martha?”
“No, and I had no idea she had two phones.”
“If Ben was in that hotel room with Casey, I’m sure he took the burner phone with him when he left.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Why would Ben do it? Why kill Wentworth and Casey unless he got all he wanted from them and decided to tie up loose ends?” Cam drummed his fingers on the table.
“He had gotten what he wanted from them, and everything would’ve been status quo until he found out I kept those emails.” Martha’s bottom lip quivered. “I’m the one who caused all of this.”
“Emails?” Tony’s eyes flew open.
Cam drew his finger across his throat. “Need to know basis. Martha, none of this is your fault. If Casey hadn’t been so greedy, she wouldn’t have set you up and involved you in all this. If Wentworth had been able to keep it in his pants, he never would’ve been targeted.”
Tony twirled the earring in his lobe. “And let’s not leave out Ben himself. What information did he have Casey get from Wentworth, and how did it relate to you? Casey told me you were CIA.”
“Like I said—need to know, and you don’t,” Cam growled. “What kind of man is a pimp anyway?”
“Hey, man. It wasn’t like that. I protected Casey. I loved her.”
“Dude, that’s not love.”
“A-are you going to tell the cops any of this? I’ll deny everything.”
“We’re not ready to do that yet. We have no proof, but I’m not ruling it out when we do. Don’t you want to see Casey’s killer brought to justice?”
“I do, but it’ll sacrifice her reputation.”
“And yours.” Cam rolled his eyes at Martha.
“If you’re not a cop—” Tony waved at his coworker behind the bar “—why do you care about Ben? Whatever damage he caused has been done.”
“I wanna know who he is and who he works for. The damage he did had a huge impact on a friend of mine, someone I admire and look up to. I’m not gonna let that slide. I’m not gonna let him get away with it.”
Martha tapped on the table. “I have an idea. Doesn’t this bar have security cameras? Would it be possible for us to see Ben?”
“I suppose I can offer to close up on my own, and you can meet me back here at closing. I’d have to disable the cameras or erase the footage so nobody sees you coming back here.”
“I can take care of the camera. What time?”
“We close up at two.”
Cam tapped his phone. “Almost three hours.”
“We can go back to my place for a few hours.”
Tony glanced over his shoulder and held up one finger at the other bartender. “I’ll let you in the back door. Now I gotta go back to work.”
As Tony walked away, Cam slumped back in his chair. “What do you think?”
“I can’t believe I was so naive I didn’t figure out Casey’s real profession.” Martha scooped her hair back from her face. “Is everyone in this town scamming?”
“It seems like it.”
“Maybe it is time to call in the police.”
He snorted. “Right. If we do that, you’ll have to admit you stole those emails, and then it won’t be just the police, it’ll be the FBI. Your family doesn’t have a great track record with the Fibbies.”
“If everyone didn’t have something to hide, including me, maybe we could actually get to the bottom of this.” She sighed and stirred the melting ice in her glass.
“Maybe it is over for you, Martha.” He took her hand and traced over her knuckles with his fingertip. “Ben or the patriot or whatever else he calls himself knows you have the emails, but you already sent them up the chain of command. His work is done. He showed his power and reach by killing Wentworth and Casey, and figures you’re not going to do any more investigating. You can leave it now.”
“But you’re not going to.”
He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. “Let’s go to your place.”
“I’m going to use this time to pack up Casey’s things for her family. Maybe we’ll find this phone...or something else.”
With one last look at Tony behind the bar and a nod, they slipped outside. Cam took th
e wheel of her car again and drove back to her place.
As they pulled up to the front, Cam said, “Let’s not forget. Ben could’ve been in possession of Casey’s house key since last night.”
Martha glanced up at the glow from the front window. She’d left a lamp on in the living room, so the light didn’t surprise her or make her nervous—but Cam’s words did.
She peeled her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth. “What if someone’s in there?”
“I have my gun.” He patted the pocket of his jacket. “Let me go in first.”
He parked the car and then led the way up the steps to her town house. After she unlocked the door, he eased it open with his foot. He swung his weapon in front of him and stepped inside.
“Stay back, Martha.”
She ducked behind his solid frame, but peeked around his body and surveyed the empty room. She let out a slow breath as Cam crept forward.
He waved his hand behind him, so she hovered in the entryway while he continued farther into the room. He poked his head around the corner to check out the kitchen. “Nobody in here.”
He threw open the door to the half bathroom and then checked the lock on the back door. Pointing the barrel of his gun at the ceiling, he said, “I’ll take a look upstairs.”
“I’m coming with you.” She turned and locked the front door although if Ben had Casey’s key, that wouldn’t do much good.
“Just stay behind me.”
Martha followed Cam up the stairs and stayed back as he checked the second bathroom. When he pushed open her bedroom door, she held her breath and then released it when nothing but the silence of the room greeted them.
Cam turned, putting his finger to his lips, and yanked open the door of the master bathroom connected to the room. He shook his head. “Nada.”
She crossed the hall to Casey’s room, but Cam beat her there and pulled her back.
“One more.”
He turned the handle and bumped the door with his shoulder. The door swung open and Cam crouched, clutching his weapon in front of him.
Martha gasped and pulled back, flattening herself against the opposite wall. Her fingers clawed against the smooth surface and she squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for...whatever.
Cam swore. “He was here. The bastard was here.”
Martha peeled herself from the wall and stumbled forward. Hanging on to the doorjamb, she leaned into Casey’s bedroom and a chill zigzagged up her spine.
Someone had torn apart Casey’s room looking for something, and Martha hoped to God he’d found it because if he hadn’t, she had a feeling he’d come after her next.
* * *
CAM SHOVED HIS gun into the waistband of his pants. Whoever was responsible for tossing Casey’s room had come and gone. He turned in a slow circle, surveying the damage. “What the hell is he looking for?”
“I don’t know.” Martha gulped in a breath and hiccupped. “But I hope he found it.”
“You do?” Came drew his brows together. “I don’t.”
“Easy for you to say. It’s not your place he’s searching.”
Cam smacked his fist into his palm. “You should’ve had your locks changed as soon as the police told you Casey’s keys were missing. It’s too late now.”
Chewing on her bottom lip, Martha picked up one of Casey’s T-shirts with two fingers and dropped it on the bed. “That’s an understatement.”
“I mean time-wise it’s too late. You’ll never get a locksmith out here at midnight.”
“Luckily, I’m not staying here tonight. I’ll get someone out first thing tomorrow morning.” She ran her hands over a bunched-up pillow. “I’m sure as heck not going to work.”
“What could Casey have that this guy wants?”
“And why didn’t he ask her for it before he killed her?”
“Maybe he did and that’s why he killed her. She wouldn’t give it up.”
Tilting her head to one side, Martha put a fist on her hip. “You met Casey. Tony told you what she did. Do you really think she’s the kind of person who would die for her country? I’m pretty sure Casey would’ve given Ben whatever he wanted, especially if she thought it would save her life.”
“You knew her better than I did.” Cam rubbed his chin. “If Ben didn’t ask her nicely for what he wanted or even threaten her if she didn’t give it up, why? What is he looking for now? He has the emails.”
“That’s what I don’t get.” Martha collapsed on the foot of Casey’s disheveled bed. “Ben sent me those emails, knowing I’d send them up the chain of command, and I did. Those messages launched the investigation into Major Denver, which then caused him to go AWOL. Mission accomplished.”
“Not quite.” Cam leveled a finger at Martha. “Nobody was expecting you to hold on to the emails yourself.”
“It shouldn’t matter to him. The emails reached their intended target and did the intended damage. So what if I have the emails on an external storage device? The only thing that does is open me up to charges within the Agency.”
“It also proves you’re suspicious about the emails. You said your superiors didn’t take your concerns seriously or at least felt they’d done their due diligence in investigating them. For old Ben, case closed—until you messed things up. He tried warning you. He tried tying up his loose ends by killing both Wentworth and Casey.”
“As far as he knows, those actions worked. I’m so terrified, I left my home. Why would he think I’d pursue it further?”
“Maybe he believes case is closed on you, too, but now he has another problem. Casey.”
“And whatever evidence she left behind, perhaps linking Ben to the emails.”
“He should be worried.” Cam joined Martha on the bed. “Because if we find that evidence before he does, we might have some proof that the emails were all a scam.”
“Maybe we don’t need the evidence if we can ID the guy tonight on the bar’s security video.”
Cam pushed off the bed and spread his arms wide. “You wanted to start packing up Casey’s things for her family. Now you have the incentive. I’ll help you clean up this mess.”
“Thanks. I’ll get some garbage bags in case there isn’t enough room in her suitcase for her clothes.” Martha headed for the door and stopped. “Ben would’ve expected Casey to have the burner phone on her, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably, if that’s the way he contacted her.”
“I mean, Tony told us she had a burner phone, but the cop didn’t say anything to me about two phones. He mentioned her purse, her wallet and her cell phone. Wouldn’t he have said two phones or maybe even asked me about two phones?”
Cam dragged a suitcase from the closet, which had also been thoroughly ransacked. “So, Ben took it, or that’s what he’s looking for.”
“Maybe he found it in here, and now he’ll leave me alone.”
“If he did, that’s one less thread of proof for us to tie him to Casey and the planting of the emails.”
“C-can you blame me for wanting to back out of this mess? I know. I started out so full of myself, and now I’m just a coward.”
“I wouldn’t blame you at all, and you’re far from a coward.” He flipped open the suitcase. “Let’s see what we can find out tonight, and if the video doesn’t show us anything, you can call it a night...and forget the whole thing.”
She dipped her chin to her chest and pivoted out of the room.
Cam started shoveling the clothes strewn about the room into the open suitcase. At least he had the emails. Martha would turn them over to him, and he could get someone else to look at them. Maybe he could convince someone in intelligence to look at the emails—if there were a way to leave Martha’s name out of it.
Then his leave would be over, and he’d get sent on his next Delta deployment, and Martha could get back to doing wh
at she did best—translating and following CIA rules. And their paths would never cross again.
His heart did a strange twist, and he thumped his fist against his chest.
“Playing Tarzan?” Martha leaned against the doorjamb, a garbage bag clutched in each hand.
“Just trying to clear my lungs. Dust.” He gestured to the suitcase, half-full with jumbled clothes. “Should I be folding up this stuff neatly?”
“I’ll tell you what. You take a bag and fill it with the stuff from this desk.” She thrust a plastic bag at him. “I’ll pack her clothes.”
They worked side by side, the silence broken by the occasional theory or rhetorical question.
Cam thumbed through Casey’s papers before tossing them in the bag, but didn’t find anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. He looked up when he’d cleared out the desk. “So, I guess professional girlfriends don’t keep receipts or records. I’ve never even heard that term before. Where I come from, we have another name for it.”
“I can’t believe how naive I am.” She dropped the lid on the suitcase and flattened one hand on the top while she zipped it. “I honestly just thought Casey had a lot of boyfriends and dates.”
“How were you supposed to know? She hardly fits the profile of a hooker.”
Martha raised one finger. “Professional girlfriend, and I guess she is the profile.”
Cam slid his phone from his pocket and glanced at the time. “It’s almost two. We should be heading back to the bar. I hope Tony has something to show us.”
Martha followed Cam out of Casey’s room and stopped at the door, turning around to look at their handiwork. “Her family hasn’t even contacted me to pick up Casey’s things. Maybe that’s why she did it, the girlfriend thing.”
“Why?”
“She just wanted some love, even if it was pretend.”
* * *
BY THE TIME they got back to the Insider, the traffic on the street had thinned out but not disappeared. Martha parked on a side street, and they slipped into the alley behind the bar.
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