Delta Force Defender

by Carol Ericson

  Martha kissed her friend’s cheek. “Farah, this is Cam. Cam, this is Farah and Scott.”

  Everyone shook hands, and Martha and Cam crowded around the small table, as Cam craned his neck. “Waiters coming by?”

  “Not often enough.” Scott raised his almost empty bottle of beer. “I need to hit the men’s room. I’ll swing by the bar on the way and get us a round. Farah?”

  She covered her wineglass with her hand. “I’m good.”

  Cam tapped Scott’s bottle. “I’ll have one of these.”

  Martha pointed to Farah’s glass of wine. “And I’ll make it easy and have a glass of white wine, thanks.”

  Scott kissed Farah on the top of the head. “Be right back.”

  “Thanks, babe.” Wiggling her fingers over her shoulder, Farah flicked back her hair. “I’m glad you came out, Martha. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about work. First of all, are you okay? My God, to find Wentworth dead in your town house and then Casey the next day. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

  And Farah didn’t even know about Tony. Martha shot a look beneath her lashes at Cam. “It’s been a pretty rough few days. What are they saying at the office? What’s Gage saying?”

  “Just, you know.” Farah swirled her wine in the glass. “Lots of gossip about the congressman and your roommate.”

  Martha narrowed her eyes. “What’s the real reason Proffit asked me to take a few days off?”

  “I don’t know.” Farah hunched forward and twisted her head toward Cam. “Is he okay?”

  “You can say anything in front of Cam.”

  Farah’s tongue darted out of her mouth in a quick sweep of her lips. “Martha, they’re looking at your computer.”

  Martha’s jaw dropped, and a tickle of fear crept up her neck. “D-did they remove it from my cubicle.”

  Cam pressed his knee against hers and she welcomed the contact, although it did nothing to alleviate the panic galloping through her veins.

  “No, but they’ve been in your cubicle a few times—all hush-hush. What else would they be doing in there?”

  Cam asked, “Who’s they? Who’s been in Martha’s cube?”

  “Gage, Proffit and that tech guy.” Farah tapped a fingernail against her glass. “Sebastian Forsythe, the one you dated a few times.”

  “That’s not good.” Martha grabbed Farah’s glass and took a gulp of wine.

  “You don’t have anything to hide, do you, Martha? No, of course you don’t, but if the Agency is looking at your work computer that may not matter.”

  “You’re right. It may not matter. Thanks for clueing me in, Farah.”

  She nodded and then put a finger to her lips as she glanced to the side. “Zip it.”

  Martha looked up to see Scott with three drinks gathered in his hands.

  “Success.” He placed the drinks on the table in a huddle, and then slid them to their owners. “Wine, beer, beer. I can go for another round if you need me to.”

  Farah squeezed his hand. “Thanks, babe. Maybe later. Let’s toast.”

  “To Mondays.” Scott leaned in and clinked his bottle to Martha’s glass, and she instinctively drew away.

  She’d never liked Farah’s taste in men. She’d met Scott just a few times, but any guy who claimed to have an arrangement with his wife raised a red flag with her. She gave Scott a weak smile and took a sip of her wine. Cam had been right. She might need the whole glass to get through this get-together.

  “Oh my God, did you hear about that bartender who was murdered during a robbery? It happened not far from here.” Farah twisted the gold chain around her neck with her fingers. “Terrible.”

  “I did see that on the news.” Martha shook her head. “Why’d the guy have to kill the bartender?”

  “Maybe he didn’t expect the bartender to be there, and he didn’t want the bartender to ID him.” Scott ran a thumbnail through the damp label on his bottle.

  “Well, it was probably all for nothing anyway. I know that area, and there are CCTVs in all the bars.” Farah pointed to a corner of the ceiling. “Probably in here, too.”

  “The robber took care of the cameras.” Martha picked up her glass for another sip of wine, and someone kicked her under the table.

  She choked on her wine and ended up taking a deeper gulp. She avoided looking at Cam. Who else would kick her?

  “Took care of the cameras?” Farah tilted her head to one side.

  Scott asked, “You mean disabled them? We didn’t hear that.”

  Martha could’ve kicked herself—in the same spot Cam had kicked her. She’d better stick to translating because she clearly didn’t have the makings of a spy.

  “I think we heard something like that on the news before we left.” Cam dragged his napkin over a few drops of wine on the table in front of Martha. “Do you follow football, Scott?”

  The men talked football while Farah filled Martha in on other office gossip.

  Several minutes later, Scott patted his front shirt pocket. “I’m going to head out to the deck for a smoke. Join me, Cam?”

  “I don’t smoke, but I do need to hit the men’s room.” Cam scooted back from the table and winked. “We’ll leave you ladies to exchange secrets if you want.”

  Cam and Scott walked several feet together until Scott peeled off for the deck on the side of the bar, and Cam continued to the back and the restrooms.

  Farah bent her head to Martha’s and whispered, “Is it those emails, Martha? I didn’t want to say anything in front of Cam, but do you think Proffit knows you copied those emails onto a flash drive?”

  “I don’t know how he could...unless someone told him.”

  “Not me, I swear.” Farah drew a cross over her heart with one long fingernail. “Did you tell someone else?”

  “No, but...” She snapped her mouth shut as she saw Scott coming in from the patio. “That was fast.”

  “Oh, he’s trying to quit, so he doesn’t smoke his cig all the way down. Screwy method if you ask me.” Farah rolled her eyes and touched her glass to Martha’s.

  Martha cupped her wineglass with one hand and swirled another sip of the oaky chardonnay in her mouth, her eyebrows knitting over her nose as she followed Scott’s progress back to their table.

  Even as Cam appeared several feet behind Scott with a bottle of beer in each hand, Martha pinned her gaze to Scott, tracking his every movement. He stuffed something, a pouch, in the pocket of his jacket.

  Martha jerked her head once and allowed the wine to run down the back of her throat. That pouch could be anything. Maybe it wasn’t even a pouch. It didn’t have to be loose tobacco, and plenty of people didn’t smoke their cigarettes all the way down to the butt. He probably wanted to get back to Farah.

  Eyeing her half-empty wineglass, Martha pushed it away from her as Scott reached their table.

  He leaned in to kiss Farah on the mouth, and she shooed him away with both hands. “You know I can’t stand smoking. I grew up with just about every member of my family lighting up, and I can’t stand it—especially that tobacco and especially those roll-your-own cancer sticks.”

  Martha froze. This time when Scott sat down and pulled his chair up to the table, instead of moving away from him, she moved closer and inhaled deeply.

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage. The odor of the tobacco from his breath caused a cold dread to snake up her spine.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cam placed the beers on the table and nodded to Scott. He didn’t want to stay much longer, but he owed Scott a round. Unless Farah had dropped a bombshell in the past ten minutes, she’d told Martha everything she knew about the office. Wasn’t much Martha could do about it now.

  Someone kicked his shin under the table, and he shifted his leg to the side. Then Martha scooted her chair toward him and dug her f
ingernails into his thigh—at least he hoped those were Martha’s fingers so close to his crotch.

  Picking up his beer, he met her gaze above the bottle and almost choked on the liquid running down his throat. Her pale face and her lips pressed together in a thin line made his stomach drop. Had Farah delivered more bad news?

  Martha made a grab for her wineglass and knocked it over. She jerked back from the table. “Sorry.”

  Scott tossed his napkin on top of the spreading pool of wine. “Do you want another?”

  “No!” Martha shoved her chair back from the table. “No, thank you. I think we’d better be going. I—I have to let my mom’s dog out.”

  “Your mom has a dog?”

  As Farah tilted her head, Cam drew his eyebrows together. What had lit a fire under Martha? Farah didn’t seem to know.

  Martha jumped up from the table. “Thanks so much for the heads-up, Farah. If anything else happens, let me know. Hopefully, I’ll be back at work next week once the Agency realizes I wasn’t at all involved in Casey and the Congressman’s relationship.”

  “Sounds like a movie of the week, Casey and the Congressman.” Farah stood up and gave Martha a one-armed hug and shook Cam’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Scott stood up, as well, and everyone said their goodbyes, which couldn’t happen fast enough for Cam. Something had obviously happened to spook Martha when he’d been absent, but that something hadn’t come from Farah.

  Cam slid Martha’s coat and purse from the back of her chair. “We’ll have to do this again.”

  As he handed Martha’s purse to her, she elbowed him in the ribs, and he sucked in a breath. He helped her into her coat and she grabbed his arm, practically dragging him out of the bar.

  When they hit the sidewalk, Martha folded her arms and continued her quick pace.

  He bumped her shoulder. “What’s going on? Where are we going? Your mother doesn’t even have a dog.”

  She didn’t say one word until they got into the car and closed the doors. Then she turned to him and grabbed his sleeve.

  “Farah’s boyfriend? Scott?”

  He nodded. “Yeah?”

  “He’s our guy.”

  “Our guy? The one who hacked you?”

  “The one who killed three people.”

  “How do you know that?” His gaze darted to the side mirror.

  “Did you smell him when he came back to the table?”

  “I don’t usually make a habit out of sniffing other dudes.”

  She slugged his shoulder. “I’m serious, Cam. He smelled sweetish, just like that cigarette you picked up on the boat dock.”

  “Same tobacco?”

  She licked her lips. “It’s more than that. He rolls his own cigarettes, and when he came back from his smoke after just a few minutes, Farah told me he’s trying to quit and smokes only half his cigarette.”

  “The one on the dock was only half smoked.” He rubbed his knuckles against his jaw. “Maybe you’re onto something.”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temples. “I think I am. It’s too coincidental.”

  “When did Farah start dating him?”

  “About four months ago. Met him online, and he told her he was married right away. She’s not looking for something permanent, so that didn’t bother her.”

  “He told her he was married to explain why he didn’t bring her to his place or introduce her to his friends.”

  Martha started the car but didn’t make a move. “He started dating her to get close to me. Just like he ordered Casey to keep an eye on me. Everyone around me is proving to be false.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Not me. Do you think Farah’s in on it? She could’ve been the one who identified you to be the conduit of those emails.”

  “No way. Farah wouldn’t do that.”

  “That’s what you thought about Casey, too.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “It’s like they’re forming a snare around you, Martha. They wanted people on the inside, watching you—from work and from home.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” The chattering of her teeth swallowed up her last word.

  “Sure it does.” He turned up the heat in the car. “On some level you know it. You recognized the smell of that cigarette when it had been in my pocket. It struck a chord with you because you’d smelled it before—on him.”

  “If it’s all true, if Scott’s the killer, we can’t leave Farah to him. I’m not going to allow her to be alone with a killer.”

  He reached over and cut the engine, and then grabbed the door handle. “I wish you would’ve told me this sooner, right outside the bar. I could’ve confronted him then.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He cranked his head over his shoulder. “I’m going back. He’s right under our noses. I’m not going to let him slip through my grasp now after trying to ID him for days.”

  “Wait.” She put her hand on his back. “Do we really want him to know we’re onto him? What do you think he was planning in there? He did get us our drinks.”

  Cam ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “What would be the point in drugging us in a public place, in front of his supposed girlfriend?”

  “Maybe he wanted to drug us for later. Knock us out at my mom’s house and break in without disturbing us.”

  “That’s some long-acting drug.”

  “I don’t know.” She flattened her palm against her chest. “You do know that he arranged this meeting tonight, don’t you? Somehow, someway, he got Farah to invite me out.”

  “I agree. None of this is coincidence.” He pushed open the door. “And I’m going to find out why. I’m going to find out who put him up to this, and why they want to bring down Major Denver.”

  “Cam!”

  The urgency burned in his gut. On some logical level he knew Martha was right. Why show their hand now? But he might never get a crack at this guy again. He was two blocks away. He had to make a move.

  Cam broke into a jog, even as he heard Martha calling behind him. He dodged a couple of cars to cross the street to the restaurant and burst through the doors.

  The chairs where the four of them had sat were empty, the table still littered with their glasses and bottles. He threaded his way through the bar and loomed over the table.

  “Forget something?”

  He spun around and almost knocked into the waitress. “The other couple, they left?”

  “Right after you did.” She balanced her tray on her hip and repeated her question. “Forget something?”

  “It’s all right. I’ll call them later.” Cam backed up to the table and wrapped his fingers around the neck of Scott’s beer bottle. He shuffled around the waitress, keeping the bottle behind him. “Thanks.”

  Outside the bar when he reached the street corner, Martha pounced on him. “What were you doing? How could confronting him in public possibly work?”

  “Don’t worry. They’d left.” He presented the beer bottle with a flourish and held it in front of Martha’s face. “And I snagged this.”

  “His fingerprints.”

  “Exactly. I have a buddy with the PD in Virginia who can help out with the prints.”

  She slipped her fingers in the back pocket of his jeans as they walked to the car. “Scott’s playing with fire. How did he know we wouldn’t be able to ID him?”

  “He probably felt secure since he was obviously wearing a disguise when he met with Casey and Tony, and he had a mask on this morning at your mom’s house. When Tony described him with the beard and glasses, we already figured he’d donned a disguise.”

  “We can’t prove anything based on a tobacco brand, Cam.”

  “Who knows? We could even be wrong about him, but I doubt it.”

  When they reached the car, Martha leaned agai
nst it, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Farah. We can’t leave her alone with him.”

  “Would they go back to her place?”

  “They never go to his place. He’s conveniently married, remember?”

  “We can’t go charging into Farah’s place. We need a plan.” Cam rubbed his hands together against the chill of the night. “But let’s do it in the car with the engine running and the heat blasting.”

  Once in the car, Cam turned to Martha. “Do you know where Farah lives?”

  “A town house not far from here.”

  “We could drop by on some pretext—you left your phone at the bar, or something work related. If Scott’s still there, you could get Farah alone. Maybe you could warn her against him.”

  She worried her bottom lip. “If he’s at her place and you see him again, will you be able to control yourself? You charged back to the bar, ready to get some answers from him.”

  “If he is there, it might be the perfect opportunity to get some answers.” Cam drummed his thumbs against the dashboard. “He’d be in a private place. I could let him know we have his prints and are going to the police with our suspicions.”

  “Like you said before, we have nothing to tie him to the three murders. Heck, the cops aren’t even calling Congressman Wentworth’s death a murder.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think a cigarette is going to do the trick, do you? We never even reported his attempted break-in to the police.”

  “We know that, but he doesn’t. It might give us a little leverage with him. He’s gonna realize he dropped a cigarette at your place, so that’ll ring true.” He slapped his hand against the dashboard. “It’s worth a try. I’m not letting this guy slip away.”

  Martha threw the car into gear. “I agree, but I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “Nobody’s going to get hurt.” He ran a hand down her thigh. “Especially not you.”

  “Or Farah.”

  “Or Farah.”

  “Or you.”

  “Got it.”

  Ten minutes later, Martha parallel parked at the curb and pointed to a row of town houses. “Farah’s is on the end.”