by Juno Rushdan
She also needed a decent meal and sleep to think straight. “Do we have a deal?”
10
Castle eyed her, long and hard, assessing her story. The odds of an innocent person getting mixed up in this disaster with zero culpability were about the same as someone winning the lottery.
Things were clear as water. Kit had let Jasper into her inner circle when she shouldn’t have. Definite mistake. Then she hadn’t vetoed a vote on taking the illegal job. An even bigger mistake.
Also, the Outliers had created Ever Shield, a malicious program, and tested it, rendering Boundless Informant, ECHELON, and Stellar Wind—all covert global surveillance systems—null and void for one minute forty-five seconds. On the other hand, they had never used it again when they could’ve crippled the United States.
Her band of techies had been dangerous, for certain, but not evil.
Kit wasn’t a victim, but he gathered she wasn’t a traitor to the United States either. She was a smart survivor—something he admired—who was caught in the middle of this quagmire.
This was personal for her. She had skin in the game. The fact that she wasn’t looking for revenge for her murdered friends, asking for justice instead, told him plenty about her character.
Staring at her, he saw the desperate woman from the park, begging heaven for help. She needed his. More than she realized.
The thought of it tugged at his heart and weighed on his shoulders.
He nodded. “Okay.”
The immediate relief in her was visible, only strengthening the odd sense that she was somehow his responsibility. Sure, she fascinated him as much as she riled him up, and there was no denying he was attracted to her. But this was the first time he’d saved a civilian in such a one-on-one, intimate way.
Maybe that was why he felt a connection, an obligation to keep on protecting her, but her conditions would be a major sticking point for his boss.
Kit wasn’t going to cave under intimidation, and his boss was a titan accustomed to putting people in their place and winning at all costs. Getting Kit out of the Gray Box unscathed and doing his job at the same time was going to require a careful balancing act.
Castle had never acted as a mediator, and if his sister, Maddox, knew what he was about to attempt, she’d get a big kick out of it, but he’d taken notes from Reece. The guy was prior Delta Force, a demolition expert also trained in negotiation.
“What’s the next step?” she asked, her weary eyes glassy with desperation. She clung to his hand like she was counting on him, had the utmost confidence he’d save her again.
“A high-speed tutorial on how to play this in the conference room.”
Castle went over some quick rules for her to follow as they walked back to the conference room. “Got it?”
She nodded, looking uncertain, but time was up. They went inside.
“I’m glad you could rejoin us, Miss Westcott,” Sanborn said. “I was ten seconds from sending Doc to check on you.”
“I’m sorry I kept everyone waiting.” Kit took her seat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
The room had filled in with two more of the team, upping the testosterone. Sean “Ares” Whitlock had joined the group. He was an operative who had been stationed at one of the other parks during that morning’s op.
Beside him was Reece. He mouthed, “Sorry. Didn’t want to miss this shitshow.”
Great.
Sanborn slapped the folder in front of Kit. “Sign the documents.” He set a ballpoint pen atop the paperwork.
They hadn’t used paper NDAs in years. Sanborn must’ve had these printed special. Castle assumed his boss didn’t want a stranger skilled enough with computers to use encrypted software and back doors into IRC laying a finger on the precious Gray Box system. Their networks accessed classified data from the full spectrum of the intelligence community. Now Kit’s identity as a hacker was established, the boss was probably patting himself on the back for the precaution.
As Kit picked up the pen and read the documents with furious focus, her lips pursed, like it was killing her to concede even this. She winced and hesitated more than once—stirring him to tap her knee with a knuckle—but she signed each one with only a single sigh.
Attagirl.
“How do you know about Z-1984, Miss Westcott?” Sanborn asked.
“Would it be possible to have a lawyer of my choosing present first?”
“No.” The word was sharp and final.
Kit shot Castle an anxious glance and he reassured her with a subtle nod.
She repeated her story, this time allowing the fear and grief to surface. As he’d instructed her to do. Kit’s blustery defenses and spunk would backfire with Sanborn.
To win him over, she needed to be genuine.
There were moments when it seemed hard for her to expose her emotions, but she let go.
It worked, somewhat. She brought Doc to tears at one point, and Alistair showed a glimmer of sympathy. Willow took notes in her robotic way, marching to the beat of a different drummer. The one person who concerned Castle was Sanborn.
The boss sat focused without the distraction of sentiment.
“Did you look at what was on the drive?” Sanborn asked.
Kit repeated the rest of her story, once again no inconsistencies, no hiccups, bolstering Castle’s confidence she wasn’t lying.
“I’ve told you everything. My friends were murdered.” She sniffled without shedding tears, but Doc handed her a tissue anyway. “The last thing Jasper talked about was Z-1984. What is it?” Kit looked around the silent room. “I signed your NDAs. Someone killed them over this. Please.”
Sanborn was a seasoned operative, sharp as a blade, and even though he sat behind a desk these days, he could still slit a throat without blinking if necessary, so playing hardball by stonewalling Kit would be nothing. But Castle had learned from him that sometimes delicacy was stronger than brute force. If you gave a little, you could get a whole lot in return. The tactic had worked well when Castle had shared classified information with Kit in the bathroom. The gamble had paid off. She’d opened up and was starting to trust him. Castle knew Sanborn well. His boss would be inclined to make the same choice.
“Thirteen weeks ago,” Sanborn said, “a bioagent popped up for sale on the black market. Willow discovered the auction for weaponized smallpox on the dark web.”
The chief left out how the government-bioengineered weapon had been stolen from a hijacked shipment of deadly viruses en route to Fort Detrick.
“Thankfully, Maddox, another operative here, recovered the bioweapon. She prevented a pandemic and potentially saved millions of lives.”
It wasn’t coincidence that’d brought both Kinkade siblings to the Gray Box. Castle had led Sanborn to his younger sister. She’d been floundering at the CIA and found her niche here, which was both a blessing and a curse. This job demanded everything from an operative.
Sanborn was the beacon in the darkness, guiding them all. Ensured they had the proper resources and none of them were sucked bone-dry by this business.
The public was clueless about everything they did to protect America, and pride at a grueling job well done couldn’t keep you warm at night. At least love was possible for some—Willow and Reaper, Maddox and her fiancé, Cole.
But this line of work still extracted a heavy toll.
“She also apprehended a man who was number ten on the CIA’s most wanted list. A contract killer who purchased the bioagent.”
Smooth as butter spread across warm bread, the boss laid out the positives of the Gray Box’s success stories, selling the merits of their covert agency while omitting the glaring negatives. Like how they hadn’t apprehended the seller of the bioweapon, who’d pocketed five million dollars. Or how the government was scrambling to cover up their fucked-up mess. Sanborn was working overtime to
pinpoint the individuals responsible and make them answer for this.
The worst part was that two more bioweapons were out there—a souped-up version of anthrax and Z-1984.
“In tracking down the origins of engineered smallpox, we discovered Z-1984. I’ll let Doc take it from here.” Sanborn looked at Doc, and even through the veil of professionalism, the light in his eyes was unmistakable.
The two had become a couple. A fact that still boggled Castle’s mind and had nothing to do with the twenty-year age difference between his boss and Doc.
Even in his early fifties, Sanborn was fitter than Castle, staying razor-sharp with MMA fighting and Krav Maga. He was what most women would probably consider handsome, but Doc was crazy to get involved with him if she expected a normal relationship. Sanborn was married to this job and any woman in his life would always be a mistress.
“Z-1984 is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. In some ways, it’s far worse than anthrax or the mutated strain of smallpox.” Doc flipped her reddish-blond hair over her shoulder, baby blues hitting everyone around the table except for Willow, who tended to avoid eye contact, and Ares.
Doc always steered clear of Ares as if he had a communicable disease. Maybe guys with dark hair, dark eyes, and a presence darker than a black hole simply scared her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact everyone knew Ares had a thing for her.
“It’s rumored the scientist who created Z-1984 added the z as a sick joke. Standing for zombie.”
A silent tension swept through the room.
Kit blanched. “You mean zombies as in The Walking Dead?”
“Not quite. It won’t animate the dead,” Doc said, “but it infects the brain of the living, specifically the prefrontal cortex, changing a person into…a rabid cannibal. All rationale, emotion, higher cognitive functions are gone, reducing the infected to a mindless beast.”
“Sounds peachy, doesn’t it, luv?” Alistair said with a wink.
Rather than appearing relieved to know, Kit looked ready to toss her cookies.
A trained operative would’ve fired off follow-up questions to fill in the holes Sanborn and Doc had left, but Kit was an overwhelmed civilian whose life was unraveling.
“Miss Westcott, we’re the good guys here. The unsung heroes who fight in the shadows to keep you and every American safe and unaware of the dangers that threaten our way of life,” Sanborn said, leveraging the foundation he’d laid. “Help us stop the people who murdered your friends. Where is the hard drive that you took?”
Here comes the tricky part.
Kit snapped out of her sickened daze. “I-I have no desire to obstruct justice and I have every intention of cooperating, but I need—”
Castle nudged her thigh.
“I mean, I’d appreciate some assurance that I’m going to walk out of this facility. I’m not used to gunfights, being detained and threatened, watching my friends…” She squeezed her eyes shut with a shudder, milking the room for every drop of compassion—as they’d discussed, but there was a genuine tug even in Castle’s chest. “I’d like to go get the hard drive myself and make a copy for you.”
Sanborn rested his steepled fingers on the gleaming black table. “It would be safer for you to tell me where the drive is and let me send a field officer to retrieve it.”
By some miracle, she maintained her composure. “With all due respect, Sanborn, you need that drive to figure out whatever those terrorists have planned. Yes, you could strip me of my civil liberties and do unspeakable—and, I dare say, un-American—things to me. But you’d be wasting time. Invaluable time you need to stop these horrible men.”
Every point was true. Time was the one bargaining chip she had. The best way to serve Sanborn, get the drive as easily as possible, and have time to apprehend whoever had killed the Outliers was to let Kit play it.
“Sir,” Castle said. “May we speak in the hall?” He stood, heading to the door.
Sanborn stilled, gaze trained on Kit, as if Castle hadn’t spoken or moved.
Everyone in the Gray Box joked that Castle was Sanborn’s protégé. Nothing could be further from the truth. Knox—the second-in-command, who’d been deployed for what felt like an eternity—was the legitimate holder of that title. But the boss had taken a special liking to Castle, put extra effort into grooming him.
Sanborn, Knox, and Castle were cut from the same cloth. They shared the same vision of the world. The odds were always stacked against them. Winning came with the cost of blood-stained hands and sleepless nights. They had all lost battle brothers and understood how this job hollowed you out over time. The enemy didn’t play by the rules, so those rules needed to change. It was why the Gray Box had been created.
Sometimes they had to go to great lengths to protect this country. Without apology. But this wasn’t one of those times.
“Sir,” Castle repeated, catching Sanborn’s gaze. “One minute.”
The two of them stepped into the hall where their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.
Castle had to choose his words carefully. As prior spec ops and the former director of the CIA’s covert ops division, Sanborn had earned his reputation as the Black Ops Whisperer. He ran the Gray Box with shrewd precision and rarely entertained an alternative course of action.
“Miss Westcott wants to cooperate, but she’s terrified. Of us. I believe the more she feels like she can trust us, the more of an asset she’d be. We need the hard drive, but she wants to make sure that we only get information that pertains to the Outliers’ most recent job. A balls-to-the-wall approach isn’t necessary and may do more harm than good. She has a heart condition.” And an even bigger mistrust condition that bordered on paranoia. “We should tread carefully.”
The idea of bullying Kit left a bad taste in his mouth. Much less allowing her to be locked up and interrogated. Or worse. No telling what the undue stress of confirming her ugliest suspicions about covert agencies would do to her, assuming her heart didn’t give out first.
Always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. That was the Navy SEAL creed.
Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Even though they’d given him the heave-ho, the ethos was ingrained in his core values. He could do his job, as always, and protect her. The two were not mutually exclusive. To do one was not a betrayal of the other.
“What do you propose?”
That Sanborn was willing to bend an ear to Castle’s opinion was a testament to their close rapport.
“Let me take her to get the drive. She’ll make a copy of the information that we need. Willow can decrypt it and I’ll keep Miss Westcott safe until she’s no longer in danger.”
“I don’t trust her. She’s holding something back. And your skill set would be put to better use working this in Black Ops. I’ll assign Danny to protect her.”
Daniel Cutter—a young, energetic analyst with a Marine Force Recon background—was weapons qualified but hadn’t seen serious action in the field in years. The highly trained operators Castle had faced in the park would eat him alive.
Sanborn had no idea what they were up against.
“Kit realizes how precarious her situation is and that our interests are aligned,” Castle said. The boss tipped his chin up at that, so Castle sought to clarify. “She needs us to protect her just as much as we need that hard drive. I’m sure Cutter can knock the skin off a pudding, but those guys in the park were highly skilled. Sharp. This is too much for him. And Kit has faith in my ability to protect her. That’s a huge first step. Subbing in someone new now would only hinder our chances to catch these guys.”
“Danny sits behind a desk because of family obligations, but he’s more than capable. You obviously feel some sense of personal responsibility for this woman. God only knows why.”
Herein lay the fundamental difference between Castle and his boss. For Castle, if he saved a life,
he was responsible for that life. While Sanborn believed if he saved a life, that person was now indebted to him.
“You think she’s hiding something,” Castle said, and she very well might be. Slim odds she’d divulged everything, but that didn’t mean what she kept to herself was tantamount to treason. “Whatever it might be, I’ll suss it out. If there are any holes in her story, I can get close enough to find them.” And he would. She was no Mata Hari and he didn’t have to use the brute force of a hammer to crack her defenses. A scalpel would work far better. “I’ve established a degree of trust I can capitalize on. She’s more likely to lower her guard with me than anyone else at this point.”
Sanborn nodded. “We’ll let her retrieve the drive and you watch her very closely. I wouldn’t put it past her to have some tricks up her sleeve. But I want the original hardware. We have to be certain she’s not hiding critical information and the other contents could pose a risk to national security.”
Kit would never go for it, which meant Castle had to renege on that part of their deal.
Lying to her was better than letting her stubbornness be her own worst enemy. After what she’d already lost and had been through, he might consider breaking his never apologize for doing his duty rule.
“You can safeguard her at a hotel,” Sanborn added.
That was a curveball Castle hadn’t anticipated. “Sir, there are too many points of ingress and egress at a hotel and their security cameras can easily be breached. The men after her, whoever they are, might be able to find her there. The safe house would be best.”
“I’m all for keeping her breathing, Castle, but her organization was this close to being considered traitors to this country. I’m not letting her in my safe house.”
Keeping her at a hotel with a four-man team was risky but possible. Castle on his own—granted he was one capable, skilled dude—in that scenario was a security nightmare and a flat no-go.
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to take her to my place.”
Sanborn quirked a brow. “You really want to open your home to that? Whether she’s an unwitting victim or deft manipulator still pulling strings remains to be seen. One thing I know for certain, Kit hates everything people like us stand for. Don’t forget that for a second.”