Exposed in Darkness

by Heather Sunseri

  I took a sip of the wine and turned toward Declan. “This is good.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He angled his head, and I braced for what was coming. “Brooke, I have no problem playing whatever game we’re playing. If today is any indication, I’ve proven that I’m good at winning.”

  I couldn’t stop the smile that touched my lips. “And at humility.” I took another sip of wine, then backed away from him so I could breathe more easily.

  “You don’t think someone can be humble while still being proud of their team’s accomplishments?”

  “I think some can.”

  “I have an incredible group of talent that I surround myself with. That team makes it possible for me to accomplish many things. And one of those things is knowing when someone is about to hurt me.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You think I’m here to hurt you? That’s why you had me checked out and found out I was FBI in a former life?”

  “I also know that the FBI is busy gathering information about me now. Are you going to deny being privy to that?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Should I have a bottle brought up?” He tipped his wine glass to me. “We can spend the night uncomplicating it.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Declan,” I said, and I couldn’t stop the sadness from entering my voice. Yet, just standing here talking with this man who made my heart skip beats made me regret coming here to Kentucky. I was attracted to him. There was no denying that. But I wasn’t ready.

  And he was somehow tied to a domestic terrorist investigation.

  “I don’t agree,” he said. “But that’s not the subject for tonight.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you dug up about my past.”

  “I know that you were with the Bureau until a little over a year ago. You traded in the title of special agent for that of tactical analyst just before you left the FBI for good. And I know that two FBI agents showed up at your doorstep tonight at the same time that you turned down my invitation to this party, yet after meeting with those two agents… here you are.”

  “You know a lot.”

  “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the FBI is investigating me and my possible involvement in the assassination of the lieutenant governor. It was my bourbon that killed two people, after all.”

  “It wasn’t your bourbon that killed them,” I corrected.

  “No, it wasn’t. You’re right. Do you know what killed them? Or how it got into the bourbon?”

  I thought about the lab reports Mike and Carlos had left with me earlier this evening. How the drug that had killed Melissa Centers and the college student just might be under lock and key inside some laboratory Declan had recently acquired. But those lab reports, along with everything I was given tonight, were considered sensitive—not meant for sharing quite yet. “I’m not at liberty to say,” I found myself saying.

  A fire erupted in Declan’s eyes, and I was overcome with a desire to tell him everything I knew. But I couldn’t reveal anything sensitive until I faced the director of the FBI. He would be the one to give me permission to release certain information in hopes of gathering more.

  “What do you need from me?” he asked.

  I thought about it a minute. I hadn’t planned on telling Declan that I was FBI—former or otherwise. The fact that he’d figured it out shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me. I was definitely out of practice. In my defense, I hadn’t come to Kentucky to work undercover. I had come to Kentucky to protect the governor. Which I still planned to do.

  “I need you not to lie to me when I ask you direct questions. Lying to me will not help either of us.”

  Declan sat his glass on the desk and closed the distance between us again. “I won’t lie to you, Brooke.” He said my name with that sexy foreign accent, and I fought to focus. “And I hope you’ll give me the same courtesy.” He took my glass and set it beside his own.

  This time when he touched a hand to my waist, I didn’t flinch. It was progress. He lifted his other hand and traced an imaginary line from my temple down to my chin. He lifted my face just slightly, giving him perfect access to kiss me. I swallowed hard while staring into his eyes. My arms hung at my sides.

  “You’re trembling,” he said against my lips. When I didn’t respond, he pulled back slightly. “My God, you’re terrified.” He dropped his hand, and I shivered at the coolness left behind when the warmth of his hand disappeared.

  I turned and placed both hands flat on the desk. What was I doing? This man stirred feelings in me that I had no control over, and yet I was haunted by the memory of my late husband. A man I would never see, touch, or hear from again stood between me and anyone I might ever have a relationship with.

  “Brooke,” Declan whispered.

  The gentleness of my name on his lips had me wanting to turn and throw my arms around him, to let him try kissing me again. More than anything, I wanted to feel again.

  “I can’t do this,” I said. “You’re a person of interest in a case I’ve agreed to help the FBI with.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But I won’t always be a person of interest. And you will still want me as much as I want you right now.”

  I closed my eyes. He was right. I did want him. But as long as I was still mourning Teddy, I would never be available to anyone else.

  His hands ran down my arms. He leaned in to me, the heat of his body against my back. “Let me help you.”

  I grabbed my clutch off the desk. “You can’t. I’m sorry.” Without looking back at him, I made my way around the desk and left.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, after grabbing a to-go cup of coffee from Julep Hill Café, I took a walk to clear my head in the crisp, cool spring air.

  With the envelope from Mike tucked under my elbow, I found myself at the entrance to Midland’s cemetery. As I walked past grave markers and statues of weeping angels, I reflected on the past year and how I had let grief consume me. I had stopped working. I had shut out my entire family and most of my friends. Everyone except Ty.

  Ty was the only one who had managed to break through my grief and see that I might some day in the distant future be able to feel something other than all-consuming heartbreak.

  I sat on a stone bench in front of a headstone for someone named Lily, a little girl who had died way too young, according to the dates. Death happened to everyone at some point. No one got to escape it. Certainly not me.

  “I’m sorry, Teddy,” I said softly. It wasn’t his grave, but for some reason I felt close to him sitting in the middle of a cemetery where others had placed the remains of their loved ones. By the looks of the flowers planted around Lily’s grave, she was certainly loved and remembered. I looked to the sky; soft white clouds passed overhead. The sun was just coming up and slowly warming the air. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you here.” My voice cracked, and since there was no one around to witness it, I let it. “My life made sense with you in it. Nothing makes sense now.”

  When a lone tear escaped my eye, I swiped at it, then took a drink of coffee. Talking to Teddy here seemed more normal than at a cottage I was renting. “Truman is in trouble. I know you would want me to look after him, and I’m trying, but I didn’t realize I’d be dragged right back into so much of what I left behind.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and swallowed against additional tears that threatened. “… I just never thought you would leave me.”

  Deciding it was time to actually work on helping Truman, I took in a deep breath, then pulled out the envelope and began reviewing the evidence Mike and Carlos had delivered to me the previous day. I started by re-reading the lab and autopsy reports for both victims.

  The lab report claimed that tacin was used to kill both Melissa Centers and the server—what was his name? I flipped through the report. Jay DeBeers. The poison that killed Centers was found only in the glass that Centers drank from, but tacin was discovered in e
very glass of bourbon tested at the Bluegrass Derby kickoff party. It was nothing short of a miracle that scores of people weren’t poisoned that night.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Ty.

  “Hey, Brooke. Whatcha doing? Did you see that hunky horseman last night?”

  “Yeah. Hey, listen. When Centers was killed, we believe the killer had to have been there to put the poison in her glass, right?”

  “That’s the working theory.”

  “But if the poison was in every glass at the kickoff party the night DeBeers was murdered, wouldn’t it make more sense that the toxin was in the bottles themselves? Isn’t that more likely than someone adding poison to more than a hundred individual glasses?”

  “An inside job? Someone inside the distillery?” Ty verbalized what I was thinking. “Didn’t they test the bottles?”

  “Yes, and found no trace of the tacin in the bottles themselves.” It just didn’t make sense, though. My phone beeped in my ear, alerting me to another call. “I’ve got another call coming in. When will you be here?”

  “That’s the thing—I can’t come until tomorrow. Will you be okay without me for another day?”

  I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Sure. I’ll see you when I see you.” I ended the call with Ty and looked to see who was calling me, but it was a blocked number. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Brooke,” said a man with a raspy voice.

  Romeo. I stood and conducted a perimeter search for the elusive confidential source that was back in my life after a year of silence. The papers I’d been reading fell into a scattered pile. The breeze blew a couple of them, and I scurried to step on them.

  “You’d better get those. I’m sure they’re sensitive documents.”

  I quickly gathered the files and stuffed them back in the envelope while holding the phone between my shoulder and my ear. Once the documents were tucked away, I turned in another complete circle, looking for the guy gutsy enough to follow me to Kentucky from Virginia.

  “You won’t find me. Don’t bother.”

  “What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “To help you, of course. Like I always do. You don’t look so good this morning. The hot Irishman didn’t help you relax last night with that glass of wine? Shame, really, that you’re so hung up on your past.”

  I started to get angry, but quickly realized that getting angry at a CHS was not going to help me. “As always, I appreciate your help. And since you are helping me, shouldn’t I get to know your name?”

  “My name isn’t necessary for you to do your job. We’ve got more important things to discuss. Someone’s been messing with the coffee back at the B&B. I just thought you should know. I hate to see innocent people get hurt.”

  “What? You have to give me more info.”

  “You’d better run,” he said calmly before the call went silent.

  It took me less than a second to react and take off toward Julep Hill at a full sprint.

  I ran as fast as I could, slaloming through headstones to the cemetery’s edge, and then sprinted three blocks down the sidewalk. I had the B&B in my sight when I started across the street. The blare of a car horn and the screech of tires brought me up short. I faced the vehicle that had stopped just shy of taking me out.

  When I recovered, I turned back to the B&B. In the window of the café, Declan, of all people, was standing with Carrie Anne. Both looked speechless at having witnessed me being nearly flattened. I ran the up the steps and slammed into Declan when he met me at the door.

  “Brooke?” He held on to me, saving me from collapsing right then and there.

  “The coffee,” I panted. “Stop serving it.”

  “What, honey?” Carrie Anne said behind Declan. “What’s got you so upset?”

  “Slow down.” Declan pushed hair from my face. “Breathe. Tell me—”

  “The coffee. It’s poisoned.” I sucked in a deep breath. “There’s something in the coffee.”

  Declan straightened at the same time that Carrie Anne’s eyes widened. “What?” she managed.

  Declan turned, reentered the B&B, and walked to the dining room. Carrie Anne and I followed.

  “Can I have your attention?” Declan asked in his sexy—and miraculously calm—foreign accent. He clapped his hands together and smiled. “Carrie Anne here tells me that there’s a problem with the coffee. Marti is going to collect all your cups and get you fresh coffee as soon as she can.”

  The diners looked at each other, confused. “It tastes fine,” one of them said.

  “I know, Fred,” Carrie Anne joined in with her southern drawl, “but we’ve just received a report from our coffee distributor that this batch might have been contaminated with E. coli at the factory. I’m going to issue everyone a ten-dollar gift certificate for your trouble. Just hang tight.”

  Fred and the others shrugged. I leaned against the doorjamb at the entrance to the dining room, still trying to catch my breath. No one had paid any attention to the perspiration beading on my forehead or the clothes that clung to my body with sweat.

  But when Declan looked back at me, concern was etched in every feature of his face. He came back and stood beside me.

  Only when I was sure that Marti had gathered up all the coffee, and that Carrie Anne was assuring that no additional coffee was being served, did I allow my knees to buckle.

  Declan caught me before I could collapse. He scooped me up and carried me across the foyer, setting me down in a wingback chair. Kneeling in front of me, he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Hi, chief. We have an incident over at Carrie Anne’s. You’d better send a team. And send an ambulance just to be sure.” He touched my cheek and smoothed my hair behind my ear with his free hand. He nodded into the phone. “Possibly poison… No, no signs of anyone sick… Not sure yet. Yes, I’ll stay here.”

  When he hung up, he held both of my hands in his. “You okay? Breathing better?”

  “Yes.” My legs burned as if they’d been wrapped in hot coal. I forced myself to stand, and when I stumbled, Declan steadied me with a hand to my arm. He stayed beside me as I made my way back to the dining room. Police sirens sounded in the distance.

  I knew there was no way around it: I had to call Mike and Carlos.

  Marti came toward me with a glass of water. “Mom said to bring you this.”

  I took the water gratefully, gulped it down, then returned the glass to her.

  Carrie Anne appeared behind her daughter. “Now, you want to tell me what made you think someone poisoned my coffee? No one I don’t know has been in my kitchen this morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The moment I’d been dreading was here. I peered over her shoulder. Carrie Anne’s patrons were huddled in gossip sessions. Several looked up at us periodically. “Come with me,” I said and turned toward the room across the foyer.

  When I faced Carrie Anne again, she narrowed her eyes, studying my face. “This is serious, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so. I’m going to explain everything, but right now I’m going to need everyone in your dining room and your kitchen to remain there. If they need to leave, we need to make sure we know who they are and their contact information. If you don’t know them, try hard to keep them here.”

  “Marti,” Carrie Anne said without turning to her daughter. “Do as she says.”

  When Marti was gone, I pulled my credentials package from my jacket pocket, flipped it open to reveal my FBI badge, and showed it to Carrie Anne, who paled. “I’m going to need to make a phone call. Then we can talk. I know I have no right to ask, but do you think you can keep my… identity… to yourself for now?”

  She nodded.

  I made my way out onto the front porch. Declan followed and remained silent as I held my phone to my ear.

  Mike answered on the second ring. “Agent Donaldson.”

  “You still in town?” I asked. “Something’s happened at the B&B.”

  “What kind
of something?” Mike asked.

  “A possible poison of the coffee.”

  “We’re on our way. We’ll call for an evidence response team.”

  I hung up just as the police arrived.

  Declan backed up and sat on the porch swing. I wasn’t sure why, but I gave him an apologetic look before I turned and greeted the two officers who approached. I told them about the phone call I’d received—only the bare minimum information—and that a forensic team was on its way.

  An unmarked car pulled up behind the police car, and a man stepped out. Declan was suddenly beside me. “Hey, Chief.”

  “Declan. What’s going on?” The Midland chief of police looked quizzically from Declan to me and back to Declan.

  I shifted to stand in front of Declan so that the chief would know to focus on me when I spoke. Being an agent in charge of an investigation came back to me like riding a horse, but I knew I had to proceed cautiously. “I received a tip about fifteen minutes ago that the coffee inside the café had been contaminated.”

  “When you say ‘tip’…?”

  “A phone call. I can explain more, but…” I hesitated. I had no idea how to proceed. I didn’t want the people who might be involved to know I was FBI.

  The chief seemed to catch on and moved on for now. In reading him, I figured we’d be coming back to that. “You say contaminated. With what?” the chief asked.

  “No idea.”

  “And who might you be exactly?”

  I shifted slightly. My phone rang, thankfully saving me from blowing my cover to all the police officers now listening, if I could even call it a cover. I held up a finger to the chief. “Hi, Mike. I’m getting a lot of questions. Are you close?”

  “Five minutes away. What do you want to do?” he asked. “The director says it’s your call.”

  I knew immediately what he meant. I could step into the role of special agent and take charge of this case right here and now, or I could remain somewhat undercover while I worked behind the scenes as a tactical analyst to take down a group of bioterrorists. Turning away from Declan and the chief, I whispered, “I’m going to need you to inform the local police chief that I’m just a citizen who has relocated to Kentucky for the spring racing season.”