Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2)

by Stella Barcelona

  Barrows nodded, and continued. As Samantha listened to him, she watched Zeus stand, stretch his arms over his head, walk to the buffet, and pour a cup of steaming black coffee. Another agent joined him there. Both of them turned to the monitors, leaned against the wall, and focused on Barrows.

  “Is there a potential Caller X link with the London trade show bombing and the Colombian court house bombing?” Samantha asked.

  “Not yet. Of the four participating countries, the French and the American investigators have done the best job with compiling data. We’ve taken what they did and expanded it. With the Brits and the Colombians, we have to basically start at ground zero to determine whether there is a link. That will take several days.” Barrows frowned as he glanced at her, then glanced down, presumably at an off-camera computer screen. “Perhaps as long as a week. In any event, focusing on what we’ve figured out since Sunday night, when we accessed the ITT data, once we were able to see the inputs used by the French investigators, we broadened the parameters—”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Barrows,” Samantha said, “but can you focus on Duvall, the witness who is on the stand?”

  Blue eyes bounced back to her. “Sure. The intermediate line that links Caller X to Duvall is someone who has been considered and rejected by authorities.”

  “Wait a second.” Abe stood and leaned on the back of his chair with his elbows for support. He glanced at Barrows, who had turned away from the camera for a second, his attention focused on a computer monitor. “Intelligence agencies have had forensic investigators scouring phone records for months. Why haven’t they found this?”

  Barrows glanced at the camera for a second, his gaze finding Abe. “OLIVER’s data pool is larger.”

  “How can that be?” Charles sat erect, shoulders back. “It takes court orders to accumulate most of the data. Either you’re using the existing data, or—”

  “Black Raven access isn’t limited by the same legal restraints that are controlling the ITT proceeding.” Samantha didn’t need Barrows or Zeus to answer her team’s questions. “The information we have in the ITT proceedings was produced pursuant to court-ordered subpoenas. Those subpoenas typically have court-approved time frames, designed to secure only relevant information while protecting privacy.”

  “That’s correct, Samantha. Plus,” Barrows added, his attention now focused on the camera, his gaze on her, “information in the ITT proceedings is only produced after human thought went into determining what was necessary. My technology assumes that very small judgment modifications on data sets produce enormous variations in the end result, so I use technology to assist me in the variables. For example, if someone determines the time period relevant to the Paris metro bombing is only sixty days, that will limit the responsive data produced by the telecommunication companies.”

  Abe moved from behind the chair to sitting in it, his arms folded. “That assumption was made by French investigators, in subpoena requests that are in the ITT record.”

  “Correct. I didn’t limit the time frame. Additionally, while the scope of the data search used by the French investigators was broad with respect to Duvall’s known phones, it was not as broad with respect to the people with whom he was in contact. I broadened the scope to include usage patterns of Duvall’s contacts and their contacts, with extended time periods.”

  Samantha looked at the data, her eyes not finding what she was looking for. “Who is the intermediate person between Duvall, Tombeau, and Mr. X?”

  “As simple as it gets. Duvall’s mother.”

  Zeus returned to the chair next to her.

  Abe said, “But authorities talked to her.”

  Once Zeus slid into his chair, under the table, his leg found hers again. Enjoying the feel of his muscular leg, she realized she had missed having him there, while her mind sent a stern warning. It was only a leg. Should mean nothing. Focus. Distractions come in all shapes and sizes. He might be the mother of all exams, but he won’t be your last test. He’s just a practice run. Get over it.

  “Authorities did talk to her, without knowing about Caller X,” Barrows said. “And without seeing what we see regarding a link to Caller X and the other Miami cruise ship bombing, the French investigators didn’t realize her potential importance.”

  “I’d need to follow procedure before I can talk to her, if I want the interview to become part of the ITT record,” Samantha said. “At a minimum, I need to contact the French authorities who interviewed her.”

  “You might need to jump through the hoops of decorum and political correctness to talk to her—”

  “You call it hoops. I call it the procedural rules of the ITT, and the rules are meant to be followed.”

  His shrug gave an indication of how much he planned on following the procedural rules. “She isn’t in prison. Not even a person of interest, from what we can tell. Problem is, since Barrows found this information this afternoon, we’ve been trying to find her. So far we haven’t.”

  “I need to use this. Tomorrow. When I’m examining Duvall.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” Eyes serious, he shook his head. “But so far, I can’t think of a way you can. You can’t just walk into court with phone records, which aren’t in the ITT record and which we won’t acknowledge we have, and wave them in the air.”

  Elation turned to a sinking feeling, because the fact that Duvall talked to his mother looked perfectly innocent, and without establishing the link between his mother and Caller X, she was going to miss an opportunity to get evidence of Caller X into the record, assuming that the evidence needed to be in the ITT record.

  “There has to be a way,” Samantha said. “Something simple. Something already in the ITT record that I can use. Something that ties in Duvall’s mother and brings in Caller X.”

  “I’m not a lawyer,” Barrows said, “but Black Raven has lawyers who are data analysts. We haven’t come up with an answer of how you can use this information.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Samantha said, eyes on her laptop as her mind raced with options, some producing dead ends, some producing possibilities.

  “I’m here if you need me,” Barrows said. “Spend a while familiarizing yourself with OLIVER. Run a few more searches. If you look here”—the clicking cursor moved to the top right corner of the search screen, on an image of a book that she hadn’t noticed before—“this icon will permit you to analyze historical searches in light of current information.” The mouse shifted to the Black Raven logo. “This will provide instant messaging access to me and my team. Or you can just call. We’re here to provide support, twenty-four seven. At times, we’ll send you an instant message and offer suggestions. Agent Small and his team can provide you with on-site tech support as well.”

  Sam looked across the room to the agent manning the camera. Agent Small nodded. She’d met him the first night. Brown hair. Nice eyes, but serious. He was muscular, but smaller than Zeus. He was quiet and seemed to be constantly with Zeus or nearby, anticipating Zeus’s needs with barely a word exchanged between them.

  “Mr. Barrows,” she said, glancing at the monitor, which had gone dark, then at Zeus, who was looking at her with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “I had another question.”

  “Ask me,” Zeus answered.

  “What else, exactly, is needed to put an identity on Caller X?”

  Zeus shook his head. “Answer to that is proprietary. Rest assured, though, you’ll know his identity when we know it.”

  Her stomach twisted. The intense look in his eyes was exactly the look that had always been there. The expression she’d always thought was preternaturally distanced. Only now she realized that the expression was really just the opposite.

  Earlier that evening, she’d asked, “Sex was a foregone conclusion on this job?”

  He’d answered, “If this were just a job, I wouldn’t be here.”

  His statement hadn’t clicked, because all she’d wanted at the moment was good, hard se
x. With him. Deep inside her. Thank God, he’d obliged, because if he hadn’t, by now she’d be clinging to him and begging for it.

  In retrospect, she recognized that his statement indicated he had no problem with his feelings for her.

  He wasn’t conflicted on that issue.

  She was. She had enormous problems with her feelings for him.

  Yet they were stuck with each other, and, clearly—given his performance earlier—neither one of them felt like depriving themselves of sex.

  Sex was just sex, and this was just a job.

  I have to do a better job of reminding him—and myself—of that fact. It is just a job. For both of us.

  “Zeus,” Ragno’s voice commanded his attention.

  Samantha glanced up as well, expecting to see Ragno in a monitor. But there was no image of a woman. Instead, the monitors each had iterations of the maps. Hearing her voice, without knowing what she looked like, was disconcerting.

  “Can you take a look at the latest iteration of the Praptan map?” Ragno asked.

  Zeus stood and walked over to the table where his agents worked, his eyes on the television monitor that showed Ragno’s creation. “Get Gabe back on the line.”

  As Zeus and the agents worked on the map, Samantha, Abe, and Charles ran a variety of searches through OLIVER. They kept reaching dead ends, because every search result was highlighted in red, meaning the information wasn’t in the ITT record and was likely too sensitive for them to put into the record.

  After a while, Abe pushed his chair back, pulling off his glasses, and rubbing his eyes. “We can’t force something into the ITT record that isn’t there. And if the French knew what they were overlooking, they’d be stumbling all over themselves to expand the record.”

  Samantha stared at him for a second, her heartbeat racing. She suddenly felt as though the spirit of Stanley Morgan was giving her an answer. “Oh my God, Abe.” She pushed her chair back, and stood. “That’s brilliant.”

  He shook his head, eyes heavy with frustration and skepticism. “What? In my mind, I hit a dead end.”

  “We’ll back door it. The French want there to be a link between these four terrorist acts as badly as we do, and their subpoena requests—the ones that were drafted too narrowly—are in the record. I’ll get them to expand the requests. I don’t have to tell anyone what’s in OLIVER. I can go to the French prosecutors and persuade them to expand the record. I can do that off the record. If I phrase it correctly, they’ll file the subpoena requests.”

  “And why would they take your word for it?” Zeus’s question, from across the room, proved the man’s multitasking skills, and his hearing, were sharp.

  “Because I’m going to tell them I’ll file the expanded subpoena requests if they don’t,” she said. “No one wants to be caught overlooking something. I’m giving them an opportunity to fix a potential problem that no one’s spotted until now. I’ll call it a hunch. They’ll know there’s more. This is record manipulation, Stanley Morgan style. I learned some tricks from the best. I may as well put them to use now.”

  Zeus’s eyes narrowed. Skepticism? Worry? “You can’t reveal anything about our data gathering techniques.”

  “How could I? You haven’t revealed anything to us. All you’ve said when we’ve asked questions is it’s proprietary.” Confident her plan would work, she sat down, and talked with Abe and Charles as she compiled her thoughts on how to proceed with the French, and also about securing an interview with Vladimer Stollen.

  When she next glanced at her watch, it was 1 a.m. Charles and Abe were bleary-eyed, while she felt energized with the possibilities of expanding the record and interviewing Stollen. “Let’s call it quits for the night. With tomorrow’s proceeding starting at noon we’ll have time to regroup in the morning.” She paused as they nodded. “As early as you feel like getting up. I’d like to develop a plan for Stollen and getting the French to expand the telecommunications records and, assuming there will be motions to file, I’d like to get them filed as early as possible.”

  Lifting her laptop, planning to work more upstairs, she left Zeus in the library where he continued to work with Ragno and his agents. Back on the third floor, brushing her teeth, she considered two options.

  Option A–climb into her own bed, work, and fall asleep wondering whether Zeus would come to her room when he finally came upstairs.

  Option B–go to his bed, work there, and hope he’d be happy to see her. Happy enough to give her a replay of his evening performance.

  Ridiculous to even consider Option A.

  She wanted sex. He wanted sex. They were together, at least for a while. He was a freaking Maserati of a man. May as well enjoy the ride. She’d keep it distant. Impersonal.

  Win. Win.

  She slipped on a black lace camisole and matching panties and went to his bed, laptop in hand. She climbed under the covers, worked till her eyes crossed, then shut the computer and pushed it to the side.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Paris, France

  Thursday, February 3

  “Best invitation I’ve ever gotten.” Zeus’s low voice pulled her out of her dreams.

  Lying on her side, with her head nestled in his pillows, her body buried in the warmth of his king-size bed’s linens and goose-down duvet, she’d been able to smell his rich masculine scent as she drifted off to sleep. She focused on him, and not the dream of him she’d been having. “Accepting it?”

  He shut the door behind him, then placed his iPad and laptop on the credenza on the far side of the room. Eyes locked with hers, he pulled off his earpiece and watch, pressed a button on his watch, and placed the items next to his iPad. Not breaking eye connection, Zeus crossed over to the bed with purposeful strides that told her the answer. Yanking the covers off of her, his eyes traced from her head to her toes. With dark eyes clouding with lust, he knelt on the side of the bed, gently pushed her shoulder so she was flat on her back. Lips on hers, his fast, hard, open-mouthed kiss took her breath.

  Breaking away, his eyes held hers. “In the library, I couldn’t stop thinking about,” he paused, the corners of his lips lifting in a slight smile, “being inside you.”

  “Mmmm.” She shivered, but not from the drafty, cool air in the bedroom. Heat came off of him in waves that warmed the chilly air and her. “Show me.”

  He lifted her laptop off the bed, put it on the bedside table, and bent his head to her breasts. Gentle fingers pushed aside the delicate fabric of her camisole, and he opened his mouth on her left nipple. He tongued her as he lifted his hand to her right breast. Sparks ignited down her spine, and she ran fingers through his thick hair, pulling his head tighter to her with her right hand, while her left hand slipped inside the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed her hands, broke his mouth away from her with a groan, then stood. She sat up, reaching for his hand, and tried to yank him down.

  Shaking his hand free, he said, “Thanks for the reminder.”

  He walked into the closet, leaving her to sit on the bed, legs dangling on the side, wondering what he was doing. A few seconds later, he returned, an assortment of neckties in his hand. Red, green, gray, paisley—the vibrant colors went well with the dark business suits that he wore to the ITT proceedings. The steady, focused look in his eyes as he approached the bed told her that the ties wouldn’t be used for their intended purpose.

  “Told you I’d tie you the next time,” he said, his tone low, almost a growl.

  “I thought you were kidding,” she whispered, sitting up, unsure. She hadn’t yet ventured into the world of bondage. No one had ever suggested it, including Zeus when she’d been with him before. She’d certainly never volunteered for it. Sex was sport, and like running, she liked being a pacesetter, with her hands, legs, and every inch of her body.

  Being restrained? Fun for a moment. Maybe. Not for any length of time and certainly not for the duration of the act.

  He dropped the ties on the bed, next to her, the silks softly brushing
against her bare thigh as the ties settled into a pile. “I’m not much of a kidder. Ready?”

  “Really?”

  An arched eyebrow told her he was dead serious.

  “I thought you liked my hands on you.”

  His gaze, travelling along her body with the force of a hot touch, flicked up to hers. “Love it. But not this time.”

  Standing, fully dressed, about a foot away from the bed, his eyes were on her body. In response to his visual touch, her nipples formed hard peaks that showed through the silk camisole. Warmth at her core emanated through her. She was wet. Ready. She had been ever since she’d climbed in his bed. What was happening between her legs was a wonder of pheromones and hormones, mixed with certain knowledge of how damn good he’d feel inside of her once again.

  “Ready for me to tie you?”

  Her body didn’t care whether she was tied to the bed, whether he did her against a wall, or if he did her any damn way he could think of. Nerves and muscles tingled with the possibilities, but her mind was the problem. “Maybe not.”

  He lifted the left corner of his lip in an almost smile. “But maybe yes?”

  “Problem is, I like to be in control. And so do you. I’m not saying I don’t trust you, but—”

  “You don’t, do you?” Eyes serious, he added, “Not one bit. And given what happened seven years ago, I can’t say that I blame you.”

  The elephant in the room reared up on its hind legs and demanded attention. She was determined not to go there. “Keep this focused on the problem with the ties in your hand, and why you’re not using them on me.”

  “You’re worried I’ll make you take it slow.” His voice was husky. “And you don’t like to say please in bed, do you?”

  He had her number and she couldn’t deny it. “Bondage isn’t something you just spring on a person. There needs to be a contract.”

  “We can do a verbal.” He lifted the sweatshirt over his head, revealing a white T-shirt underneath. He pitched the sweatshirt to a chair. “Name your terms.”