Cold Light of Day

by Anderson, Toni

  Thank God. He’d survived the attack. Then he felt something press against his abdomen a moment before it pierced the skin and slid deep. Pain flooded every synapse, every nerve in a wave of agony. The Mexican leered close to his face. “Marlon said to say ‘Hi’ motherfucker.”

  Richard started to black out as the guy pulled out the knife and stabbed him again. God! The pain was indescribable. He’d seen a thousand movies where people got stabbed, but he’d never imagined the all-consuming nature of the pain. A guard ran in and pulled the man off him. Too late. The Mexican went quietly, grinning madly, obviously pleased with himself. Richard pressed his arm tight against the wounds. Marlon? What the hell? Wasn’t he dying fast enough to suit the bastard? Fuck.

  Medical staff rushed around him. Other inmates were being locked down. It was getting hard to breathe. “Please,” he told a guard he’d known for years. “Tell Susan to be careful. It’s dangerous.” His vision pixelated to gray monochrome. Dammit, he needed to warn her. “Marlon…”

  Chapter Ten

  Scarlett paced the motel suite, which had a small sitting room, kitchenette, and large bedroom. Plenty of space to move around in, but she didn’t know how long she could stand being cooped up. Energy swirled inside her. What if she couldn’t prove her father was innocent? What if Dorokhov kept coming after her? She was scared for her own safety, but she was also angry with herself. She’d dragged first Angel, and now Matt, into this mess.

  A thought hit her. “You can’t pretend to be dead. What if your friends see it on the news? You can’t do that to them.” She didn’t want other people hurt because of her actions.

  “Most of them are OCONUS and won’t hear about this for a few days, by which time hopefully it’ll be over. Anyway, they’re big boys, they know how this shit works. They can handle it. My mother isn’t going to worry. Frazer will tell Jed Brennan, who works with me.” He shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. The others will have to suck it up for now.”

  My mother isn’t going to worry. He’d slipped it in so casually.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Me?” she snorted. “No one has any reason to believe I was on your boat except maybe Angel. Could ASAC Frazer let her know I’m okay?” He grunted, which she assumed was acquiescence. She rubbed her arms, upset at the thought of being estranged from her best friend even though it was her own fault. “My boss is in Scotland and most of the grad students already left for the holidays. No one from work is going to miss me for at least a week, probably two. I do need to contact my mother at some point today.” She saw refusal in his expression and held up her hand. “She expects to hear from me and will freak if she doesn’t. We have a secret code for letting the other person know we’re okay. You can make the call, or even Frazer—which would make sense because he’d call her if he really thought I’d died on your boat, right?”

  “Yeah, he would.” He ran his hands through his short hair. “Fine, okay, we can probably figure out something to tell your mother, but the bottom line is, she needs to convince the world she’s worried about you, otherwise the Russians won’t buy the ruse that you’re dead.”

  Her mother understood the stakes better than most. She paced from the door to the table and back.

  “You’re driving me nuts.” Matt sat hunched over a laptop at the tiny dining table. He pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not good at doing nothing.” She stopped moving but knew it wouldn’t last long. If her brain wasn’t busy then her body was. “Can I check my email?”

  “Sure,” he drawled. “Because dead people download their messages.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Dammit.

  Earlier he’d acted as if he was attracted. Now he acted like she was an annoying kid—and she got it, she totally understood she’d caused him a lot of trouble, got his boat blown up and almost got him killed. But he’d made choices too, like drugging her and preventing her from going to Dorokhov last night. Those decisions had compounded the situation, even if they’d saved her life. This nightmare wasn’t all her doing, or at least his involvement in it wasn’t.

  But maybe that wasn’t fair. He was trying to help. Chivalry wasn’t dead.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Frazer sent me some files to read.”

  “My father’s case?”

  He leveled a hard stare in her direction. She found herself missing the twinkle that had been in his eyes when they’d first met.

  Regret that she couldn’t go back and change what she’d done simmered in her mind. Then she remembered her father’s warm eyes and the deep abiding love he had for his family and his country and she shook it off. Regrets were a waste of time. She and Matt had never had the chance of anything more than a few hours of mindless passion, and that was only assuming she’d carried on lying to him about her identity.

  Mindless passion seemed like a hell of an alternative to where she found herself right now.

  A shiver brushed over her skin.

  It wasn’t just his good looks that attracted her. Whatever was going on behind those eyes intrigued her. She wanted to get to know the real Matt Lazlo. The man beneath the uniform, behind the badge. The tension in the room ramped up. Her skin sizzled with an electric charge. Her nipples hardened and her pulse sped up. She pressed her thighs together, trying to dispel the arousal, but it only made things worse. Bad enough to be stuck here with a man who believed her father was guilty; she didn’t need to be lusting after him, too.

  She needed a distraction and fast. “Can I read the files?” It might be her only chance to look at the evidence the FBI had gathered.

  Matt stared at her long and hard, obviously weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he shrugged and nodded and dragged a second chair beside his.

  “How’s your shoulder?” she asked as she took a seat. His thigh was so close to hers they almost touched. His arms bunched with muscle as he tugged up the sleeve and she saw a two-inch graze that could have been so much worse.

  She caught his gaze. “I am sorry you got hurt.”

  “Just a scratch.” He rolled the sleeve back down.

  She swallowed, painfully aware of him beside her. Concentrate. He’d arrested her, remember? Handcuffed her and dragged her into FBI HQ.

  For your own good. To protect you.

  Her fingers tapped on the tabletop. He stared pointedly in their direction and nodded toward the file on the screen. “You want to look at this or not?”

  Scarlett started reading and almost managed to forget Matt Lazlo sitting so close she could feel his heat and smell the clean scent of soap he’d used in the shower.

  The first set of papers detailed a list of dead drop locations and ciphers supposedly found in her father’s home desk. They were definitely Russian ciphers and undoubtedly from after the break-up of the Soviet Union. The second was a list of information purportedly handed over to the Russians, including the names of agents abroad. Then evidence to verify her father’s ability to access the information with his security clearance. Her throat closed reading the names of the six dead agents. Two had died in prison—horrifically beaten and tortured though the authorities denied responsibility. Three had suffered mysterious “accidents” and one had eaten a suicide pill—one he hadn’t been provided by the US.

  It was a terrible toll but one she didn’t believe her father had caused, not even for a second. He was another victim.

  Next was the initial interview. She read the transcript. Endless repetitive questions about his involvement. Every single time he denied being the traitor, and urged the interviewer to keep searching for the real spy. He’d been set up—he must have said it a hundred times.

  Then she came to the polygraph results. The Examiner concluded “Deception Indicated.”

  “That’s a scientific pronouncement?” she scoffed.

  “The polygraph is just a tool, Scarlett. That’s why this information is with the case file and not stored in evidence. It’s i
nadmissible in court because it isn’t an exact science.”

  “So what’s the point?” she muttered angrily.

  “It’s leverage,” he said patiently. “He failed and then he confessed. Get over it.”

  Fine. She might not be an expert on human nature, but she understood pride and self-preservation. She knew when to regroup and back off.

  Next came the confession. That was hard to read. Her father admitted to selling secrets to the Russians over a period of five years, for more than three hundred thousand dollars in cash.

  “They never found a penny.” Nausea churned in her stomach, making her glad she hadn’t eaten anything today.

  “Maybe he spent it?”

  “On what? The house was mortgaged to the hilt and he drove a Pontiac and mom had a Chevy van.”

  “Or he hid it. Maybe your mother knows where it is?” He was trying to solve a puzzle, not be insulting. She was trying to rescue her father and clear his name. But from a scientific point of view, objectivity was king.

  “Then why didn’t she break it out of hiding when the bank nearly repossessed our house in 2008?” Scarlett questioned.

  Those hazel eyes of his were a warm mossy green today. They held compassion as well as pity. She loathed pity. She looked away.

  The next interview was completely different. After an initial admission of guilt, her father listed dates and times of when and where he’d made the drops.

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” She pointed to the screen. “November twenty-ninth is my birthday. At seven PM, he wasn’t at some cemetery in Maryland selling out his country. He was lighting twelve candles on my birthday cake.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  She gave him a withering look. “Kids don’t forget that stuff.”

  Heat jumped the short space between them and she was hyperaware of every breath he took, every slight movement of his body. His pupils flared.

  “Maybe he got the date wrong?” Matt suggested, ignoring the weird thing that kept arcing between them.

  “He was a devoted father with one kid. It wasn’t exactly rocket science to keep track of birthdays.” A flicker in his eyes told her more about his own father than he’d ever admit. Damn. “Shouldn’t someone in counterintelligence have checked these dates? I assume that was their job.”

  Matt leaned closer to the screen and frowned. “They should have. The case didn’t go to trial though, so maybe the follow-ups didn’t go in the case file, but hit some spook’s desk instead.” He scratched the dark blond stubble on his jaw. His irises had gold flecks and dark rims that emphasized their unusual color.

  Irritated, she looked away. She didn’t need the angst of being forced to hang out with a guy who knew she was attracted to him but who didn’t feel the same way. In her experience lust, or whatever you wanted to call it, was not worth the sticky aftermath. “So, even though he’d have known that by writing that exact date he gave himself a foolproof alibi, he’s still guilty? Why is it okay for the rest of the FBI to not do their jobs properly? Why is it okay for them to let details slide when his entire life depended on them doing it right?”

  “He confessed.” His mouth tightened with impatience, but he frowned. “Why foolproof alibis?”

  He was interested and she needed to keep him interested.

  “Because the LeMays were with us. They were close friends of the family for many years before…” Her throat felt as if she had a rock stuck in it but she wasn’t pussyfooting around this anymore. “…Before he was arrested for treason.”

  Matt tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Fine. Whatever. She wished she could talk to Angel. Dammit. Scarlett wouldn’t blame her friend if she cut her off completely after this.

  “Do you want to watch the news and see where they’re at in the search?” Scarlett asked, wanting some background noise to distract her from the guy next to her.

  “No point. Frazer or Parker will contact us if there’s a real break in the case. The rest is misinformation and speculation.”

  She crossed her arms as a chill spread over her. “Do you trust them?”

  “Frazer? I’ve worked with him for the last three years. He can be a cold bastard at times, but he gets results and he cares about doing the right thing.” He rolled his shoulders as if he’d sat in the same position for too long. “Parker is new to me. Cyber-security expert and former CIA by way of the Army. Trust might not be the right word for it, not yet, but if I’m going with my gut? Yeah, I trust him. Plus if anyone can link the Russians to that sniper or to my former boat, it’s Parker. And Frazer has the political clout to make it work for us as opposed to it being buried deep.”

  Frazer’s name seemed familiar somehow. “Were they involved in that terrorist attack recently? Are you a friend of the guy who got shot?”

  Matt shifted in his seat.

  She held up her hand in defeat. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.” They weren’t equals. She was interested because the president had been attacked. But he was talking to the daughter of a convicted spy about something that was probably personal, classified, and none of her damn business. The fact he refused to say anything made him a professional whom she respected, but it reminded her of their differences and that stung. She gave a little self-deprecating smile. “I guess, on paper, this would be the perfect opportunity for me to try and seduce some cooperation out of you.” Inexplicably tears gathered in her eyes and she had to blink rapidly to hide them. She tried to stand and move away, but he caught her arm.

  “What do you want from me, Scarlett?”

  She sucked in a jagged breath. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.” She tried to shrug him off, but he didn’t let her. A ball of emotion scraped the lining of her throat. What did she want? She wanted him to trust her. She wanted to be treated like an equal. Not a traitor. She wanted other things that weren’t important right now. “I want to find out who set up my father. I want to find the real traitor and I want my country to apologize to former FBI Agent Richard Stone before he dies.” Her voice quivered but didn’t break.

  “So let’s look at the files. See what we can find.” He said it reasonably, unemotionally, because it wasn’t his father rotting in prison. And he didn’t believe her anyway.

  She sat back down. She was being stupid. “Of course.” Time was running out and the Russians had backed her into a corner.

  She glanced at the other dates for her father’s supposed acts of treason. Birthdays, her parents’ wedding anniversary. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It was a message. His colleagues either hadn’t checked, or hadn’t cared. “He deliberately used dates when he had an alibi and no one ever questioned any of them?”

  Matt peered closer, then pulled up a series of scanned images of what looked like scientific traces.

  “Are they the polygraph charts?”

  Matt nodded. “Frazer somehow managed to get his hands on the classified audio files as well. Want to listen to them?” He watched her closely.

  She straightened in her seat. “Of course.”

  Matt clicked a button. An unknown male voice listed the date, time, and case number, then asked her father to confirm his identity.

  “FBI Agent Richard Stone. This is bullshit, Ken. You know it.”

  She felt like she’d been flattened by a truck. The Examiner didn’t reply to her father’s angry comment. To hear his voice so strong and indignant sent a wave of pure grief right through her. Matt didn’t notice. He was trying to follow the questioning and match up the scanned images of the polygraphs.

  Oh, Dad.

  She pushed the sorrow away. There was no time for this. She couldn’t afford to wallow in grief, not when there was a faint hope she could still clear his name. But the cancer was taking him from her even more permanently than the so-called justice system. It wouldn’t be long before none of this made any difference. She didn’t want him to die in disgrace. She
didn’t want him to die, period.

  “Are the lights on in the room?” the Examiner asked.

  “Yeah.” Her father answered. “It’s lit up like Gestapo HQ.”

  There was a long pause, as if the Examiner was giving her dad a silent reprimand. “Is today Wednesday?”

  “Yeah, Ken, today is Wednesday, unless you’re in Australia in which case it’s already Thursday. These questions need to be more cut and dried, you know? Otherwise you could end up making a big mistake.”

  Scarlett wanted to smile, but she knew his bravado hadn’t lasted. At some point, not long after he failed this polygraph, he’d crumpled and capitulated.

  Matt carried on working through the audio and the images, comparing them in excruciating detail and rewinding certain sections and replaying them. Timing segments, making notes on a pad of paper.

  He repeated the process over and over. Scarlett went to make them both a coffee. She hadn’t gotten a Ph.D. at twenty-two by knowing how to relax or how to sleep or how to not ask questions. When she returned, Matt was leaning back in his chair and tapping his pen on the table. She could tell from his expression he’d noticed something squirrelly.

  “What is it?” She tried to suppress her excitement.

  His expression shut down. As a SEAL and federal agent, it was probably a necessary requirement to hold back secrets, but as a partner in an investigation, it was frustrating as hell.

  He’s not your partner.

  “I did a psych degree prior to becoming a frogman.”

  “Impressive.”

  His eyes narrowed. “We can’t all be child prodigies.”

  “Hey, that’s your prejudice showing through, not mine. I thought it was impressive. A guy who looks like you could have done many things with his life that didn’t involve getting an education.” She winced. Jesus. He reduced her to a social idiot. “NFL player, cop, mayor of a small Texas town, male model, super hero, professional belly dancer.” If she just kept babbling maybe he’d miss the fact she’d just told him she thought he was good looking. Like she needed more nails for her own coffin.