"What are you gonna do about Jack Stephens?"
She frowned. "Nothing. It's over."
"But— he's called a million times."
"He's upset over his job."
"Well, his threats are getting nastier."
"I have enough problems without adding to the pile."
"I'll say." Her friend snorted with laughter. "You can't imagine the rumors flying around here."
"I missed one day of work." Her face heated with annoyance.
"Half of them think you got sick of the board and finally quit." Amusement laced her voice. "The rest think you finally got lucky."
She raised her gaze to the ceiling. "Doesn't anyone have work to do?"
"I had ten bucks on 'got lucky'."
Giving in to the sudden urge to pace, she drifted through the luxurious kitchen, absently trailing restless fingers over the cool marble. "There was a pool?" Desperate to change the subject, she grasped for a topic that would steer clear of herself. "How was your weekend? Still with the man of the month?"
"So far," she admitted, her tone not radiating confidence. "We went away for the weekend. Fancy inn. Walking trails-"
Julie smothered a laugh. "Walking trails? The only trails you follow lead to the spa— or the shoe department at Nordstrom."
"He's into boating and outdoorsy stuff, so I'm trying to impress him."
"Aka— lying."
"It wasn't a total bust," Tori admitted. "After the hike I faked a blister and scored a mani-pedi out of it. And he paid for a couples massage, so not too bad."
Despite her own world spinning out of control, at least some things remained constant. Tori's boyfriends never lasted long. Whatever her friend truly sought in a relationship hadn't yet materialized in a rich man's wallet. But that never seemed to stop her from trying. "Do you like him, Tor?"
"Expensive drinks . . . drunken nights of passion— you know." She chuckled. "Hell— what am I saying? Of course you don't know."
Before her friend launched into another round of analysis on her lackluster sex life, Julie remembered Finn's list. She hadn't mentioned the consultant bit yet to set the stage for Matt's appearance tomorrow. "Before I forget— I finally hired the consultant we talked about last month."
There was a long pause on the other end while Tori switched gears. "For the accounting system? I hadn't realized you'd made the decision."
"Accounting and inventory control." Julie made it up on the fly, startled to realize she was getting pretty good at lying. "I met the rep we're going to work with."
"So— you're really doing it? I thought it was still in the discussion stage."
"Because of problems like Jack Stephens, I decided to pull the trigger." Wincing, she regretted her poor choice of words. With a target on her back, she didn't relish the thought of facing down a gun.
"That's one isolated case-"
"That we know of," she corrected. "How many more issues are lurking out there?"
"I'm sure you've thought it through." Tori yawned on the other end. "The board will get used to it. When do they start?"
There was no turning back. She'd set up Matt's cover. Releasing a breath to steady her nerves, she answered. "Tomorrow. Since I'll have my hands full, I'd like you to work with him."
"Sure. What do you want me to show him?"
"He'll probably want to get a feel for the workflow. Maybe accounting and contracts? But whatever he wants, just make it happen, okay?"
They chatted another minute before Julie hung up, praying the phone wouldn't ring again.
"She sounds . . . interesting." Madeline set aside the newspaper. "Your co-worker?"
One well-meaning friend down, one to go. Julie prayed for strength as she faced Madeline. "And friend. She thinks I don't get out enough."
"What do you think?"
Unable to avoid the conversation, Julie pulled out a chair. "I'm doing what my father expected."
Madeline lowered her reading glasses. "I sense that doesn't leave time for anything else?"
Tonight, her problems weighed heavy, Tori's words returning to haunt her. Lately, her life felt lonely. Even before the problems started— before the attack, she'd felt unsettled. Julie had assumed it was burnout. Too many years of twelve hour days.
Like a needy infant, KTec had consumed the last several years of her life. She'd lost track of most of her friends. She still had Tori— only because they worked together. But she couldn't remember the last time she'd done something simply for fun.
"A little sacrifice is fine, dear— if you share your father's dream." Madeline seemed to challenge her with an unspoken question.
Surprised, Julie realized she didn't have an answer. "I've never thought about it," she admitted. Or allowed herself to. "In college I never took those classes . . . where you figure out what you’re good at."
As though able to read her, Maddie's eyes reflected compassion. "Why not?"
"My dad-" she faltered, uncertain how her words might be interpreted. Even at eighteen, she'd known his expectations. Falling in love with another field would have been too painful. She'd stuck with business classes.
Understanding dawned. "He assumed you'd return to KTec?"
It suddenly hurt to swallow. Her future had been drawn at the age of fourteen— when she'd traded friends and pool parties. Boys and beach days. Interests in painting and writing and tennis. She'd traded her life— for time with the one man who'd never been inclined to make any for her. And she'd still ended up alone.
***
Two hours later, over a second pot of tea, they remained seated at the dining table. Glancing at her watch, Julie gasped. "I've talked your ear off." Mortified that she'd held the older woman hostage, she rose. "This morning you were still in Ireland . . . you must be exhausted."
"Don't leave me hanging." Madeline waved her back to her seat. "You said something was wrong at KTec before last week."
"In the warehouse. But that's resolved."
"Are you certain that's all it was?"
Julie hesitated, unsure whether to voice her suspicions. "No."
She remembered Matt's pointed questions about her management team. Concern about Dandridge made sense. When her father died, she'd relied heavily on "Uncle" Ray to resolve problems. Only in the last six months had it crossed her mind that Ray might actually be one of the problems.
There were subjects Ray wouldn't discuss. Julie received half answers— or he'd casually change the subject. At some point, she'd realized his diversionary tactics were deliberate. That's why Keyes Group remained a secret. Not even Tori had known. Deep down, she'd believed Ray might be the problem. With his clout, Dandridge could crush her. If that happened, she didn't want anyone else taken out with her.
"Why don't you ask Matthew to investigate?"
Mrs. Stanhope pursed her lips in concentration. For a fleeting moment, she saw her son in the familiar expression. Unwilling to tarnish Maddie's image of Matt's perfection, Julie schooled her features. "He's focused on his investigation."
"He's a control freak when it comes to work," she admitted. "If he's not doing everything humanly possible, he feels it's not enough." She chuckled at her startled glance.
If only she could confide in Matt— but he was already pulled in a hundred directions. More important directions, she admitted. He was on the trail of a killer. Her problems with Ray Dandridge could wait. "He doesn't understand I'm trying to protect my company."
"He's worried about you. . . not your company."
"He's worried about catching a drug lord," she corrected gently. No matter the cost, Barnes would find his suspect. "I'm just the baggage he's dragging behind him."
Understanding eyes flashed with sympathy. "Ever since Pam died, he second-guesses himself."
"Pam?" Julie caught her breath at the mention of a woman. Was Pam someone he'd loved? Did he still love her?
"One of his CI's died on his watch. He hasn't forgiven himself."
Huh? "CI?"
"Confidential informant, dear. She worked for Matthew."
"She worked for the DEA?"
"Sort of." Madeline grimaced. "Pamela was cooking crank in her garage in Dorchester when Matthew busted her."
"Cooking— what?"
"Methamphetamines, dear," she emphasized, her tone suggesting Julie try to keep up. "Crystal meth." At her blank expression, the older woman leaned forward. "A dealer is sometimes offered a reduced sentence if he agrees to inform— especially if they can nail someone higher up the ladder." She paused when the teakettle whistled. "But the CI has to roll over on a bigger perp."
Matt wasn't kidding. His mother had watched way too many crime dramas. "Translation?"
"The informant turns evidence against a bigger player," Madeline explained. "In this case— Pamela worked for her boyfriend."
Knowing the story would worsen, fear jagged down Julie's spine.
"Addicts aren't trustworthy. . . but Matthew knew Pam's evidence could get her sentence reduced. He tried to convince her to clean up— maybe relocate after testifying."
"Because of the boyfriend?"
Madeline nodded. "He was very violent."
"What happened?"
"Three months ago, Pam said she'd take the deal." A delicate shudder rolled through her at the memory. "She flipped the boyfriend. After the arrest, Matthew planned to squeeze him to roll on the distributor."
Afraid to hear the rest, she scrubbed goosebumps on her arms.
"The boyfriend made bail." Maddie's voice was flat. Distant. Still terrified re-telling the story. "He forced Pam to lure Matthew out there-"
Julie raised a hand to her throat, her pulse racing with fear.
"His team was getting too close to the distributor— he ordered the hit on Matthew. Pam tried to run. . . but he shot her, too."
His shoulder. Julie trembled as she remembered his vague reference to an 'operation' gone wrong. "It's a m-miracle he wasn't killed."
"His shoulder still isn't a hundred percent, but I suspect it's more a question of mental readiness." The steady tick of the wall clock broke the thick silence at the table. "He blames himself for her death," she admitted, sadness reflected in her reading glasses.
"What about counseling?" Julie sensed he wanted to be back in the thick of it.
"For counseling to be effective, you have to believe you're worthy of forgiveness."
A trickle of unease drifted over her. How would he ever find happiness— if he continued believing he'd failed? "Matt couldn't have prevented the shooting."
"Try telling him that." Maddie eventually smiled. "He'll bounce back."
"How are you sure?"
"Unfinished business," she answered. "The man who shot him got away." Across the table, she startled. "Maybe that's who Matthew's pursuing now?"
Julie's heart beat faster. Dandridge? "I've never heard a name."
"I overheard Matthew on his cell one night. He'd stopped by for dinner but he received a call." She rolled her eyes. "He actually tried to hide in the bathroom. He even turned on the water-" Maddie lowered her voice conspiratorially. "But— you can still hear through the door if you use a glass."
She fought the bubble of laughter that wanted to erupt. The tiny, graying woman with spectacles was seriously scary when she put her mind to it. "Who is it?"
"A snake of some kind-" She pursed her lips in thought. "Cobra, I think."
***
Matt was in over his head. Way over. And the rulebook Jules was so fond of quoting had incinerated the moment he'd touched her. It lay in a pile of ash, along with his ability to think coherently. He liked how he was beginning to anticipate her reactions— how kissing her seemed to make her forget she was frustrated with him. He loved how she clung to him— as though she might actually trust him. How he'd left her— dazed, sexy hair in disarray. Passion smoldering in her eyes-
With a flash of irritation, he wondered what acute frustration looked like on him.
"Yo— Magic— you here?"
He glanced up, startled to find four pair of eyes staring at him. Tonight, several lives might depend on him staying focused. That realization was the cold shower his brain needed. Ruthlessly, he shoved Julie from his head.
His gaze shifted from the glowing data on his laptop to the men crowded into the small airless room. "You wearing a wire?"
"Too risky," Finn checked his gun for the third time. "They'll pat me down for sure."
"I've got your flashroll." Mullaney stepped into his line of vision, dressed like a vagrant. A second later, O'Brien's nose wrinkled in protest. "What the hell did you roll in?"
"It's a closely guarded blend of bus station urinal, grain alcohol and dog shit-"
Matt held up a hand in protest. "Keep it secret, would ya?"
Mullaney tossed the flashroll on the table. He would be on surveillance at the warehouse. . . staggering as close to the action as he dared. Beneath the ratty clothes, he was wired for sound. More of the team had taken up positions surrounding the warehouse. The previous night, a guy on the local task force named T-Bone had planted listening devices throughout the building. But when zero hour arrived, there were no guarantee they'd hear anything— except maybe gunfire.
O'Brien flicked him a glance. "How's Miss Dryspell? You two okay?"
Matt wasn't sure what annoyed him more— their laugh at Julie's expense, or the fact that she'd taken a call right under their noses— and he'd only learned about it ten minutes earlier.
"Forget her." A low, baritone chuckle rose from the prone form lying in the corner. "I wanna meet Miss Hotel Lobby. She sounds my speed."
"You don't strike me as an expense account sort of guy, Porkchop."
T-Bone's massive fist pumped in the air. "No— but I'm smokin' hot."
"Alright, listen up." Mullaney's raised his voice cut the banter. "Don't be too eager." His scowl was aimed at Finn. "There's only twenty grand here."
Pop gestured to the roll of bills he'd signed out of the evidence room. Money seized from previous drug hauls would provide T-Bone the illusion of a player worthy of associating with Viper. "Don't let them dick you around on price or they'll get suspicious."
Finn smirked. "You wanna go in there for us?"
"I'm just sayin'-" Aggravated, Mullaney ran a hand over his crewcut.
"Pop, he's good." Matt shot Finn a warning look. They were all edgy. He nodded to the large black man stretched bodily across two ancient folding chairs. "You ready?"
"Hell, yeah." T-Bone shrugged mountainous shoulders and rolled to his feet. "Let's do it. I got me an engagement later this evenin'."
Mullaney unearthed the schematic from the cluttered desk. "Okay. The inside of the warehouse is laid out pretty simple." Finn nodded, already mentally in the zone.
Working undercover essentially meant working alone. They all knew it, accepting the potential consequences. Because when a UC stared down a coked-up dealer holding a gun, there wasn't much assistance his team could provide. Cover going in, backup if the mission went south— and CPR while an ambulance was summoned. For those stuck on surveillance and recon, there was a degree of helplessness they couldn't shake. The deal could go south in a heartbeat. Everyone knew what the operative would face— what could happen. They just couldn't do much to help.
"O'B, you need to watch your ass. Viper is one vicious dude." T-Bone rose from the makeshift couch, shifting from one meaty foot to the other. "Ain't seen nothin' like him before."
"Seen?" Matt's voice joined the others.
"Once— he walked in . . . right in the middle of a buy."
"Where?" Finn paced to the broken window.
"Three weeks ago. Fifth and Luther— couple blocks from here. I didn't know it was the Viper." T-Bone's shoulders rolled with silent laughter as he remembered the details, white teeth flashing in the dreary room.
"So-" Mullaney's impatient voice entered the fray. "What's he look like?'
"I only caught a glimpse. Little dude— wore a hoodie. But his eyes are freakin
' squirrelly. Thought he was gonna cap me."
Matt flashed to the security tape from the hotel. Little guy in a hoodie— Did they actually have a picture of him? He caught Pop's glance. "I'll call Jonas?"
"Yeah— we need the still. See if he can isolate any details."
Finn shifted his gaze to the burly giant, his earnest face expressionless, eyes flat and deadly. The only indication of nerves was the ceaseless movement of his jaw as he relentlessly chewed gum. "You're in charge. I'll follow your lead."
He turned to face Matt. "How do I look?"
Running his gaze down the younger man, he catalogued his appearance. It was the last opportunity to catch any glaring mistakes before the agents left for the warehouse. In the old days, Matt kept his undercover clothes in a box in the garage. Finn and T-Bone were about to play dangerous roles and their persona had better be flawless. If they missed something obvious-A microscopic detail that screamed fed to a jumpy drugdealer. "You switch out your gun?"
Finn nodded, his jaw moving rapidly. "Took off my Academy ring. If I get shot— give it to Mama Lou."
His blood pressure ratcheted a notch. "Don't say that."
"Seriously-" O'Brien stepped away from the desk, indicating he should follow.
"What?"
"Nothin'. Just a feeling." He averted his eyes, gum still snapping. "Anything happens— tell Teagan I said 'hey'."
"Dammit, Finn." Matt let his exasperation show. "He's your brother. Whatever went down between you and TJ— you can damn well fix yourself."
Ten minutes later he settled behind the laptop, nerves strung taut. The waiting game had begun. In a corner of his screen, he watched two dots move across the black void, transponders tracking the agents' every move. Finn's restless words buzzed through his head. Unable to shake his tension, Matt massaged stiffness from his aching shoulder, remembering Teagan bragging about his younger brother's ability. According to TJ, Finn O'Brien's feelings were damn near legendary.
Because they were more like premonitions.
Night was alive beyond the broken window, the salty tang of the harbor sharp on the breeze. Stomach seizing at the memory it provoked, he inhaled several cleansing breaths. Salt water and blood. A looming shadow. A peculiar, musky scent before he was knocked back by the blast. Waking to find Pam's blood pumping through his fingers, mixing with his when she'd crashed down on him. Dying in his arms as the moon rose over a dark, unforgiving sea.
Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1) Page 19