by Katie Reus
“I’m talking about a private meeting. We would name the time and place. You’ll wear a listening device—”
“Wait, what?” Was he crazy? A sniper had tried to kill her and now she was pretty sure that whoever she’d run from at the hangar was probably behind it. Someone knew where she worked and probably where she lived. And he wanted her to go back there? Even Ronald had told her to stay away.
Jack continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “—convince your boss you’re in trouble and need to meet with him. If you can get him to give up his partner or partners and, more important, bring Vargas to Miami for a meeting, we can bring him in immediately.”
Her head swam as she tried to digest his words. “You’re saying all this stuff as if it’s normal. I’m not wearing a freaking wire anywhere. What if those people come after me again? Who’s going to protect me? Where will I be staying? Because it sure as hell won’t be my house.” She instantly regretted the last question because it implied that she’d be going back soon. But if those pictures Jack had shown her were real, they said so much about what Vargas was capable of—and that terrified her.
Jack was silent for a moment; then he shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry—sometimes I forget. . . . Why don’t you turn on the news and see if there’s anything about what happened earlier today?”
“What about you?”
He stood, ready to head back to the kitchen. “I’m going to finish the dishes, then work some stuff up on my computer. I’m also sending those pictures you gave me to my boss.”
She wondered what that would mean for her, but didn’t ask because she didn’t want the answer. Not yet. “I suppose it’s out of the question to ask if I can use your phone?”
“Why?”
“To check on a friend.” Even though she’d told Hannah that she couldn’t have drinks tonight, she still wanted to check on her—especially with everything going on.
Something dark flashed in his eyes, but then it was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure what to make of it. “No, sorry.”
“What about e-mail? Can I use your computer?”
He shook his head. “Someone wants you dead and I’m not going to let that happen.”
Maybe it was stupid, but she felt oddly warmed by the conviction in his voice. As though this was personal for him. Deep down she knew that was wishful thinking, but it evoked a long-buried sensation inside her anyway. “And you think someone can kill me through e-mail?”
“No, but they found us too soon today, which tells me that whoever is after you has government contacts. If they were able to use satellites to track us earlier, they might be monitoring your e-mail, and if you check it, they’ll be able to track your IP address. I have an encrypted router on my computer, which would make it difficult, but nothing’s impossible.”
Sophie rubbed her temple. “Okay, no phone and no e-mail. I guess I’m going to watch the news. Could you ask your boss to have someone check in on Hannah Young? She’s my best friend.”
“No problem.” He turned then and strode toward the kitchen.
She tamped down the annoyance that stirred inside her. “Don’t you need to know who she is?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “She grew up in Miami, her family owns two of the best Korean restaurants in the city, she graduated from the University of Miami with honors, she’s the head nurse at Miami Children’s Hospital—the youngest they’ve ever appointed—and she has terrible taste in men.”
Sophie’s jaw went slack, but she recovered quickly. “If you ever meet her, her parents own the best restaurants. Not two of the best.”
“Noted.” He shot her a lopsided grin that sent the butterflies in her stomach into a tailspin.
If he looked at her like that more often, she was so screwed. She already knew how inviting his lips were, but when he smiled it softened his entire face. Which was the last thing she should be thinking about.
Another thought settled inside her. If he knew so much about her friend, he must know a lot about her too. “Do . . . you have a file like that on me?”
He nodded, his expression remote.
She swallowed hard. “How far back does that file date?”
“It covers your whole life.” His quiet words pierced her deep.
That meant he knew things about her he had no right to. What had happened to her growing up should be sealed, but somehow she didn’t think the NSA would have a problem getting those records.
Not wanting to talk anymore, she sat back on the couch. Tucking her feet underneath her, she flipped on the television. Maybe it would take her mind off the past twenty-four hours—though she knew that was impossible. She caught the tail end of the news and sure enough, there was something about the shooting at La Marea. There weren’t any details, though. Just speculation that it was somehow gang-related.
“Do you want a glass of wine or a beer? Or water?” Jack asked through the kitchen archway.
“Wine works for me.” She didn’t care if it was red or white, just so long as it was wet and dulled her senses.
A few moments later he joined her on the couch. After he handed her the glass, he flipped open his laptop. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to lay so much on you. I do this stuff every day and forgot that not everyone else thinks the same way.”
She set her wineglass on the coffee table and shifted to face him. “It’s okay. You did scare me talking about wearing a wire. . . . So what exactly would that entail? Me, wearing a wire?” Oh God, was that actually her talking? Those pictures flashed in her mind and deep down she knew she’d do whatever she could to stop a man like Vargas.
Jack turned away from his computer, pinning that laserlike focus completely on her. It was a little unnerving. Even more so when she briefly wondered what it would be like to have all that focus in a naked setting. Something told her he’d be a very dedicated and giving lover. Thankfully he had no idea what she was thinking or she would have been mortified. She was kind of freaking herself out with the thoughts.
His voice was all business as he said, “If you do this, and that’s a big if, I’ll be listening the entire time and I won’t be far away. If anything happens or if you feel uncomfortable for any reason, we’ll have a code word.”
“What do you mean, if?” If he wasn’t confident in this, how could he expect her to be?
“If you’re too nervous, your boss will know something’s wrong. I’m not sending you in anywhere if you’re uncomfortable. He might not be a pro, but you’re a terrible liar and he’ll be able to see right through you.”
“These people you think Ronald is dealing with? I know what you said earlier, but exactly what kind of terrorist activity do you suspect them of?” It couldn’t just be weapons dealing. Yeah, that was bad but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to warrant this sort of attention from the NSA.
Something dark lurked in the depths of his pale eyes, and before he spoke, she knew the answer would be horrific. “We think he’s helping a terrorist faction in North Africa get biological weapons into our country through his drug cartel in South America. Vargas has a long history with his hatred of the U.S., so it’s not a stretch that he’d want to target us.”
“Why does he hate our country?”
“His youngest son was killed by an ICE agent.”
ICE? Sophie frowned, but didn’t ask what he meant. He must have read her expression, because he continued. “They’re part of Immigrations and Customs Enforcement. Vargas’s other two sons were killed almost a decade ago by warring drug factions and it was no secret his youngest was his favorite. I’m sure there are other reasons he hates the U.S. A man like that doesn’t need an excuse for violence and terror.” Jack shrugged.
Sophie shook her head, trying to get back on track of their original conversation. “Okay, so biological weapons? Like nerve gas?” She’d only heard those words on the
news, usually uttered by the president or in conjunction with something happening thousands of miles away. The devastation of that kind of attack could be catastrophic.
He nodded, his face grim. “Yes.”
“And you know this for sure?”
“No. Paul Keane has been some help, but he doesn’t know much. He’s just a mule. He handles deliveries and pickups, but he doesn’t have the details we need.”
“Paul Keane who’s in a coma?”
“He’s not in a coma.”
Okay, then. Something told her that would be all she got out of Jack on the subject of Keane. “You really think Ronald is involved in helping terrorists?”
“Someone tried to kill you and your boss told you to stay away from Miami. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Or say for that matter. What the hell did one say after almost being killed twice in one day? Now it seemed pretty clear that her boss might be in league with terrorists. Freaking awesome.
When she didn’t say more, Jack returned to his laptop. Sophie stared at his profile and tried to digest everything he’d told her. Tried to piece that knowledge together with the way Ronald had been acting lately and then her very recent phone conversation with him.
Focusing on Jack’s profile proved incredibly distracting, though. Which was what she needed right now. A giant distraction. At least that’s what she told herself as she covertly watched him.
He was in good shape. Okay, great shape. Something she’d known from the moment they met. He wasn’t overly muscular, but trim and sleek. Definitely the body of a runner. Actually seeing him in action, however, had proven just how trained he was. When they were running from that shooter, he’d moved with the grace of a jungle cat. Then he’d moved through that water like a damn fish all while she’d been clutched on to him. She’d been too cold to even think about swimming any farther, but he hadn’t seemed winded even with her as an anchor. Everything that was happening was so surreal, but for some reason, her instinct told her to trust this man. Even after she’d tried to run, there had been no hint of violence from him. He’d been angry, yes, but he didn’t scare her.
Hell, he was almost . . . protective.
Jack glanced over from the computer, and her lower abdomen tightened in a very feminine way. He held her gaze for a long moment before turning away. Unless she was mistaken, she detected more than a hint of lust in those haunting eyes. When she was younger Sam had looked at her the same way. Her foster brother had been one of the few people in her life who had looked out for her and hadn’t expected anything in return. He’d been her one constant for a little while.
Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if things hadn’t ended so horribly between them. Maybe he’d still be alive. And maybe they’d have started a family and . . . maybe, maybe, maybe. Fuck maybe. Thinking about Sam was messing with her head at a time when she needed to keep alert and ready for anything.
She turned back to the news but wasn’t actually seeing anything. Too many thoughts tumbled through her brain. Could she wear a wire? What if Ronald was innocent and she helped the government trap him? And what was she going to do about her attraction to Jack? It seemed insane to even contemplate doing anything, but she didn’t want that kiss to be the only time she got a taste of him. That thought was depressing. Sophie pulled the soft afghan blanket from behind the couch and wrapped it around herself as an unwanted shiver racked her body. She clearly needed her head examined.
Chapter 7
Treason: violation of allegiance toward one’s country or sovereign, especially the betrayal of one’s country by waging war against it or by consciously and purposely acting to aid its enemies.
He glanced around as he opened a new file on his computer screen. The computer stations were completely open, so he had to be extremely cautious. Most of the analysts had gone home for the evening, but security was always tight regardless of the time of day. Technically he shouldn’t be on these computer workstations, but no one would question him if he was. He was one of Wesley’s favorites. A fact he used to his fullest advantage.
Covering his tracks had been tricky, especially lately, but his growing offshore bank account was the only incentive he needed. His boss wasn’t stupid. Neither were his coworkers. They’d catch on soon. Probably sooner than he wanted, but he wasn’t worried. He only needed a couple more days; then he’d get the rest of his money and he could disappear forever. He’d already paid off his gambling debts and gotten those loan sharks off his back. Now he was actually in the black and swimming in cash.
A few strokes on the keyboard and images from the private satellite he’d been using popped up on his computer. He made a note of the woman’s probable location, deleted his tracks, then made his way to one of the restrooms. He fished his cell phone—which had a nearly impenetrable filter—out of his pocket and locked himself in a stall once he was sure he was alone. Now was not the time to get sloppy.
Miguel Vargas picked up on the first ring. “Tell me you have her location.”
“I have it narrowed down.”
“That is not good enough!”
“It’s going to have to be for right now. I can give you the area only. It’ll take some time to pinpoint it. This will give your men enough time to get into position.” He’d been able to track the woman when she called Weller at SBMS. Luckily she’d stayed on the phone long enough.
“What am I paying you for?”
He gritted his teeth. To say Vargas grated on his nerves would be a serious understatement. The drug lord expected to snap his fingers and have things happen. Ironic coming from a man who could barely check his e-mail. What he lacked in brains he made up for in firepower. “Do you understand where I work? I only have so much access. If you can find someone else to do my work for a better price, feel free to let me go.”
A long moment of silence followed. “Call me when you have the exact location.”
“Why do you even want this woman?”
“She poses a possible threat.”
“Possible?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. It didn’t seem as if the woman knew anything. At least not according to the notes from her file. Going after her was a waste of resources and a waste of his time. Worse, it put him in danger of being discovered.
“She’s been sticking her nose in places she does not belong,” Vargas snapped.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered at the man’s vague response. Vargas was making him jump through hoops for something that might not even be a problem? He was risking his life for this shit? Idiot.
“You’ve got your money. The rest will be wired to you when this job is over. I don’t expect anyone to question me, so if you have a problem, explain yourself now.” There was a razor-sharp edge to Vargas’s order.
It reminded him that even though he was smarter than Vargas, the other man was a hell of a lot more ruthless. “There’s no problem.”
“Good,” Vargas snapped.
As soon as they disconnected, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to have a personal phone at work, but so far security hadn’t noticed it. He just hoped his luck would hold out a couple more days. That was all he asked for. Then he’d be sipping margaritas on a beach and free of this pathetic job.
• • •
Levi Lazaro bit back his disgust as Vargas snapped his phone shut. Working with this piece of shit went against every fiber of his being, but it was the way things had to be. He needed the man to solidify his new cover, and he was willing to do whatever it took. If that meant selling a small part of his soul, so be it.
“That your contact at the NSA?” Levi kept his expression a mask, his voice monotone. As if he were simply asking for the time. If Vargas thought he actually cared, he’d wonder why.
Someone in the NSA had sold Levi out, and it might be the individual Vargas was currently
working with to hunt the Moreno woman. If it was the last thing Levi did, he was going to find out the mole’s name, kill him, and destroy the men who had murdered his wife. He would rip their lives apart the same way they’d done to him.
“Yes. He’s closing in on the woman and the man she’s with.”
Levi glanced out over the veranda and watched the palm trees sway in the wind. He contemplated how much he could—or should—tell Vargas. One of Vargas’s men had managed to snap a brief picture of the man the Moreno woman was with. Levi had nearly choked when he saw Jack Stone’s face. At least Vargas hadn’t noticed his reaction. Whoever had taken the picture had gotten damn lucky. Stone was like a fucking ghost. Whatever Vargas was getting into, Levi wanted to tell him to walk away and cut his losses. If he crossed a man like Jack, he’d make a very resourceful and brutal enemy.
Unfortunately Levi was about to make an enemy of Jack too. It burned a crater-sized hole in his gut that he would have to work against a man he considered a friend—one of the few he had—but Levi had little choice in the matter. He needed Vargas for the time being. Hated it, but there was no way around it.
While Levi knew the identity of the man the Moreno woman was with, he couldn’t reveal that information to Vargas. He owed Jack that much. And it was clear Vargas’s contact with the NSA didn’t know who Jack was either. That usually happened when Burkhart sent one of his guys into the field on a solo mission. Levi knew because at one time he’d been on his fair share of those exact missions.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t tell Vargas their location. He knew Jack, and if he was a betting man, he knew exactly where he was going if the mole had tracked the Moreno woman to the Keys. Unfortunately Jack would realize Levi had given up the location since he was the only person Jack had taken there. “What city does your guy think they’re in?”
Vargas’s shoulders lifted casually. “Somewhere in Marathon.”
Oh yeah, he knew where they were going. “I might know how to locate them.” Wordlessly, Levi strode across the perfectly manicured lawn, toward the small gazebo, and pretended to dial a number on his cell. Ignoring Vargas’s penetrating gaze, he had a conversation with himself. This would go a long way in establishing his credentials. Once he’d stayed on the phone long enough, he returned to the covered veranda. “I know where they are. Give me some of your men. If we leave soon, we’ll be able to avoid the Coast Guard and make it by midnight.” They were in Cuba, barely a stone’s throw from the Keys. By boat, it would take a few hours depending on how fast they drove, but it would be easy enough to avoid detection.