Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel

by Skye Jordan

  “They’re potential terrorists,” Everly finished. “What happened to the guy, Tully? Can we talk to him?”

  “He’s disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Ian asked. “As in he was fired, quit, left town?”

  “We suspect he’s dead. The day after his conversation with Mason, Tully was called back to Bishop’s office to pick up his passport and never returned to work. Never cleaned out his apartment. Never picked up his final paycheck. Never contacted his family again.”

  “They thought he saw something that could have taken them down and killed him,” Everly said.

  “Looks that way,” Liam confirmed.

  “But why go to the trouble to hide Tully’s body and not Mason’s?” Everly asked.

  “Two people getting close to the scheme at the same time?” Roman said. “Mason may have been a warning to the others.”

  “Why would Bishop keep that kind of information in a paper ledger?” Ian mused. “Kind of nineteenth century.”

  “Pen and paper keeps the information out of a hacker’s reach,” Sam said.

  “But it’s so…concrete, so…permanent,” Everly said. “Even Third World warlords are more tech savvy.”

  “Bishop’s no warlord,” Roman said. “He’s a fuckin’ miner. But if he caught Mason trying to grab the ledger after Tully had seen it, he’d have moved it or just gotten rid of it altogether by now.”

  Ian leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “If you can tie the false passports you already have back to Hazard, why not just arrest Bishop and pressure him to give us the ledger and the name of the counterfeiter?”

  “Because everything we have is circumstantial. We have no evidence of Lyle counterfeiting or even being the person who gave out the passports to employees. According to other miners, Baulder does that.”

  “So Bishop keeps his hands clean,” Ian said.

  “We need that list,” Liam said. “Those names are our top priority. We need to track down every person who was given a passport to nail the terrorists among them. Those who weren’t involved in terrorism are still guilty of passport fraud. They’ll be willing to talk for a reduced sentence, and they’ll be able to pin Bishop as the mastermind.”

  “What about Mason’s killer?” Ian asked. “And the counterfeiter?”

  “We want them too, but the list is the key to finding these terrorists and stopping them before they kill more Americans.”

  “This is a pretty big deal,” Ian said. “Why was the operation so small? Why was Mason the only one undercover?”

  “At any one time,” Liam said, “there are over a thousand terrorist threats throughout the United States. Before we connected the known terrorists’ passports to Bishop Mining, this was considered a small operation. My resources were tied up in bigger, deeper, more dangerous operations. Discovering the link between the terrorists on flight one-twenty-one and men who worked for Bishop pushed this operation into the red zone. Gianna shuffled resources around. I’ve been freed up to join you here. I’ll be working with Sam, developing background and intel.”

  “What kind of leverage can we get on Bishop from his ex-wife?” Roman asked, his gaze alternating between Ian and Everly.

  “There’s a lot of animosity between them,” Ian said. “And they’ve been living apart for, what?” He glanced at Sam. “Two years?”

  “Three,” Sam said.

  “I just don’t know what kind of information she would have considering the two of them have been apart so long.”

  “Or she could know everything,” Everly countered. “Maybe his crimes contributed to the divorce. She probably knows things that would help. Things she doesn’t even realize have power.”

  “We could offer both Savannah and Rosen a way out,” Ian suggested. “They might jump at something as simple as relocation and work somewhere else in Montana.”

  Roman nodded. “Rosen could be our eyes and ears inside the department. The ex could provide intel or evidence on Bishop’s ethical improprieties. Let’s start with Rosen,” Roman told Everly. “Propose the scenario. See how he responds.” Then he looked at Ian. “Since you’ve already made headway with the ex and son, stay focused there. Trade roles with Everly. Build trust. See what you can get while holding your cover.”

  Ian cut a look at Everly—who was smiling like a little shit. “Whoa, boss. No one’s going to believe me as a waiter in a café.”

  “We don’t have the luxury of time here,” Roman said. “Make it work.”

  “I saw a help wanted sign at the mechanic’s shop a few storefronts from the café,” Everly offered with a flutter of lashes. “You’d make a great grease monkey.”

  Ian gave Roman a pleading look. “Come on—”

  “Do it.” Roman scooped up the contents of the folder Gianna had scattered across the table. “And do it fast.”

  Roman turned out of the conference room and headed toward his office.

  Ian glared at Everly, who was still smiling. “You little—”

  “Don’t say anything you can’t take back,” she said in a singsong.

  “I did some preliminary background on the ex,” Sam told Ian. “Her father is an unknown entity. Her mother is alive, but they appear to be estranged. Mother lives in Los Angeles, and get this, she’s been a devout Scientologist for over a decade. She’s married and has more children with the new husband—all working within the Scientology movement. I’ll hack her VPN today.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Anyone want to place a wager on what I’ll find?”

  “Not me.” Everly stood and tugged on her parka. “I’ve already hit my jackpot.” She shot that gleaming grin at Ian. “I always wanted to be a miner, and you know I play better with boys. Don’t think I’d know what to do with a girlfriend. And kids? Eesh.” She faked a shudder, then met Ian’s gaze again. “Look at this as a chance to brush up on those flirting skills.”

  On the way out, Everly patted Ian’s arm. “Oh, and I hope you like Pepto-Bismol pink. Your side of the duplex interior is covered in it.”

  “Payback’s a bitch, Shaw,” Ian yelled at her back.

  Everly kept walking with the sway of triumph in her step. “Bring it on, Heller. Bring it on.”

  Roman hated this damn office space. With all the glass, he had nowhere to collect his thoughts without anyone watching.

  He paused at his office door. Gianna had finished her call and now stood at the window, looking out at the blanket of snow, one arm crossed over her middle, the other hand rubbing her temple. She’d shed her suit jacket, and her hair had come loose from the sophisticated coil. Strands hung in loose spirals along the sides of her face; a few wisps trailed the nape of her neck.

  Longing hit him low and hard. Longing to press his lips to that spot on the back of her neck. To feel the curve of her spine against his chest. For the millionth time since their one and only night together, Roman wished he’d slowed down and savored. But they’d been so hungry, hurting so badly…

  He let his eyes close on the bittersweet memory and whispered, “Fuck.” Then pushed the door open.

  Gianna glanced over her shoulder with a look that took him back two years. A look of pain, of hopelessness, of pleading that pierced his heart. She only let the vulnerability show for a split second before she recovered. “Sorry. I lost it a little with the team in there.”

  He didn’t respond. What could he say? She’d lost her lover in that plane crash, a former assistant district attorney in DC. When the silence carried, he managed a rough “It’s understandable.”

  “I’m getting pressed from every side—the president, the secretary of defense, Congress, Homeland Security… Not to mention my own rabid need to catch these guys. All those people. So many lives…” She exhaled heavily. Her shoulders sagged, and her brow pulled with sadness. “Roman…”

  The softness of her voice, the turbulence in that one word, twisted his gut. But he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t want her, because he couldn’t have her. Not the
way he wanted: heart and soul. She’d spent one night in Roman’s bed. Then turned around and spent two years with a fancy suit. Roman had found a way to work with her, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time around, he couldn’t give her what she was looking for—distraction, a warm body, solace.

  “I’ve got Everly on Rosen,” he told her. “She’ll work him as a CI and find her way into the mines.”

  Gianna turned, a single line appearing between her brows. “A woman in the mines? Isn’t that…I don’t know, odd? Wouldn’t that increase suspicion?”

  They were back to business. Good. This, Roman could do. “There are six other female miners. It’s not all that rare.”

  “Six out of, what? Six hundred?”

  “Everly’s not great with kids, and Savannah Bishop is devoted to her son. Ian’s already befriended the kid, which gives him an in with the mom. It’s the fastest route. We’ve already got audio surveillance at her home. Sam and Liam will continue digging into the digital trail.”

  Her clear hazel eyes stayed sharp on him, but thoughts churned in the background. Her mind was busy calculating, assessing, strategizing. That was Gianna—always thinking. Which made him wonder—for the hundredth time—where her mind had been during their night together. Had she been thinking of another man then, the way Roman thought about Gianna when he was with other women now?

  Finally, she exhaled, lowered her gaze to the floor, and nodded. “You know your people. I trust your judgment.”

  “Give us a week or two,” Roman told her. “We’ll have enough evidence for warrants at the least.”

  “We need more than warrants. If the forger gets spooked—”

  “He’ll disappear,” Roman finished. “And we’ll be back to square one. Believe me, I want this guy too. But like you said, if we spook him, we’ll lose him. Just give us a little time.”

  She exhaled, nodded, and moved to the chair where she’d tossed her jacket. “Keep me in the loop?”

  “Always.” He stepped forward to hold her blazer while she slipped her arms in. Her scent floated on the air, and the soft spicy floral scent lightened his head. One whiff and memories slammed him—a series of film clips flashing through his mind. Skin on skin, breaths hot and quick, moans of pleasure, erotic whispers. Roman’s heart rate jacked up. Fire erupted through his body in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Two years, to be exact.

  He helped with her trench, letting it fall over her shoulders before he stepped back—way back—shoving one hand into the front pocket of his slacks and running the other over his damp face and into his hair.

  Gianna turned with a soft smile. He could have made himself believe the look in her eyes was longing, but he knew it was most likely regret or pity.

  “You look good,” she told him.

  God, she made him ache. “You too.”

  She tipped her head. “Are you good?”

  “Yep.” His answer was immediate and confident. It was also a total lie. “I’m great.”

  She nodded. “We’ll talk soon, then.”

  He forced a smile and a little twang into his voice. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She laughed, just a light sprinkle of humor that quickly died. “Roman…”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He pulled the office door open, needing space to get his head straight. “Your Gulfstream awaits.”

  But she didn’t move. Her hand pressed against his chest, and the feel of her touching him, reaching for him, nearly dropped him to his knees. “Stay safe.”

  “Of course.” His voice came out ragged.

  She nodded, but her gaze kept scanning, looking for…something. “Promise me.”

  The woman didn’t just steal his breath, she ripped it from his lungs. He covered her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I promise.”

  Savannah paced the hallway outside Hank’s office, waiting for Lyle to exit. The last thing she needed was to see them both twice in one day, but she needed to confront this custody issue head-on.

  The older man’s voice rose, and his tone prickled the skin on the back of Savannah’s neck. He was angry, hammering Hank about something he hadn’t done to Lyle’s expectations, she was sure. Some things never changed. Lyle was still an abusive bastard—physically and mentally—and Hank still allowed his father to degrade and rule him.

  But that was Hank’s problem now. Savannah didn’t care what either of them did as long as it didn’t affect Jamison—which was the real problem. Because as long as they were both in her son’s life, Jamison would be exposed to their abuse. It wasn’t too bad now; Jamison was a great kid. But as he grew and became his own person, as natural rebellion progressed, Savannah could see conflicts that would erupt in physical punishment and emotional abuse.

  No way would she let that happen.

  “It’s too soon.” Hank’s lowered voice drifted through the glass. “People are watching. They’re still nervous over Mason’s death. Rumors about a killer among us are still flying.”

  A fist of uncertainty tightened in Savannah’s chest. She leaned against the wall just beyond the window and focused on the conversation.

  “If I don’t deliver on my promises,” Lyle said, “more than Mason’s death will be flying around the gossip rings.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Hank told him.

  “Make the pickup tomorrow night at eight, son, or I’ll find someone to run against you in the next election.”

  Savannah pulled in a sharp breath. Lyle wouldn’t make that threat lightly. Without Hank in a position of power, Lyle also lost power.

  “I’ll text you when they’re ready,” Lyle said. “Drop them at my house after you pick them up. I have to deliver at the end of the week.”

  The door to Hank’s office jerked open. Lyle barged out of the room, saw Savannah, and stopped dead. His expression was familiar—furious and indignant. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  She straightened and crossed her arms. “Waiting to talk to Hank.”

  He took one menacing step toward Savannah. Her gut hiccupped with fear, but she held her ground. “Looks like you’re eavesdropping.”

  “Only someone with something to hide would think that.”

  Hank stepped into the hall, scowling. His gaze jumped from Lyle to Savannah. “What the hell do you want?”

  She forced her voice steady. “To talk about our son—unless that’s too much trouble.”

  “Fuck,” he bit out, turning back into his office. “What the hell now?”

  Savannah stepped around Lyle, glad to be out from under his icy stare, and entered Hank’s office. “I’m sorry discussing Jamison is such an inconvenience.”

  “Shut up.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk and scanned the paperwork scattered there.

  She was so sick of being treated like shit. She deserved so much better. Ian’s crooked smile flashed in her head. Yeah, that. That’s how she should be treated.

  But then, Hank used to have a charming smile too.

  He cracked a pen against his desk. “What?”

  “You told me to shut up.” She forced her spine to steel. Forced attitude through the fear. “I know from past experience that if I speak without an invitation, I end up with your knuckles against my face.”

  He gave her the you-fucking-bitch stare and stabbed a finger toward the door. “Shut that door.”

  She ignored him. “I won’t be here long. I just wanted to point out the irrationality of fighting for full custody of Jamison.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “You can’t even hold up your end of visitation now. You’ve agreed to take him one night every two weeks, but he hasn’t spent any time with you in months.”

  “I’m a little busy”—he gestured to his desk—“in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “That’s my point.” She dropped the attitude and brought up a compassionate tone. “You’re always busy. Your job is important. The town depends on you. Taking full custody of Jamison would hinder yo
ur availability to the people who need you most.”

  He pushed from the chair and approached in that menacing way that—in another life—would have had her backing away. Now she stood firm and held his gaze, even while her insides trembled.

  “Don’t fuckin’ pretend you care,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You don’t tell me how things work. You don’t tell me how to spend my time or how to raise my son.” He lifted his hand, and Savannah flinched. But instead of hitting her, he jabbed a rigid finger against her chest. “You don’t walk away from me.”

  “Stop stabbing at me.” Even as the words came out, she braced for a backhand against her cheek. “It hurts.”

  He dropped his hands to his hips. “I told you that if you divorced me, you’d lose Jamison. And I’m a man of my word.”

  “You also said you’d honor and cherish me on our wedding day.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I also said until death do us part.”

  A stream of ice coursed down the center of Savannah’s body.

  “If you want our son in your life every day,” Hank told her, “you’ll move back into our house.”

  It took Savannah a few long seconds to find her voice. “You know that’s not going to happen, and you know you can’t take care of Jamison on your own.”

  He lifted both hands out to his sides and stepped back, then turned toward his desk, assessing his paperwork dismissively. “We’re done here.”

  Savannah left the office feeling the same way she always felt walking away from Hank—disgusted and dirty…but still terrified. Someone outside their relationship might not have considered the “Until death do us part” comment a threat, but Savannah knew that was exactly what it was.