by Jodie Bailey
“You can lie to a lot of people, Meg, even to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” His voice was low, the words strumming guitar strings in her heart, thrumming against those iced-over tears, threatening to shatter them. “I know you.”
He did. Better than Yvonne. Better than Phoebe Snyder. Better than anyone.
But he couldn’t get close now, not with what she was about to say. She had to tell him. His investigation couldn’t go any further if she kept protecting herself. “You’re in danger because Phoenix wants me.” She had to confess, but the secret had been inside so long, the words were stone.
He shook his head, alternating between the road ahead of them and the mirrors behind them, watching for a tail. “No. You’re in danger because he knows we’re connected. If it weren’t for us being—”
“It’s not just the fact he stole identities and I knew about it.” She’d spilled that fact in the office in desperation because Tate was too close to figuring out why she’d left him behind. Now? Now she had to say the rest if they wanted to put an end to Phoenix’s plan to pull the plug. “I did the hacking for him in college. He wanted the identities, and I gave them to him.” The dam cracked, confession pouring out. If Tate was in danger, he needed to know the whole story. Protecting him was more important than saving herself.
Plus he was right. She’d never been able to lie to him.
Everything about him stiffened, his muscles so tight she could almost feel them radiating tension. “You did what?” His profile hardened into chiseled granite. “You worked with him?” His voice was low, but the volume pitched higher quickly. Tate never lost his composure, but the lid blew off now in a contained explosion. “You hacked for a terrorist?”
“Not willingly. And I didn’t know who he was.” Of course, ignorance didn’t make any of this better.
“Talk.” The word was more than a demand. It was an absolute order. No refusal.
It didn’t matter. She’d passed the point of being able to refuse, anyway. “In high school, I ran with the computer nerds. The gaming geeks. I learned how to hack. Little stuff when we were bored. A few of the guys were into tapping unsecured networks and stealing passwords so they could get extra cash. I was into the challenge, but not into the thievery. Where could I go and what could I see without being caught?” She shifted in her seat and tried to hold herself together. “I went some places even the president doesn’t have clearance to go.”
Tate’s jaw was tight, the lines on his forehead deepening. “That’s how you got good enough to make it into the unit.”
Meghan nodded, her muscles relaxing. She’d expected dread, nausea...anything but the bizarre peace leaking in since she’d uncorked the cap and let the truth greet air. “When I was accepted to college, I stopped. I’d gained direction, knew I needed to keep my nose clean if I wanted to graduate and work with the army’s tech, which was cooler than anything I could afford.” She kept a watch on the side mirror, not daring to face Tate while she told him the worst. “I took a job in the finance office to earn extra money.” A sudden pain seized her throat. She sank into the seat and turned her face toward the roof. “I got an email on my campus account, listing every detail of my higher-level hacks from high school.”
“Someone tracked you?”
Meghan nodded.
“How? Did you leave a signature behind?”
“No.” Most hackers were cocky and wanted the world to know what they’d done, especially when they’d cracked some of the systems Meghan had explored. But she’d been cautious, choosing to remain anonymous so no one could track her.
But someone had. “I don’t know how, but they laid out about three-quarters of the major hacks, and they threatened to turn me in.”
Tate said nothing.
Meghan practically squirmed under the silence. It would be easier if he yelled. “He wanted me to tap the school’s donor database and provide personal—”
“Phoenix is one of the best. Why not do it himself?”
“Maybe it was easier to blackmail me. Maybe he wasn’t sure of his skills yet. This was years ago. He was probably just getting started.”
“Tell me you didn’t do it.” There was no emotion to Tate’s words. They were flat and matter-of-fact.
Meghan finally found the courage to look at him.
He was staring at her.
This was the hard part, when she got to watch the light of respect blow out right in front of her.
“I did it.” She fought the urge to reach across the console, to make contact and force him to understand. “If I didn’t, he would have wrecked my life. I would have landed in jail. No way out. No future.” The excuses were weak and pathetic, like Meghan herself. She should have taken the punishment, should have challenged her blackmailer. But she hadn’t. She’d been weaker then.
Tate kept his attention on the road, clasping the wheel so tightly the veins in his hands stood out.
Other than the time she’d been informed of his “death,” nothing in her life had hurt so badly as knowing her partner had lost faith in her.
“I’m sorry.” She was. And even though he hadn’t been the victim, she needed to make it right to somebody. “I tried to track who sent the email, but it was a dead end, sent from a burner phone purchased with cash. The sender used a free email address that linked back to nowhere. It’s stupid how easy it was for him to make himself untraceable. I drafted letters to each victim and told them there had been a security breach.” It had helped those people, but it hadn’t assuaged her guilt or erased her crime. “I know—”
Tate sliced the air between them, attention focused on the rearview. “We’ll have to deal with this later.”
Meghan’s gaze instantly went to the side mirror, and years of practice kicked into high gear, yanking the pain from her confession. The white car three behind them...
They were being followed.
* * *
Which was worse: learning Meghan had lied to him for years or falling right into Phoenix’s game yet again? Deep inside, the combination of hurt, anger and guilt burned so wildly, it had to be raising the temperature in the truck.
But everything took a backseat to the immediate problem of the car approaching from the rear.
Tate shelved his frustration and focused his attention on the road ahead, knowing Meghan would keep a watch on the vehicle trailing them. He had no choice but to trust her...for now.
She leaned forward, watching the side mirror. “White car?”
“He came up fast, then slowed as soon as he got within a few cars of us. He’s matched me for lane changes ever since.” The guy wasn’t even trying to hide. Normally, Tate would have said the driver was an amateur, but not now. When it came to this hacker, the rules went out the window. And what they thought they knew? They didn’t. This could be a serious novice behind the wheel, or it could be a deadly setup.
Well, it was time to flip the script. Their tail probably expected them to run, but the heft of the pickup meant it was no match for a sports car at high speeds.
Not that it mattered. Tate was going to take this showdown head-on. “I need an exit without a lot of traffic. A road leading nowhere.”
“About five miles farther. If you hang a right off the exit, you can get a good distance off the road into some farmland.”
In spite of everything she’d laid on him, Tate’s mouth tilted in a crooked grin. She knew exactly what he was doing. The ease with which they fell into routine almost made him want to forget her confession and beg her to return to work in the shadows.
With him.
Because no matter what she’d said about her past, he hadn’t felt this right in years. He’d found God, but there’d always been something else, another hole aching to be filled. And he hadn’t realized the emptiness was more than in his chest.
Tate jerked his head, shaking those thoughts to the wind. Now was definitely not the time. He had to focus on what they were doing, or he’d have them in a fiery crash before he could execute this plan. Wouldn’t that delight Phoenix to no end?
“The driver’s alone.” Meghan’s voice brought him fully to the mission.
“You’re sure?”
“Small car. Two seater. Unless he’s got a buddy in the trunk, he’s a one-man show.”
Finally, some good news. They outnumbered their pursuer.
Tate flipped on his blinker and exited as though everything were normal, giving no indication he knew the guy was behind them.
“He followed. No one came off the highway behind him.”
“How far before there’s no witnesses?”
“A mile, maybe a little bit more.”
Tate kneaded the steering wheel, antsy for the coming confrontation. At the end of this, there might be answers. “And how do you know this?” He flicked a glance to the rearview and then at her.
She was watching him. “Some things never change, including the idea you might need to run someday.”
Tate had to tear his attention away from her. He wanted to reach across the seat and pull her to him, try to soothe some of the hurt she still carried from those years she’d been alone. He wanted to tell her he’d be there for her.
But he couldn’t. She’d confessed to an act questionable enough to land her in prison, even though he knew her well enough to believe she’d had no choice.
Anger at Phoenix blew even hotter. The man had manipulated a kid, one already bruised by the world, a kid who’d grown up to be a stellar operative and an even better person whose one dream was to stop other kids from hurting the same way she had. Meghan didn’t deserve this.
He held the wheel tighter, trying to keep the truck and his thoughts steady. “You still keep a go bag packed by the back door, don’t you?” He had no doubt there was a backpack hanging on a peg somewhere in her house, stocked with clothes and cash in case she needed to get out fast. Old habits died hard, and when your whole life was spent shuffling, they died even harder.
“Focus on the job, Walker. He’s noticed the lack of civilization and he’s gaining fast.”
Perfect. “I’m on it.” He’d already spotted the perfect place for a standoff. “Get ready.”
Tate planted his focus on the rearview and watched the car approach, calculating speed and distance. He had to do this perfectly, or they’d all find themselves in the ditch.
When the car was close enough for Tate to make out the man’s facial features, he slammed on the brakes. Hard.
Tires screeched. Rubber burned into the cab of the truck. The seat belt jerked hard against his body, pinning him against the seat as Meghan grunted beside him.
And then more tires squealing and a metallic ripping sound as the car behind them veered off the road and into a field.
“You good?” Tate jammed the truck into Park, released his seat belt and reached for the door handle. He didn’t want to give their guy a chance to run, but he needed to know Meghan was okay.
“Good.” She jammed the button on her seat belt and lifted the center console, sliding across the seat toward him.
Tate dropped beside the truck, keeping low, and crept to the rear or the vehicle, crouching behind the tire, gun drawn.
Meghan took a position at the front. “You see him?”
“Not yet.” Keeping low, he eased around the rear of the truck, trying to locate their target.
The small white sports car sat in the field, nose buried in the gray dirt. The driver’s door hung open, the air bag limp inside, but no driver sat in the seat.
“He’s out.” Tate wanted to pound his fist against the side of the truck. He’d hoped the impact would daze the guy enough to give Meghan and him time to take an offensive position. Now they were on a level playing field until they could flush out the other man’s whereabouts. Shifting into a crouch, he fired a directive to Meghan. “Making myself a target. If he shoots, watch for him.”
Her hefty sigh said she wanted to argue, but really, they had no other way to gain intel. She got into position. “Ready.”
Lord, don’t let me get hit. Tate fired off the quick prayer and leaned farther around the bed of the truck, leading with his pistol, tensed for whatever would come.
A bullet thwacked into the opposite taillight, shattering the plastic as Tate threw himself backward. “Tell me you saw him.” Because he really didn’t want to risk taking a hit again.
“On the other side of the car, near the rear window.” She held her gun as if it were an extension of her arm; time clearly had not dulled her muscle memory. “And a bullet in the truck I’m going to have to explain to the Snyders now.” She twisted a wry grin before growing serious again. “There’s two of us and one of him. And we have the height advantage. We can lay down suppressive fire and flank him.”
“No cover.” The space between them and the other man was wide-open. Even with both of them firing, the guy simply had to get off one clean shot. And the worst-case scenario was they killed their lone suspect before they got to ask questions that might lead to the answers needed to end this once and for all.
“You have a better idea?” There was an edge to her voice. She didn’t like it when he dismissed her plans quickly, but there wasn’t time to argue. She edged around the front of the truck, trying to get a clearer vantage point. “How about we call in a helicopter and an F-16 and nuke him out of the field?”
“Sarcasm? Really, McGuire?” He’d forgotten the way stress pulled out her twisted humor. “We’re all three hemmed in for now, and we’re short on time. Sooner or later, a bystander’s going to come along and I’m not sure our boy won’t shoot an innocent.” Tate tapped his finger on the barrel of his pistol. “The truck’s a four-wheel drive?”
Meghan grinned. “Yeah. But it’s no armor-plated tank. Want to rush him?”
“You’ll probably have a lot more bullet holes to explain.”
“Oh, well.” She slid toward the driver’s door and eased it open. “After the first one, will more really make a difference?” She slipped into the truck, keeping low.
Tate followed, knowing he couldn’t keep out of target range for long before he had to put himself into position to drive. Well, he’d have to trust God had gotten him this far and wouldn’t drop the protection now. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The truck roared to life as Tate twisted the key and shifted into four-wheel drive, making a hard right and barreling across the shallow ditch toward their target. He braced himself for gunshots.
But they didn’t come.
The man stood and walked toward them, arm raised and weapon loose in his hand as Tate ground the truck to a stop.
Tate focused on his face, trying to memorize the features. They locked eyes, and Tate knew with certainty. This was the same man who’d executed Isaac’s crew and let him walk away alive.
A phenomenon he probably wouldn’t allow twice.
“What’s he doing?” Meghan had her pistol raised, sighting on the man through the windshield.
“I’m going to find out. Keep him and me both alive.” Tate shoved the door open and leveled his gun on their pursuer as he rounded the front of the truck, leaving himself without a barrier. Behind him, the passenger door popped opened. Meghan would cover him. Later, she’d kill him for being stupid.
Fine. He wanted answers and he was going to get them. “Gun down.” He fired the command, keeping his own pistol level, his elbows tucked close.
The man laughed, his ice-blue eyes remaining cold as the gun dangled from one finger. “You’ll have to shoot me, and I don’t think you want to risk losing what I know.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“My d
eath won’t get you any answers.”
Frustration dug into Tate’s shoulders, and he worked to keep his muscles loose. Control. Situational control was shifting from power to knowledge. He had to regain it somehow.
Tate dropped his aim and crept slowly closer. “A blown knee won’t do you any favors.” He shifted his aim again. “And I’m sure you know a gut shot won’t kill you straight off. Just make you wish it had.” He leveled the pistol. “Gun down. Now. You have no other out.”
The end was close. Tate could taste it. The level of assassin this guy probably was, they could threaten him with anything to get him to talk about what he knew. Surely there was a string of unsolveds with this guy’s fingerprints all over them. Leverage. He had a new avenue to aim straight for Phoenix.
“There’s always an out.” The man flicked a gaze to Meghan, then to Tate. “Though it’s not always the best way.” He whipped the gun higher as Tate fired, Meghan’s pistol a retort behind him.
Then a third shot as their sole informant pressed the gun to his own temple and pulled the trigger.
EIGHT
The sweetly bitter scent of fresh coffee drifted from the open kitchen window onto the small covered deck at the rear of the farmhouse. Meghan ran her hands along the rough wood railing, calculating the time needed to sand everything bare and repaint it pristine white.
Pristine white. The way she wished her mind was. If she could sandpaper the images away, she would. It had been a long time since she’d pulled the trigger. Since someone died in front of her. Her shot had been wide and their suspect had taken his own life, but still...the blood. The violence. It would never not turn her stomach, the clamp doubly tight this time because he took his answers with his life.
Tate had called Ethan, who’d called the authorities to step in, allowing Tate and Meghan to guard the body and make a quick search of the car before disappearing when the sirens drew close. With the operation ongoing, Tate couldn’t afford to risk what little cover he had left. They’d processed the small sports car, finding nothing of value. Ashley had run the plates and found the vehicle stolen, meaning the whole mess had landed them nothing but another death.