by Dianna Love
“We’re not here to discuss that.”
He nodded again, keeping his fury contained. “We have to find Rikker.”
Every muscle in her body tightened at his easy use of “we,” as if there were still a we.
Barely lifting his fingers off the tabletop to stall her reply, he explained, “Rikker’s presence is the reason we know there’s more going on than contraband shipments. Burton believes the FBI has had recent breaches in classified information similar to what’s happening in the south Florida DEA. He and I both think there’s a cancer seeping into the agencies. Your team is the only neutral player in all this.”
She absorbed the significance of that. If it was true. “What do you think Rikker’s presence means?”
“I’m going to share classified information with you that I have to trust you to not pass along, even to your own people. Burton doesn’t know this.”
This was a first.
She’d always had to report back to Gage, every detail on an operation, any intel, but he had maintained limits on what he would share with her.
He watched her with eyes searching for an opening, some small crevice he might ease into. The silence grew and expanded as he waited to see if she would give her word, something she’d taught him she did not give lightly.
She’d grown up on the streets where a person’s word was currency. Hers came with a titanium rating.
This man didn’t deserve her vow of honor, but she had to put her team first. They couldn’t miss this chance to find Rikker. “You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
Why had he said that? So unnecessary and it gave the impression he’d extended an olive branch that she’d accepted. “Your time is almost up. Don’t confuse cooperation with trust.”
A feral turbulence built in his gaze, but in a blink the steel shutters slammed into place. “Rikker was not in the UK to uncover a terrorist plot against the US or Ireland two years ago. That’s why no bombing ever happened in either country after Rikker went missing. He was tracking an organization called The Orion Hunters. A bunch of people who believe that five rare artifacts will predict the final world war that destroys world powers.”
She’d almost lost Josh for that bullshit?
If Josh were here right now, he’d rip Gage’s head off his shoulders. Chelsea had died to protect two countries and to save a CIA agent. None of which had been necessary. “You sent me and my team on a fool’s run? Put my people in jeopardy for some ridiculous group looking for artifacts?” She was leaning forward, hands gripping the arms of her chair.
“No, dammit,” Gage bit out low and sharp, hunched forward, too. “I had no idea either until I started ripping people apart to get answers. I couldn’t find you, couldn’t find word of any of you for months.” He looked away, staring off for long seconds then back at her. “You vanished. I thought...I thought you were dead.”
His voice remained steady, but her ear was tuned to catch the moment of emotion that broke through.
She didn’t want to hear that or give credit to the anguish gripping his words. Forcing herself to calm down and sit back, she took several breaths while her gaze roamed over the empty veranda. On the other side of the windows looking into the restaurant, friends chatted and laughed.
No idea that two cold-blooded killers sat so close to them.
“Sabrina.”
One word said with so much emotion she had to take an extra moment before she brought her gaze back to him. Stick to business. “So what are you telling me?”
His gaze dropped first. He gave another of his little nods, pulling his control in with tight fists, then his game face returned. “The Orion Hunters have been around for a very long time, but then so have a hundred other groups anchored in conspiratorial myth. It took me most of the past two years to piece together enough to figure out that Mendelson had captured someone he believed was connected to these Orion Hunters. He had no idea just what he’d caught.”
“A double agent?”
“Possibly. That’s the simplest explanation, but nothing is simple about any of this. As far as I’m concerned, Rikker’s been a traitor for a long time, but we have proof now. Digging for any lead on him turned up a deadly pattern. He’s been in the area of multiple terrorist events prior to major attacks. We established his presence at each one, but the thing that makes no sense is that the outcome of every attack benefited a different faction, some that were vicious enemies of the ones who’d benefited from the last attack. It’s like he’s freelancing for any group who picks a victim of the week.”
The picture came clear in her mind. “You think he’s involved in terrorist activity in Miami.”
“We have evidence of at least three occasions when he was on site for six to twelve weeks prior to an attack. Hundreds killed and maimed in a subway attack and an apartment building bombing. Sixteen young missionaries died in a bus sitting next to a building in Dublin. The building had a suspicious massive electrical overload and exploded.”
“How do you know he was involved in each of these?”
“We have surveillance footage showing him on site every time, but we never get the evidence until after he’s gone. He has to be found.”
“My people will find him and his contact the Chessmaster.”
“That’s why I want to work with you.” Gage paused, then added, “I’ve got intel and I’m willing to share.”
No pleading. Gage didn’t plead, but that last part about sharing had come out with a tinge of hope that pinched her heart. An organ she’d disconnected from her brain two years ago.
Gage added, “I just want him alive.”
That killed the moment.
She stood up. “You wanted him alive the last time and we put everything on the line to deliver.”
“My people didn’t screw you.”
“Someone in your agency did and you were my handler. That makes you responsible.”
Gage played the card he’d clearly been holding back. “No one has bothered you or your new company because I’m keeping the agency off your back. But I can only do so much, Sabrina. Fail to turn Rikker over and you’ll be considered an enemy of the state.”
She leaned down, placing a hand on the white tablecloth and kept her voice soft. “I’m not working with anyone but my own people. When we find Rikker, and we will, the only questions he’s answering are mine. Stay out of my way, because anyone who crosses me will be considered an enemy of my team and a threat to our existence.” Sabrina stood straight. “Sit very still with your hands on the table for five minutes. You so much as twitch a finger and they’ll carry you out of here.” Sabrina stepped around the table and headed out of the restaurant.
Chapter 15
That kiss got waaay out of hand.
Dangerously out of hand. Josh cruised along the beach highway with no destination in mind. He couldn’t think of one that would bring clarity to his muddled brain.
The goal had been for him to get close to Trish Jackson quickly. Mission accomplished and a helluva feat, too, now that he knew what had been going on inside her head the whole night.
It had damn near been mission failure when he’d almost lost control of the situation. If Heidi had shown up another minute later, she’d have walked in on a half-naked Trish.
Maybe all naked.
Son of a bitch, he still wanted her.
Kissing her that first time had been about getting inside her defenses. He couldn’t claim that had played any part in the second kiss that had been way too real, raw honesty he hadn’t intended to ever let out of its cage again.
Not after Chelsea.
He downshifted and accelerated around a truck poking along.
His job was to manipulate the enemy.
But was Trish the enemy? His gut was saying she’d given too freely in that moment.
What if that chess piece meant nothing and Trish was not involved with the mole?
If that turned out to be the case, encouraging her to see
him again and taking advantage of this attraction would be using her in the worst way. Doubt gnawed at his conscience, but he couldn’t allow beautiful brown eyes and a sweet smile to sway him.
He couldn’t do sweet again. Couldn’t let it influence his judgment.
Duty came first and he would do whatever it took to catch Len Rikker.
This is who you are. Accept it. There was no room for guilt in his world. Guilt was reserved for people who had the luxury of following conscience.
For people who expected to, one day, live a normal life.
He’d made a pact with Sabrina and Dingo. Len Rikker and the people responsible for burning their team had to pay.
Josh would not let them, or Chelsea, down.
But could he hurt Trish Jackson and walk away without leaving a part of himself behind?
He shoved that concern aside for the moment and called Sabrina. Once he confirmed they were on a secure line, he launched into his report. He started with Zane’s agreeing for Josh to accompany Trish tonight, covered Trish’s strange text then explained what happened at ReSolution.
Sabrina interrupted. “What did the police find at Trish Jackson’s shop?”
“Nothing. It could have been a prank call, but I have a feeling it’s tied to something strange Trish found after they left.”
“What?”
“A chess piece carved of onyx with a gold band.”
“No shit?”
He sat up straighter. Alert. “Why’s that important?”
“It might be the connection we’re looking for. I’ve been waiting on your call to tell you what I found out today. The mole’s code name is Chessmaster.”
He should be elated to hear that, but in a moment of honesty he realized he hadn’t wanted Trish to be a part of all this. “How do we know that?”
A pause stretched long seconds before Sabrina said, “I received some unexpected intel today. That chess piece is significant. Trish Jackson either knows who the Chessmaster is or...”
“She is the Chessmaster,” Josh finished.
“Exactly.”
Josh shoved his disappointment aside and told himself this was great news even if he did feel miserable. “I’ll have a definitive answer in a day or two.”
“We may need it sooner.”
He slowed to pull off the highway and park along the beach. When he cut his engine and headlights, abrupt silence gave way to the ocean’s soft roar along the dark shoreline. “What’s happened? Have we gotten word on a shipment?”
“No, but we have bigger problems than bath salt getting into the states.”
He didn’t want to think about something worse than drugs that caused a young man to go from a promising future to a lunatic who laughed hysterically one minute and screamed in terror the next, over and over. “What?”
“I’d say it’s a terrorist attack, but no one knows enough to define what we’re looking for. Rikker is tied to three deadly attacks in the past year, so far. Significant body counts in each attack, but a different group claimed responsibility in all three incidents. None of these groups work together so there’s no way to know who he’s working for this time.”
Josh propped his elbow on his car door, tapping his thumb on his cheek. He could think of only one agency that would have information on Rikker. “Where’d you get this intel?”
“That’s not important.”
If that were the case, why be evasive? “Are you in contact with the agency again?” They both knew which agency he referenced.
He got his answer when she said nothing. Josh swore viciously. “And you believe them?”
“In this situation, yes.”
“Why would you even listen to anything they have to say?”
“Because he shared information no other agency has so I took one for the team.”
Josh caught her damning slip. “Wait a minute. Back up to the he. He who?”
She cursed lividly. “Not important.”
Josh stomped the floorboard. “Bullshit. I don’t fucking believe this. Did you really meet with him?” He didn’t give two shits about protecting Gage Laughton, but he’d given his word to Sabrina to never mention Gage’s name when they were on any electronic device, no matter how secure.
She wanted to kill the bastard as much as Josh and Dingo did. Or she had wanted to at one time. What had changed?
“You have a job to do,” Sabrina said with the bite of a winter storm. “Either do it or tell me to send someone else. No part of your assignment involves questioning me. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he snarled right back. “I’ll find that bastard Rikker and the Chessmaster. But don’t think in your wildest moment that I’m handing him over to your buddy.”
“We’ll discuss it when you have said target in hand.”
No, we won’t. “You forget the deal you made with me and Dingo?”
“You can be such a bastard. Of course not. We get our shot at him before anyone else no matter what.”
Their agreement hadn’t included anyone else before today. He answered with enough sarcasm to ensure she didn’t take his words to heart. “You’re the boss.”
“And you’re the asshole. Now that we’re through playing footsie, back to the op. I’m sending down an additional team, but they’ll be in the background. Anything else?”
“No.”
The call ended with a click.
Josh couldn’t believe she was going to hand Rikker over to the CIA. Screw the agency.
They claimed not to have had any part in trading Sabrina’s team for Rikker, but Josh believed Mendelson who’d said he made a deal with someone in the CIA. If Rikker was walking around free and the agency had no idea where he was, that meant Rikker was the only one who could tell Josh who’d burned his team. If Rikker had been found at terrorist operations since then, Rikker was clearly the enemy.
The CIA could have that bastard after Josh was through with him, but there wouldn’t be a lot of discussion going on if he delivered Rikker minus most of his head.
Some days he hated everything about the spook world.
Most days.
The last two years of misery and a burning need for justice came crashing down on Josh. He knew what he had to do tomorrow, no if, ands or buts.
Searching for some objectivity, he got down to basic facts. Trish could be a sophisticated operative or working in sync with one. He’d come up against some of the best in the world of spooks, and they could put the A-list in Hollywood to shame.
He’d determine whether Trish was the Chessmaster’s contact person or the actual mole, then make the call for a Slye team to snatch her and hand Trish over to Sabrina.
Chapter 16
Trish hugged her mug of coffee and leaned on the counter in the showroom of ReSolution, trying not to accept defeat mentally before it had actually been delivered to her. Her brother would say, “Can’t win ‘em all, honey.”
She didn’t want them all. But she had to have this one. Needed this consulting position, or she had real concerns about making it through a full year with ReSolution.
If she didn’t, everyone would just chalk it up to another Trish failure. Except this would be a really, really expensive one.
The naysayers were probably booking bets on how long she’d last without drinking. Her biggest customer draws right now were consignment pieces she’d acquired since gaining recognition in the preliminary rounds of this competition. Those would go away first if she stumbled.
One mistake would cost her everything.
No longer walking around in an alcohol-dulled haze, she couldn’t face another failure. Sobriety sharpened everything, but most of all her emotions. She wanted this win.
Just once, she wanted to kick ass on her own merits, and not need anybody to pick her up and carry her to the finish. Was that too much to ask?
She’d aced everything the television group had handed her so far, but now she stared at what they expected next, detailed neatly in her packet of instr
uctions. This had all seemed doable yesterday.
While the couple she’d helped earlier still strolled around the showroom, Trish studied the forms in her packet. With the fifteenth century as her specialty, she had to find someone knowledgeable about the famous Amber Room. Her first thought was to wonder whether the show had a bona fide artifact or not, but that might be the real test–the ability to differentiate real from bogus.
Many collectors of World War II items were familiar with the Amber Room’s history, but to evaluate an actual piece required someone with exceptional ability.
Oh, and that person had to be a celebrity.
Trish had come up with one celebrity guest who might give her an edge over Xavier in this last round.
A ding-a-ling from the front door drew her attention. The female of the young couple waved at Trish and said, “Thanks for the background on that armoire. Love your shop. I made notes for when I come back.”
“Thank you and have a nice day.” Trish didn’t like pushy sales people so she gave customers space to meander. She’d always been a people person and enjoyed spending time with everyone who came in.
Well, almost everyone.
Her least favorite customer entered as the couple left.
Calling the old woman a customer was a stretch since she had yet to spend anything except time.
Decisions, decisions. Arrange inanimate metal sculptures–guaranteed not to give Trish grief–or attempt to assist the elderly woman she’d privately nicknamed Pruneface, who lived for ruining an otherwise promising day? Suck it up and be the better person.
Trish sidled over to where Pruneface scowled at Heidi’s jubilant display of hand-cast sterling-silver flatware and color-splashed dishes that added flair to quality antiques. Pruneface browsed through ReSolution for the third time in two weeks. For what purpose, Trish had no idea, because the old bat had yet to find anything that met with her satisfaction.
Patience. The woman walked bent over as if she suffered from some form of osteoporosis.
“May I help you?” Trish asked, infusing a heavy dose of peppy tone.
Pruneface cocked up her garish face. Thick makeup covered her haggish features. Severe rouge slashed her cheeks and poorly applied, rust-colored lipstick had been stroked across her perpetual frown.