Playing Dirty

by HelenKay Dimon

  He walked right over to her and handed her a brown envelope. “Here.”

  Afraid to touch it, she stared at it instead. “What’s this?”

  “Cash.”

  She held up both hands, not wanting to touch it or entertain the offer, whatever it was. “I can’t—­”

  He sat down next to her and wrapped her fingers around the envelope. “I’m not asking what you had to do to gather the cash or why Trent came to you instead of his rich father. I’m not even insisting you stay away from him or bring me along, which I really want to do because I need to know you’re safe—­”

  “He’d never hurt me.”

  “—­but if you’re not going to let me help any other way, you are going to let me do this.” Ford nodded at the thick package in her hands. “It’s about a thousand dollars, and maybe if he sees you have it, he’ll trust you enough to come back here with you.”

  “I can’t take your money.” She tried to push it over to him but Ford held her hands still.

  “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  She looked at his face, then down to the brown package on her lap. The gesture didn’t solve everything but it relieved some of her anxiety.

  Made her love him even more.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  His hand went to the back of her neck and treated her to a gentle massage. “I’m pissed off about this, Shay. About him and about you being dragged into the middle of it all.”

  Tears pushed against the back of her eyes. She wasn’t a crier but the lump in her throat got stuck there and she teetered on the verge of losing it. “He’s family.”

  “You keep saying that, but do you notice how much life your family is sucking out of you right now?”

  She couldn’t deny it. For years they had the usual family squabbles. She wrestled with the best way to deal with Anthony, on how to love him and not want to strangle him. But a shift started when Trent took the government job, and the last few months something changed and Trent’s personality changed along with it. They’d been off-­kilter ever since.

  Right now Ford provided the solid ground. She put the envelope to the side on the bed and leaned into him. “Then it’s good I have you.”

  He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth as his arm wrapped around her. “I’m still pissed.”

  She pushed him down on the mattress and hovered over him. “Then let’s redirect some of that energy into something fun.”

  He flipped her over. “I like the way you think.”

  24

  WARD HATED this part of the job. Turning on one of his own. He still didn’t believe Harlan could sell them all out, but there he stood, indignant and nonresponsive in the small conference room they used for the rare interrogation that took place at the Warehouse.

  This was the second time they’d put the space into action. First with Matt and now Harlan. Both instances left Ward feeling hollow and disappointed. When the ­people tasked with serving and protecting turned, no one was safe.

  Tasha sat at the desk with one leg crossed over the other, looking every bit the in-­charge professional she was. Ward tried to block her and his knowledge that Josiah and Ford waited just outside, watching.

  Refusing to sit down and concede the upper hand in any way, Ward stood across from Harlan. “This isn’t adding up.”

  “You were keeping me in the dark. I didn’t have a choice.” With his hands linked behind him, almost as if standing at attention, Harlan didn’t move.

  Not a surprise since the man dedicated his life to the clandestine ser­vice. He knew how to hold his body and not give anything away. He didn’t fidget or stammer. He spoke in his usual clear, calm voice with his accent highlighting his upper crust upbringing and his disdain obvious in his expression.

  They’d gotten along fine from the beginning. Ward knew Harlan’s exacting style worked on the nerves of some of the more wild among the Alliance bunch, but Ward got it. Harlan had been trained a particular way and led a very successful career. Seeing strange T-­shirts and hearing takedowns joked about in the Warehouse turned Harlan off.

  Not Ward. He knew the guys liked to blow off steam. Problem was, Harlan never did. Never wavered in who he was, which made the idea of him being a traitor of some sort all the more ridiculous.

  “You could have come to me,” Tasha said.

  Harlan’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Would it have done any good? After all, you’re sleeping with him.”

  Something screeched in Ward’s brain. “Be fucking careful there, Harlan.”

  Ward had a high tolerance for nonsense and joking around. He had zero tolerance for anyone taking a shot at Tasha. Neither did she, which made him wonder how many seconds would tick by before she flew out of that chair and knocked Harlan into the wall. If he didn’t change topics fast, that attack would come. No question.

  “Ford and I don’t agree on much but we both know there’s an internal problem at work here,” Harlan said as he verbally pivoted. “Someone is leaking intel on our operations. We are getting beaten at every turn.”

  Tasha drummed her fingernails on the top of the oversized desk in front of her. “You understand that by showing up in the restaurant that spotlight shines on you, right?”

  “You can’t believe that.”

  Ward expected some reaction but Harlan just stood there. He didn’t even blink.

  The need to push, to knock some of the practiced cool out of his contemporary, battered Ward. “Why did you go?”

  “Anthony is under suspicion and his travels are being traced. I saw him with Pearce and investigated. I didn’t see a reason to call in the team just yet, which brings me back to my point about had I known there was an operation under way, I would have backed off.” Harlan tipped his head to the side. “I’m actually surprised Pearce saw me.”

  Cryptic. Ward knew the pieces Harland left out were the ones that mattered. Now he needed to fill in those blanks. “That’s the part I don’t get. You just happened to see them at dinner?”

  Tasha stopped tapping and rested her palm against the table. “He’s been following Pearce.”

  It took a second for the words to register in Ward’s brain. When they did, a well of rage burned through him. “Are you kidding?”

  “No joke. I am,” Harlan said.

  A new sensation settled in Ward’s chest. He glanced at Tasha. “Is that part of an op I don’t know about?”

  “No, but it fits. Harlan having a hunch and checking it out on his own.” Tasha’s eyebrow lifted. “Like as payback for us keeping him in the dark. Am I right?”

  “Search anything, I don’t care. This is about the team and the job. My private life is open.” Harlan looked from Tasha to Ward. “I’m not sure everyone who works here can say that.”

  Ward ignored the shot. “There’s nothing in Pearce’s background that points to a problem.”

  “Is there anything in mine?”

  Ward couldn’t argue with that logic. Which pissed him off. “What would he gain?”

  “What would I gain?” When Ward started to reply, Harlan held up a hand and shook his head. “Look, we can do this all day, but the fact is we’re not one step closer to locking this down and ferreting out the traitor.”

  Tasha seemed to size Harlan up as her gaze wandered over him. “That’s a big word.”

  “What would you call someone who almost got Ford and West blown up?”

  With a nod to Tasha, Ward left the room. He got two steps into the hallway before Josiah and Ford closed in.

  Knowing the answer and wanting it on the unofficial record between them, Ward turned to Ford. “What do you think?”

  He shrugged. “It could be anyone who works here. A random person in Liberty Crossing or anywhere in the intelligence community.”

  “That’s not the response I expected from you.” No
t even close. Ford had been banging on the Harlan-­is-­the-­problem drum almost from the beginning of Alliance’s existence.

  “Where’s Pearce?” Josiah asked.

  “We’re about to question him.” The Warehouse had turned into a damn hotel for suspected moles these days. The idea and the safety issues involved with keeping cleared operatives penned in had Ward sleeping in his office even as he preferred to walk out and not come back.

  Josiah didn’t let it drop. “So, you do or don’t think it’s Harlan?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  Josiah hummed. “His actions are suspicious.”

  “We might be able to get a handle on this in a few hours.” Ford slipped a small handheld out of his back pocket. It looked like a small cell phone but was really a GPS unit.

  “How?”

  “The tracker I put in the envelope for Shay is moving.” Ford flipped the screen around for Josiah and Ward to see. “She wouldn’t need to carry it around unless she got the message to meet Trent.”

  That explained the stark look in Ford’s eyes and the way his skin pulled taut over his cheekbones. He’d tagged her. Her and the money. It was the right call and something Harlan pushed to happen sooner, but now that they knew Trent lurked around town and wanted his cousin’s attention, Ford had no choice. She might not be in on it but she was a pawn and everyone was using her, which mean Ford had to as well.

  “I don’t like this,” Josiah said. “Why would a guy holding a billion dollars worth of deadly toxin, someone holding an auction, be scrounging around for cash?”

  “Good question.” One that Ward couldn’t answer no matter how he tried.

  “Maybe this is all a ploy.” Josiah shot a quick side glance in Ford’s direction. “I’m not pointing the finger at Shay, but something doesn’t smell right here.”

  Ford didn’t react. He acted as if he were locked in stone. Not even the thought of going after Harlan cheered him up.

  No doubt about it. The guy had it bad for Shay. Ward knew how it felt to fall that hard, and didn’t envy his friend the days ahead at all. “Be careful, and we’ll hold these two here. No communication with the outside world until you track Trent down.”

  “Done.” Not waiting for more, Ford nodded and left as if he wanted to get the whole assignment over as quickly as possible.

  Ward didn’t blame him one bit.

  Trent’s note said to meet him at the place where he got lost as a kid. That meant the National Air and Space Museum on the Mall downtown. She’d been babysitting him after school that afternoon all those years ago. He’d insisted on going to see the space shuttle. Pitched a fit like the type only a kid could do.

  She’d wanted to stay home on the phone with her friends. She settled for the cell and the museum at the same time. One second of not paying attention and he’d disappeared. She could still hear him begging the security guard not to call his dad when they finally did find him in a back hall that was restricted to anyone but employees.

  Today Shay sat in the reclining planetarium seat and stared up and at the scene above her. Open space and a smattering of stars. The narrator talked about the attempts we’d made to figure out if we were alone in the universe. She’d seen the presentation probably twenty times but the words hit home in a new way today.

  She touched the envelope in her cardigan pocket. She’d been moving it around for the last hour. From her purse to the pocket to holding it in a death grip. At every sound, she jumped. Whenever a man approached her, she tensed.

  Yeah, this had to end. She had to convince Trent to come home with her. She’d call Ford for help and she knew he’d step in.

  “Shay.” Trent said her name as a whisper as he slid onto the seat beside her.

  The touch of his hand against her arm had her jumping. She bit back a scream just in time. Getting her heart to slow down to non-­heart-­attack levels took a little longer and a few deep breaths.

  “Are you okay?” She tried to assess his expression but the room was dark. She saw a shadow and his blue shirt.

  “Do you have the money?” The jitteriness came back in the way he shifted in his chair and kept looking around as if expecting to be attacked from behind.

  “Trent, please. We need to talk.” She put a hand on his knee.

  He knocked it away. “Give it to me.”

  “No, I—­”

  “Fuck.” He got up and stormed off.

  Panic surged through Shay as she rushed after him. She heard angry mumbling in the dark planetarium when she hit the bar across the door and light poured in as she opened it. Unable to stop her momentum, she ran and hit the landing of the second floor before skidding to a halt.

  Looking around, she went to the ledge and scanned the main exhibit area below. A mass of ­people moved around her. Schoolkids and tourists dragging coats, ­people winding their way around rockets and planes. She targeted that blue shirt and the familiar profile, spying him as he jumped off the bottom step and pushed his way to the opposite side of the floor.

  She ran down after him, taking two steps at a time and grabbing onto the banister for balance when her ankle overturned. Her hands held the envelope in her pocket so it didn’t bounce out and her purse bobbed against her shoulder. It was an awkward sprint made worse when she called out his name and ­people turned to stare.

  By the time she got down the steps the sea of ­people had closed in around her as they shifted in unison to the far sides of the room. Everyone pushed and tried to get by. She stood there, spinning in a circle while she looked for any sign of Trent.

  She’d been in the position before, desperate to find him and convinced he was in danger. It was no less intense with Trent being a grown-­up. His decisions had bigger consequences now. And his panicked escape from the planetarium only confirmed her worst fear that he’d gone over the edge.

  She felt a tug, her cardigan yanked, and she grabbed for the envelope, sure in the chaos someone would take the money. While she looked down, the crowd seemed to part. She thought to shift out of the way when a rough hand slammed around her neck. The envelope slipped out of her hands and she slapped and tried to lunge and steal it back when the grip tightened.

  “Stay calm.” Locked in a vicelike hold, Trent’s voice filled her head. Gone was the nervous edge to his tone. He sounded in control and dangerous.

  A woman looked over then grabbed her young son back. ­People nearby shifted away as well. Shay could see confusion and then terror in the faces as they watched her get manhandled and didn’t know what was happening. Hell, she didn’t understand it either.

  She grabbed at Trent’s arm and tried to turn around to look at him but his hold locked her in position. “What are you doing?”

  “That’s enough, Shay.”

  “Trent, please.” None of it made sense. This was about giving him money but now he held her so tight she had to scratch onto his forearm to keep him from crushing her windpipe.

  She moved her head to the side, trying to catch some air, but her lungs refused to fill. “You’re hurting me.”

  “You’re my insurance.”

  The comment could have been in another language. Her brain rushed to keep up but nothing unfolding now fit with how she thought this meeting would go or who her cousin was. His actions revved up the panic in the crowd as more and more ­people saw her being held to match the mass swirling inside of her.

  She tried to focus and struggled to find the right words. She thought she could reason Trent out of this until she saw the man in a plaid shirt coming toward them with a gun in his hand. No badge or uniform. He looked like the average museum visitor only bigger, with shoulders broad enough to knock against a door frame and an expression that said he would unload that weapon and not lose a minute of sleep.

  Terror ripped through her as an alarm wailed and security filed into the building. Museum patr
ons were running now and many screamed. Noises clashed, and she tried to separate them out and analyze them over the sound of Trent’s heavy breathing in her ear.

  When she opened her mouth to try to calm him down, he dragged her backward. A squeak left her throat. Her sneakers scraped against the floor as she tried to stay on her feet. She stumbled but the headlock kept her upright as she coughed and wheezed.

  When a second gunman appeared, her vision blurred. Fear knocked the breath out of her and her stomach rolled. All that nonsense about being hunted . . . Trent was right. These men with intensity bouncing off them wanted him and would go through her to get him.

  Her head spun and the room began to tilt. “Who are they?”

  “They want me dead,” Trent said in a harsh whisper loud enough for the two gunmen and the few security guards scattered around to hear.

  The uniformed guards weren’t taking down the gunmen dressed in casual clothes. They acted as if the men in street clothes ran the show. When that registered, her mind began spinning again.

  Flashing lights from police cars parked outside reflected through the museum windows. A crowd had gathered outside and she could see a helicopter flying low and close to the building. Everyone watching and covering Trent, clearly fingering him as the attacker in this scenario.

  The pieces didn’t fit. She mentally put it all together but no answer made sense. “These men—­”

  “The ­people setting me up,” Trent said. “The ones saying I stole the toxin.”

  He’d asked her for money. Now there was talk of a toxin. Terror was too passive. A word didn’t exist to describe her alternating waves of bone-­shaking fear and rabid nausea.

  She forced a few more words out as the blood drained from her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about or what’s happening.”

  “There’s no way out, Trent.” One of the casually dressed gunmen stepped forward. The slimmer one who looked no less lethal than the bigger one. “Let the woman go.”