Night Deception

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Night Deception Page 3

by Tamsen Schultz


  “And you came here, why?” Yael asked. “Is there something you think we should know about him? A feeling you get or something?”

  Yes, there was a feeling she got from Isiah Clark, but not the kind Yael was referring to. Again she shrugged, hoping to play off her discomfort. “My teammates don’t even know where I live. I wasn’t going to lead Isiah Clarke straight to my doorstep,” she answered. The words sounded even lamer than the real reason she hadn’t gone home. Isiah now knew she was an FBI agent, but only because Dominic had set him straight earlier. Given Isiah’s earlier actions, that knowledge had to have influenced his opinion of her because before today, there was no way she could have missed the judgment in his eyes when he looked at her. She’d had enough experience with the press and media to know exactly what kind of story he’d concocted in his head about her and it wasn’t flattering.

  And she didn’t want him to see where she lived because, as pathetic as it was, that modicum of respect she saw on his face when he looked at her now—and the respect he showed her outside his bar—was something she wanted to savor. If he saw where she lived, he might still think of her as an FBI agent, but, if history was anything to go by, he also wouldn’t be the first person to wonder if she’d bought her way into her position. And the idea of him thinking of her that way wasn’t something she wanted. No, the nine-thousand square foot island mansion she lived in—a home her family had owned for more than twenty years—was something she liked to keep to herself. And, as she pointed out to Yael, not even her teammates had seen it.

  Of course, that second little bit of truth spoke to a whole different set of issues that she liked to push under the rug. After more than six months together, she’d grown closer to her team on Tildas Island than any other group of people she’d worked with—or known—in her life. She trusted them almost as much as she trusted her family and the Goodmans, and more than that, she liked them. And even more than that, they trusted her. There was not a doubt in her mind that her teammates wouldn’t be fazed by the grandeur of where she lived, and not for a second did she think it would change their perception of her. Dominic and Jake might rib her endlessly like a pair of giddy jackals, but it would be done with their special brand of affection.

  And yet, she still hadn’t ever invited any of them over. Ever.

  Alexis sighed and took another sip of her wine, surprised to find it almost gone. “Anyway, on to more interesting topics. Where’s Satan?”

  “Hanging from my curtains, no doubt,” Rachel sniffed. “If she’s not there, she’s probably clawed her way into my laundry basket and is shredding my undergarments.”

  Alexis laughed. The two pound, all black kitten she’d talked Rachel into fostering had grown into a six pound ball of terror. An adorable ball of terror, but a destructive one.

  “You know I’ll cover the cost of anything you need to replace,” she said.

  Rachel shot her a repressive look and Alexis took that to mean she should drop the subject of reimbursements.

  “And how did Howdy do today?” she asked, turning to Eric. Howdy was a little brown and white nine-month-old female island dog she fostered. The island shelter and animal rescue community didn’t have a fostering program, but she’d started her own. She had a huge house, an even bigger yard, and a cook who both adored dogs and training them. He was damn good at it, too. Currently, she had four dogs living with her, but since she’d moved down to Tildas the previous November, she’d fostered a total of eleven. All were mixed breeds, none more than forty pounds, and each of which, when the time was right, she’d had flown to various animal shelters who’d helped place them in their forever home.

  They were all special, but Howdy was just a little something more. Alexis wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but she had an inkling that Howdy might be her first foster-fail.

  Eric smiled as he rubbed his wife’s feet. “She’s great. I got her to pick up a wooden spoon I dropped today while I was cooking. She looked so proud of herself that I think her tail wagged her body.”

  Alexis smiled, it wasn’t a hard image to conjure. Howdy was the most perpetually cheerful dog Alexis had ever met.

  “How many treats did she get?” she asked.

  “Just one,” Eric answered. Alexis arched an eyebrow. Eric cleared his throat. “One for the task then maybe a couple more because she kept smiling at me.”

  Alexis, Yael, and Rachel all laughed. Eric was definitely the most soft-hearted out of all of them.

  “And Red, George, and Allie?” she asked referring to the other three dogs living with her.

  “I think Allie and George will be ready to head north in a month or so. I took them both shopping today and they did great. Met lots of people, other dogs, kids. I think Allie would be most comfortable being a city dog, but George could go either way.”

  “So maybe Miami or Dallas for them?” she asked. She had networks all over the US, but the trick was always finding the right family.

  “Dallas might get a little cold in the winter for our Princess Allie, but she’d love Miami and the beach. George would do well there, too. Especially if we found him a nice family in the suburbs with a pool, so long as they don’t mind him sharing it. I swear that dog would live in your pool if we let him.”

  Alexis smiled at that and set her wine glass down. Eric wasn’t exaggerating. There’d been a time or two when one or the both of them had had to jump into her pool and herd George out.

  “And Red?” Red was their newest addition. A shy, thirty pound four-year-old. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, but life had taught her that there were a lot of things out there that could hurt her. It would take a while for her settle in and it broke Alexis’s heart every time she saw Red flinch at something so simple as the ice machine coming on.

  “She’s coping, but not much more,” Eric replied. “I try to give her a lot of quiet time every day, and when I can, I’ll sit with her and just pet her. I have to believe she’ll come around, but it’s going to take a while. I honestly think that in a year or so, she’ll be an excellent candidate to be a service dog in a retirement community.”

  “She does like old people,” Rachel said, patting her grey hair.

  Alexis let out a deep breath and glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. Thirty minutes had passed since she’d stepped through the door. She loved her teammates, but there was something to be said for spending time with people who both knew and accepted her completely. Feeling more relaxed than she had all day, and knowing Isiah would have likely left to go home, she rose from her seat, snagging her wine glass along the way.

  “Thanks for the wine, Rachel, and the chat. I’ll head home now that my shadow has probably abandoned his post for the night.” As she spoke, she walked into the kitchen and deposited her empty glass. When she returned, Yael was slipping on her flip flops.

  “You don’t need to come with me,” Alexis said.

  “I know. But I want the real story about Isiah Clarke. You know, the one you won’t tell your second mother or faux brother.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of her family. “The one you probably won’t even tell yourself,” she added.

  Alexis snorted. “And what makes you think you’ll get it?”

  Yael shot her a flat look and shook her head as she opened the door. “Former Israeli intelligence agent, remember? You don’t have a chance.”

  Chapter Two

  Isiah stood at the bar, as he did almost every day, and dried freshly washed glasses. The endless task of keeping the bar clean was made easier by his military-everything-in-its-place-and-a-place-for-everything training. It didn’t hurt that when he’d first opened The Shack, the mundane tasks had given him a purpose, occupying his body while his mind slowly filtered through and processed his years in the Navy.

  But he wasn’t processing his career or his missions now. No, he was definitely thinking about Alexis. Or more precisely, the unsettled thoughts—and maybe even feelings—he had when it came to her. He didn’t like that he’d so misjudg
ed her, but he still wasn’t sure if his new found knowledge of her changed anything. Scratch that, it definitely changed things—knowing that she both lived on the island and lived close by had fueled his imagination the night before. But other than his body being on board with a “get to know Alexis” plan, what was different?

  He knew she worked for the FBI, but there was also something else about her that he couldn’t quite get a handle on. He’d seen evidence of her professional skills, but he couldn’t ignore the part of her that, until yesterday, he’d seen the most often. The part of her that had led him to believe she was just one more rich tourist.

  The door swung open and the object of his thoughts walked in. Being Sunday afternoon, the bar was pretty quiet. A family of six was finishing brunch on the porch, but once again, he was the only one behind the bar. Taking a seat, she uncharacteristically rested her elbows on the bar top.

  “I’ll take an iced tea. It’s a little early for whiskey,” she added with a smile. Today, her hair was pulled into one long braid that hung down her back and she wore a tank top, shorts, and sandals. No jewelry.

  “You got it.” Isiah poured the tea from a pitcher and slid the glass over. When he started to release the glass, she wrapped her fingers around his. It was just the slightest touch, but it was enough to hold him.

  “Don’t follow me home again, Clarke. It’s creepy as fuck.”

  He studied her for a moment. She didn’t shy away from his scrutiny but she also didn’t look particularly creeped out. He gave a short nod and slid his fingers out from under hers.

  “Noted. Next time I’ll walk with you.” Rather than wait for a reaction, he went back to drying his glasses. But he didn’t miss her quiet, under-the-breath laugh.

  “Got your mail.” Marty’s voice carried down the hall from the back entrance of the bar. The man soon followed, dumping a padded envelope on the counter. “I left most of it on your desk, but thought you might want to see what that is.” He pointed to the yellow piece of mail. “I also dropped by the bank, placed the new order with the fish guy, and arranged to have the produce delivered a little earlier than usual on Tuesday so it doesn’t cut into our prep time. But I didn’t get a chance to place the order for the chicken, since Ms. Mary was at church with her family so not at home. But I can stop by later today.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine,” Isiah said, picking up the envelope. “We have enough for Tuesday if she delivers on Wednesday.” Even as he spoke, his attention was drawn to what he held in his hand. It was addressed to him and had a return address that he didn’t recognize—or part of one, anyway, since it was just a street name and zip code. Judging by what he could feel, something rectangular and slim was inside.

  Frowning, he gently tore the top and out slid a phone. He stared down at the device, looking sleek and shiny on his scarred worktop.

  “That’s an odd way to deliver a new phone,” Alexis said.

  He glanced up. Despite her casual demeanor, she was watching him with the intensity of a trained investigator.

  “You got the bar, Marty?” he asked, ignoring Alexis for the moment. His little package gave him a bad feeling and he wanted to be alone when he tried to figure out why.

  Marty waved him away and he slipped down the hall to his office, closing the door behind him. Taking a seat at his desk, he eyed the device before bringing it to life.

  In an instant, he knew whose phone it was, Kevin Karington’s—or Huck as they called him in the SEALs. A picture of the two of them, in some desert somewhere, filled the screen.

  Isiah turned the device over, looking for any evidence of tampering, but found none. Flipping back to their two smiling faces, he slid his finger over the bottom of the screen and the number pad popped up. Of course it was locked. He stared at it, letting his mind wander a bit. If Huck had gone to the trouble of sending him the phone, he would have made sure Isiah could open it.

  Reaching for the envelope, he tilted it up. When nothing came out, he looked inside. Still nothing.

  Setting it down, the return address caught his attention—1917 High Street with a zip code he recognized as coming from somewhere on the east coast.

  Knowing he’d have more than one chance, he pulled up the key pad on the phone again and keyed in 1917. Instantly, the screen changed and he was faced with more icons and apps than anyone could humanly use.

  Opting to take a precautionary step before culling through the files and apps, Isiah plugged the phone into his desktop with a USB cord and started a download of the content onto his hard drive. As that ticked by, he familiarized himself with everything Huck had on the device.

  He opened the notes app first and found what appeared to be a couple of shopping lists, some going back years. He smiled at that glimpse into Huck’s day-to-day life. His friend had a thing for Chunky Monkey ice cream. Then again, after more than ten years traveling in and out of the desert, Isiah could hardly fault the man. There might even be a quart or two of Phish Food in his own freezer.

  Closing the notes app, his finger hovered over the recorded messages app. Something deep inside him held him back—without any confirmation, he knew the reason Huck had sent him the phone would be found in that app. It was the only thing that made sense. He could have kept the phone and sent an email, or made a call. But Huck had either made a point to send the device for its own sake—which was weird—or he’d been in such a hurry that sending the entire phone was the surest way to get Isiah whatever message he needed to convey.

  Neither option boded well for Huck, but Isiah chose not to think about that at the moment. Instead, he took a deep breath and hit “play” on the most recent message.

  “Boongy,” Huck started, referring to Isiah by his SEAL nickname. “I can see you sitting there in your beach bar, living the life. I should have joined you when I had the chance. But now’s not the time for whining like a baby. So here’s the thing. Angela Rosen, my boss, asked me to track down an asset we refer to as The Gentleman. She said we needed to bring him in because there was a chance he’d been compromised. I fucking believed her, of course, and started digging. I tracked him to a region in Honduras, you’ll see that in my notes. At least that’s where he was as of today. Anyway, I went to report this to her and overheard some crazy-ass shit. I mean, seriously, not to sound dramatic, but there’s a good chance I’ll be dead by the time you receive this. The short story is, the asset was never compromised. Angela was talking to some dude about the price they’d get for his identity. I didn’t see who she was talking to, just some guy, tucked into the corner of her fucking office out of my line of sight when I went to talk to her.”

  Huck paused and Isiah could hear the sounds of traffic in the background and his friend huffing into the phone, no doubt as he retreated quickly away from where he worked in the DC offices of the CIA.

  “Boongy, Angela Rosen is up to something, including selling the identity of at least one key CIA asset. I have no idea if she had other analysts finding other agents so there might be others, too. The conversation I overheard didn’t identify a buyer, but they did mention Tildas Island and the Summit next year which is why you’re the lucky SOB to get my message. That, and out of the team, your address is the only one I can remember without having to look that shit up which I don’t have time for. In fact, I’m dropping this little bomb in your lap and ghosting. It’s too hot for me right now and I was only sort of joking about being dead when you get this. But you know me, if I can get to you in a way that won’t compromise you or your loved ones, I’ll get to you. It may take me a while, but I’ll get there. And if I don’t, well, let’s say it’s a good thing I don’t have much family to mourn me.

  “I couldn’t take all the time to write this shit down, but I was able to move all my research to my private drive.” Huck rattled off the URL to his private cloud drive, then continued. “I don’t know what it will tell you other than where I tracked The Gentleman to, but fuck it. Take what you can and do what you can or pass it on to someone else i
f you have to. It’s been too long since we talked and maybe you’ve got people in your life and you don’t want to get involved and that’s okay, too, but just pass this shit on to someone from the team. I don’t want to trust it to anyone else.” And then the recording ended.

  Well, hell.

  Isiah sat back in his chair while the rest of the content of the phone finished uploading. His first instinct was to visit Huck’s cloud drive, but he no longer had access to a secure internet connection. Huck would have hidden the data transfer from his work computer to his drive, but if someone went looking, they’d know a transfer took place and could start digging into where the data had gone. If Huck hadn’t hidden his tracks well enough and if Isiah then accessed the data from a non-secure site, they’d know exactly who Huck had gone to with his information. Which would mean he’d have these people—Angela Rosen and whoever else might be involved—knocking on his door.

  “We got a crowd coming in, Boss,” Marty called down the hall as Isiah became aware of the rumbling of diesel mini-bus in his parking lot. Great, just what he needed, a bus full of tourists from the never ending stream of cruise ships that stopped at the island. Mostly, the cruise companies didn’t offer a trip to his bar, but sometimes families or large groups looking for a place off the beaten path organized an outing.

  Unplugging the now-backed-up phone, he unlocked his safe and placed it inside. He was locking it back up again when Marty appeared in the doorway.

  “Party of thirty,” Marty said. “Family outing with kids and all. At least it’s not a bachelor party.”

  Isiah wasn’t so sure. He found it way easier to deal with a drunken thirty-old man than a screaming toddler, but to each their own.

  “They gonna want food?” Isiah asked as he ushered Marty back toward the bar, shutting his office door behind him.

 

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