Mark didn’t linger. He’d said all he needed. Adam blew out a slow breath, still trying to steady his nerves.
“Okay, so we’ll be quick.” Ember pushed her chair alongside Adam’s and pointed to the middle of a black-and-white satellite reconnaissance shot on her screen. “See this? Bring it in closer, Mother. It’s still too hard to see it.”
“How’s this?” The picture zeroed into focus so quickly that Adam blinked, then blinked again to see it better. It wasn’t just a photo. It was live-streaming video. Of Shannon.
“It’s her,” he whispered. Someone else’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but he disregarded it because there on the front walk of Reagan Manor stood the woman he adored, with two black shadows at her heels. At least, that was who he thought he was looking at. “How’d you get this? Is this live? Is that really her?”
“You bet it’s Shannon Reagan and it’s live,” Ember said, “but that’s not all. Show him the other picture.”
Mother’s false nails clattered her keyboard magic. “Give me a sec. Okay, here you go.”
The live image of Shannon de-pixilated as a static image appeared. Adam leaned closer. The overhead view depicted a woman beside a long, black limo. It could’ve been anyone. “What am I looking at?”
“You’ll see. Zoom it in,” Ember requested, but Mother was already zooming. She worked adeptly, her manicured fingertips tapping sure and steady as the grainy image evolved into crystal clarity.
“We got this just after Miss Reagan returned to the manor,” Mother explained.
“But that’s not Shannon,” Adam declared. This woman was bigger. Boxier. Downright ugly. “Who is she?”
“You know, I don’t really care.” Ember leaned into his left, pointing to the thing in the woman’s arms. “Don’t look at her. Look at this little guy. This is what you need to see. Right there. See him now?”
There, at the tip of her finger, was a light spot in the picture. Adam squinted. Still nothing. Just enough pixels for hope to jump-start his heart. Could it be? God, please.
“Wait,” Mother muttered. “Let me clean the picture up.” Whatever she did, it worked. The pixels morphed into a discernable and very tiny face.
Adam choked. The puckered, sleeping face of Jimmy Malone was so clear he could make out the tiny boy’s hands, clutching his chin like he was deep in thought. “It’s him. Thank God. It’s Squeaks. He’s safe.”
Ember leaned into Adam’s shoulder while he clenched his jaw and tried like hell not to fall apart. Just knowing that baby boy was okay helped as much as it hurt. He wanted to hold that man-child again, maybe sing another lullaby. Tears filled his eyes that he’d never let fall. He wanted to hold Shannon too, but at least they were alive. That much was good enough. For now.
Adam bit his lip and stifled his emotions. It would’ve worked, too, if Ember hadn’t had her hands on his arm, comforting him with all her gentle ways. Mother made it worse when she handed him a tissue. Damned if that firm grip on his shoulder didn’t belong to his boss. “They’re safe. Now ladies, if you don’t mind, Adam and I have work to do.”
“Aw,” Ember protested, her hand still pressing Adam to the chair. “But we just got him back. We need him.”
Alex didn’t respond, which wasn’t unexpected. He was the hard driver in the office, the man who said, “Jump,” while everyone else asked, “How high?”
Adam needed to get away from these two motherly women before he made a fool of himself. His heart might be breaking, but SEALs never cracked. They sucked it up. They packed it away. Never let their weakness show.
“Coming, Boss.” He pushed his chair from the computer and stood, but before he left, he leaned into his genius lady friends. “Thanks,” he whispered hoarsely. He meant to say more, but his emotions got the best of him. He swallowed hard, and damned if Mother didn’t grab onto his wrist before he made his getaway.
There, in front of God and everyone, she did what he’d never seen coming. She got to her feet and smothered him in a hug, her lips pressed to his ear as she pulled him down to her level. “We’re going to get her back, Adam,” she declared in a stern whisper. “That little boy of yours, too. Whatever’s going on inside Reagan Industries, we’re going to bust it wide open, and we won’t stop until we do. Do you understand?”
He couldn’t speak, so he closed his eyes and absorbed the kindness she offered him, breathed in her over-abundance of powdery-smelling cologne, and nodded. It didn’t solve the problem, but it sure helped knowing he had the TEAM on his side.
Mother released him and grabbed another tissue out of her desk drawer for herself. “You tell Alex I’ll be right there. I just need a minute. Go on. Get.”
He turned toward the Sit Room. Hell. At this rate, it would be a really long day.
The conference room was full of sympathetic, friendly faces when he took his seat. Everyone not on assignment was there. Senior agents Mark and Harley sat with junior agents Maverick Carson, Taylor Armstrong, and Eric Reynolds on one side of the oblong table. Mother and Ember came in and quickly took the two empty seats on the opposite.
Connor and Izza sat together, looking happy and well-rested for a change. Adam had no doubt they’d spent their first night home loving their children and each other. He couldn’t look them in the eye, sure his would display a bright red neon Broken Heart sign. Ember’s husband, Junior Agent Rory Dennison, filled the other seat.
Alex sat at the head of the table with a man Adam didn’t recognize. Middle-aged. Military-styled haircut. Icy black eyes that glittered from the only unfriendly face in the room. The overhead screen lowered and the room darkened as Alex made introductions. “Team, this is Agent Atchison from the Special Activities division.”
That raised Adam’s eyebrows. Special Activities division? Of the Central Intelligence Agency? That was one federal entity Alex hadn’t tangled with before. Why now?
Agent Atchison rose to his feet and took over the meeting while Alex watched over steepled fingers. “As you all know, Mr. Brit Paxton was apprehended and killed by one of your agents. Unfortunately, that action was taken without consent and approval of the Agency.”
“So?” Adam snapped, instantly on the defensive. “I killed him, and I’d do it again. It was self-defense. He would’ve kill Shannon Reagan if I hadn’t gotten him first.”
Atchison glared at Adam. “As I said, once again you interfered with an active investigation.”
“Wait a minute.” Harley spoke up. “What’s this once again business?”
“You guys knew what happened in South Dakota?” Adam connected the dots fast and furiously. “Were you there that night?”
“Of course we were there. Gangjeon was our double agent.”
“That North Korean spy worked for you? Was Paxton there, too?” Atchison didn’t have to answer for Adam to know damned well Paxton was the ass who’d shot him. He rubbed the still healing divot beneath his collarbone.
Atchison’s eyes raked over Adam. “You may have known her as Tia Mia, but she was one of our best and deep inside North Korean naval intelligence for years.”
“I didn’t know her at all, I just buried her,” Adam said bluntly, his hackles up. Even angry, he respected Gangjeon. She’d gotten damned deep into North Korea. That woman had balls of steel and it was a damned shame she’d been murdered.
“Who killed her?” Atchison demanded.
“Ask Paul Reagan. We thought his security guard Ramsey was behind everything until your operator washed ashore, and he turned up dead.”
Atchison upper lip twitched. “You still have her satellite communicator.”
True story. Adam hadn’t handed anything he’d brought back from the island over to the CIA. Not Ramsey’s knife or Paxton’s Glock, but especially not the communicator. Not until Mother spilled its guts and decoded every last piece of intel hidden inside of it.
“I’ll give it to you when you start answering my questions. Now tell me. Were you in South Dakota when I damned near die
d? Was killing me part of your active investigation?”
Atchison sniffed. Adam took that for an affirmative. He stood, every muscle tensed to knock this arrogant spook on his ass. The bloody crawl to his gear bag had nearly done Adam in that night, and through it all, this guy did nothing but watch when he could’ve provided aid or at least called for help. Some brother-in-arms he was. “You bastards knew I’d been shot, and you left me to die?”
The CIA agent blew out a small breath. “The Agency doesn’t compromise the integrity of an undercover operation just because—”
“Integrity?” Now Alex was on his feet, both fists clenched. “Screw your Agency bullshit! You call attempted murder and leaving an injured man behind integrity?”
“I call national security a helluva lot more important than any one single man or woman!” Atchison roared over Alex. He stabbed his index finger to the tabletop. “So does every last one of you sitting around this table. Don’t give me your fucking ‘never leave a man behind’ bullshit. You’re here to serve and protect, just like me, and you get paid goddamned good for it. You’re the guys and dolls who stepped up for the job. None of you were drafted and sure as hell, no one came looking for you to do this thankless job. Shit, you’re not even G.I.” He spat the last word at Adam. “Now sit your ass down and give me that damned communicator!”
It wasn’t every day Alex got blasted and took it. When he sat, so did Adam. On the edge of his seat. His boss didn’t need trouble with the CIA, so he pulled the device in question from his pants pocket. With one thrust, he sailed it along the smooth tabletop to the arrogant agent at the other end.
Red-faced and sweating, Atchison secured it inside his suit pocket without taking his eyes off Adam. “Did you open any of Agent Gangjeon’s digital files?”
“I scanned her Facebook page and some of her e-mails, but you already know that. What do you really want?”
Atchison didn’t answer. Apparently, sharing time was over. He pointed the remote in his hand toward the overhead projector. A black-and-white picture flickered to life. It depicted CIA double-agent Gangjeon and Paxton, in close proximity—as in real close, under-the-sheets, proximity.
Another shot flashed on-screen, this one also an intimate and extremely personal shot of Paxton leaning over Tia Mia, nose to nose and obviously hard at work. Both lovers seemed oblivious of the camera. Yet a third photo revealed them walking across a green lawn, their hands entwined, the look on their faces carefree. She didn’t look the part of an undercover agent, and Paxton didn’t look the part of a no-good, cheating scoundrel, but Adam knew different. These were the assassins he’d encountered on the grassy plains of the Sioux nation. It was Tia Mia and Paxton who’d stolen the first Hummingbird drone and Paxton who’d shot him. They were behind this whole ugly mess. Not Paul Reagan.
The fourth and final image flashed on-screen. In it, Shannon stood with her hand on Agent Gangjeon’s shoulder, her head tilted sideways, obviously whispering something into the Korean operatives’ ear. The slideshow flicked off and the lights came back on.
Adam waited. Whatever Atchison said next, he wouldn’t like it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Miss Reagan is a traitor,” Atchison stated. “She’s complicit in the illegal sale of highly classified intelligence to a known enemy of the United States.”
“Who’d she sell it to?” Adam shot back at the arrogant G-man.
“Do I have to spell it out? She attempted to transact with someone she mistakenly believed was a DPRK agent, when in fact, Gangjeon worked for us.”
Adam pushed away, his fists planted, knuckles down to the tabletop. “She did not.”
“We have evidence.”
“You’ve got nothing. Shannon Reagan is as decent as they come. She’s not a traitor. Paxton sold those drones to the North Koreans, and you know it. Your double agent should’ve given you all the proof. For hell’s sake, look at your own damned pictures.”
“It was her computer access codes that were used to—”
“She never had computer access! Only basic I.D. to get into Reagan Industries, and Paxton stole that,” Adam bellowed. Everything out of this obnoxious man’s mouth pissed him off. “She asked for higher level access, but her father wouldn’t give it to her. Don’t you guys have a wiretap on his phone or something inside Reagan Industries to verify that? Hell, what’s the good of grooming a double agent for seven years if you still jump to conclusions? How stupid are you?”
Atchison stared him down, but Adam caught the shadow in the man’s deadly gaze. Yeah. The CIA had Reagan Industries wiretapped, videoed, and under close scrutiny. For a clandestine federal agency only authorized to operate outside the confines of the United States, they sure were busy in hometown Rosslyn, Virginia.
“She’s been under constant surveillance,” Atchison ground out.
Adam squared off even as he took his seat. “Check with Paul Reagan. He can verify everything I just told you. His daughter’s no spy.”
“Now you’re defending him?” Atchison’s brow spiked. “Interesting, not that it matters. Keep away from her.”
“Did you ever think maybe Miss Reagan had a gutful of her husband sleeping around? That maybe all you’ve got is a shot of her telling your sleazy double agent to back off before she gouged her eyeballs out of her head? Jesus Christ, don’t you guys have fraternization rules about sleeping with the enemy?”
Atchison never batted an eye. “You won’t get another warning, Torrey. Stay clear of the Reagans.”
That was it. Adam kicked his chair to the floor behind him. Connor and Izza were on their feet right alongside him this time. The tension in the room expanded, reverberated, and thundered in Adam’s head. This was nothing more than a pissing contest that this measly Fed had no chance of winning.
“I’ll visit Shannon Reagan any damned time I choose.” Adam caught a glance at Alex out of the corner of his eye. The guy was unusually quiet, considering the uproar he was usually in the middle of. “I’ll tell you what, Atchison. You bring me damning and irrefutable evidence that Shannon did what you’re accusing, and then I’ll back off. Until that day, you and your spooks stay the hell out of my way.”
He caught the twinge of lip muscle as Atchison tried to look intimidating. The man was perturbed. He’d come there expecting to be obeyed, not threatened. Well, guess what, asshole? No one bullies me. Not in my house. Not at my job, and sure as hell not in the middle of my team.
Apparently Alex agreed. He made no attempt to pacify or protect Atchison from Adam, and neither did he patronize his way-off-the-reservation, pissed-off junior agent. Atchison turned to Alex, though, no doubt expecting the CEO of The TEAM to run some kind of gentlemanly interference. Guess again. That boat had sailed.
Alex nodded once toward the Sit Room doors, his icy blues as cold and as deadly as Adam’s. He’d just offered Atchison his silent ‘don’t let the door hit you on the ass’ nod. Adam settled down. Alex in his corner meant the war was already over. Atchison just didn’t know it yet.
The CIA agent breathed in a deep breath and took his time expelling it. He leaned over, his fingertips splayed to the tabletop and his face down. When he lifted his head, his gaze arrowed to Adam. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. This operation is officially out of your jurisdiction, and you, Junior Agent Torrey, are out of your league. Any further interference or attempt to contact Miss Reagan will be construed as complicity. Don’t think I won’t bring the full weight of the law down on your hard head and anyone else who aids and abets. Do I make myself clear?” He scanned the circle of agents ending at Alex.
Adam didn’t answer. Neither did Alex, or anyone else—not until an angry and very unsatisfied CIA agent let himself out of the Sit Room and slammed the door behind him.
The TEAM went wild.
“Who does he think he is?” Izza turned and shot multiple derogatory hand signals at the closed door. “He’s got a lot of nerve. This isn’t a third-world country he can steamroll over
on his highway to hell. He’s got no business threatening American citizens like he just did.”
“Sit down, Izza,” Alex said. She sat, but her outburst lingered.
Adam still stood, every muscle primed to fight. He gritted his teeth and studied his boss. Now was the moment. He’d always respected Alex on principle. The man worked hard, had a stellar reputation in the intense world of spec ops, and he wasn’t a half-bad businessman. But this was rubber-to-the-road time. If Alex meant to back away from doing what was right because some jerk-off out of the CIA told him to, Adam was through with The TEAM. He could go it alone. He’d done it before.
“He does have a point,” Alex said quietly. “This is out of our jurisdiction.”
“I’m outta here,” Adam said, pissed to his gills and flat out not going to swallow any more bullshit. “That’ll take care of your jurisdictional problems. I’ll clear my desk and—”
“You’ll shut up and sit down.” Alex leveled a bemused smirk along with his curt order. “And no, you won’t quit. You do, and that bastard will have exactly what he wanted. He’s blowing smoke up your ass, and you’re sucking it in. He came here to see what you knew. That’s all.”
Adam cast a glance around the table. Everyone seemed to be waiting on him. Harley leaned back in his seat, relaxed and watching with the same twinkle in his eye that Alex had. Mark, too. Even Connor and Izza seemed to know something Adam didn’t.
“What?” he finally asked.
“Sit.” Alex nodded him down, his fingers interlocked on the table in front of him.
Reluctantly, Adam righted his chair and took his seat.
Alex continued. “The CIA seems to think you know something about the disappearance of the drones.”
“Wait.” Adam stopped him with a palm to his face. “Disappearance? I thought the Navy had them. Didn’t they retrieve them when they extracted us?”
“They did, but somehow, all four drones went missing from the Navy lab in Anacostia last night.”
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