Adam

by Irish Winters

  “No shit?” Adam had no idea. That was why the cheesy grins and nods from everyone else. “Don’t they have surveillance video in their lab? Can’t they tell who did it?”

  “It was disabled.”

  “Sounds like someone’s running a black op on the Navy to me,” Izza murmured.

  “Someone’s sure been busy,” Harley said.

  “Damned busy,” Connor agreed.

  “What would I have to do with their disappearance?” Adam asked, his hackles still on edge. “Just because of what happened in South Dakota? Does the CIA think I stole that drone, too? Man, that’s a stretch.”

  Alex nodded, his chin resting on his thumb, his index finger stretched alongside his jaw in intense concentration. Adam waited. He thought he knew everything, that Paxton had killed Ramsey after he’d killed Paxton’s love interest, the North Korean operative. Then Paxton had to kill Donavan because the kid saw him kill Ramsey. And for sure, it was Ramsey who’d killed the flight crew. Everything that had gone down so far had everything to do with the drones. Didn’t it? So how did Shannon’s disappearance figure in? And why was Ramsey on the Gulfstream in the first place? Was he there to protect the drones from Paxton or was he in on it with the traitor? That actually made sense, but Paul Reagan had to be involved. Adam just didn’t know why or how.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Boss? What do you think is going on?”

  Alex shook his head in denial. “I’m not certain I know yet. Think about South Dakota for a minute. Who do you believe shot you?”

  “At first I thought it was Ramsey, but it was more likely Paxton now that I’ve seen him and the CIA’s double agent together. That explains the woman who stole the first drone. She had to be the Korean operative. She and Paxton did it. Atchison all but confirmed that much.”

  “Possibly.” Alex seemed to be looking through him. “How did they know you were going to be there?”

  Adam shrugged. “I was beta-testing Reagan’s experimental GPS. The second it flicked on, he knew exactly where I was.”

  “Or Paxton and the Korean had someone inside Reagan Industries,” Harley said quietly.

  “Then they...” Adam glanced around the table at his friends. Could one of these people be a double agent, too?

  “Ah-ah. Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you go looking at me like that, Junior Agent Torrey,” Mother snapped. “If anyone’s the spy in here, it’s you. You’re the new kid on the block. Besides, David sweeps for bugs every morning. He’d find a listening device the second one showed up inside TEAM HQ, damn it. Sheeesh!” She poked a long, scolding finger at him. “I know what you’re thinking. Knock it off.”

  “I didn’t mean you guys. I was just...” Adam back-pedaled. That was exactly what he’d thought. Mother was right. There was no way a leak could come from inside The TEAM. Heat flamed his cheeks. He was as big an ass as Atchison.

  “We’ve got a bug-detection system in the lobby and elevator, too.” Harley spoke up. “We’d know if someone was carrying long before they made it inside.”

  “Then maybe our server got hacked,” Adam offered, searching for a logical explanation.

  Wrong again.

  “Say what?” Mother’s head turned so fast, Adam leaned back in his chair to escape her laser eyes. “You’re really starting to piss me off.”

  “But it’s poss—”

  “No, it isn’t!” Again that fancy, manicured fingernail stabbed at his direction. “You’d better watch the next word that comes out of your mouth, or you’re never getting my help again. I can set you up with a damn piece of papyrus and an abacus faster than you can say Jackie Robinson.”

  “Okay, okay.” Adam bowed to the force of his genius computer gal. He’d caught the gleam in Ember’s eyes the second he’d put his big foot in his mouth. Once wasn’t enough, but no, he’d screwed up twice. He bit his lip and swallowed his pride. “Who then?”

  “Who do you think?” Mother huffed. “Someone who is not us, that’s who. And here I’ve been helping you find your girlfriend. Humph.”

  “I’m sorry.” Adam offered instant contrition. “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that, except—”

  “It’s someone inside Reagan Industries,” Alex interrupted the sparring match before Adam had a third chance to piss Mother off. His gaze pierced Adam, seeing right through him, and nailing him to the wall at the same time. “Someone who has a vested interest in making sure those drones are not available to the Defense Department.”

  “Why not? They work,” Izza said. “We saw them in action.”

  “Yeah,” Connor agreed. “They buzzed us the day you guys showed up. Shannon dropped them when she gave the kill code.”

  Alex’s brow lifted at that detail. “She had the kill code?”

  This was so not going the way Adam had hoped. Now Alex sounded suspicious. “Yes. She contacted a friend of hers, a Reagan Industries engineer, Terrence Moore, the night before the flight, after her father refused her access to proprietary files. This Terrence dude sounds like a straight-up guy, though. He thought someone besides him and Reagan should know how to shut down the drones, so he gave the kill codes to her. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yeah. It was cool,” Connor said. “Three drones buzzed in. She stared them down, punched one of them bad boys in the nose, and all she said was, ‘God bless America,’ and they dropped.”

  “Just like that.” Izza snapped her fingers, a proud tilt to her head. “It was right out of Star Wars. You should’ve seen her.”

  “She was the bravest out there,” Adam whispered.

  “That she was,” Connor agreed. “She helped all of us, and some of us needed a lot of help.”

  Alex still stared. Adam’s throat went dry. How could he still suspect Shannon?

  “Did you see the drones fire their lasers?” Alex asked. “Lift off their landing docks? Recharge? Anything?”

  “No,” Adam replied. “They talked to us. That’s pretty much all they did. Fly and chat. One knew Shannon.”

  Mother sniffed. “Hmmpf. That ain’t nothing. I can make your electric stapler talk if I want it to.”

  Adam hadn’t taken his eyes off Alex. Mother was right. All they’d seen was a flying, talking robot. There were kid’s drones on the market that could do what they’d done. Hell, the commercial drone industry had exploded in the last couple years. The Hummingbirds hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, not that Adam needed them to use that laser they supposedly had.

  “What’s your plan, son?” Alex asked quietly.

  Adam stuttered, not expecting that direct question. Yeah, he had a plan all right, but sharing it with the whole team wasn’t on his agenda. Alex eyed him intently. Damn. Now the devil really was in the detail.

  “I’m going to Reagan Manor to talk with Shannon. She’s not answering her phone. I have to see her.”

  “May I suggest you not—?”

  “I said I’m going.” Adam stood again, sick and tired of being manipulated and told to back off. “You don’t have to like it, Boss. I’m still going.”

  Alex motioned for him to take his seat again. “Not as one of my agents, you’re not. The CIA will be laying for you. Don’t be stupid. Let’s not give them what they want so quickly.”

  “I’ll go,” Izza offered.

  “Me too.” Connor pushed his chair back, a cocky smile on his face. “I owe Shannon my wife’s life, and mine, too. We were both in bad shape. She did a lot of crazy things out there, but every one of them was to help.”

  Adam heard other chairs scrape. It sounded like everyone was going with him, except Alex. He’d turned to Mother. “I have a better idea. Let’s send someone they’ll least expect. Sasha?”

  “Yes, Boss?” Mother beamed. Silver-haired with premature gray, sharp eyes, as blue as Alex’s, and always dying to do something clandestine if he would only let her, she couldn’t have looked happier. “What would you like me to do?”

  “Accompany Adam to Reagan Manor. Talk your way in
side. You ought to be able to do that.”

  “I am a good talker, huh?”

  What an understatement.

  Alex rolled his eyes. “You’re not going in to chat. Leave as many tattletales as you can. It’s time we had eyes and ears inside Reagan Manor, too.”

  “I can do that.” Mother’s head bobbed effusively.

  “Shannon owns a small publishing company,” Adam remembered. “Mother could pose as an aspiring author. That might get her inside.”

  “Ooooh.” Her eyes widened. “I’ve already written a book, you know. It’s my autobiography. Maybe I’ll see if she wants to publish it.”

  Alex pushed back from his chair. “Then it’s settled. Leave now. The CIA won’t be expecting anything so soon. Take Ember with you. Two women will look less suspicious.”

  Adam nodded. Hell, he’d take the Girl Scouts if they got him inside Reagan Manor.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Miss Reagan, you have visitors,” stuffy Hubbard, her father’s male butler, announced in his stiff, formal tone.

  “Who are they?” Shannon turned from the back-door window, her thoughts a couple of thousand miles away on an island in the Pacific. I should’ve been happy there. I had it all. Jimmy. Adam. Me. The real me.

  “Two women. They say they’re writers, ma’am.” Never one to break protocol, he dressed in the uniform of all Reagan employees, only his was pressed and starched stiff as a board. She hoped her father paid him enough. Hubbard played the part of an uppity butler well, right down to his polished wingtips, and his lying eyes. If ever there were a murder in Reagan Manor, it would definitely be the butler who done it. That was how much she trusted him. Or anyone.

  “Shall I show them in?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right there.” The moment he left the spacious gourmet kitchen with all its polished copper pots, gray slate floor and black appliances, she tried the back door again. The alarm armed, its green light blinking like the rat it was. Damn it.

  Biting back her despair, she knew she’d never leave, even if all the doors and windows were left wide open, not with Jimmy Malone locked away upstairs and under the same strangling scrutiny she was. They were prisoners in her father’s house, and he held all the keys. The knowledge suffocated her every thought.

  She turned from the locked exit, needing to breathe. To run. Wishing she could fly. This regal edifice had always creeped her out, more so since she’d been forced to return to it. Maybe it was Hubbard. Maybe it was the echo in the too-big and too-empty rooms. Or the creepy basement the manor rested on. Even as a little girl, she’d hated going down there. There weren’t enough lights. Or something.

  But now? The stuffy mansion had become her prison.

  Calming her fluttering nerves, she entered the hallway that led to her father’s front entry. Each doorway along the narrow route sported elaborate moldings, cornices, and the crystal doorknobs of old-fashioned times. The floor itself was imported Italian marble, as cold as the man who’d ordered the construction of the imposing mansion.

  Thick, black velvet drapes covered the windows, themselves patterned with diamond-paned glass, leaden jail bars filled with crystal lies that distorted even the sun’s pure light. Shannon forced her gaze from the single slice of light falling between the shrouds of dark. She might see freedom if she looked outside, and she knew better than to long for it. Dreams were over with her heart trapped inside the Reagan dungeon.

  Paul Reagan had made that clear. Her upstairs bedroom was three rooms down the hall from Jimmy’s nursery, but the baby’s door was always locked. Only Linda held the key. The Bobbsey Twins were only two of an army of clones, all sober-faced, silent, and watching every move she made. Accompanied, escorted, guarded—whatever. She no longer set foot outside the manor without them, so she went nowhere except back and forth to Reagan Industries. Besides, Jimmy was there.

  Hubbard stood at attention, his hand on the open doorknob, tapping his foot and waiting. Just inside the imposing entrance, two women waited, their eyes taking in the grand accommodation. Shannon’s heart leapt in her breast. Ember Dennison!

  Shannon extended her hand in formal greeting, her voice restrained, hoping Ember took the hint and didn’t give anything away to Hubbard. “How may I help you?”

  Ember accepted the handshake, and smiled that sweet, quirky smile. She wasn’t dressed in a flowing halter-top dress today. Instead, she’d worn a very reasonable schoolmarm skirt with a simple white cotton blouse, an oversized gray cardigan sweater draped over her shoulders nearly to her knees. The outrageous tennis shoes were replaced with black-and-white saddle shoes with bright neon green laces that matched her socks. She curtsied.

  Shannon couldn’t help but smile. Ember’s presence helped her believe. There was still hope.

  “Miss Reagan.” Ember curtsied again. “My name is Lucille Ventura, and my friend here is Sasha...” She glanced at her accomplice, a silver-haired woman with bright blue eyes.

  “Dickens,” Sasha spoke right up. “Sasha Dickens, just like the old English gent.” She dropped her satchel with an undignified thump and offered her hand. While she gave Shannon’s a good hard shake, Sasha cast her attention up into the high cathedral ceiling. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Thank you.” Shannon smiled graciously, still keeping her emotions under tight control.

  Sasha turned a full circle, taking in the view of the gold stars sprinkled on the indigo ceiling overhead. “I’m what you might call a prolific author. I was hoping you would look at my first manuscript, and maybe, you know, tell me what you think.”

  “I don’t usually accept manuscripts at my home,” Shannon said, hoping she sounded businesslike. It was hard not to throw all of her questions at Ember at once, to beg her to tell her how Adam was doing, but Hubbard would notice. He seemed to be waiting for further instructions. “But since you’re here, let me take a look.” She turned to the butler. “Thank you, Hubbard. That will be all.”

  “Shall I serve refreshments, Miss Reagan?” he asked, his nose in the air, as always.

  “Yes, that would be nice.” Shannon gestured toward the sitting room, steering her clients in the opposite direction of Hubbard.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He twitched a small nod and turned toward the kitchen. Not that he would prepare the refreshments. Oh no. He did know which maid or housekeeper to summon, though.

  Shannon showed her guests into the sitting room and closed the door behind her. But even then, she cautioned Ember with a finger to her lips, motioning for them to sit on the couch. “How can I help?” she asked stiffly.

  “Well, Miss Reagan.” Sasha pulled a three-inch thick manuscript from her satchel. She was dressed much the same as Ember, but the piercing intelligence in her eyes took Shannon’s breath away. This woman was analyzing, calculating, and recording all she saw. “It’s like this. I’ve been writing the story of my life for a few years now, and it’s much better literature than a lot of books on the New York Times best-seller’s list. Honest. I’d like you to publish it for me. See what you think.” She leafed through the first couple of pages of the heavy, three-inch document before she turned it around and plopped it, title up, onto Shannon’s lap. “Like this part right there. Why don’t you read it, then tell me if it isn’t the most romantic way of telling a love story that you’ve ever seen. Go on. Tell me. I’m a writer. I’ve had plenty of rejection. I can take it.”

  Shannon drew her index finger down the page to the lines Sasha had indicated. There between the black lines of print was a handwritten message in red ink.

  I miss you and I love you ~ Adam

  A hiccup squeaked out of her. Unbidden tears betrayed her depth of feelings. Lowering her head, she feigned disinterest while her heart thumped a loud Hallelujah! from Handel’s Messiah. Her soul soared, fell to earth, then soared again. Hubbard would be back shortly. Eyes and ears were everywhere. Her father had the entire place wired. She couldn’t be seen or heard having an emotional meltdown, but—he lov
es me.

  “Perhaps we can do business,” she said softly, squeezing her fingers tight to still the tremors. Just to touch those written words offered strength she hadn’t felt in days. She gulped, needing Adam’s arms around her. His confidence.

  Ember reached one hand across from the couch to Shannon’s arm. That steadying touch radiated nothing but friendly warmth, the first in days. “If you could, ma’am, there’s another real good part on page three hundred and eighteen. You might like to read it, too.”

  Shannon hurriedly thumbed the pages. Again, bright red masculine penmanship buoyed her spirits. I won’t stop until you and Squeaks are in my arms again. I don’t know what’s really going on. All I know is that we belong together. You. Me. Squeaks. I trust you. Be strong. I’m coming.

  God, I love him. She looked up into Hubbard’s sharp eyes. He stood at the now opened door, a tray of refreshments in his hand and a piercing scowl on his snooty face.

  “Oh, my goodness, Hubbard. You’ve returned just in time.” She offered the weighty manuscript for the butler’s perusal, hoping she’d disguised her feelings. “You really must read this paragraph. I think I might just have found the next greatest love story. It’s making me cry. Here. Please. Come sit with me and tell me what you think.”

  “No, ma’am.” He sniffed, depositing the tray of finger foods and ice water on the coffee table between them. “I don’t read romance.”

  No, of course you don’t. You’re too busy spying on me.

  She tried again, knowing darned well he wouldn’t. “May I read it to you then? It has the perfect angst, and all the tenderness of the greats.”

  “Shall I pour, or will that be all, ma’am?” he asked, instead of answering. “If so, I have more important things to do.”

  Shannon relented, feigning disappointment. “I’ll pour when we’re ready, but you’ll have to read it when it’s finally in print then.” She caught Ember’s cute wink as Hubbard shut the door on his way out.

  Sasha blew out a soft sigh. “So you think there’s a chance?” she asked slyly.