by Layla Reyne
Peeved, Torres couldn’t deny the truth.
“He won’t help you,” Aidan said.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’ll do anything to save you. And in case he’s come to his senses and realized you’re not worth it, I brought some extra leverage with me from Houston. Someone innocent, unlike you.”
Torres opened the door and shouted, “Bring him in.”
Over his shoulder, Aidan glimpsed a jet wing. The prop plane from earlier? Was he in an airplane hangar? Moffett Airfield was close to Pearl. San Jose airport, too. Or had he already been flown farther away? His stomach sank again at the prospect.
Then crashed to the floor when Kevin Currie was shoved through the door.
* * *
Aidan staggered back to the chair, priorities shifting with each step. It was one thing for him to accept the worst-case scenario, to knowingly walk into a trap for the chance to meet the game-maker. It was another to force those consequences onto an innocent. The second Kevin was shoved through that door, Aidan’s number one priority became getting him out of this alive.
“That guy’s not really FBI, is he?” Kevin glanced back and forth between the closed door Torres had left through and Aidan, looking both concerned and confused.
“That’s how he got you here?” Aidan asked.
“He flashed a badge. Looked all official and shit.”
“And you didn’t run? I thought that was your default.”
The first time Aidan and Jamie had tried to question Kevin, the former track star had led them on a foot chase. Being a hacker, Kevin wasn’t overly predisposed to authority figures.
“He said he worked with Jamie and that you guys needed my help. He knew things about the two of you and the case in Texas. I thought he was legit.” As he talked, Kevin made a slow circle of the room, going through the same motions Aidan had, instinctively looking for a way out.
Aidan gave the kid a quick once-over, searching for anything on his person he could use to pick the door lock. Jeans, T-shirt, a lightweight hoodie and tennis shoes. No belt, no snaps, nothing Aidan could use.
“He used to be FBI. That’s why he was so convincing.” Aidan slumped in the chair. “You didn’t call Jamie to confirm? He’s been trying to reach you.”
“I lost my phone somewhere on the plane.” Or Torres had lost it for him. “Why’s Jamie trying to reach me?”
“Because I thought I saw you yesterday at a financial services company.”
“I was. Someplace called Pearl.”
Aidan shot back out of the chair, only wobbling a little. “That was you.”
“The other FBI agent—or another fake FBI agent, I guess—took me in there. He said they were working with you and they needed me to access an encrypted financial mainframe.”
Aidan described Renaud’s Peter Wald disguise.
“That’s him. He’s a bad guy?” Kevin ran a shaking hand over his shaved head, worried he’d said or done something he shouldn’t.
Aidan laid a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Kevin slid to the floor, bending his long runner’s legs and dangling his wrists over his knees. No watch or anything either, only the black rubber bracelets on his wrists. “He’s the one who brought you in. You seemed kind of out of it. He put you in here then came onto the plane. That’s when I started to figure something wasn’t right.”
Aidan retreated to the chair. “You were on the plane?”
“Said it was an FBI charter. Guessing that was a lie too.”
So Torres had brought Kevin from Houston and they’d rendezvoused with Renaud here. Where exactly was here? If they were going to get out, Aidan needed to gauge their surroundings. And get that location to Jamie, if possible. “Is the plane—are we—in a hangar?”
“Yeah, though not an airport I recognize. Small, looks private, with two other massive hangars besides this one, and one of ’em is missing the outside.”
“Missing the outside?”
“Like, it’s this huge dome structure—” he made an arc with his hands “—and it’s missing the outside walls, or its skin.”
“See-through?” Aidan said, and Kevin nodded.
Anyone who lived in the Bay Area, who’d traveled up and down the 101 between San Francisco and San Jose would recognize that description. “We’re at Moffett Airfield.”
Moffett was a federal airfield that rented runway and hangar space to certain Silicon Valley moguls and companies. Probably someone Renaud or Wald or Connors knew. Pearl was right across the tarmac. They hadn’t gone far at all, which was good news. Now he just had to relay their location to Mel and Jamie, without phones and in a way Torres couldn’t detect.
What would Jamie do?
What had Jamie done, when he’d need to get a message to Aidan?
Aidan smiled, remembering exactly what Jamie had done on their last case together. He needed a hacker and one was sitting right across from him. Luck o’ the Irish, for a change. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “I want to try something,” he said, lowering his voice. “But I need you to do some hacking, and some acting.”
Kevin snapped his bracelets, brows raised. “What’ve you got in mind?”
“Torres thinks he needs Jamie to hack the Aurora directory.”
“Yeah, because I failed.”
“Well, now you’re gonna give it another shot.”
“And do what, exactly?”
“Code a message to Jamie.”
Kevin stood, brushing off his hands and bouncing a little on his toes. Aidan recognized the thrill in his dark eyes, the same look Jamie got when hacking was on the agenda.
“We’re going to slip in some trades with very specific names,” Aidan said. “A trick Jamie taught me. I’m betting he’ll recognize it when he sees it.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Aidan rolled his neck, preparing for battle. “Distract the devil.”
* * *
Jamie checked the red dot on his phone, one of only two lifelines he had left to Aidan. It wasn’t moving, either across a hallway or around an office, and that stillness worried him. Under duress, Aidan paced, almost invariably. He wasn’t pacing now, leading to two conclusions, neither one good—Aidan was knocked out or the card was no longer on him.
Mel was already on her way to Pearl with Nic. Jamie had wanted to go with them, but not five minutes after they’d figured out what Renaud really wanted with Aidan, chaos had erupted.
A flood of new Aurora messages authorizing trades.
Are you sure? confirmation messages.
Hacks in the software so each message looked like it was from Aidan.
What the fuck did you do? messages after each trade was made.
Lauren streamed CNN Money on Aidan’s desktop, and it didn’t take long for the media to catch on, the talking heads frenzied over the sell-offs. A Silicon Valley collapse was playing out in real time.
With access through Aidan’s log-in and encryption, Jamie dug into the software code, racing to find a kill switch. It had to be there. He had to shut Aurora down before total ruin. Before someone leaked a picture of Hayden Talbott to the media. Before someone identified Hayden Talbot as Aidan Talley, a trader’s widower.
The perfect patsy.
“Are you seeing anything?” he asked Lauren.
“Besides the same shit show you are?” Lauren replied from Aidan’s desk.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Nada,” she said over her ringing phone. She silenced it, the third call she’d ignored during the past half hour.
“You’ve got the word out?” Jamie asked.
“Alerts are sent. But it takes time for orders to filter down. With Aurora messages appearing authentic, the tra
de requests look official, and if everyone else is selling off, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not.”
Which was why the trade activity wasn’t slowing.
Lauren rolled next to him, her laptop hitting the desk beside his. “There’s ninety minutes left of trading and this is the damage so far.” Her glittery nails tapped at a market index graph and countdown clock on her screen.
Neither looked good. Jamie redoubled his efforts. “If you’re done with alerts, get on this kill switch hunt with me.”
She opened the monitoring window on her screen, and together, they sifted through code, hacked through the ghosts underlying it, and ten minutes later, finally found the self-destruct mechanism.
Jamie tripped it.
But the trades kept going.
One minute.
Two minutes.
And finally halted.
Lauren blew out a giant breath. “Holy fuck.”
He mirrored her relief, this first battle won. “Nice work, Ms. Hall.”
“Likewise, Agent Walker.” Relief vanished, though, when her phone rang again. She reached back, snatched it off Aidan’s desk, and held it in her lap, eyes downcast. “Jamie, I need to tell you something.”
He didn’t like the guilty tone of her voice. He liked it even less when she turned back to her computer, clicked through a few folders, and opened another monitoring window.
Of his activity.
She’d been analyzing his usage too.
He shoved away from her, chair banging back against his desk. Confusion, fear and anger warred for dominance. “You’re monitoring me? Who ordered it?”
She held up her phone. “OPR.”
“Professional Responsibility?” Anger won out and he bolted out of his chair, getting as far away from the little traitor as he could. They already had enough of those to deal with. “How long have you been a mole for internal affairs?”
“I’m not a mole. OPR just called me in this morning.”
“You stepped out as I was installing the programs on your computer.”
She nodded. “When Cruz pulled me off another project, it became clear to the higher-ups that I was on this one.” She jutted her chin at the computer. “I already knew you and Aidan were innocent. I haven’t reported anything. That’s why OPR keeps calling.” She tossed her phone on the desk. Her disgust seemed real, but knowing who to trust was getting harder and harder.
“Then why are you monitoring me?”
“Because I’m a fucking analyst. It’s what I do.” She threw up her hands. “I was looking for evidence to clear you, not indict you. Unfortunately, I found something else.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to like this.”
His patience wore thin. “Spill it, Lauren. We don’t have time.”
“You’ve been hacked.”
Not possible. He had remote servers, firewalls, watchdogs, a whole host of protections in place to prevent it. He’d been careful. “How?”
She nodded at the monitoring software still open on his laptop. “I think that is how someone got to Aidan and into Aurora.”
He shut it down, immediately. One of his two lifelines to Aidan, gone. And if his suspicions were correct about the tracker, so was the other.
Before he could ask Lauren for more details, his own phone trilled with an incoming call from Mel. “He’s not there, is he?” Jamie said in answer.
“The card was in his office chair.”
Hence the immobile dot.
Shit!
Jamie raked a hand through his hair, yanking at the strands in frustration. “He’s nowhere in the building?”
“No,” Mel said. “And neither is Peter Wald. They left at the same time, according to their access badges.”
“Any footage?”
“It’s been wiped.”
His eyes darted to Lauren. They were definitely dealing with another hacker. “Listen, Mel, stay off the remote server until I figure out who the hacker is on the other end.”
“Got it. Nic and I are going to widen the search. We’ll keep you posted.”
Jamie hung up and pocketed his phone. “Aidan’s gone.”
“I heard. We’re not surprised, right?”
“Right.”
She tapped her nail on his closed computer lid. “So, rewind... Who’s been in your system, besides Aidan?”
“Mel,” he said, their boss coming to mind first. She’d had access when the Westley data downloaded. But he no longer doubted her loyalty. “She’s clean though.”
“Who else, then?”
Jamie mentally rolled back the days, stopping just over six weeks ago. To Aidan’s debrief in Charlotte, listening to how he’d decoded his messages transmitted to the monitoring program on Jamie’s remote server.
Recalling who’d helped him crack into his server.
And connecting that person to the suspect in the US Attorney’s office downstairs.
To the suspect who had a stake in someone else helping Renaud.
It was all connected.
To Oscar Fucking Torres.
Chapter Eleven
Jamie bypassed the elevator and blasted through the stairwell door, ignoring Lauren’s shouts behind him. Two flights down, he banged on the US Attorney’s office door. “FBI, open up.” A different guard from earlier opened the door and Jamie pushed inside, flashing his badge. “Agent Jameson Walker, FBI. I need to speak to the suspect Nic Price is holding.”
“Agent Walker?” Sandi poked her head around the corner. “Thought I heard you.”
“I need to talk to Westley. Is he still in the same holding room?”
Nic’s secretary nodded and Jamie didn’t wait for an escort. Westley was the only one who could confirm his suspicion. He charged into the room. “It’s Oscar, isn’t it?”
Westley tried to play it cool with an “Oscar, who?” but that right eye twitched again. Dead giveaway.
“Talk about me and my lover,” Jamie spat.
Westley gave a dramatic sigh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He twiddled his thumbs like he had all the time in the world.
Jamie didn’t. He was out of time. And patience.
Grabbing Westley by his sweater, he yanked him out of the chair and flung him against the wall. Westley hit it hard, making an audible oomph. Jamie didn’t give him time to recover, advancing. “Your boyfriend, Oscar Torres. He’s working with Renaud. Fuck if I know why, but Renaud’s holding it over you to guarantee your continued cooperation.”
Silence.
Confirmation.
Jamie rammed his forearm under Westley’s chin. “Where are they?”
More silence.
Westley knew. The motherfucker knew or at least had some idea. Jamie pressed harder, bellowing, “Where the fuck are they?”
Glaring, Westley found his voice again, strained but haughty. “Illegal software through which the FBI and Pearl were hacked. Assault of a suspect.”
Jamie let up. He needed to step back and regain control, but then Westley added, “Fucking your Bureau partner,” and Jamie was done. He renewed his effort, looming over the shorter man. “You’re going to pay, both of you, and if anything happens to Aidan—”
“Keep adding charges and violations, Agent Walker,” he croaked out. “Or maybe I should go ahead and drop the agent part.”
Jamie cocked back an arm, ready to let his fist fly, to wipe that smug grin off Westley’s face, but then a muscular arm wrapped around his chest and hauled him back.
“Ease off, Agent Walker,” the guard said.
Westley pushed off the wall, straightening his sweater and hair, all the while wearing that Cheshire Cat grin. Westley wasn’t going to tell him a
nything. He’d just continue to bait him into more charges.
And more of a delay in finding Aidan.
“Fuck.” Jamie wrestled free, and with a parting glare at Westley, stormed out. To a bullpen full of prying eyes and interested ears. Worse, down the right aisle, a suit with two more security guards were headed his direction. He didn’t have time for that either; there was a call he needed to make first.
Pivoting, Jamie ignored the agonizing pain in his leg and disappeared to the back, through the stairwell door again and up seven flights, hauling himself, three steps at a time, by his arms and upper body, to the roof. He needed space—to hide from those after him—and more important, he needed reception. He staggered across the glassed-in rooftop to the far eastern edge. Staring past the Pyramid, all the way out to the sunset reflecting on the Bay, he took a moment to catch his breath, to rein himself in, then dialed Oscar’s number.
The ex-agent picked up on the second ring. “Jamie, it’s good—”
“Where’s Aidan?”
“No hello, how’s it going, thanks for saving me?”
Jamie limped along the building’s edge, pacing like a caged, wounded animal. “If this is what you saved me for, then no thank you. I want my partner back.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jamie spun, motion on his periphery catching his eye. His best friend, Special Agent Cameron Byrne, appeared at the far end of the rooftop. What the fuck was he doing here? Had Mel called him? In any event, the kidnap and rescue assist couldn’t have been better timed. Jamie flagged him down and put the phone on speaker.
“Cut the shit, Oscar,” Jamie said. “You’re working with Renaud. Your boyfriend Westley gave you up.”
Cam’s eyes cut to his, and Jamie could see the wheels turning in his head, putting it all together.
“Where’s Aidan?” Jamie repeated.
“Westley’s not my boyfriend,” Oscar replied. “And he didn’t tell you shit, because he would have told you that much if nothing else.”
“He’s someone to you, though, and I’ve got him. So I repeat, where the fuck is Aidan?”
“I’ll tell you,” Oscar said, “if you’ll help us.”