Imperial Stout

by Layla Reyne

  “We need answers,” Aidan said. “And I know where to get them.” He shoved the will and remaining customs forms into a folder and headed for the stairs at the back of the office. Nic followed him up two flights to the FBI’s floor, then around the corner into “the cave,” the interior boardroom that’d been converted to the Cyber agent bullpen.

  Through the stacks they found Lauren hunched behind three open laptops, at least one unofficial. “Agent Hall,” Aidan said, announcing their presence.

  Her head bobbed up, blue eyes wide. “How’d you find me?”

  Aidan dropped into a visitor chair. “What would Whiskey do?”

  Lauren clapped, absurdly loud in the otherwise deserted room. “Oh! We should get W-W-W-D bracelets!”

  “No,” he and Aidan said together.

  She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “I’m going to grow a sense of humor tree in the corner.”

  “In the cave?” Aidan said, gesturing at the windowless room they occupied.

  “Touché,” she conceded. “A girl can dream.”

  Nic claimed the other visitor chair. “Can a lady tell us what she’s found so far?”

  She shot him a sly grin. “You’re picking up his habits.” She was perceptive as hell, an analyst first, specializing in human behavior before she’d become an agent. She must have also read his hesitance to say anything about it, or Cam, in front of Aidan, because she mimed sealing her lips and launched into her findings.

  “We have an answer on Kristić,” she said. “He’s definitely the one behind it.”

  “Freeze all of his finances and travel,” Aidan ordered. “He may think he’s leaving Monday, but not if he’s officially under suspicion.”

  “Already made the requests,” Lauren said. “But it’s the weekend. It might not trickle down to some agencies until Monday.”

  “Fuck,” Aidan cursed.

  “And if there’s anyone at the bank I just tapped who’s friendly with Kristić, they’ll tip him off.”

  “Where is he?” Aidan said. “I’m assuming not in the hospital.”

  “Checked himself out, against medical advice,” she confirmed.

  “When you came in, you said it was Kristić, for sure,” Nic said. “What else do you have on him?”

  Lauren spoke as she rotated one of her laptops toward them. “Going on what you said last night, or rather this morning, I found the deposits to Rebecca Monroe.” She struck a few keys, highlighting deposits. “Account numbers match.”

  “And this one’s Kristić’s?” Nic said, pointing at the sender account number.

  More keystrokes and more account records populated the screen. “One of his shell companies, emphasis on his.”

  “Meaning?” Aidan said.

  “Kristić set this company up, personally. He signed all the paperwork, and it’s three affiliates deep behind one of his US registered companies. It’s also not tied to any accounts he shared with his wife. She didn’t have access.”

  “She probably didn’t even know about it,” Nic reasoned. “Do we know why?”

  Lauren spun one of the other laptops around, browser windows open. On one, the museum’s page with details on tonight’s exhibit opening and the artifacts on display. The other, a Wiki page on the Kosovar Romani displaced in Serbia during the Balkan War. “He was trying to steal her heritage.”

  “I thought the artifacts were Serbian, same as Kristić,” Nic said.

  “No,” Aidan said. “They’re Romani.” He grabbed the folder off the floor, yanked out the will, and rifled through its pages, finger eventually jabbing at one in particular. “They go back to her people after her death, a heritage museum in Kosovo.”

  He shoved the page under Nic’s nose, and now some of the Serbian-Not-Serbian made sense. “They were never going to him,” Nic said. “How much are they worth?”

  “Exactly the right question, Attorney Price.” Lauren pulled up another screen. “The last assessment, from the insurance forms they updated before traveling.”

  The number on-screen boggled Nic’s mind. “He can’t just take them either,” Nic said. “It has to look like a robbery, unconnected to him.”

  “Which they could do under the cover of the gala opening, tonight.” Aidan was up and already moving toward the exit. “Briefing in thirty.”

  Nic shot out of his seat and grabbed him by the arm. In the excitement over Kristić, they’d lost focus on one critical element, the most important person, to him. “Cam—”

  “Is undercover for the FBI,” Aidan said, not missing a beat. “He’s one of the best agents I’ve worked with, and I trust him completely. More importantly, he’s family. I won’t leave him behind.”

  Words Nic’s SEAL brain could understand, even if his insides still tossed and turned with worry.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cam had barely stepped out of the bathroom when fingernails dug into his arm, Abby yanking him out into the hallway.

  “What the hell is going on?” she hissed. Every bit of control and obedience she’d fronted for Becca was gone. Eyes wide, her breath came in short bursts and her grip on his arm, while strong, still trembled.

  He had to make a decision. Keep up the ruse that he’d gone rogue, or put it all out there, let Abby in on the bluff, and hope he’d done enough to earn Abby’s trust, to convince her he was her best shot, not Becca. Weighing in favor of trust was her sincerity and remorse in the elevator. Cam didn’t think she could fake that, and there’d only be more of that in Becca’s column.

  He made his decision. Backing her against the wall, he stepped close and whispered low. “I’m trying to keep us alive.”

  “So all that out there—” she threw an arm out toward the living area “—was a lie?”

  He wished. “Not all of it.”

  A shadow fell across the mouth of the hallway, and Cam crowded into Abby’s space, a forearm braced on the wall blocking their faces, pretending he was going in for a kiss. Abby’s lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, wanting a real one. He turned his chin instead, dodging and slipping past her cheek. Pretending to kiss her elsewhere for anyone who was looking. But really not.

  Cam waited until Jared passed, on his way to the bathroom, then stepped back and hustled Abby into the bedroom across the hall, closing the door partway behind them.

  Abby jerked out of his hold, halfway between seething and dejected. “So that kiss last night was a lie too?”

  “I had to know whether you were lying. If you were still on Becca’s side, for real, I had to sell the rogue cover. I need to stay close, if I’m going to get you and your sister out of this.”

  Sighing, she sank onto the end of the bed. “Who the fuck am I supposed to trust? How do I know you’re not lying now? Becca’s got me tied in knots and you just pulled a fucking one-eighty. Which end is up? Fuck, I just want to get me and my sister out of this alive.”

  The fact she was asking him those questions, telling him where she was at, was all Cam needed to know. There was more than a nugget of trust there he could expand on. “I believe you, Abby, and I need you to believe me.” Cam knelt in front of her, a gentle hand over hers on her knee. This was what Cam did best—the rescue part of the equation—and he wouldn’t fail Abby. He’d do what Nic said. Use all of his past, and all of his present, to do his job. “I won’t lie. Right now, we’re on a razor’s edge. We have to play this very carefully, but this is what I do. Trust me, work with me, and I will get you and your sister clear. Can you do that?”

  She looked up, eyes still wary, but after a deep inhale, nodded. “All right. What do we do?”

  “Let’s go put on a show.” Standing, he held his hand out to her, and once she was steady on her feet, slung an arm over her shoulder. She circled his waist with her arm, but the hold, while convincing, was just shy of being with actual intent.


  They strutted back out into the living room, together.

  Becca grinned. “Not staying out of the middle any longer?”

  He kissed Abby’s temple. “Your girl convinced me otherwise.”

  Becca approached, trailing a nail down his chest over his T-shirt. “Maybe we can take a little break.”

  “On the contrary,” Kristić said, reemerging from the kitchen. “Our timeline’s been accelerated again. We’re doing this tonight.”

  Abby’s arm clenched around his waist. He held her tighter.

  “I thought we were waiting for the public show tomorrow night? Or at least after the soft show tonight?” he asked. “Let the attention die down.”

  Kristić shook his head. “I’m not waiting. And doing it during tonight’s show will provide distraction and cover.”

  The change in plans wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but would his team on the outside be ready? “Why the expedited schedule?” he asked.

  “Because someone just pinged my bank accounts.”

  A five-foot-nothing someone who was as accurate with a computer as she was at the firing range. Cam bit the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile. His team knew all right.

  * * *

  Cam hated wearing a tux. At least this jacket didn’t have fucking tails, but the stiff fabric and bowtie still made him feeling unnecessarily contained.

  Caged.

  He was restless enough as it was, eyes roving the museum floor as he followed Kristić and Abby. Kristić shook hands like the consummate dignitary he was and accepted condolences like the grieving husband he should have been, near tears and with a choked voice he effortlessly affected. Acting as translator, Abby, dressed in a stylish silver gown with her hair pulled back in a bun, played the part well. In front of them, Becca, wearing a blond wig and black pantsuit, acted as security and cleared a path for them. Jared had hung back, an evil shadow on Cam’s tail, while Russ waited outside in the car, ready for a quick getaway.

  Observing the situation around him, Cam counted guests and security personnel. It didn’t look like any more force than usual for one of these events, not that he’d been to that many to know, but this was what he’d expected. Maybe a few more guards were on hand than would normally be for a soft opening, but not unexpected given the repeated theft attempts.

  He was beginning to second-guess whether his team knew this was going down tonight when the crowd parted for a striking couple. The man, with bright blue eyes and light brown hair, was taller than everyone else in room and wore a tux better than everyone else too. And the woman... Well, if a certain prosecutor wasn’t already in Cam’s sights, and if the woman in red weren’t married to his boss’s brother and able to break his neck with her bare hands, Cam would have definitely asked for her number.

  As it were, he already had it.

  Jamie and Mel, clearly recruited for an assist, walked close and cozy, seemingly in their own little world. So much so that neither Becca nor Kristić gave them a second glance, their attention elsewhere as Jamie, passing by, dropped something into Cam’s pocket. His best friend always did have a trick up his sleeve. By the slight weight of the object, Cam figured it for a flash drive or some sort of trigger.

  After another few minutes of shaking hands, Kristić was interrupted by a museum docent. “Sir, if you’ll come with me please, we need to finish preparing the exhibit.” Meaning they needed him and Abby to open the safe.

  It was the perfect setup. If Kristić got away with the artifacts, no one would be the wiser, their attention distracted by the crowd. If things went sideways, he’d play the hostage, taken by Becca’s crew. Becca had realized she was the patsy as they’d gone over the plan earlier that day. Too far in to change course, she’d negotiated for more money instead. Kristić had given it to her, which made Cam wonder exactly how much those artifacts—and Kristić’s ego—were worth, given the funds he’d expended to get them.

  On the way to the vault, Kristić slowed, waiting for Cam to draw to his side. “There’s more security on the floor than we accounted for.”

  Not as many as Cam would have liked, but Kristić had noticed. He’d missed the deadliest, though. The woman. Mel.

  “Only a few extra,” Cam said. “And not mine anymore.”

  “Good. Abigail, dear, wait a moment.”

  Abby halted a few steps ahead with Becca, and when Cam and Kristić approached, the other man lifted his hands. He appeared to be adjusting a cufflink, but in fact, he was showing Cam a hidden trigger. He tapped it once and a soft glow lit the pendant on the necklace he’d insisted Abby wear. “You’re going to have to prove it, Agent Byrne, or two taps, and Miss Monroe will pay for your ruse.”

  Fuck, she was wired with some sort of explosive.

  The light died in the necklace, explosive inactive since Kristić hadn’t tapped the trigger a second time, but Abby remained deathly still, staring at Cam with unguarded terror in her eyes. He tried to impart in his stare that he wouldn’t let her down, but she looked unconvinced. And absolutely repulsed when Kristić looped his arm through hers, tugging her along. She glanced back over her shoulder, and Cam mouthed, It’ll be okay.

  As they moved through the crowd toward the exhibit antechamber, Cam dipped a hand in his pocket, getting a better sense of what Jamie had dropped in there. A button of some sort. An SOS transmitter? A trigger to create a diversion? An EMP that would kill all the power? Maybe also kill the signal from Kristić’s cufflink to the bomb around Abby’s neck? He prayed for the latter, and prayed he’d be able to time it just right, if the moment presented itself. He still wanted to catch Kristić red-handed, to lock up Aidan and Nic’s case airtight. He assumed that was why the FBI also hadn’t moved in. They were letting him drive this, and he had to do so very carefully.

  The docent led them into a private room that backed up to the wall where the artifacts would be displayed. Midway along the wall, there was a latch and a pass-through door, through which the artifacts would be transferred and arranged in a glass exhibit case on the other side. It’d make for a good reveal, if Kristić had any intention of actually revealing them. In the middle of the room, two rolling carts sat side by side, one prepped with a velvet display tray, the other transporting the voice-activated safe.

  The docent held his hand out toward the safe. “Mr. Kristić, I understand your translator will be able to provide the necessary access.”

  Nodding, he approached the safe, went through the sequence to get to the voice prompt, then he and Abby spoke the unlock phrases in Serbian and Romani. The safe door opened.

  “Very good, sir,” the docent said.

  Kristić drew out the tray of valuable items—the shining cloth and jewels bright, the papers carefully tucked in leather. Abby tried to step back, but Kristić tightened his arm, still in the curve of hers. The first sign things were about to go sideways. As they’d sketched out the plan this morning, they would wait for the docent to turn his back, to roll the cart over to the display case, and then Becca would knock him out.

  Instead, he’d put out his hand for the tray, and Becca, who’d circled behind him, shot the docent in the back. The other cart broke his fall, but in doing so, the racket drew another docent through the door.

  Jared shot him in the chest.

  “I said no shots!” Cam shouted low, crouching next to one, then the other docent’s body, feeling for a pulse. He felt that, and the rough edge of Kevlar vests, on both. He patted once, signaling them to stay down. “They’re dead,” he said, standing again, then to Becca and Jared, who was handing a spare gun to Kristić, “No more shots, or you’ll draw more men down on us.”

  “They’re already here,” Kristić said, as voices and the thunder of foot traffic approached from the back of the museum. “We need to get out of here,” he said, folding the fabrics around the leather binders and placing them and the jewels into a satchel he’d pulled
from inside the safe. “Becca, let’s go!”

  She grabbed him by the arm, gun in her other hand, positioning them to look like hostage and hostage-taker once they opened the door to the main gallery.

  “Give me Abby!” Cam demanded, determined to get her away from Kristić and get that bomb off her neck.

  “I don’t think so, Agent Byrne, and I say with complete certainty that you never went rogue. If I had to guess by the racket outside, the FBI’s waiting for me on the other side of that door.” Kristić dragged Abby closer. “She’s my insurance for getting through them, and then she’s going to bring this whole place down on top of everyone, including you.”

  No third party needed when Kristić could do the job himself.

  “Let me go!” Abby struggled in his hold, trying to kick and claw her way free, but Kristić silenced her fight with a finger over his cufflink trigger. “Not another move. The door, Jared,” he said with a nod.

  Jared pushed open the door, exiting first.

  A flash of red streaked by—the flutter of silk swirling around the wearer’s lightning-fast combat moves, her arms and legs moving in precise, deadly fashion—and Jared collapsed onto the floor.

  Becca charged out next, gun raised, her other arm around Kristić’s chest, pretending to drag him and Abby. “I’ve got Kristić and his translator!” she shouted. “Hold your fire or I’ll shoot them.”

  In her haste, and perhaps shock at Mel’s surprise attack, Becca had lost sight of Cam behind her. He kicked a leg up, hitting the pressure point at her wrist and knocking the gun free. He grabbed it out of the air and Mel grabbed Becca, tearing her from Kristić and tossing her to the floor next to Jared.

  Kristić spun, clutching Abby in front of him, using her as a shield against Cam, who had his weapon trained on them, and a dozen other FBI agents also aiming guns at him. While they’d been in the antechamber, the patrons had been cleared out and the scene secured.

  Kristić’s number was up, and he knew it, his desperation escalating. “I have a bomb,” he shouted, ripping off the cufflink and holding it up, exposing it as the trigger. He tapped it once and Abby’s necklace glowed.