Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  "I met him once. He worked closely with Alan on some projects. But he and I never had direct contact after I went under." Wyatt paused. "Getting back to the storage unit, why do you think Damon went there."

  "Well, he came out with a silver suitcase, so I'm thinking he went for that."

  A gleam entered Wyatt's eyes. "Maybe inside is the evidence we need to break this wide open."

  "I hope so. I just sent Damon my update and some photos I want to ask you about as well." She grabbed her phone and moved over to the couch. "After I spoke to Peter, I followed him. He met three men at a bar in Midtown." She showed him the first photo of the tall, skinny guy with the glasses. "Do you recognize this man?"

  He slowly shook his head. "I don't."

  "Okay, the next one is Senator Raleigh. This is Peter's second meeting with the senator in a couple of days." She flipped to the last photo. "When they got inside, they met another man. I didn't get a good picture, but he has very white hair."

  "Nope. No one on my radar," Wyatt said with a shake of his head.

  "They were all about Peter and Alan's age, so maybe they're just friends."

  "Could be." He paused. "We need to ask Damon what's in the suitcase."

  "Already did that. We'll see what he says."

  Sixteen

  Sophie had been sitting at the kitchen table for over an hour, searching the Internet for tattoos similar to the one she'd drawn, but she'd come up with nothing even close. The phone was also not getting the best reception so every site seemed to take forever to load.

  She got up from her chair and moved into the adjoining family room, where Damon was seated on the couch, his bare feet up on the coffee table, as he flipped through channels on the television. It was the most relaxed she'd seen him. The simple fact that he didn't have his shoes on made her feel like there was a little less danger around them.

  "Are you done research?" he asked.

  "For the moment. I wish I had a computer and some faster Wi-Fi. The phone doesn't move very fast."

  "I'm assuming you didn't find anything then."

  "Nothing that was a really good match, but I haven't given up yet. The snake is one of the most widely used symbols and it crosses many different cultures. Because the snake sheds its skin, some view it as a sign of rebirth and fertility. Others use the snake as a guardian of valuable and precious artifacts or to ward off intruders from their religious temples. The venom of the snake symbolizes poison, danger, even the divine. Some believe the snake bite leads them into immortality. It's going to take me a while to figure out what the snakes entwined in vines with that strange symbol and the red eye mean. It could be a combination of designs made into one." His smile made her pause. "That was way more than you wanted to know, wasn't it?"

  "Let's just say I know more about snakes now than I did five minutes ago."

  "Well, it was a teachable moment, and I'm a teacher."

  "Is that how you see yourself, Sophie? As a teacher? Or as an archaeologist?"

  "Both, really. I love to impart knowledge, as evidenced by my recent monologue on snakes. But there's nothing like the thrill of discovery. At any rate, I am going to figure out the meaning of that tattoo. It may not help us in any way, but it gives me something productive to do and to think about. Plus, I don't like to quit until I have the answer I'm seeking."

  "I have definitely learned that you are not a quitter. You don't give up easily on anything."

  "I've had a few moments where I wondered if I should give up."

  "But you don't give in to those short periods of doubt. Why don't you take a break on your research? I'd like to check the forum to see if there's news from Bree or Wyatt."

  "Sure." She sat down next to him and handed him the phone. "I'm surprised you were so patient. Probably checking the forum is more important than my research."

  "You never know. You had the tattoo design fresh in your mind; I didn't want to mess with that."

  "I appreciate that." She tipped her head toward the television. "Have we made the news yet?"

  "Not the world news. There was another missile test from North Korea, so reports have been all about that."

  "Sometimes it feels like the world is becoming a very scary place."

  "You don't want to know the half of it," he muttered, a dark cloud passing through his eyes.

  She couldn't imagine all the bad things Damon had seen. "I don't think I could handle it as well as you do."

  "You would do what you had to do—just like you did today."

  "I suppose, but in reality, you did everything. I just followed along."

  "You picked up the bat. I'm not sure what you were going to do with it, but I liked the idea."

  She smiled. "I didn't know what I was going to do with it, either. Against a gun, it wouldn't have been much protection, but I just instinctively reached for it."

  "You have a lot of courage, Sophie."

  "I never thought I did, but I guess I've never been tested until now. I'd like the tests to be over." She tilted her head, giving him a thoughtful look. "Does it ever get to you—the constant danger? The darkness? The bad people?"

  He didn't answer right away, taking his time with her question. "Sometimes, but in the short-term, I try to focus on the mission at hand, and in the long-term, I try to believe in the good that I'm doing. If I can make a difference, save even one life, it's worth it."

  She met his gaze, thinking how lucky the world was to have someone like Damon willing to take the risks, fight the danger, run forward when everyone else was running away. She was lucky, too.

  "Something else you want to ask me?" he questioned, a curious look in his eyes.

  "No. Go ahead and look at the forum. I'm curious to know if there's any news."

  While Damon was accessing the forum, she looked toward the windows.

  The sun had gone down a while ago, and they'd drawn all the curtains and blinds in the part of the house they were using, so the only light in this room was coming from the phone and from the television. They'd also closed the doors leading into the hallway, and Damon had even gone out front to make sure no light could be seen from the street or from a neighbor's house.

  She knew they were in the best possible location they could be in. None of the Rowlands were close enough to drop in, and on a Friday night, she doubted any service people would show up at the house unexpectedly. They should be fine until at least tomorrow, but it still felt a little spooky.

  "Bree sent a message," Damon said.

  She moved closer, so she could read the screen with him, but the sentences didn't make a lot of sense. "You're going to have to translate your baseball code into words I can understand."

  "Security cams caught us at the storage unit."

  "We figured that," she said, her heart still sinking at the confirmation.

  "They traced the ownership of the unit to your father."

  "What about the men who tried to kill us? Any ID?"

  "One is a known associate of the Venturi crime family, so it's looking like they're definitely involved in this. The other, the one with the tattoo, has not been identified, and they're checking to see if they can match the tattoo to any other known criminal organization."

  "I'm glad they're working on it, too. They have far more resources than I do."

  "They also have more people to bury whatever information they come up with."

  She frowned at that reminder. "Did Bree say anything else?"

  "She confronted Peter Hunt about the possibility of a leak, and he didn't deny it."

  "Confronted? Was that smart?" she asked worriedly.

  "Bree is good at reading people. She probably wanted to push him and see if she could get a reaction. She also followed him and took some pictures. She wants to know if we recognize these people." He brought up the photos on the phone. "Here's the first guy."

  "That's Michael Brennan," she said, recognizing her father's friend. "I told you about him before. He's the financial, hedge fund g
uy who went to Yale with my dad."

  "Okay. I know this is Senator Raleigh," Damon said, flipping to the next photo, then moving on to a third picture. "This isn't a clear shot, but what do you think about this guy? Do you know him?"

  "That looks like Harrison Delano. He has really white hair. I can't see the man's face, but I'd bet that's him." She paused. "This is the Yale group that Peter and my dad were a part of, minus a couple of people. Maybe they're just trying to find out what happened to my father, or Peter is giving them an update."

  "That's probably it," Damon said, as he typed in what she'd told him and then posted it in the forum.

  "Probably?" she echoed. "Why does it sound like you think there's another reason?"

  "I don't have another reason. I just don't know if that's what they're talking about."

  "You don't think there's a chance they conspired against my dad in some way, do you? Those men are some of his best friends in the world."

  "And they're all powerful people."

  "So? I don't see how my father could have been a threat to any of them. Why would they have had him killed? No." She shook her head. "I think it's more likely they're all upset that he's dead and want to make sure he gets justice. They might also be worried about me."

  "I'm sure they are worried about you, Sophie."

  She didn't know if he meant they were worried because they cared about her or because she was a loose end. "Did Bree have anything else to report?"

  "No, but she has a question—she wants to know what's in the suitcase. Apparently, they saw that on the security footage as well."

  "Don't tell her," she said impulsively.

  Damon lifted his gaze to hers, a question in his eyes. "We can trust Bree."

  "I don't know her."

  "You know me. We can trust her."

  "All right, but I still don't want you to tell her—not yet anyway."

  "Okay, we'll wait."

  She let out a breath, not sure why she didn't want the money to come out now when it would certainly come out later, but she was still trying to make sense of it. "Thanks."

  "No problem. Bree understands need to know." He sent a reply, then set the phone on the coffee table. "I told her we'd be in touch tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow," she echoed. "I can't imagine what tomorrow is going to bring." She licked her lips, her thoughts tumbling around in her head. "I want to put my dad's killers away, Damon. I want to get my life back. I want you to have your life back. But I'm afraid of where the truth is going to take me. I'm terrified of where all this is going to end. Am I going to work hard to prove my father's innocence only to find out he's guilty? And then what? Do I try to cover it up, protect his reputation, his legacy?" She paused. "I shouldn't have even said that to you. Covering up his illegal actions would be a crime, too. I feel like I'm floundering, and it would be really easy to drown. I know you just said I'm not a quitter, but this is a lot to handle."

  "I know, Sophie. It is a lot for you to deal with. You haven't even had a chance to mourn your father. But I can tell you this—you're not going to drown, because I won't let you. And you don't have to decide what you're going to do until you have all the facts, until you have to make a decision. I wish I could tell you not to be afraid of the truth, but I can't. I don't want to believe Alan is guilty of anything, but it's not looking good for him."

  She appreciated his honesty, and it made her feel less guilty knowing that he had the same doubts she did. "I feel the same way. I keep thinking that if my father was innocent, he would have named names or given me specifics and leads to help prove his innocence. But cash and fake IDs and his voicemails saying he was sorry and telling me to run…paint a different picture. On the other hand, I can't understand why he didn't have more money if he was taking bribes or stealing cash. He didn’t buy a big house or a boat or a fancy car. He lived simply." She took a breath, realizing what her father had spent money on. "But he did pay for all my schooling, all my living expenses. That added up."

  "This isn’t on you," Damon said sharply. "Your father didn't have to steal to send you to school."

  "What if he did? I never asked him if he had the money for grad school; I just assumed. What does that make me?"

  "Normal. Like every other kid in the world."

  "And selfish."

  "Like every other kid in the world," he repeated.

  "I bet you didn't take money from your parents."

  "That was different. Their money came with strings. I didn't want the strings, so I didn't take the money." He sent her a pointed look. "I am happy to go around the circle of questions with you, Sophie. I will help you analyze every little detail. I will speculate and theorize, but I won't listen to you try to blame yourself for what your father might have done. You are not responsible for any of this. Got it?"

  Judging by his stern expression, there was only one answer. "Got it," she said, happy to have his reassurance. "I feel like I need to say thank you again."

  "Please, don't."

  "Then I'll just think it."

  "Works for me," he said with a flash of relief.

  "Speaking of your parents—"

  He groaned. "We don't need to speak of them."

  "I was just wondering if you keep in touch. Do you see them on holidays? Has time changed your relationship from when you were a kid?"

  "Not really. I saw my mother two Christmases ago and my father probably the year before that. We exchange the occasional text or email. They send me pics from their vacations."

  His parents really sounded like narcissists. "What about your half-siblings? Do you communicate with them?"

  "We also text once in a while. I try to remember their birthdays. That's about it. I was thirteen when my first half-sister was born. There's a big age gap between us, and frankly we don't have a lot in common. My life with my parents was a different world. They only know the world of their mom and dad, and it's a happy one. They don't need me dragging it down."

  "You wouldn't do that."

  "Well, it doesn't matter. Everyone is very happy with the way things are."

  "I bet your parents miss you more than you think."

  "That's because you like to believe the best in people, Sophie."

  "I guess I do. It's going to be more difficult from here on out."

  A glint of understanding appeared in his eyes. "No doubt about that. But I hope you don't get completely cynical."

  "Like you?" she challenged.

  "Like me," he conceded.

  "It makes sense to me now where some of your cynicism comes from. You were hurt by your parents, and it was a deep hurt, the kind that doesn't ever really go away."

  "I'm not harboring some deep resentment toward my parents, Sophie. I'm over it."

  "I don't believe that."

  "Well, it doesn't really matter if you believe it," he said with annoyance. "I know what's true. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."

  "I'm not doing that. I'm just trying to understand you."

  "I'm not that complicated."

  "Oh, come on, Damon. That's not true."

  "It is true. I keep things simple. That's my strategy in life."

  "And that's how you ended up here with me?" she challenged. "By keeping things simple?" His frown told her she'd struck gold with her words.

  "Good point," he admitted. "I knew from the first second I saw you that you were going to complicate my life, and I wasn't wrong."

  "Hey, I did nothing to get you to come after me. I never contacted you after the night we spent together. I didn't show up at any FBI functions where you might be there."

  "Was that on purpose?" he asked curiously.

  "Well, mostly I wasn't around, but my point is that I let you go. You're the one who came to find me."

  "I blame your father for that."

  "That would make it simpler."

  He smiled. "It definitely would."

  "But we both know that isn't the whole story."

  His eyes flared with blu
e sparks that immediately sent a rush of desire through her.

  "We should watch TV," he said. "Where did the remote go?"

  She picked it up off the table. "I have it."

  "Well, turn up the sound, find us something with noise."

  "Something distracting?"

  "God, yes."

  The desperation in his eyes made her put the remote behind her. "I don't want to watch television; I want us to finish the kiss you started in the garage."

  His lips tightened. "That was a mistake."

  "It reminded me of how good we are together. Aren't you curious how it would feel now?"

  "It would complicate things, and we don't need that."

  "Because you wouldn't be able to leave in the morning?"

  "I don't want to have this conversation, Sophie."

  "Fine. I don't want to talk anyway. I want to kiss you. And then I want you to take me upstairs to bed." He started to shake his head, but she leaned over and put her hands on either side of his face. "Don't say no, Damon. Not when it's what we both want."

  She could see the war going on in his eyes: the need to do the right thing, the desire to feel what they'd felt once before.

  "I don't want to hurt you," he said huskily.

  "You won't hurt me."

  "You said that the last time, but I hurt you then, and I don't want to do it again."

  "That was different. We know each other better now."

  "That might be true, but there's something else that's also true—I don’t do love, Sophie. I'm not good at it, and it doesn't work out. I might be exactly what you want in the night, but I will never be what you want in the morning."

  "In the morning?" she echoed. "We don't even know if we're going to have a morning, Damon. I could have died at least twice in the last three days. You told me that I need to stay in the moment. This is the moment I need."

  "I said that about surviving."

  "I don't want to just survive; I want to live. I want you. I think you want me, too. So, stop fighting. Please, stop fighting."

  He sucked in his breath and she could see him trying to hang on to the last bit of control. "You're not playing fair."

  "I'm not playing at all," she said, recklessness driving her forward. She pressed her mouth against his, and took what she wanted. It was a heady, glorious, freeing feeling.