Desperate Play

by Barbara Freethy

  "I called the bureau and asked them to get there first," he said, obviously reading her question before she could spit it out. "They needed to take over the case, so we could keep the police away from my cover and out of our investigation."

  "When you say it like that, it feels like Noelle's murder was of lesser importance."

  "It wasn't," he said forcefully. "But it was a piece in a bigger puzzle. I'm part of a specialized task force that has been running data and financials and tracking people at Nova Star for the last few months."

  "But with all that, you haven't found the leak."

  "We didn't have a lot to go on until Noelle was killed. Now we have more."

  "And my friend is dead." She paused.

  "I would have saved Noelle if I could. I hope you can believe that, even if you can't believe anything else."

  She did believe that, because the Wyatt she knew wouldn't have walked away from an injured person. On the other hand, was she being a fool to think she knew anything about this man?

  "So, what do we do now?" she asked, knowing she couldn't deal with the emotional fall-out from Wyatt's lives right this minute. It was just too much.

  "We keep looking for the traitor."

  "How? You're hurt. You should be at the hospital right now."

  "I'm fine, although I might need a new shirt before we go in to Nova Star."

  "Are we going in to work like nothing is happening?" That idea seemed completely ridiculous.

  "Right now, it might be the safest place."

  "Even though all the suspects work for the company?" she countered.

  "Yes. And you can't blow my cover, Avery. If you do, it will set everything back. Hamilton will lock all the doors behind me, and not just me—probably you, too, maybe this entire investigation. You have to stay silent."

  "You're very persuasive when it comes to protecting yourself."

  "This isn't about protecting me. You can trust me on that."

  "I can't trust you at all," she snapped. "So, stop talking about trust. If I keep your cover, it's because I want to find who killed Noelle and who has been trying to kill me."

  "I understand."

  "Do you?" she challenged, really hating the calm expression on his face, even though she should have learned by now that Wyatt did not show his emotions. "I thought you were different, Wyatt. I thought you were a man of substance. Someone I could count on. I trusted what I saw when I looked at you, when I spoke to you, even when I made love to you. But you're a chameleon. You change yourself into whoever you need to be to fit in. You lie so easily and so well. God, you're just like my father. You're a ghost. You have no substance. I can touch you, but I can't really touch you, because the real you isn't there."

  "I was there last night."

  "Were you?" she asked, searching the face she had come to love and now felt she would have to hate.

  "I was myself with you. I couldn't be anyone else. You brought me out of the shadows, and even though I knew it was wrong, I wanted to be with you. If we could only have one night, I selfishly wanted that night."

  "I don't know what to think," she said, completely bewildered. "You're a liar. It's what you do for a living."

  "It is what I do," he admitted. "I lie to gain trust. That gives me access to information I wouldn't be able to get otherwise. Then I take criminals down."

  "But I'm not a criminal. So, what am I? Collateral damage?"

  "I don't want you to be damaged," he said, an intensity in his gaze now. "I don't want you to be hurt at all. I've been trying to protect you, and I'm going to keep doing that no matter how much you may dislike me."

  "You just can't protect me from you," she said, feeling an immense wave of sadness.

  His lips tightened, but there was no defense he could offer.

  "You know who you're also like?" she asked. "Your father. He was a con man, too."

  "Yes. It was a skill I inherited from the old man," he said with a bitter nod. "Don't think I haven't thought that before, because I have. And you might not want to believe this, but you're the only person outside of a few close friends in the FBI that I've ever told about my father."

  "That doesn't matter now." She drew in a breath and let it out. "I don't want to talk about us anymore, because there is no us. I want to focus on how we're going to catch the person who's trying to kill us."

  "So do I."

  Bree cleared her throat as she came into the room, wearing tight black jeans and a cream-colored blouse. "Sorry to interrupt."

  "It's fine," she said, getting to her feet. "Wyatt and I are done."

  "The coffee is ready in the kitchen. I'll make us some breakfast," Bree said.

  "I don't need anything." She walked through the double doors leading out to the balcony and stood at the rail. Maybe it was dangerous to stand in plain view, but there was no one in sight, and she really just needed a minute to process everything.

  Her mind was spinning with all that had happened. There was a part of her that was deeply hurt, and those emotions kept wanting to come out, pushing moisture into her eyes, sobs rising up in her throat. She had totally bared herself to Wyatt in so many ways, not just physically but emotionally. And to know that he'd been lying to her the whole time…it made her wonder if anyone would ever love her with any kind of honesty, and if she could ever trust her instincts.

  She brushed her hair off her face as the wind picked up. She couldn't let herself cry. She couldn't let the emotion overwhelm her. Later…she could give in. But now she had to pull herself together and think. The sun was rising, the minutes were ticking forward, and somewhere out there was someone who wanted to kill her.

  How was she going to figure out who was after her? And what was she going to do if she found out it was someone she knew? If it was her father…she felt like she just might break.

  How many betrayals could one person take?

  * * *

  Wyatt changed into one of Nathan's shirts and then returned to the living room. He could see Avery still standing out on the deck and as much as it pained him to see her making herself so vulnerable, he knew he had to give her a few minutes, so he moved into the kitchen.

  Bree poured him a mug of coffee. "I've been keeping an eye on her."

  "Is she crying?"

  "Maybe on the inside." She stirred some eggs in a pan on the stove. "I've got bacon cooking and some toast. I hope you'll both eat something."

  "Thanks—for everything. I didn't know where else to go."

  "You can always come to me. You know that." She paused, giving him a thoughtful glance. "You like her, don't you?"

  He sipped his coffee. "Maybe."

  "No maybe about it. And she has a thing for you."

  "If she did, it's gone now," he said tersely. "But it doesn't matter. We need to figure out what's going on."

  "Any leads from the party?"

  "A few. Larry Bickmore, senior counsel for Nova Star was there. His wife drank too much and told Avery that Larry and Carter were working on something together that required Carter to come to his house. It sounded interesting enough to follow up."

  Bree slid the eggs onto a plate. "I agree."

  His gaze shifted back to Avery. "Do you think you could get her to come back in here? I don't like her out there."

  Bree smiled. "You think she'll listen to me over you? She didn't seem too friendly."

  "She's very friendly; she's just upset."

  "I'll give it a shot."

  As Bree walked out of the kitchen, the bread popped up from the toaster. He smeared it with butter and put it on a plate as Bree returned with Avery in tow.

  "I'll take some coffee," Avery said.

  He was happy she was speaking to him, even if it was an unfriendly order. He filled her a mug and then helped Bree take the plates to the table.

  While Avery at first seemed reluctant to join in, she eventually ate some eggs and bacon.

  "Wyatt and I went to Quantico together," Bree said, breaking into the te
nse silence that accompanied their meal. "In case you were wondering how we met, Avery. We were put together in a group of six people. We spent most of our training together, working through mission assignments, stripping down each other's barriers, interrogating, grilling, competing with each other and learning how to watch each other's backs." Bree cleared her throat. "We were all really close, and then one of us was killed in one of our last assignments. We all blamed ourselves for not saving Jamie."

  "Jamie?" Avery cut in, her gaze narrowing. "Last night at the party, I spoke to Hamilton's friend, Vincent Rowland, and he mentioned that he was in town for his daughter's engagement party and that he was happy for her but sad that her brother Jamie would not be there. Is that the same Jamie?"

  "Vincent was at the party?" Bree asked in surprise, turning her gaze to his.

  "Yes. He's apparently friends with Hamilton. Fortunately, he realized I was undercover and didn't say anything."

  "Why would he have been at the party?" Bree asked. "There's something going on with him, Wyatt. I don't know what it is, but something is off."

  "I know he wasn't particularly friendly to you when you ran into him the other day, Bree, but—"

  "No, it's not that. It's that he's always showing up or being involved in some way in our cases."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Think about it. When you were in New York, your cover was blown with the Venturi family, Alan was killed, and Damon and Sophie were running for their lives, and Vincent was right in the middle of that."

  "I wouldn't say he was in the middle."

  "Damon and Sophie hid out at his house. Sophie communicated with Cassie, his daughter, while they were on the run."

  "I don't know where you're going with this," he said with a frown.

  "I don't know, either, but something has been bugging me since everything went down in Chicago on my last case. Someone lured me to Chicago, someone who knew my past, and I never really figured out who."

  "I thought it was that serial kidnapper."

  "It appeared that way, but I'm not sure. And then my FBI file showed up in the kidnapper's house. How did it get there? We assumed that the crooked cop got the file from one of his contacts, but he died, so I couldn't ask him. I always felt like something was off in the way everything wrapped up, but I let it go." She paused. "Now Vincent shows up in the middle of your case. He's friends with your mark. He's suddenly interested in what you're doing. He's retired, for God's sake. Why the hell is he always around?"

  "I think it's a coincidence."

  "Since when do you believe in coincidences?" Bree challenged. "And let's not forget he met with Joanna before he went to your party."

  "Because he was in town and they're friends. I don't see a connection here. Sorry, Bree."

  "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just imagining things because his negative attitude toward me always bugs me."

  "Why doesn't Mr. Rowland like you?" Avery cut in, interest in her eyes.

  "I dated Jamie for a short time. I broke up with him before he died, and Vincent acts like I broke his son's heart and maybe that's why Jamie was distracted and lost his life."

  "That's a lot to put on you," Avery said.

  "It could just be that it's painful for Vincent to see you because he remembers when Jamie was happy and in love with you."

  "You're probably right, and we are getting way off track," Bree said. "I'm sorry about all this. We need to get back to the case."

  "Are you on the case?" Avery asked curiously.

  "I came on board after your friend was killed."

  "So, you know everything that's going on?"

  "Pretty much. You should be aware that you're going to see me again later this morning. I'll be attending the press briefing as a reporter for the LA Star. I'd like to know that I can count on you not to blow my cover."

  "I'm not going to blow anyone's cover," Avery said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know what's at stake here."

  He was happy to hear that. "Thanks, Avery."

  She shot him a dark look. "I'm not doing it for either of you; I'm doing it for Noelle and for me. I need to stop at the hotel in Santa Monica on the way to Nova Star. I have to change clothes, and I have some things there I need for my work day."

  "I don't like that idea," he said.

  "Well, it has to happen."

  "Why don't I go pick up your things?" Bree suggested. "I'll bring everything back here."

  Avery glanced at her watch. "I need to be at work in an hour."

  "Then I better go now," Bree said, getting to her feet.

  Wyatt handed her the hotel key. "Room 423, Hotel Royale, Santa Monica. Bree, the rental car I pinched—"

  "I'll ditch it," she said, taking the key from his hand.

  "You're a lifesaver."

  She smiled. "I'll be back soon. You can use my computer if you want to check in with Flynn." She paused, looking back at Avery. "Maybe you two can talk things out while I'm gone."

  When Bree left the room, the tension between him and Avery went up a notch. There were things he wanted to say to her, but he doubted she wanted to hear them. Their gazes clung together for a long moment, and then Avery got up and took her plate to the sink.

  They did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen in a very awkward and uncomfortable silence, and then Avery went into the bathroom to freshen up. He doubted she was going to come out any time soon.

  He sat down at the dining room table and jumped onto Bree's computer. He sent Flynn a long message, updating him on what had happened since he'd last spoken to him. There were a lot of leads to follow, and he needed Flynn and the IT guys to run some of them down, starting with whoever had shot at them. Maybe they could pull some footage from the hotel cams.

  When that was done, he got up and walked to the window, looking out at the water. He'd crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed last night.

  But he couldn't take it back. He didn't want to take it back.

  He wished he could make it up to Avery, but he didn't think that was possible. But at the very least he would keep her safe. That was all that really mattered.

  Twenty-One

  Bree came back to the house with their belongings and the keys to a small brown Toyota pickup truck. Avery didn't ask where she'd gotten the car and neither did Wyatt. She was more interested in changing her clothes and getting in to work. Even though it seemed surreal to be thinking about having a normal workday, she was actually eager to feel the familiarity that would come with being at Nova Star, doing her job, and having a chance to look up at the magnificent sky instead of at all the danger and uncertainty swirling around her.

  "We don't have to talk," Wyatt said as he drove to Nova Star. "But we need to stay in communication, and we need to stay close. Just because you've discovered I'm an FBI agent doesn’t change the fact that you're still in danger."

  "I know," she said, wrapping her arms around her waist. She'd put on dark jeans and a long-sleeve lacy white knit top. Wyatt was still wearing Nathan's shirt, and she'd seen him wince as he got into the car, but of course he'd refused to let her drive. She was actually fine with that. She was operating on little sleep and too much adrenaline.

  "How long will you be involved with the media?"

  "About an hour."

  "We'll touch base after that, figure out our next move."

  "Sure, whatever," she said, too confused to imagine what their next move could be.

  Several minutes later, Wyatt turned in to the employee parking lot at Nova Star, flashing his badge to the guard at the gate and exchanging a quick hello. He had apparently made it a mission to know every guard's first name and personal story. Obviously, he'd gotten very deep into his role as Hamilton's top security guy.

  It was still mind-boggling to think that he'd set up a carjacking as a ruse to get into Hamilton's good graces and into his company. And Hamilton was crazy about Wyatt. She'd seen his respect firsthand. He was in for a big surprise.

  Althou
gh, she couldn't totally blame the FBI for inserting Wyatt into the company. If Hamilton was being blind when it came to his family members, and the safety of their technology was in jeopardy and could possibly be used by a foreign power, what other choice had the bureau had?

  But she wasn't going to tell Wyatt that. She was still feeling hurt and betrayed on a personal level, and she was not ready to let that go. It was that anger that was keeping the memories at bay. She couldn't let herself remember how good it had been between them, because whatever they'd had—the crazy connection, the ridiculous chemistry, the talks that had felt so honest, so real—was all gone now, part of an illusion, a cover.

  Wyatt parked the car, and she grabbed her bag from behind the seat, wanting to keep it with her, not sure where the day would go or where she'd end up spending the night.

  It felt good to walk into Nova Star, the building where she'd spent so much of her time the last three years. Even though there could be a spy, or more than one, somewhere in the building, this was her turf, and she felt more in control once she'd made it through security.

  Wyatt walked her up to her office. She didn't bother arguing with him. There was no point.

  Two women were waiting outside her door: Beth Meeks, a forty-year-old, ex-schoolteacher, who usually worked on school programs, and Kim Walton, the thirty-two-year-old director of media relations.

  Seeing that she was in good company, Wyatt tipped his head and headed upstairs to his office.

  She rolled her suitcase into the office as the women crowded inside, both giving her very curious looks.

  "So, you and the hunky security guy—what's going on there?" Kim asked with a sparkle in her blue eyes. A single woman, Kim loved to talk about men. She'd joined Avery and Noelle at a few lunches and discussing hot guys at the company was always Kim's favorite topic.

  "Wyatt was just helping me with my suitcase," she said.

  "Why do you have your suitcase? Are you going out to the desert tonight? I didn't think you were going to the launch," Beth said.

  "I'm not sure," she said, happy that Beth had actually given her a good excuse for having her bag.