“So this could go deeper than Brandt?” Isaac sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he considered them.
Parker stiffened. “We don’t have any reason to believe this doesn’t start and stop with Charles Brandt.”
Isaac stared at Parker, twisting his chair back and forth in tiny increments. “From everything you’ve described—the sheer potential of your program—it sounds like there are plenty of reasons to assume this goes beyond Brandt.”
“Such as?” Parker flicked at the cuticle at his thumb as he sat forward.
“Human nature?” Isaac asked, a smug smile gracing his face. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re naive, or maybe you just lack imagination—”
“Or maybe he’s just a decent human being,” Georgia snapped, shooting Isaac an irritated glance. “Not everyone puts his ambition first.”
“Not everyone,” Isaac conceded with a dip of his chin. “But most of us are easily dazzled by what could be, by what we might accomplish. You certainly were,” he said, casting a glance at Parker, who for the first time withered under Isaac’s scrutiny.
Georgia wanted to reach for him, to lace her fingers in his. She might have if she wasn’t half-convinced the gesture would only compound Parker’s guilt, convince him he had something to be guilty for.
“Otherwise you might have spent a little more time considering the implications of your software and a little less time considering your own achievements.” Isaac sipped at his scotch, then set the glass on the edge of his desk. “I can hardly blame you. Presented with the opportunity to arrange my fortunes, to dictate my fate? I’d be tempted.”
Yes. Yes, he would. But Isaac had been born to privilege—he had the right family name, the fashionable address, the expensive degrees. He hardly needed the edge. But if it were there, his for the taking, would he walk away from it? Take the harder, less certain path?
Would she?
Georgia wasn’t sure. She, more than anyone, knew there were no guarantees in life. What would she give up for even the chance at leveling the field? What would she have paid to protect Will? What would she do to save Parker? All questions she couldn’t answer.
“I suppose for now it doesn’t matter. Even if what Ethan sent is just the start of it.” Isaac ran an exhausted hand through his honey-blond hair. “I’ve never had such a slam dunk fall into my lap.”
Where Georgia had expected excitement, the thrill of an impending win, she saw only hollow resignation, as if what Brandt had done bothered Isaac on a personal level, rather than simply a pragmatic one.
“I’ll need to get a federal judge on the line. Issue an arrest warrant for Brandt,” Isaac said, reaching for his mouse and waking his computer. “I’ve got one in mind who owes me a favor.”
“How long will that take?” Parker asked.
“I’m making the call now. With any luck, they’ll pick up Brandt tonight.” Isaac grabbed his phone, then dialed the number he’d pulled up on his screen. “Give me a second?” he said, rising and walking toward the French doors that led to his balcony. A knot of tension unwound in Georgia’s shoulders. The end was finally, blessedly, in sight. No more shitty trailer. No more crappy showers. No more tiny quarters or shared spaces. And soon, no more questions. No more missing pieces.
She’d close the file on this job, bring Brandt to justice, and endure the final briefing where she would ensure all her questions were answered. Then she’d give in to the call of the comfort of home, of clean sheets and her own bed. But for all that she wanted to sink into the soft familiarity of her memory-foam mattress, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to wake up alone. Make coffee for one. Maybe Parker would come home with her for a day or two, just to get resettled. It wasn’t fair to expect he’d stay any longer than that, or even that he’d want to see her again at all. But then, given Parker’s possessive behavior over the past hour, maybe that wasn’t something she needed to worry about.
Georgia leaned toward him, pitching her voice low. “A hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a bottle of scotch?”
Parker shifted closer, the tips of his ears going pink. “Ethan finally, finally invited me to poker with the guys. Told me to bring a bottle of scotch.” He shrugged, laughing a little under his breath. “I panicked.”
Georgia slouched into her chair. “You panicked?”
“I wanted to be invited back,” Parker said, as if that justified everything.
“Were you?”
He scowled. “No. They said my brain cheats. Not my fault they only play with one deck.”
Georgia snorted out a laugh. “Was the scotch good at least?”
“Yuck, no.” Parker made a face. “Cheap or expensive, they all burn like a bitch on the way down.”
Georgia shook her head, her smile so wide for a moment her cheeks hurt. Only Parker.
“Wheels are in motion,” Isaac said, striding back into the room and stealing Georgia’s good humor. “Judge issued an arrest warrant for Charles Brandt. FBI are going to go tonight, try to grab him at home before he realizes what’s coming.”
Georgia breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Isaac.”
His face twisted, something like remorse stealing over his features. “Did you really think I wouldn’t help, Georgia? Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you trust me?”
Truthfully? Isaac was a lot of things—self-righteous, arrogant, ambitious—but not corrupt. And not heartless. “Last time I was here . . . we didn’t end things on good terms.”
“No, we didn’t,” he agreed. “But Georgia, even if my feelings for you were less than cordial, did you really think I’d turn my back on your brother?”
What did Will have to do with this? Sure, he and Isaac had been friends—part of the reason Georgia had wanted so badly to make things work with him. He’d known Will. Had stories and memories. Things to share and love. But how was any of that relevant now? “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?” Isaac asked, shock seizing his expression. “Jesus, Georgia. I thought you said you’d been through the files?”
“Isaac . . . ,” Parker said, a warning.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Isaac asked. He didn’t wait for Parker to respond. She’d thought it something small. A detail Parker had tried to spare her—after all, he’d told her what no one else had. Isaac turned to her. “Didn’t you wonder why I kept calling? Why I wouldn’t stop texting?”
“I . . .” She forced a shrug. “You only ever texted when you wanted one thing.” She’d just assumed it was the same old bullshit. The offer of sex and nothing else.
Isaac sat back as if she’d slapped him. “Maybe I deserve that,” he said, then leveled a look at Parker. “Are you going to tell her?”
A wave of sick nausea crashed over her.
“Parker?” she asked, her voice cracking as she turned to look at him. His face fell, and his mouth dropped open.
“No?” Isaac asked, his voice clipped and mean. “Why don’t I show her, then?” He shoved his monitor until it faced her and, with a click of a mouse, destroyed everything.
She watched, horrified, as Will appeared on screen. Broken, bloodied, but so heartbreakingly alive. Studying every detail, she caught the date on the paper, did the math, even as those bastards severed his ear. Tears she thought beyond her, the hurt too deep, the loss too complete for such a simple emotion, tracked down her face.
It took everything she had to look away from a face she’d lost all hope of seeing again.
A thousand questions fought for dominance.
Was he alive?
Who had she buried?
How had this happened?
One, stronger than the rest, rose to the surface.
“Did you know?”
Parker didn’t say anything, but then he hardly needed to. The truth was written across his face.
“You knew.” She rose, clenching her hands against her sides. “You knew and said nothing. Even after I told you every
thing.”
Something hot and heavy and familiar settled over her, calming her, grounding her. Hurt. Humiliation. Betrayal. She should have seen it coming. Should have known. Nothing good in her life lasted. It either wasn’t hers to keep or wasn’t real to begin with.
“I want to hear you say it,” she ground out.
Parker looked up at her from where he sat, shock giving way to resignation. His face crumpled, a thousand apologies twisting his features. “I knew,” he whispered, watching as she placed a shaking hand on Isaac’s desk.
When Georgia stared at him, silently demanding all of it, every detail he didn’t want to give, Parker finally said, “That first night in the trailer, I found the video file. I didn’t know what to say!” His voice, half desperate plea, half apology, did nothing to soothe her rage. “I . . . What could I say? That he was alive? That he might be worse than dead? That he’d been left behind?” Parker shoved his thumb and forefinger beneath his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “I couldn’t offer any answers, offer any hope. I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.
Georgia stepped back, wrestled with the urge to run, to scream, to yell until her voice was gone entirely. He’d known. All this time and Parker had known. And said nothing. Sad, stupid little Georgia. Trusting Parker with secrets she’d never shared. Baring herself to a man she hardly knew. Served her right. Only one person in her life had ever put her first, had ever deserved her trust—and he was . . . God, she didn’t even know. Dead or alive, Will had been left to suffer. To wonder if anyone was coming, if anyone cared. An ugly, broken noise sobbed out of her.
“You son of a bitch.” She launched the words at him, dangerous and destructive as a live grenade. “You did this! You chose him! You left him.” A cold fury raced through her. “It should have been you.” Regret and agony and all-consuming rage battered her. Even as she said it, she knew how unfair it was. Knew that Parker, stupid, foolish Parker, had only wanted to spare her the pain, the uncertainty. But it just didn’t matter. It was too late. The world had changed again, and she couldn’t undo the damage caused by careless words.
The power in Isaac’s townhouse cut out, and something solid crashed through the window, throwing glass and light and noise in every direction. On instinct, Georgia threw herself to the ground.
And lost the ability to take it all back.
Georgia pushed herself to her hands and knees, her ears ringing, completely blind to the room. She lurched sideways, catching herself on the edge of Isaac’s desk, and groped for Parker.
“Parker?” If she whispered or screamed, she couldn’t tell. All that mattered was finding Parker. Doing her job and making sure he lived. He had to live.
He was her best shot at finding Will. Of bringing him home.
She slid forward, staying low to the ground and keeping as much of her body in contact with the floor as possible. The entire room felt as if it had suddenly been tossed to sea, and nothing was stable—an inner-ear reaction to what she’d quickly realized was a stun grenade. Pushing her palms along the wood floors, she searched for any sign of Parker. Where was he?
Hands scrabbling, she found his foot, followed the length of his leg up the rest of him. Her vision adjusted to the darkness in time to find him sitting on the floor, back pressed to the front of Isaac’s solid-oak desk. “You okay?” she yelled, her own voice sounding thin and distant but miles better than the silence of moments ago. She shook her head, reaching for Parker with one hand and unholstering her weapon with the other. The moment her fingers met his chest, she breathed a sigh of relief. He looked shell-shocked, but his chest rose and fell in steady intervals, and his heart thump-thump-thumped against her palm in a fast but steady rhythm.
Thank God.
“Grab Livingston!”
Someone seized Georgia by her hair, wrenching her away from Parker. She kicked on instinct. Legs catching the edge of Isaac’s desk, she used the weight of it to brace herself. She shoved with every ounce of strength she had, forcing her assailant back. Off balance, whoever grabbed her stumbled back, caught his legs against one of the chairs flanking Isaac’s desk, and they both went over. Working with the momentum, Georgia let the fall carry her, let her attacker take the brunt of the blow, then leaned into a roll that set her free of his grasp. Rising, she had her gun up in a second, firing at the man climbing through the window. Three bullets caught him in the chest. He pitched backward on a curse, falling out of the window he’d just climbed through.
She’d caught a break, but it wouldn’t last. Men in full tactical gear had breached the bay window facing the back of Isaac’s home. No way they weren’t wearing vests.
One down at the window, another at her feet, a third man struggled with Isaac on the other side of the room. Seemed her ex had brushed up on some self-defense in their time apart. He was holding his own.
For now.
Moving fast and using the distraction Isaac provided, Georgia searched the room for Parker. He rushed toward her, glass and debris cracking beneath his shoes.
She grabbed his wrist, pulling him behind her, and kept her gun trained ahead. She backed up, pushing Parker with her hip toward the door as the man who’d grabbed her rose. On his first step forward, Georgia pulled the trigger, launching two rounds into his vest and a third in his thigh. He went down on a scream, clutching his leg and abandoning his weapon. She scooped his gun off the floor and prayed he stayed down. She’d take the head shot if it came to it, but odds were these men didn’t know or care why they’d been sent. They were just following orders.
Which made things a hell of a lot more difficult.
Between the downed power and the privacy Isaac’s newly constructed garage provided, no one would have any idea what was happening until it was far too late to help.
They were on their own, Georgia handicapped by nonlethal force.
This wasn’t a fight they could win.
“Door. Go.” Running their only option, Georgia kept her back to Parker’s front, shielding him as they moved backward through the office and toward the exit. “Check the hallway, and if it’s clear, run,” she ordered, pushing the gun she’d retrieved into Parker’s hand when he paused, back to the wall next to the partially open door.
“I can’t.”
“You can. You will. I’ve seen you shoot. Remember what I told you. Focus on keeping you alive, me alive, and pull the trigger. You owe me that much.” She shoved him again. “Take it and move.”
Parker ducked his head around the door, then stepped carefully into the hallway. “It’s clear.”
“Then go.” Georgia stepped back, glancing over her shoulder. “Run. Straight out the front door. They want you alive. You see anyone coming after you, aim, fire, and scream your damn head off. Wake the neighborhood, then keep on going.”
“Wait, you aren’t coming with me?” Parker asked, his expression unsure but ready for a fight.
No time. They had no time for this.
Georgia shook her head and shoved Parker toward the stairs. “I can’t leave Isaac. We planned for this. You know what to do.” She’d forced Parker to run through exit strategies on the drive back from Pittsburgh, but it had never truly occurred to her she wouldn’t be with him. But she couldn’t leave Isaac to fend for himself, not when every blow, every grunt, every curse echoed through the room. He was fading fast. “Go. I’ll meet you.”
Before he could say anything, she slammed the door shut and whirled to face the room. How many rounds had she fired? What did that leave her with? Didn’t matter. Isaac went down under a vicious uppercut and didn’t get back up.
Georgia fired two rounds, sending one bullet into the ribs of Isaac’s attacker—even with the vest it would hurt like a bitch—and aiming the second for the fleshy part of his shoulder where she knew vest coverage was spotty. The force of the blows had him staggering back into the built-in bookcases, but he kept his feet. Two more to the vest? Or aim for something unprotected? Would he even care if the situation were reversed?
Before she could make a call, someone grabbed her by the ankle, jerking her to the ground. She hit the floor hard, glass embedding in flesh, her head bouncing off the wood so violently she saw stars. She flailed as a body settled over her, pinning her to the floor. A huge hand grabbed her wrist, slamming it down by her head, then slipped the plastic of what she assumed were zip ties over her fingers.
If he got the loop on the other wrist, she was screwed.
Bucking her hips, she shot her free hand above her head, as far away from the guy’s grasp as she could. He grunted, as if her efforts amused him, then shifted his body weight forward and made a grab for her hand—exposing his balls as he did.
Perfect.
Georgia got a knee up and drove it into his crotch, enjoying the way the bastard grunted, curling in on himself as the pain in his testicles warred with the pain of a bullet hole.
The unmistakable sound of gunshots wrenched her attention to the open window.
Parker.
She twisted, scrabbling for freedom, ignoring the way glass dug into the meaty flesh of her palms, pierced her jeans, and scraped against her thighs and knees. She was nearly free when a hand grabbed the waistband of her jeans and yanked her back. In the blink of an eye, he had her pinned, both arms wrenched behind her back, wrists secured in zip ties. The asshole braced a hand on the center of her back and pushed himself up, forcing the air from her lungs.
“Just grabbed Livingston. Let’s go,” someone said from the other side of the room, his voice wet and thick. Sounded like a broken nose. She hoped it hurt like hell.
“What about these two?” the guy above her asked, bracing himself against the desk. “Bitch shot me.”
“So shoot her. Van’s waiting.”
Georgia stiffened. Should have shot the bastard when she’d had the chance.
“Orders were just for Livingston,” the guy above her said as he limped toward the window. “These two are neutralized. I’m not pulling a trigger without a directive.”
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 24