Innocence & Betrayal

by Brittney Sahin

  Ava had to think for a moment. She wasn’t even sure what day it was—was it Monday?

  “But they found me. Yanked me out of bed and dragged me here. I was drugged, though . . . we could be anywhere.” He hesitated. “I didn’t realize how dangerous they were until I found myself strapped to a chair and tortured by Eddie. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they found me. Black ops agents and all. Finding people is what they do.”

  Ava allowed his words to wash over her for a moment. “Eddie’s dead,” she spat out.

  “What?” The tears had stopped falling from his eyes and his head jerked up at her announcement.

  “He was shot. They said he was a loose end—like Kat.” Her voice was cold. Distant.

  “Katarina? What happened to her?” Worry darkened his eyes.

  Your nephew helped me save her. “My friend,” she began and had to clear her throat. “Excuse me. My friend and I got to her in time, but she’s in a coma. They tried to kill her. Twice.” She adjusted her gaze on Henry’s green eyes. They were the same as his sister. “And now they’re going to kill my family and me unless I give them what they want.”

  “God, I’m so sorry. I told them you weren’t a part of this, but they knew you were at the lab with me Sunday night. They got me to admit the equation was complete, but I wouldn’t tell them the formula. They’re not just corrupt government agents—I think they plan on actually using it . . .”

  Ava’s attention jerked toward the door at the sound of a click. She spotted a small, almost invisible white device just above the door.

  A camera.

  She was under surveillance. Of course. They had been listening to her and Henry all of this time.

  “Looks like you’re awake.”

  Ava remembered when Sophia had interrupted the man in the suit’s interrogation with a look of fire burning in her eyes. That must’ve been when she’d found out about Henry. Thank God she hadn’t mentioned Sophia’s visit to Henry just now, considering the cameras were rolling. She didn’t want to get anyone else killed.

  Henry looked over at the brown-eyed man, the pain in his face apparent as he strained for a better view.

  “Don’t hurt her, you arrogant prick,” Henry bit out with an icy voice like he was capable of enforcing the command. “You only need me.”

  The man removed his sidearm from his holster—Ava had no idea what kind of gun it was. Her mind remembered the blood on the wall, and a sick feeling pulled her stomach in all different directions.

  “I think we need Ava, Henry. And I’m thinking she is a hell of a lot more valuable than you let on. She doesn’t look like the naïve woman you made her out to be.” The man shoved the butt of his gun into Henry’s chest, eliciting a shriek from Henry.

  She gasped as a pool of blood formed on Henry’s shirt. “Please, stop.”

  Her mind whirled. Of course it had been unethical of Henry to take on the project. But he had tried to save her—Brown-Eyes had just confirmed it. And if Henry had never taken the assignment to begin with, or if he had never tasked her to the project, what might have happened? Surely they would have just found someone else to run the project—someone who might have followed through. Someone who might have turned over the chemical weapon to this dangerous group.

  No, everything happened for a reason. Henry. Her. Aiden. Hell, even Sophia. Everyone was connected somehow. That had to mean something, right? It couldn’t all be some coincidence.

  It had to be fate.

  “Henry, I have a feeling you will do exactly as we ask from here on out.” The man approached Ava and removed the safety from his gun.

  She stared at the barrel of the gun as it pressed against her nose. A blur of black metal.

  “No,” Henry shouted.

  “Give us the formula or she dies.”

  “Don’t, Henry. They’re going to kill us anyway,” she pleaded, trying to remain calm. Confident. But her emotions were catapulting her every which way. She remembered the man’s warning about her sister. Her parents.

  A loud thud and a ringing sounded in the room, and the man glanced down at the plate that had fallen off Ava’s lap. “Talk,” he demanded.

  She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for a response from her or Henry, but she kept quiet.

  “Ava doesn’t know anything. I told you—I’m the only one you want.” Henry’s frenzied voice was fused with wild concern.

  “Give me the formula. Or we’ll play a game of Russian roulette.”

  She swallowed and attempted to keep her head held high, but she couldn’t stop the liquid from gathering in her eyes. Don’t do it, Henry. Don’t. She shut her eyes, prepared for death. Prepared to give up the hope of ever finding her happy ending. If her death meant she could keep that horrible weapon from ever seeing the light of day . . . but what about her family? She could only hope that Aiden would somehow know to protect them.

  “Five seconds.”

  She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, even tighter than she thought possible and waited, waited for the bullet to explode in her head, as thoughts of Aiden’s voice singing to her at the karaoke bar sounded throughout her mind.

  “Okay,” Henry said in a grim voice.

  Ava’s eyes snapped open. “No . . .”

  The man took a step back from Ava and lowered his gun. “That’s what I thought. I told you, Ava. It’s dangerous to care about others.”

  ***

  Aiden reached for the car door handle. “Are we breaking in?”

  “We’ll try knocking, first.” A smile slipped to Michael’s lips. They exited his Audi R8 Spyder, which he had parked across the street from the alleged Douglas Franklin’s apartment.

  “I assume he won’t be home,” Aiden said as they dodged the traffic and moved across the street with purpose. When they arrived at the entrance of the building, Michael reached into his pocket. He held a small, black device about the size of a cell phone, although the screen was much smaller. Michael punched in a few keystrokes and held the device up to a security sensor outside the entrance.

  The building required a key fob to enter. Fortunately, Michael the software expert was always thinking ahead.

  “We’re in,” Michael said as a small light outside the security box turned green and the door clicked.

  They hurried up the stairs and paused outside Douglas’s door. Aiden blew out a breath, exchanged looks with Michael, and rang the bell.

  Surprise flickered across Aiden’s face when the door parted open. He wasn’t expecting a redhead to be standing there. He’d seen the redhead before when studying the surveillance on the building, but he always assumed she just lived in the building—not with Douglas. He’d never seen Douglas enter or exit the building with anyone, let alone her.

  The woman’s brows lifted as she tilted her head. “Who are you? How’d you get in here?” she asked with a timid voice.

  Aiden held up Jake’s picture-less FBI badge. “Ma’am, we’re with the FBI, and we have a few questions for Douglas Franklin. Is he home right now?” His voice was polished and confident as he dodged her second question.

  She ran a hand through her wavy hair and took a step backward, opening the door more. “He’s not home,” she responded.

  “Can we come in and talk for a few moments?” Aiden placed the badge back into his pocket.

  She pursed her lips together and studied them with dark brown eyes. She then opened the door even wider and stepped aside. “I was just in the middle of making tea. Care for some?”

  Michael and Aiden exchanged looks before stepping inside. She shut the door behind them and angled her head, beckoning them to follow her.

  “Do you know when Douglas will be back?” Aiden asked as they entered the light and airy kitchen. It was all white cabinets and light granite, with a large window overlooking the street. The morning sunlight splashed across the granite counter and hardwood floor.

  The woman cleared her throat as she reached for the tea kett
le. “He’s out of town. He works in D.C. Unfortunately, he’s not home very often.”

  Aiden sensed stress as her voice wavered a little. “I see. Well, is there is a number we could reach him at?”

  She turned toward them, kettle still in hand. “What is this all about?” She pinched her brows together, her brown eyes studying them with obvious caution.

  “There is a case he is working on, one that we need to speak to him about,” Michael responded.

  The woman focused her attention on Michael, but there was something about the way she looked at him that signaled to Aiden she didn’t trust them. He noticed a slight tremble in her hand as she gripped the kettle, still not reaching for cups.

  “It really is important. We need to speak with him.” Aiden moved slowly toward her, afraid he’d scare her, and reached for the kettle. He was worried she’d drop it or use it as a weapon.

  Her eyes drifted up to meet Aiden’s as she handed over the kettle. “Thank you.” She wet her lips and moved toward the center island before pressing her hands on the counter.

  Aiden placed the kettle back on the stove and turned off the gas burner. As he turned away, he caught sight of a photo of Douglas and the woman on the refrigerator. They were standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, his arms wrapped around her body. Smiling.

  “I would’ve thought that two FBI agents would know that Douglas doesn’t actually work in Boston.” She noticeably swallowed. “Especially if you’re here about one of his cases.”

  Michael moved toward the kitchen island before placing his hands in his black slacks pockets. “We know he works in D.C., but we were told by his office that he was in Boston.”

  “Really?” Her mouth opened a little, and her eyes narrowed on Michael. “Well, you were misinformed.”

  “Are you his wife?” Aiden asked.

  She took a step back from the counter. “No, I’m not. If you two could just excuse me for a minute, I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” A small smile tugged at the edges of her lips. She gave a nod to Michael before retreating from the kitchen.

  Aiden quirked a brow and stood next to Michael, arms crossed. “What do you think?”

  “I think she knows Douglas isn’t really a lawyer, which means she knows we’re lying,” he responded in a low voice.

  “Which means she’s probably—”

  “Leaving, right about now.” Michael darted out of the kitchen and into the living area. He glanced at her foyer and caught sight of the front door, which she’d left ajar. “There’s no point in following her,” he said after closing the door. “But now we have the chance to look around his home.”

  “I’m surprised this Douglas character is dating someone. Hell, even living with her. I can’t imagine a relationship mixing very well with the life of a black ops guy.”

  “Do you think his agency knows about it?”

  “I doubt it—that must be why I never saw them enter the building together.” Aiden began opening drawers and looking around. “And I don’t think we’ll find anything here of use. He can’t be stupid enough to keep evidence just sitting around his home.”

  Michael cocked his head. “Well, he took a risk by living with someone—and judging by her prompt exit, she knows something.”

  “I think she grabbed her purse on the way out, but she left her tablet. You can access her messages and emails through here, right?” He flipped open the case and studied it. “And figuring out a four number passcode shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

  “I doubt it will help, but it’s worth a shot.”

  Aiden left the living area and walked down the hall, noticing a guest room, master, and office. The place looked a lot more feminine than masculine, with flowery sheets, pillows, and pastel walls. He assumed she must’ve been the main occupant.

  “I found something,” Michael called out.

  Aiden looked up from the nightstand drawer he was rummaging through by the master bed. “Yeah?” He moved out of the room and found Michael in the hallway.

  He handed Aiden a law book and folded his arms. “Open it.”

  “How did you know—” Aiden shook his head. “Never mind.” He flipped the book open, finding it hollowed out on the inside. There was only one thing inside the book—a photo with a message on the back. “The only one you can trust,” he read and then turned it over to view the image.

  A photo taken in front of the Lincoln building in D.C.—a photo of Sophia.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ava clenched the clothes in her hands as one of the agents nudged her out the door and back into the huge industrial space in which she had awakened to a bath of ice. They walked toward an area she hadn’t seen before.

  “Bathroom’s right there,” the agent said while motioning to the door.

  She glared at her captor and noticed the bandage on his arm. “You were in the alley, weren’t you?” He was probably the guy Aiden shot. “Were you also the one from the motel—trying to kill me?” She opened the door to a small, one-person bathroom.

  “I wasn’t trying to kill you. Obviously we need you alive . . . for now.” He followed her into the bathroom.

  “How can you do this? You work for the government.”

  He shut the door behind them, resting his hand on the butt of his gun, which was still holstered at his side. “I work for money.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip, perturbed by the immorality of those the people of America had to trust. Money. Power. Both equally corruptive. “You mind?”

  “I’m not leaving, sweetheart.” He leaned his back against the door and crossed his ankle over his other foot.

  “I’m not changing in front of you.” She chucked the clothes at him.

  Instinctively, he held his hands out to catch the clothes, and she saw him cringe slightly—good, she hoped his arm hurt.

  “Boss says you need to change. So you’re not leaving this Goddamn room until you do,” he said, leaning toward her. Their faces were just a few inches apart. He pinned her down with his gaze and pressed the clothes against her chest.

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth, refusing to take them.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” His light green eyes steadied on her chest. “I’m happy to assist you.”

  Of course she’d rather suffer the humility of stripping than to allow the bastard to touch her. Ava jerked the clothes free from his hands and took as many steps back as she could before she bumped up against the sink. “Fine.”

  He nodded as he wet his lips and returned to his holding position in front of the door. His fingers rested back on the butt of his gun.

  She attempted to maintain her composure as she slipped her slightly damp top over her head and chucked it to the floor. A flash of a memory flittered to her mind—the night Aiden had asked her to strip in his office.

  “I know who you are. I’d recognize those perfect breasts of yours anywhere.”

  Bile rose at the sound of his words. She stared at her captor and had the growing urge to puke on his shiny black boots. “You’re a pig.” She pulled the standard-issue-looking, khaki army T-shirt over her head.

  “Hey, if your sister wants to display her assets for the world to see . . .”

  “Shut up.” She wanted to come up with something stronger—a better retaliation than a fifth grader’s quick remark, but those were the only two words she could find.

  Ava rushed to change out of her jeans and into the army fatigues she’d been provided. She stared down at her bare feet and wondered if her captors had thought about shoes.

  “Come on. Ted’s waiting.”

  Ted—the man in the suit. He had recently introduced himself, which reaffirmed that her death warrant had been signed. “And what is he going to do? Kill me if I make him wait too long?” She snickered at her captor as she stalked past him, and immediately glanced around to find all the possible exits.

  She counted the number of visible agents. Five, plus Ted and the asshole walking her b
ack to the room. Could she take down seven men? Seven military-trained, black ops agents?

  It was most likely hopeless. She slumped back into her chair.

  “Relax. You don’t need to tie her.” Ted cocked his head to the side, signaling for the agent to leave her alone.

  Ava rubbed her wrists and looked over at Henry. He was also untied, but she noticed the slight bit of sweat on his forehead, just beneath the dried blood. What was going on? She caught sight of the notepad and pen in Ted’s hand.

  “Here.” Ted handed Henry the paper and pen.

  Ava realized what was about to happen and jumped from her chair and started for Henry. “No.”

  Ted moved toward Ava and gripped her shoulders before shoving her hard to the ground, her head banging against the seat of the chair in the process. She ignored the pain in her head and focused her attention on Henry. “Please, no,” she said in a broken voice.

  “They’ll get the formula one way or another. God knows what kind of torture will be next if I don’t give in.”

  “So what? They’re going to kill us anyway.” She remained sitting on the concrete floor, not sure what to do. She tucked her legs against her chest, hugging them with her arms.

  She looked over at Ted, who clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head at her. “We’re not the bad guys, Ava. Our mission is to protect the nation from terrorism.” His voice was eerily calm.

  “You’re the one America needs protection from. Not some harmless Muslims working at a mosque.” Her voice cracked a little in her attempt to be brave.

  Ted kneeled down in front of Ava and rested his hand on her knee. She snapped her eyes shut in revulsion at the intimate gesture. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  Oh God. “Nothing. I just meant—” Her eyes flashed open as she scrambled to think.

  “How do you know about the mosque?” His thick brows lifted and he shook his head. “The damn Irishman. I knew it was a mistake, letting him live. We should’ve done a lot more than get him fired six months ago. Damn prick never stopped, did he?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”