Deliberate Deceptions hp-3

by Leah Braemel

  “Ed Weir is on his way to Hauberk as we speak. That’s why we’re waiting here on the tarmac. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be getting back on the plane and flying off to wherever Hauberk plans on stashing you. Somewhere Chad will be your captive audience.”

  Would it be possible to undo the ten years-more-of damage that distance and ill feelings had wrought between them? He hadn’t answered her question about whether Sam knew about his involvement with the Brigade.

  “You’ll have that second chance at your marriage you told Brewer you wanted.”

  Did she dare hope that? Or was it too late? Had too much time built a wall between them? Would it be too high for her to scale, to tear down and rebuild their marriage? Could they stay alive long enough to find out?

  The last invoice stamped and initialed, Chad placed it on top of the rest in his out box with a sigh. Damned paperwork. It didn’t matter how much he signed today, there’d be a whole new pile waiting for him tomorrow.

  He opened his top drawer and stared at the silver-framed photograph. Emily with her beautiful, toothless grin, her chubby fist clutching her favorite stuffed bear. Lauren holding Emily, her expression bright and proud. Who knew when that picture had been taken, less than a month later the chuckles and smiles would change to anguished sobs that, to this day haunted his dreams.

  The day after he’d been served with the divorce papers, he packed the picture away. The following day he’d retrieved it. He’d compromised by tucking the frame where he could look at it without anyone else knowing. At least he’d managed to wean himself down to looking at it only a couple times a day instead of several times an hour.

  “Got a minute?” Hauberk’s owner, Sam Watson, filled the doorway. Only the sharpness of his gaze belied the casual way he leaned against the frame. Sam probably knew about the picture and its hiding spot so why the hell did he bother with the deception?

  Even so, Chad slid the drawer shut and nodded. “Of course.”

  Sam closed the door behind him, then settled himself into one of the visitor’s chairs opposite Chad, the leather creaking beneath his weight.

  They discussed the various reports that had come in the night before, the state of the new office Sam was setting up in Seattle, and a half dozen other unimportant topics that had Chad responding by rote. While Sam droned on, Chad rolled his pen in his fingers. The light fractured on the brushed gold, the engraved initials so worn they were barely legible. His sister Thalia had given it to him-crap, fifteen years ago. The day he’d graduated the FBI’s academy.

  Sam pulled a cigar from his pocket and eyed it. “Damn, I wish I’d never promised Sandy I wouldn’t smoke during office hours.”

  “You’re the boss. Tell her it’s your office and light up anyway.” He suppressed the smile that threatened to break out imagining their assistant’s righteous indignation. Sandy would have Sam quivering in a corner in a heartbeat.

  As he’d expected, Sam snorted. “Yeah, right. Then she’d move all my files on my computer, or rename them so I couldn’t find anything.”

  “More likely she’d serve you one of those flowery teas she likes. Force you to drink it in front of Jimbo Williams.” They both knew how one of their wealthiest and most influential clients judged a man by how he took his coffee.

  “Shee-it. I can hear him now.” Sam adopted a nasal tone pitched two octaves higher than his usual bass. “No real man puts pansy-assed creamer or sugar in his coffee, Sammy, not if they’ve got a dick between their legs. Don’t send some pinky-wavin’ tea drinker to guard me either. You might as well cut off my nuts and call me Sally.”

  Controlling the smile at Sam’s perfect imitation of their client, Chad carefully placed the pen so it lined up with his day planner. “Why are you here, Sam?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t come here to discuss Jimbo Williams.” He lined the day planner up at perfect angles to the blotter that was precisely in line with the desk edge. “Or the new office in Seattle. Or how the newbie screwed up last night.” He looked pointedly at Sam. “By the way, I will talk with him about that, not you.”

  Sam grimaced and slid the cigar back in his pocket. “A little birdy told me that on Sunday the Post is running a ‘where are they now’ feature and you’re one of their targets.”

  His balance tilted as if someone had hit him with a sledgehammer. “Aw fuck, Sam, you know they’ve played that angle before. Hell, the fires were still burning in the Pentagon when that headline hit.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sam had been mentioned often enough but, according to press reports, he’d been following orders like a mindless robot. “I also know of the cases our office was handling back then, none involved any of those terrorists and there’s no way your decision was responsible for the attacks. You know the press. They’ve got to have their story and they’re ready to use any angle they can to boost their sales.”

  Chad tilted his head to one side then the other in an effort to loosen the tightening neck muscles. “So we wait it out. It’ll be a headline for the weekend, then some other scandal will erupt and they’ll move on. Face it, Sam, it’s a non-event. I’m old news.”

  “Maybe so, but why don’t you take a few days off yourself? Take a vacation. Get out of Washington.”

  Chad blinked before he caught himself. “You think I’m going to run out when you and Rosie are due to leave for Hawaii in-” he checked his watch, “-nine hours? Someone has to stay and look after this place.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Though Sam didn’t look away, he shifted in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. “We’ve rearranged things. Looks like I’m gonna be around for a while.”

  Rosie had been fretting for weeks about finally meeting Sam’s mother but there’s no way in hell she would have cancelled out. So why…shit. Sam wanted to distance Hauberk from Chad’s sullied reputation. After all he’d done to help build up the company until it was one of the biggest on the eastern seaboard?

  “You think I’m a detriment to the company.”

  “Shee-it, no.” Sam’s hand drifted to his pocket, seeking the cigar again. With a curse, he lowered his hand, his fingers flexing, restless. In other words, yes, but he couldn’t admit it.

  “Do you want my resignation? Because if you do, it’ll be on your desk in thirty minutes. You want to buy me out too?”

  “No, I don’t want your resignation or to buy you out. You’re half of Hauberk, for fuck’s sake.”

  “But you don’t want me around the office for a while, do you? You don’t want our clients reminded of why Hauberk got started. Because of my fuck-up.”

  Sam stood and leaned over the desk, planting his fists on either side of the blotter. “I suggested you get away because you’re more than my partner, you’re my friend, damn it. I suggested you get away because I hate to see you hounded by the press, enduring the crap they fling at you. You took the heat for me back then, at least let me take some heat for you now.”

  “I deserved the heat. And those reporters?” He flung an arm toward the window. “They were right. If you and Jill had been available for another case, it would have freed up two other agents who might have freed up two other agents somewhere else who might have tumbled onto the 9/11 conspiracy.” He played his trump card. “Maybe Jill would still be alive.”

  Sam’s expression went blank, and his voice lowered, a sure warning sign he was approaching meltdown. “That’s a low blow, even for you. Especially for you.”

  “But it’s true, isn’t it? I’m the one who sent you two undercover without authorization. If you hadn’t been following my orders, Jill wouldn’t have been killed, and you wouldn’t have ended up flat on your back in hospital with a bullet a half inch from your heart.”

  “Maybe Jill would still be alive, but Thalia-your own sister, damn it-would be dead. Butchered.” Sam folded his arms across his chest, a sure sign he was settling in for a fight he didn’t intend to lose. “Who knows how many others Vandeburg would have killed
that night? Or gone on to kill another night if I hadn’t taken him out?”

  Even hearing that man’s name was like having someone twist a knife in his guts. Goddamn the bastard. How many people-living and dead-had David Vandeburg destroyed? Was he still destroying?

  “It was the MPDC’s responsibility to catch him.” He was relieved that his voice stayed level as he recited the mantra his superiors had chanted right before they’d taken his FBI badge and let the door hit his ass on the way out.

  “We both know they were only doing drive-bys. They wouldn’t have caught him that way. You think I haven’t gone over your decision a million times? Wondered if maybe those headlines were right? You made a decision to catch a killer when everyone else turned their backs because of who he was killing. Because of you, we stopped a serial killer.”

  “The point is I went against orders. I deserve the heat, Sam. Every fucking bit of it.” His voice was flat, betraying none of the rage that roiled in his chest. Thalia might not be dead, but she’d never walk again. He’d failed to protect her despite everything he’d done.

  A knock on the door had them both turning around. The head of Hauberk’s International group, Troy McPherson, strolled in, looking grim, followed by another man Chad didn’t recognize. “Sam, Chad, I’d like you to meet Ed Weir. Ed’s got an employee who needs a safe house.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ed.” Sam rose to shake Weir’s hand. “Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll work out the details.”

  Weir sprawled on the couch instead of taking the leather visitor’s chair Sam pushed his way. He hitched one ankle onto his knee. “As McPherson said, I’ve got a business associate who needs to be kept somewhere safe until we can find the bugger who’s threatening her.”

  Sam hitched his chair around and settled back into it. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

  Chad let Sam run with the company patter while he composed a note to his net wizard Dan to dig up everything he could on Weir. Once the email had been sent, he sat back and assessed their newest client. South African from his accent. Weir’s alert gray eyes behind wire-framed glasses assessed his surroundings with the attentiveness Chad expected from his agents. The gaze stopped briefly at the holster beneath Chad’s arm before rising to his face.

  Interesting and commendable. Many of their clients couldn’t have told him what color suit he’d been wearing after talking with them for an hour.

  Salt and pepper hair that had once been sandy brown had been clipped so it was no longer than an inch anywhere on his head. There was more gray in the neatly trimmed goatee. Forty perhaps, give or take a couple years. He’d been taller than Troy when they were standing in the doorway which pegged him at six foot two, give or take an inch. A hundred-and-eighty pounds, though that was probably generous.

  “I own a few mining ventures back home.” Gold or diamonds? Chad wondered. No wedding ring, but a heavy gold link bracelet on his right wrist and a Rolex-one of the Oyster models without diamonds-confirmed Weir had a healthy bank account. Wouldn’t a diamond mine owner wear their own product? Gold then perhaps.

  “A few months ago, I came to believe we had a mole in the company, someone who might be looking to steal a device we’ve been working on that should help us find new lodes. So I hired the woman I want you to guard to do some discreet investigation.”

  “Let me guess-she kicked over some rocks and found a snake?” Sam leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees.

  “Yes. We know who the mole is-and they’ve been neutralized. Unfortunately the person the informant was selling the information to has taken it personally.”

  Neutralized? Chad frowned. In his business that meant they’d been killed.

  Sam didn’t seem as concerned about that line of thought. “You said there have been threats. What type?”

  Weir toyed with the hem of his pants on the ankle he’d hitched over his knee. “Someone tossed a Molotov cocktail through her flat’s window last Tuesday night. She got out, a little singed but no worse for wear.” Chad figured that was an understatement but kept his peace as Weir continued. “My government recommended she return to the States while they investigated the attack. Since I had meetings here this week, I accompanied her.”

  Troy, who had been leaning against the wall listening silently up to this point, grabbed the remaining vacant chair. “It didn’t work though, did it? There’s been another attempt. Here in the States.”

  Weir splayed his fingers over his knees and examined them for a long second before he answered. “Yes. Someone broke into her room and left a tripwire that would have set off a bomb. Lucky for her she’s cautious and found it before she set it off.”

  “Who’s your suspect?” Chad cut to the chase.

  “The man’s name is Frank Harris.” Weir pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to Sam, who glanced at it for a moment before handing it to Chad. “According to the investigating officer, Harris has links to a half dozen radical terrorist organizations ranging from Shining Path to Al Qaeda.”

  All three of them-Sam, Troy and Chad-cursed.

  “We can provide a safe location for her to stay-” Sam glanced at Chad, who nodded his agreement, “-complete with armed bodyguards, and a state-of-the-art security system with around the clock coverage. But you’re going to have to let us in on the investigation she was running.”

  “Fair enough.” Weir nodded.

  Chad left Sam to discuss the monetary details while he considered which safe house to use and who to assign as their principal’s guards. He discarded the house in Fredrick as unsuitable. It worked fine for partners seeking distance from a vengeful ex, but with this case, they were talking a more sophisticated threat. The estate in Texas Sam had bought and fitted out the previous year was a possibility, as were the penthouse in New York, the farm just outside Atlanta, or the compound in Vermont. They’d each been set up with a state-of-the-art alarm system, along with a panic room that would be secure even if someone hit it with a hundred pounds of C-4 explosive. For some reason he couldn’t name, he ruled out Arlington. New York was out too. It had seen enough terrorism, thanks very much. He checked with the Atlanta office only to discover their safe house was in use. Which left Vermont.

  They’d need round-the-clock coverage and someone experienced in dealing with people willing to die to attain their target. He ran through his list of available operatives, weighing each on their merits. The former vice cop Walters? He’d be the best bet as a lead op. The newbie-Campbell-made the list because he hadn’t lost that wariness from his hitch in Afghanistan. Wariness was exactly what he wanted, what their client needed. He added and discarded a half-dozen more names. Once he had a plan set in his head, he rejoined the discussion.

  Sam leaned back in his chair. “Who are you thinking for lead op?”

  Before he could say anything, Troy leaned forward. “Can I recommend Scott Phillips? He’s got one of the best strategic minds of anyone at Hauberk.”

  Phillips? They both knew the operative wasn’t one hundred percent recovered from his torture at the hands of the terrorists in Colombia.

  “No.” Sam’s emphatic denial saved Chad from having to denounce Troy’s pick. “He can help guard her, but I don’t want him as the lead.”

  “That those people were taken hostage wasn’t his fault, Sam, and you know it. There’s no possible way he could have known they were being set up,” Troy argued, intensity building in his tone. “Plus he’ll be extra cautious because of what happened down there. Paranoia can be a good weapon sometimes.”

  Sam shook his head. “No. I’ve got a better idea.”

  He turned his attention back to Weir. “I’m gonna put Mr. Miller himself here in charge of your lady’s protection, Mr. Weir. He’s former FBI and has learned a few more tricks since we’ve set up Hauberk.”

  Damn it. Chad’s irritation increased twelvefold when Weir turned a considering eye on him. “From what I understand he’s been sitting behind a des
k for a while. How do I know he’s up to the task?”

  “Shee-it.” Sam hissed in a breath. “Who the hell do you think plans and supervises all our ops? The damned janitor?”

  The tension in the air thickened when Weir stiffened, making Chad wonder what his story was, and if he was telling them everything about this threat that they needed to know. Finally he nodded. “All right. So, tell me what you’re planning to do to keep her safe.”

  “First we’re going to get her out of D.C. We drive her around the city and check for a tail. Then we take her to Dulles and fly her to one of the busier airports-”

  “Atlanta or O’Hare,” Troy injected.

  “-have her change planes to one of our private jets, changing planes at least twice more.”

  “We make it effin’ hard for anyone to follow her path.”

  Chad ignored Troy’s interruptions. “Then we stash her in one of our safe houses we have scattered around the country, surround her with a dozen or more heavily armed agents, and keep her safe until the threat can be neutralized.”

  “Where?”

  Weir’s condescending smile rankled. Who did he think he was dealing with here? A fucking amateur? “With all due respect, Mr. Weir, if I tell you where she’s staying, next thing we know there’s a leak somewhere-an email that’s compromised, a phone conversation that’s overheard and your lady is lying on a slab in the morgue beside a handful of our agents. If you hire us, you’ll just have to trust us to keep her safe.”

  “While she’s tucked safely away, we set up a team to smoke Harris out,” Sam added. “Since I’m going to be around anyway, I’ll lead the team myself.”

  Weir tapped his index finger on his knee for ten seconds before he nodded. He stood and held out his hand, surprisingly to Chad, not to Sam. “All right, you’re in. But if you lose her, if you fuck this up and she gets hurt? I’m coming after you.”

  “I’ll keep her safe.” Because who knew if Sam would let him come back. Without Hauberk, without a job to lose himself in, what else did he have left?