“So, just because our cousin—whom we barely know—thinks this woman is trustworthy, you took her word for it?” Trevor was surprised. Chad wasn’t one for details but he was normally careful about who they brought into their lives.
“Brotato chip, you seriously have to pull the stick out of your ass. You’re starting to act like Jarrod.”
He was nothing like their oldest brother. Jarrod had been a lone wolf since the moment he called upon them to take their positions within the business. After he had set up STEALTH he hit the road, looking for assignments from various governments.
“I hope Zoey looked into her background,” Trevor pressed.
“Of course. Zoey said she was clean, nothing too much to tell. Looks like Sabrina had been travelling around the world with her military family until she turned eighteen, just working odds-and-ends jobs since then.”
It was in line with the little Sabrina had told him, but something still felt wrong. Trevor glanced toward the kitchen where Sabrina was working. Maybe someday, if he could just ease himself back into being a civilian, something might start feeling right.
A man could only hope.
Chapter Four
She sat in the corner of the barn, letting the streak of morning sun that was leaking through the siding spread over the tips of her boots. Though the beam had to be warm, she couldn’t feel it through the leather. Maybe the sun was just like the rest of her life...pretty to look at, but completely devoid of feeling.
Then again, yesterday had been full of them—at least when it came to Trevor. She glanced down at her phone and his picture. The photo was sharp, black-and-white, typical of the FBI. And yet it didn’t really capture the man she had met. No, in real life he was far less imposing than he seemed in the picture. The photo failed to show the way it felt to stand there encircled in his arms, and then to realize that he had been playing her from the moment they met.
She flipped to the email from her handler, Agent Mike Couer, and stared at the man’s instructions. She’d have to play nice, get along and then get out of there. If she didn’t screw this up, she could be in and out without the Martins even knowing who she was or what she did. She’d made it this far; as long as she didn’t get wrapped up in another set of arms, she’d be just fine.
For a moment she considered calling Mike and telling him about the body they had found, but she stopped. There wasn’t enough evidence to track this back to the family. Sure, she could probably take Trevor down for the murder, but that wasn’t what she was here for; no, she was here for them all. They had to be stopped before they put any more weapons into the hands of terrorist organizations...and that was to say nothing of the lives that they themselves had snuffed out. This family was likely responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, if not tens of thousands.
The thought made the anger bubble up inside her. These days that feeling, that fire, was her only constant companion. Without it, she wouldn’t know who she was. It was that feeling that propelled her forward, past the crap in her personal life, and helped her to focus on her prime objectives. Her life wasn’t hers to live. Her life belonged to the people of the world, people who deserved to be kept safe and out of the line of fire of the Martins.
Stuffing the phone back into her pocket, she made her way into the house.
She just needed to get her hands on as much information about the incident in Turkey as possible. There were reports of photos, pictures proving that the STEALTH team had been involved in the illegal gun trade, and during the event civilians had been shot and killed. If she could just prove it, or find evidence that the family was part of organized crime, not only would her past indiscretions at the agency be forgiven, but she might also find her way out of the remote offices and back to DC.
The house was silent as she weaved between the moving boxes. Trevor and Chad had been vague in their plans for the day, but she expected nothing less. No doubt, they were at the shanty taking care of their mess. She should have been out there with them, getting information about their possible involvement with the dead man and his family, but she hadn’t found a way to get herself invited along. And really, even if she caught Trevor red-handed with this murder, where would it get her?
He was good at keeping people in the dark, but his family wasn’t as good as they thought they were. She’d get what she needed. She always did.
Trevor’s bedroom door was closed, but his room seemed like as good a spot as any to start. She opened the door. The room had nothing but four boxes, a desk, and a mattress and box spring on the floor. At the head of the bed, there was a rolled-up mummy bag sitting on a large body pillow.
Apparently, even though he had nothing, he was a man who still liked to make his bed in the morning.
Grabbing a box, she set it on the bed and pulled off the tape. As it opened, the scent of sand and sweat rose up and met her—the smell of war.
Well, she could fight, too.
She pulled out a set of fatigues. They were green and brown, a throwback to what Americans once wore in the jungles of Vietnam—not what she would have expected from desert warfare. The last time she’d seen an operative wearing this was in northern Africa. Some of the insurgents there loved to use the fatigues almost as their own personal calling card. They had even taken to calling themselves al-Akhdar, or “the Greens.”
It didn’t surprise her that this man would have found himself alongside such an infamous group. From what little she knew about them, the Martins had a way of being in prospective war zones even before the leaders of the country knew they were under fire.
She lifted the uniform out of the box and hung it up in Trevor’s closet. Though she never had time to clean her own apartment back in Washington, coming in undercover as a cleaning lady had its benefits. She could almost openly go through whatever she wanted under the guise of her newfound job.
It didn’t take long to empty the box and move to the next, putting away things as she came across them. Though she hadn’t expected to find much in the boxes, she had hoped that maybe he’d tucked something away—a picture, some sentimental token—but there was nothing. In fact, aside from his picture and the few boxes that were in the room, there was little to prove that this man truly even existed.
The only things she’d been able to glean so far, thanks to what she’d managed to overhear from the brothers this morning, was that the rest of the family—Zoey and Jarrod—would be arriving sometime soon. When they got there, she would have little time alone in the house. She’d have to work fast.
After going through what amounted to four boxes of random clothing and a set of encyclopedias that she was sure dated from the 1980s, she folded up the boxes. Carrying them under her arm, she stepped toward the door. As she moved, she noticed a gap between the head of the bed and the wall. It wasn’t much, just a couple of inches.
Making her way over to the gap, she pulled back his pillow, exposing a long black gun case.
Now we’re talking.
She pulled out the case, gingerly setting it on the bed and clicking open the tabs. In the belly of the case sat an M107 .50 caliber. She’d only seen a few of these in her days, and they were always in the hands of snipers—army snipers, to be exact. She snapped a quick picture of the gun and its serial number, but made sure not to touch the weapon. She sent a quick message to her people at the Bureau, hoping that one of them could pull up something.
He had played her when he’d brought up Schofield. He must have been testing her. Which meant there had been something about her that made him think that she couldn’t be trusted. Or maybe he mistrusted everyone. She racked her brain trying to think of something she had said or done that could have blown her cover, but nothing came to mind. She’d played it pretty cool...except for the girlie bit.
Or perhaps he wasn’t Army after all. If his family had in fact been running weapons, as they assumed, then maybe this was ju
st one from their catalog. There was little reason for Trevor to have such a specialized weapon out here in the Middle of Nowhere, Montana. Unless he feared for their safety, or he thought he was one phone call away from having to kill someone.
She was probably right in assuming he was the type who was always looking over his shoulder. It probably came with his kind of game.
Maybe it was that she simply saw some of her own life mirrored in his. Over the last year, thanks to her little slipup—okay, major setback—she had been away from home and the Bureau nearly the entire time. In fact, there had been only three days that she was in the office. One when she went in to see him, one when she was called into her superior’s office and told she would henceforth be working remotely, and then when she was packing up her desk. Ever since then, she’d been living out of hotel rooms around the world. Everything in her life had been temporary and single-use.
She ran her fingers through her smooth hair. Since she’d taken residence at the Widow Maker Ranch she’d finally gotten the chance to buy and use real shampoo again, and not be stuck with the cheap stuff that was always in the guest basket at the hotels where she stayed.
Compared to Trevor’s constantly on-guard life—a life that required high-caliber rifles and owning nothing but a smattering of dusty old clothes—a few split ends seemed to pale in comparison. At least she had a certain amount of freedom. For the most part, she could check out when she was off duty.
For a split second, she felt a niggle of pity for the handsome Trevor Martin. He was never going to be able to live a normal life, not doing what his family did. They would always be hunted. And forget about having a love life.
The pity turned to something else, something entirely too much like disappointment.
She was just being silly. What was going on with her since she met this man? It was like she had never been around a good-looking, dangerous, Harley-riding, perfectly built badass before.
She closed the gun case, slipping it back in exactly the same position she had found it.
No doubt with her unpacking his room and all, he would probably assume she had seen it, but she didn’t want to make it blatant. And hopefully he would brush it aside, thinking she was the kind of woman who knew nothing about guns.
Her secret made a smile flutter over her lips. There was just something thrilling about being something and someone that no one expected at first glance. It was almost like a superpower...if she were a superhero, she’d have a cool name. No, better than cool—she’d want something enigmatic, mysterious. Something like the Shadow Defender, keeper of secrets and protector of the innocent.
She giggled as she walked out of the room, running smack-dab into Chad. Looking up, she tried to cover the guilt that was no doubt marking her features. Damn it, how had he gotten in without her hearing anything?
“Hey,” she said, stepping around him. “I thought you guys were out for the day.”
Chad glanced toward his brother’s room. “Uh, yeah. What were you doing in there? Does Trevor know you were planning on going in there?”
She gave him her most alluring smile, hoping that she could bring down his suspicions in true female superhero style. “I just thought I’d get a move on unpacking all the boxes. I was going to go ahead and hit your room next. That way you guys have a comfortable safe haven to come home to at the end of the day.” She shifted her weight, subtly exaggerating the curve of her hips. “There’s nothing worse than a barren room.”
Chad’s eyebrow rose.
Crap, hopefully he didn’t think she was making a move on him; she hadn’t meant anything. No, not when it came to him. Chad was good-looking enough, but he wasn’t nearly as handsome as Trevor. She thought back to the way Trevor had taken off his helmet and swept the long hair from his eyes. If he had a fan blowing on him, she might as well have been watching a freaking modeling shoot.
She turned before Chad could get any clue as to what she was thinking. The last thing she really needed was either brother assuming there was any possibility of something more than an employee-employer situation.
“Sabrina?” Chad called after her. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go ahead and unpack my things. No need for you to worry about it.”
She waved behind her, not bothering to look back. There went her chance, at least for now, to get into his room. At least she had a starting point to her investigation. If she ran the serial number on the .50cal, maybe she could pull up something. If she was lucky, there would be some agency out there tracking the gun, but based on what had just happened, luck wasn’t on her side.
She made her way to the newly remodeled kitchen, which still smelled of paint. As she pulled a box of Cap’n Crunch out of the pantry, the back door opened and Trevor strode in. He was sweaty and shirtless, wearing only a pair of running shorts and tennis shoes. He stopped and stared at her for a moment too long before he shut the door. Apparently he hadn’t been planning on bumping into her, either.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he walked over to the cupboard by the sink and grabbed a glass of water. Since his back was to her, she could make out a droplet of sweat slowly twisting down the thick muscles along the tanned skin of his spine. The bead moved slowly, making her wonder if it tickled.
“I see you’re one for a healthy start to the day. I like it,” he said, filling up his glass and turning around with a cheesy, oh-so-cute smile on his face.
“The Cap’n and I have a long-term relationship,” she said, hugging the box to her chest like it was a bulletproof vest. “He knows just how to make me smile.”
“I hear you. I’m a sucker when it comes to food.”
“You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart,” Sabrina said, but as the words escaped her, she just as quickly wished she could rein them back in.
Why couldn’t she just be normal around this guy—flirty, yet out-of-bounds? Instead, here she was saying things that she couldn’t have imagined herself saying when she was forced to take this assignment.
“In that case,” Trevor said, grabbing a towel and dabbing at his forehead, “would you mind pouring me a bowl? I’ll be right back, just going to go put on a shirt.” He flipped the kitchen towel over his shoulder.
Hold up, had he really just implied she could make her way into his heart? No. He couldn’t have meant anything like that.
As he walked away she once again found herself staring at the little bead of sweat, which now sat at the subtle indent that marked the place where his hips met his back. Her gaze moved lower as he walked away. His shorts moved in perfect harmony with his round, toned behind.
Yeah, she could touch that. Chances were, he would fit perfectly in the cup of her hand.
Wait, he was playing her. She couldn’t fall for his abundant charms or his easy grace. No.
She turned around and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and poured him some cereal, carefully setting the milk on the table beside it so he could add it in when he came back.
Her phone pinged with an email. Checking around her to make sure no one was near before opening it, she unlocked her phone. There was a message from Mike. Just seeing his name pop up on her screen made her stomach clench. Just once, she would have liked to not have that feeling. It was stupid, really. His name would always pop up. He was too involved in her life for him to just disappear. If anything, she was foolish to think she would just get over him and be able to go back to work and pretend that nothing had happened between them.
Maybe she would have been better off quitting her job and moving on to something else, but she had told herself she was a big girl—able to handle anything that life threw at her, that she would just have to accept the consequences that came with her choices...and yet she seemed to always die just a little every time she saw anything to do with her former flame.
She hated him. Everything emotional he represented. He was the emb
odiment of all of her worst flaws—her inability to say no, to make people unhappy, and the weakness she felt when it came to the needs of her heart. If only she could turn the damned thing off, be cold, distant, professional.
Opening the email, she read the encrypted note:
Dear Ms. Parker,
In regard to your findings at your current posting, we are and have been aware of your assignments’ past—including jobs dealing with long-gun usage. I’m glad to see you are finally making headway. Too bad it has taken you this long.
If you fail to meet the goals and standards set forth in your proposal in a timely manner, the SAC has let me know that they will be forced to look elsewhere for a UC who is better qualified. You have a week.
—M.C.
What a bastard. Mike had known what Trevor was and he’d left it out of the case files he’d handed her. He was trying to get her fired.
Of course.
What had she been thinking, assuming her sentence would be simple banishment to a remote office as an undercover agent along with her former flame? The special agent in charge, or SAC, whom they’d been forced to report to regarding their relationship had put them together out here in the middle of nowhere, hoping that they would learn to get along and develop a new sense of trust with each other. But the move had been ill-advised. As it was, she had a feeling she was in a dog-eat-dog battle with her ex, and only one would leave this kennel alive.
No big deal. She could do this. In fact, there was no better impetus for her to kick butt and take names than someone thinking she was incapable—or, in this case, Mike thinking he had the upper hand and assuming he could get rid of her that easily. She would show him, and the rest of the Bureau, exactly what she was made of.
The door to the kitchen opened and Trevor walked in. His smile had disappeared.
“Were you looking for something in particular?” he asked, the playful edge in his voice completely gone.
“Excuse me?” she asked, feeling the blood rush from her face as she stuffed her phone in her pocket.
Hidden Truth Page 4