The Ultimate Betrayal

by Kat Martin

  Jessie rang the doorbell and he stepped back to wait. When the door swung open, Charles Frazier stood in the opening, his Facebook photo spot-on. Tall and reed-thin, red-haired and freckle-faced, he was the epitome of a computer geek. His eyes were blue and they widened as he recognized Jessie.

  “Hello, Charles,” she said.

  “Ms. Kegan...Jessie. What are you doing here?”

  “Charles, this is Brandon Garrett. He knew my father and he was my brother’s best friend. He’s helping me...look into things.”

  Frazier’s gaze swung to Bran. “It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and Bran shook it, felt a faint tremor as Frazier’s palm touched his.

  “We’d like to talk to you, Charles,” Bran said. “May we come in?”

  He swallowed, glanced back inside the house. “It’s getting late. Tomorrow at the plant would be better.”

  Jessie’s smile looked tight. “You had your chance to talk to us at the plant. You were too busy.”

  Frazier glanced back inside. “My...my kids are getting ready for bed.”

  “You should have thought of that before,” Bran said, stepping forward, forcing Frazier back into the entry. “A computer guy like you must have a home office. We can talk in there.”

  Frazier managed to nod. “All right,” he said weakly. “Down the hall.” As he turned, a petite woman with straight black hair and smooth Asian features came out of the kitchen.

  “You didn’t tell me you were expecting company, Charles,” she said, a little surprised.

  “Tina, this is Jessie Kegan and her friend, Brandon Garrett. I worked with Jessie’s father, Colonel Kegan. You remember meeting him at the company party last year?”

  Tina flashed a look of sympathy. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry about your father. Charles always spoke of him highly.”

  “Thank you,” Jessie said. Bran could hear kids’ voices coming from the kitchen and the sound of small running feet.

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” Tina said. She looked back over her shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. The kids still have homework, then it’s time to get them ready for bed.”

  “Always plenty to do when you’re raising a family,” Jessie said. Tina smiled and walked away, and Charles resumed his journey down the hall.

  Frazier’s home office was dominated by a pair of computers on a desk against the wall. Along with the ergonomic chair at the desk, there were two swivel chairs to accommodate visitors. Bran studied the framed certificates hung on the walls, degrees from Carnegie Mellon, Cornell University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and others.

  The guy was no dummy.

  Frazier closed the door but didn’t bother to take a seat. “What would you like to know?”

  “We could run through all the usual questions,” Bran said. “And you could parrot the same responses we’ve been given by everyone else. But I prefer to cut to the chase. You’re a computer specialist. Apparently a very good one.” Bran glanced toward the framed documents to make his point, but Frazier didn’t reply.

  “You were the guy who found the glitch in the Alamo system that allowed the stolen chemical weapons to go unnoticed for more than two weeks,” Bran continued. “Isn’t that right?”

  Frazier nervously cleared his throat. “I found a discrepancy that indicated an accounting problem. At that point, I didn’t know the munitions had been stolen.”

  “So you reported that a glitch showed an error in the number of munitions that had arrived at the plant.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did my father say when you reported the problem?” Jessie asked.

  “He was extremely concerned—as of course he would be.”

  “And?” Jessie prodded.

  “And he said that he didn’t want to rush to the conclusion the munitions were actually missing until he was certain the computer hadn’t made another mistake.”

  “Didn’t that seem like a reasonable thing to do?” Bran asked. “Confirm it wasn’t another system error? Maybe the weapons had been logged improperly, maybe they were misfiled, something like that?”

  “At...at the time it made sense.”

  “Did my father ask you to look for the missing weapons?” Jessie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But instead, you took it upon yourself to go over the colonel’s head and report them missing to General Holloway, his direct superior at CMA.”

  Frazier moistened his lips. “I was worried about public safety.”

  “Did you tell my father that?” Jessie asked.

  When Frazier didn’t answer, Bran gripped his shoulder and forced him to sit down in the swivel chair. “You heard the lady. Did you tell Colonel Kegan that you’d gone to General Holloway? That you were worried about public safety?”

  Frazier shook his head. The color had leached out of his face, making his freckles stand out. “I trusted the colonel’s judgment.” The torment in Frazier’s face was unmistakable. He kept glancing toward the door, and Bran had a feeling he knew exactly why the man had gone to Holloway.

  “Then what made you change your mind?” he asked.

  Frazier looked up at him. “I c-can’t tell you.”

  Bran squeezed Frazier’s shoulder, not too hard, just enough to make his point. “Oh, you’re going to tell me. Did the colonel ever talk about his son?”

  The change of subject had Frazier’s head coming up. “His son...? Yes. His son was a Special Forces soldier.”

  “That’s right. Danny and I served together in the same spec ops military unit.” Bran’s ruthless smile made the rest of the blood slide out of Frazier’s face. “So you’re beginning to get the picture. You can either tell me the truth, or I can do things to you that will convince you. I don’t want to do that. You’re a family man with a wife and three kids. Tell me why you went to Holloway. Was it money? Those weapons are worth a small fortune. You told Jessie that when she talked to you before. How much did they pay you to help them frame Colonel Kegan?”

  Frazier started shaking. Bran kept his hand firmly on Frazier’s shoulder, making the threat clear. He could bring the man to his knees in seconds. “I’m waiting...”

  Frazier swallowed. “It wasn’t the money,” he said shakily. “I respected Colonel Kegan. I had no idea what they planned to do to him.”

  “If it wasn’t the money, what was it?” Jessie asked, but Bran was even more certain he knew.

  Frazier looked up at him, his eyes bleak. “They...they threatened my family. By then I was sure it wasn’t an accounting error and the weapons had actually been stolen. I needed to talk to the colonel, but it was very late by then so I planned to see him first thing in the morning.”

  “Go on,” Bran urged when Frazier paused.

  “As I drove home from the plant that night, a vehicle followed me. Two men in a pickup forced me off the road. They had guns. They said I should report the theft to Holloway the next morning. They said if I didn’t, Tina and the kids would have a very bad accident. They knew where I lived, knew that my wife was a kindergarten teacher at Alamo Elementary, knew my kids’ names. I believed they would do what they said.”

  “So instead of talking to the colonel you reported the theft directly to the CMA,” Bran said.

  Frazier nodded. “I told General Holloway about the missing weapons. It never occurred to me it would lead to the colonel’s arrest and ultimately his death.”

  “Or murder,” Jessie said.

  Frazier looked as if he had taken another blow. “Dear God.”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Bran said. “But it’s a distinct possibility.”

  “We need to know how many weapons were stolen,” Jessie said.

  Frazier ran a trembling hand over his carrot-red hair. One glance at the implacable look on Bran’s face and he started talking. �
�A truckload. That’s three pallets. Each pallet holds five thousand pounds. Fifteen thousand pounds of munitions of various shapes and sizes.”

  Bran clenched his jaw. “Far more than enough for a terror attack.”

  “Or to cause a small war,” Jessie added.

  Frazier’s gaze turned beseeching. “Please...I’m begging you. If you tell the army what really happened, those men will kill my family.”

  “We aren’t ready to tell anyone anything yet,” Bran said.

  “And it wouldn’t matter if we did,” Jessie added. “The money in the offshore account still makes my father look guilty. Until we can find out who put it there and prove it was done to frame him, nothing will change.”

  “What about the missing weapons?” Frazier asked. “Someone’s got to find them.”

  “The army is searching,” Bran said.

  “And so are we,” Jessie added. “It’s what my father would have done.”

  Bran didn’t correct her, though they were hardly in a position to track down a truckload of stolen chemical weapons—especially since they had no idea who was involved or who they could trust.

  But Bran was pretty sure that wouldn’t stop Jessie from trying. And since he had vowed to help her, he was in it till they found a way to make it end.

  THIRTEEN

  The wind was blowing, the temperature dropped into the thirties by the time Frazier walked them back down the entry hall and opened the front door. Jessie waited while Bran handed the man a card with his cell number on it.

  “If you need help, you can reach me here anytime,” Bran said.

  “Thank you.” Frazier turned to Jessie. “I’m truly sorry about the colonel. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve what happened.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Jessie said.

  “I was terrified for my family. I just...I didn’t know what else to do.” Surprised flashed in Frazier’s eyes when Jessie leaned over and hugged him.

  “It wasn’t your fault any more than it was my father’s. Whoever planned this—they’re the ones to blame.”

  Frazier managed to nod. “Be careful,” he said as they walked out the door.

  They were doing their best to stay safe, but they had no idea where the next threat might come from.

  They didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “Headlights just came on behind us,” Bran said, as he turned the key in the ignition. “They must have been watching Frazier’s house.”

  Jessie shot up in her seat. “Oh, God, you don’t think they’ll hurt Charles’s family?”

  “Frazier did what they asked him to. I think they came here looking for us. Probably figured we’d show up to ask questions sooner or later.” Bran’s voice held a steely edge, and what might have been a hint of anticipation.

  “You’ve got your seat belt on, right?”

  “It’s on,” Jessie managed to say.

  The Expedition was a big, heavy vehicle, but it had plenty of power. Bran stepped on the gas and the SUV shot forward so fast Jessie slammed back in her seat. He made several turns, slowing then accelerating, weaving his way out of the subdivision toward the main road, then pouring on the gas as the road widened and stretched out into the darkness.

  The headlights stayed doggedly behind them, a little farther back now, but closing the distance.

  “Can you tell what kind of vehicle it is?” Jessie asked, her heart racing as she turned to watch the road through the rear window.

  “I got a look as it drove under the streetlight. Ford extended cab pickup. Gotta be our friends from the resort.”

  “What...what do we do?”

  Bran stepped on the gas. “Well, we aren’t going back to the hotel. If we did, they’d find us and we’d just have to move again. Wouldn’t want to do that.” He grinned. “Not when we both enjoy the pool so much.”

  Both? She couldn’t miss the implication or the flash of heat that burned in his eyes. Her breath hitched, and her mind shot straight to sex. Then the Expedition sharply swerved, straightened abruptly, and all she could think of were the men trying to kill them.

  The chase continued through the outskirts of town into the desert, the pickup’s headlights getting closer. Bran was letting the truck close the distance on purpose, she realized, and her pulse shot up another notch.

  “Hold on,” Bran commanded, as if she weren’t already clinging to her armrest with a death grip. The Expedition accelerated, swerved, bounced over a drop-off at the edge of the road and shot out into a field, careening down a dirt track into the pitch-black darkness.

  The headlights followed their route, the Expedition leading them farther and farther into the desert, both vehicles flying down the dirt road at a breakneck pace for about a mile. A shot of fear hit her when their headlights went off, Bran slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel, and the SUV did a one-eighty so it now faced the opposite direction.

  “Get ready,” he said, his gaze riveted on the oncoming vehicle racing toward them. Every cell in her body burned with nerves as they waited, the SUV idling like a predator, the truck getting closer, thundering toward them, but in the deep, powdery dirt not able to travel as fast as it had on the highway.

  Suddenly the SUV’s lights went on, the high beams hitting the pickup windshield dead center as Bran gunned the engine and the Expedition leaped forward. The pickup slammed on its brakes and veered off the road to avoid a collision at the same time Bran hit the brakes, and the SUV skidded to a halt just a few feet away.

  “Get down!” Bran shouted, as his door flew open and he leaped out into the darkness. She expected the overhead light to go on, but it didn’t. She should have known he would have thought of that.

  She crept up in the seat enough to watch events unfolding, illuminated by the headlights. Bran had already reached the passenger side of the truck and jerked open the door. The man inside flew out like a ball on the end of an elastic band, his gun soaring into the air, his body landing in an unmoving heap on the ground beneath the open door. Gunfire erupted, the driver shooting wildly, but his target had already disappeared into the darkness.

  Jessie recognized the huge bearded bald man running toward her, his pistol pointed directly at the window where she sat. She clamped down on a jolt of fear, ducked below the seat, reached up and locked the door, though it wouldn’t do much good against a bullet.

  Crouching in the footwell, her insides trembling, she eased up enough to see Bran run up behind the bald man, grab him by the back of the neck, and spin him around. A brief scuffle ensued, the sound of fists connecting and the bald man’s heavy grunts of pain. The next minute the man was sprawled on the ground, moaning.

  Jessie opened the door and got out as Bran pulled a zip tie from the pocket of his bomber jacket. He bound the man’s wrists behind his back, used another tie to bind his ankles. Then Bran walked back to the pickup to secure the man who lay unconscious on the passenger side of the truck. Jessie caught a flash of light as he used his phone to snap the guy’s picture.

  A few feet away, the bald man began squirming and shouting, trying to get free, his gaze furious in a face filled with hostility. “You’re gonna pay for this, you bitch!” A string of swear words followed, and fury burned through her.

  “You think so?” Pulling the cashmere scarf from around her neck, she wound it around the bald man’s head several times, till his face was completely covered, his vulgar tirade reduced to a torrent of mumbled words.

  Bran walked up grinning. “Nice work.”

  Her gaze went from the bound man thrashing around on the ground, back to Bran. “Same goes.”

  His smile faded as he knelt and rolled the man onto his back. “We need answers—and you’re going to give them to us.”

  “Muff you!”

  Bran just smiled. “You’ve got two choices. You can tell us who hired you, or I can shoot you and b
ury you right here. I really don’t care which you choose. If I kill you, your friend over there is going to realize he’s next and decide it’d be a good idea to cooperate. Either way, I’ll find out what I need to know.”

  Bran pulled his Glock from the holster on his belt and pressed it against the side of the bald man’s head. “What’s it going to be?”

  The guy stared up at him for several long seconds, pondering his fate. Reading the deadly threat in Bran’s eyes, he started nodding. “O-hay, o-hay.”

  “I think you mean okay,” Bran said. His gaze went to Jessie. “It’s a pretty scarf. You can always wash it.”

  She nodded. Her mouth was dry. She wasn’t sure if Bran would have pulled the trigger or not. It was a question she would never ask. She wasn’t sure she could handle the answer. Unwinding the strip of pale blue cashmere, she backed away.

  Bran holstered his weapon, grabbed the bald man by the front of his shirt, and hauled him upright. “What’s your name?”

  “Petrov. Vladimir Petrov.”

  Bran dug into Petrov’s pockets but found no wallet. Never a good idea to carry ID when you were committing a crime.

  Pulling out his cell, he took the man’s picture. Bran tipped his head toward the pickup, whose headlights streaked past sagebrush and desert, tunneling into the darkness. “What about your friend?”

  “Harley Graves. We call him Digger.”

  “Who hired you and Digger to kill Jessie Kegan?”

  Petrov shook his head. “We didn’t have to kill her. We just had to convince her to quit sticking her nose into other people’s business.”

  “And if you couldn’t convince her?”

  Petrov shrugged his thick shoulders. “Then we’d have to do something that would.” He was built like a bull, and with that pale, scraggly beard, he was ugly.

  “What? Like make her dead?” Bran pressed.

  Petrov didn’t answer, just gave another shrug as if killing her was no big deal. Jessie shivered. She gasped when Bran drew back his fist and punched Petrov hard in the face, sending a spray of blood into the air and his body flying backward into the dirt.