by Kat Martin
She steeled herself. She had to focus on finding the answers they needed to stay alive.
“Maybe you should call your friend, Tabby,” she said, forcing her mind back where it belonged. “Let her know Tank is dead.”
“Good idea. I’ll do it right now. I’ll find out if she’s got anything new.” As soon as the call went through, he put it on speaker and set the phone on the kitchen table next to where she was working.
“Hey, Tab, it’s Bran. Wanted to let you know Wayne Coffman was murdered yesterday. Which means Edgar Weaver is now a dead end.”
“Jeez, Bran, Weaver was your best lead,” Tabby said. “That’s really bad news.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve got even worse news for you.”
Jessie stopped typing.
“I’ve been working on the auction site, trying to follow the links backward to where it originated. I was making some progress, but the guy who built it was good, set it up so the IP addresses kept bouncing all over the world. I got as far as Kazakhstan and back to the States—and here’s the bad part—I discovered there was a split. The weapons that sold for twenty-five million?”
“Yeah?”
“That money only paid for twelve thousand pounds of munitions. Five million more paid for the other three thousand pounds.”
Jessie’s gaze shot to Bran, whose jaw clamped down. Her stomach quivered.
“Two different buyers?” Bran asked. “Or the same buyers with two different money sources?”
“My guess would be the buyers are connected in some way, but the money for the smaller batch of weapons came from a different source. But at this point, I can’t say for sure.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where the second batch of weapons went?”
“Unfortunately, no idea. I’ll stay on it. See if I can narrow things down.”
Jessie looked at Bran as the call ended. “According to Ahmed, the weapons were shipped out of the country,” she said. “Now we find out there’s a chance some of them are still here.”
“Yeah,” he said. “The question is where?”
* * *
Two batches of weapons. Bran didn’t have enough intel to find the location of the smaller batch, but he knew where most of the weapons had gone.
Sitting down on the sofa, he phoned a number he had never used before. Delta Force Squadron Commander, Colonel Dylan Bryson.
“It’s Brandon Garrett, Colonel. A problem’s come up. I’m really hoping you can help.” He told the colonel about the shipment of chemical weapons that had been stolen and shipped to Yemen, gave the colonel the ship name, Delfina, which he’d found registered in Bolivia, and the names of the terrorists who’d been arrested so far.
“The group in Yemen calls itself sawt Allah,” Bran said. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but it can’t be good.”
“Who’s in charge of the investigation on your end?” the colonel asked.
“It’s murky. General Samuel Holloway, director of Chemical Materials Activity, is the top of the food chain. Weapons went missing under his watch so he’s heavily involved. Special Agent Derek Tripp at the CID is heading up the investigation. Long list of others. Lot of folks in the mix but not much progress being made. I’m hoping you can find out what’s going on in Yemen and stop an attack before it’s too late.”
“What’s your interest in this?”
“Colonel James Kegan was arrested and charged with the theft. His daughter’s my client. You might remember her brother, Danny.”
He could almost see the colonel nodding, a lean, athletic, broad-shouldered man with thick dark hair cut military short, and a nose that had once been broken.
“Daniel Kegan. I remember him. Loss of a good soldier and a good man.”
Bran felt a sudden tightness in his throat. “From what we’ve discovered, Colonel Kegan was set up to take the blame, wrongfully charged, then murdered. His daughter began investigating, now she’s fighting to stay alive. I’m doing my best to make sure she does.”
“She’s fortunate to have your help.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Unfortunately, there is. We just got fresh intel that the stolen munitions were divided into two different batches. Most of them went to Yemen, the rest followed another money source in the States, which means there’s a chance they’re meant to be used on US soil.”
“Who’d you report this to?”
“That’s part of the problem, sir. We’re no longer sure who we can trust. And as I said, the latest intel can’t be verified.”
“I may be able to help with the situation in Yemen,” the colonel said. “You have my word I’ll do what I can. But domestic terrorism is out of my jurisdiction.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be back in touch.”
The call ended and Bran looked up to see Jessie standing a few feet away.
“You think he’ll help us?”
He nodded. “If there’s any way he can. He knew your brother. Maybe your father, too. He’ll keep his word.”
Her eyes found his. “Just like you,” she said softly. “If you give your word, you keep it.”
His chest tightened. “I do my best,” he said a little gruffly. He thought her eyes glistened, but maybe he’d imagined it. He wanted to ask what was going on in her head, but he was afraid he knew.
“So there’s nothing more we can do with this new information,” she said.
“Maybe we can find out if Homeland has seen any uptick in terrorist activity. I’ll call Jax Ryker. He was a navy SEAL. He knows people, maybe someone in Homeland who can help us.”
He picked up his cell and phoned Jax, who said he’d make a couple of calls and get back to him.
Jessie shoved her hair back from her face and sighed wearily. “So until something breaks, we’re pretty much at a standstill.”
“Pretty much,” he said. He could tell by the set of her shoulders how discouraged she was.
“I...um...didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I’ll go in and take a nap.”
He wanted to join her, even if they just curled up together and slept, but instead he only nodded. It was time to slow things down, bring his emotions back in check.
From the way his heart was throbbing as he watched her walk away, it wasn’t going to be easy.
THIRTY-ONE
After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, thinking about Bran and unable to fall asleep, Jessie gave up and went back into the living room. Bran was stretched out on the sofa asleep. Even with his eyes closed, there was a vigilance about him, a tension in his muscles that said he could come awake in an instant.
She moved quietly over to the table so she wouldn’t disturb him. So far the encryption on his computer hadn’t been penetrated. The people at The Max were good. Now was her chance to do some research.
When she’d first begun her investigation, Robert De La Garza, the project manager for Weidner at the Alamo Depot, had been her primary suspect, the man at the top who controlled the plant. She’d found nothing to connect him to the theft.
She took another look at him now, his credentials, his experience, the date he’d taken the job. She followed every link she could find. Nothing popped up.
There were two deputy directors under De La Garza, Dwayne Higgins and Nathan Staats. She had looked at both of them, but hadn’t gone that deep. Then things had started happening. Her life had been threatened, she’d headed for Dallas, and nothing had been the same since.
She started to look up Deputy Director Dwayne Higgins, then paused.
The one person she had never investigated beyond looking at his biography on the US Army website was Brigadier General Samuel Holloway. Her father had respected the man, and she’d had no reason
to suspect him of being involved. But Wayne Coffman’s murder still bothered her.
Just days after Coffman had been transferred to the army stockade, he was dead. Weaver could have ordered the hit through his Aryan Brotherhood connections in the prison, just as he had before, but how did Edgar Weaver find out Tank had been arrested? And why wasn’t he placed somewhere the Brotherhood couldn’t get to him?
Holloway was one of the few people who knew about the connection between Tank and Weaver. She typed in Brigadier General Samuel Holloway and the US Army website popped up, showing his photo and page-long biography.
At the sound of footfalls padding toward her, she glanced up to see Brandon yawning and absently scratching his broad chest. With his hair sleep-mussed and the dark scruff along his jaw, he looked so male and sexy she wanted to eat him up. Then she remembered her resolve. At the very least, she needed time to figure things out, try to decide on the right course to take.
Which was all well and good until he stood behind her to look over her shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his powerful body. Her mind flashed with memories of the last time they had made love, and her whole body flushed with heat.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
She mentally shook herself, focused on the question. Hesitated. Bran was military to the bone. Thinking a decorated superior officer might be capable of treason wasn’t something he was going to take lightly. Though she had a hunch he might have a few suspicions of his own.
“I’m looking at General Holloway, seeing if there’s something I missed.”
Bran started reading the words on the screen. “‘Division Chemical Officer Tenth Infantry Division, New York and Kandahar. Assistant to director of the Joint Staff at the Pentagon. Commanded the Blue Grass Army Depot for two years before he was also assigned to command Alamo.’”
“His background’s definitely impressive,” she said, knowing he had only read the bottom few paragraphs aloud.
“Yeah, and so are his awards. Bronze Star, Meritorious Service Medal, Army Commendation, Army Achievement Medal, Kosovo Campaign, Iraq Campaign, War on Terrorism Service Medal, NATO Medal.” He looked up. “Do I need to keep reading?”
“I get it. I’m sure it’s a big waste of time.”
“The thing is, the guy’s a highly respected army general. Twenty-five million is a helluva lot, but surely it would take more than money for a guy at that level to commit treason.”
“You’re probably right,” she conceded. Which didn’t mean she was quitting. She was a better journalist than that.
Bran scrubbed his fingers through his too-long brown hair, shoving it back from his forehead. “Most likely, I am right. But you’re right, too. We can’t leave any stone unturned. With Tank dead, Weaver is safe and we’ve lost our best source. The fact Holloway’s crossed both of our minds is enough for me. Keep at it.”
She turned back to the screen and continued, going backward in time, further into the general’s history, finding his place of birth, information on his wife, his kids, anything that might link him to Edgar Weaver.
An hour later she found it. For a moment, as the pieces fell together, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She read the info again, and the pulse in her temple started throbbing.
“I think I found something, Bran.”
He rose from the sofa where he was watching TV and at the same time gaming on his cell phone. She noticed he played when he was restless, a way of burning off excess energy, she guessed.
He paced over to where she sat and looked down at the computer screen. “What is it?”
She had two screens up side by side. One was General Samuel Holloway, the other Edgar Weaver. “Both men born in Albany, Georgia. Both attended Weatherbee High School.”
His blue eyes sharpened. “So Holloway and Weaver knew each other?”
“It gets better,” she said, feeling a second rush of excitement. “Holloway’s mother’s maiden name was Weaver. Her brother was Cyrus Weaver. Cyrus had two boys—Joseph...and Edgar.” She turned to look up at him. “They were cousins, Bran. Holloway and Weaver are cousins.”
Bran’s expression went granite-hard. “Holloway contacted Weaver and arranged your father’s death. Someone in the Aryan Brotherhood poisoned him and someone in the infirmary gave him the drug that caused his so-called heart attack.”
Jessie came up from her chair. “Then Holloway tells Weaver that Tank is in custody and someone in the Brotherhood kills him.”
“Now Weaver’s safe and so is the general.”
“Holloway is a murderer.”
Bran’s blue eyes went ice-cold. “That motherfucker is going to be sorry he was ever born.”
Jessie reached out and caught Bran’s arm, her nails purposely digging in. “You are not taking justice into your own hands. You are letting the authorities handle it.”
His jaw worked back and forth. He was wearing the same expression he had worn when he had dragged Ahmed Malik into the garage.
She squeezed his arm. “Are you listening to me?”
He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, bringing himself under control. “I hear you.”
“Fine. You let the army handle it.”
He released another slow breath. “If that’s the way you want it. James Kegan was your father. We’ll handle it any way you want.”
Relief trickled through her. “Okay. Good. Thanks.”
“You realize we don’t have enough on Holloway to prove he’s guilty.”
“Then we’ll keep looking until we do.”
Bran reached out and gently cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry, baby, for the way this has all turned out. If I could change things, I would.”
She couldn’t stop herself from going into his arms. She loved him. She rose on her toes and very softly kissed him.
Bran kissed her back just as softly. “I wish things could be different.”
She knew what he meant, knew that last night had changed things between them. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Me, too.”
Neither of them moved. Then Bran’s cell began to ring and the moment was lost.
“Chase,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. “I meant to call you. Lots going on.”
Bran filled his brother in on what had been happening and what they had discovered. “Looks like one of the top brass is involved in the theft, a general named Holloway. Not quite sure what to do with the intel. Still don’t know exactly who we can trust.”
Bran looked over at Jessie. “I’ll tell her. Take care, bro.” He shoved the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “Chase said to tell you not to get discouraged. He asked if we wanted him to fly out, give us some backup. I told him no reason at this point. He said if we needed anything to give him or Reese a call.”
“He’s always there for you.”
“Yeah.”
“I like your brothers.”
He nodded. “They’re great. After my parents divorced, Reese got into some trouble. He was in high school, living with my dad at the time. Chase and I lived with my mom. Mom took custody of Reese and moved him in with us. We all lived with her family. Devlin men are law enforcement and military for generations back. They helped Reese get himself straightened out.”
“Sometimes people can change.”
His eyes never left her face. “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes they can.”
* * *
It was late afternoon when Bran got a phone call from Jaxon Ryker.
“I talked to a friend at Homeland,” Jax said. “He set up a meet with someone in the San Diego branch. It’s off the record, an agent named Joe Bonnet. He’ll meet you at the Bayfront Café in an hour.”
“How do we find him?”
“He’ll find you.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, man.”
“You sure taking Jessie
with you is a good idea?”
“Not safe for her to stay here.” Especially not now that Mara and Ahmed were in custody, which meant members of the local terror cell could be hunting them. And there was Holloway to consider. The man was a powerful enemy. They needed to bring him down and soon.
“Thanks for the help,” Bran said. “I’ll keep you posted.” He turned to Jessie. “We’ve got a meet with a guy from Homeland in an hour.”
“That’s great. Maybe he can help us.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe we can help him.”
* * *
The Bayfront Café was a tourist mecca down on the Embarcadero, with big glass windows overlooking the ocean. It was overflowing with guys in flowered Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops, women in shorts and tank tops. Lots of skin, sunglasses, and baseball caps. It was a warm day, the breeze off the sea cooling the bright sun burning down on the water.
Bran had dressed to fit in and so had Jessie, both of them wearing bill caps and sunglasses. It was just before two o’clock and they still hadn’t eaten, so they stood in line and ordered, then waited for their burgers and fries to come up.
Carrying their trays over to an empty table, they sat down and dug in, Bran casually looking for anyone who might be Joe Bonnet. He was trained to notice alphabet agency types, so Bran wasn’t surprised when a man with short black hair, a blue, button-down oxford shirt tucked into a pair of tan chinos, and without the hint of a smile, walked toward them.
Bonnet pulled out a chair and sat down. “Joe Bonnet. Ryker described you both. Ms. Kegan was hard to miss.”
Nope, not with all that fiery hair.
Finished with her meal, Jessie shoved her tray away. “Nice to meet you.”
Bonnet hadn’t used his formal agency title, which Bran took as a good sign. Also finished eating, he wiped his hands on a paper napkin and tossed it on the tray.
“We’re asking for an information exchange,” he said, getting right to business. “What we’ve got for what you’ve got. Assuming you have anything at all on a possible domestic terror attack.”
