He’d brought the files.
The files she wasn’t supposed to have taken off-site.
She was so screwed. More than she’d already been. Before, she’d thought she could at least get by. Now? She might as well write traitor across her forehead, because that would be her official label in less than twelve hours if she didn’t show up to the office. There were protocols in place to prevent people like her with higher-than-average clearance from fleeing with secrets. Check-ups. Check-ins. The Company had even been known to send agents to watch people like her. If she didn’t show up to work soon she was toast. An absence without explanation would trigger a security check. They’d try to locate her, and, more importantly, the files she wasn’t supposed to remove from work. When they didn’t find her, they’d assume the worst and go into damage control. If she ever went back, they’d throw her in a hole and interrogate her without trial. The life she’d worked for, the job she loved, she was losing all of it.
Andy might as well have killed her. Carol had built her life toward the goal of being part of the Company. Irene knew that. And she’d still made this decision with the full knowledge that Irene could not protect Carol. That might be the biggest betrayal of all. There was no coming back from this.
…
Andy listened to the water bubbling in the ancient heater. One of the downfalls of ensuring they were off the grid was more rustic living. He didn’t mind. It was about the same—if not better—than the conditions he’d grown up in. But Carol was different. She was used to better. He wanted to give her more, but at what cost? He wasn’t sure he could keep her safe and comfortable in a modern context. He was just grateful his contacts had come through helping him with the cabin. In a pinch, they had another place they could go, but he wouldn’t tell Carol that.
She hated him.
He hadn’t anticipated their false relationship to blossom. All he’d meant to do was a soft meet. Make himself familiar to her. Instead, she’d bought into the lie of Mark and all he had to offer.
Andy had crossed a line somewhere. He’d known it was there, but he hadn’t been able to make himself pull back. Her smiles were intoxicating. One more turned into three, then ten.
This was the chaos of his making.
He’d soldier through, because that was what he needed to do so that Carol continued to live.
Andy paced through the house, peering out at the storm. They’d made it to the house with hardly any time to spare. He’d been able to get Carol in before the first true gust of blizzard wind hit. He’d hauled the gear and supplies in while ice pelted him.
They were snowed in. The truck was already buried under a bank of ever-rising snow.
He wouldn’t admit to Carol that he’d chosen his spot in part because of this storm.
The remote nature of their hideout, plus the elements and being cut off, it all created barriers to ensure she remained here. With him. Under his protection.
The soft whisper of well-oiled hinges was more an idea of a sound than a noise. The scent of flowery soap drifted in, giving her away.
She didn’t take a step into the main room, though.
“Water’s still warm, if you care,” Carol said.
“Not yet. Thanks.”
“What did you give me? I feel…like how petrified wood looks.”
“Sedative.”
“Thanks. I couldn’t figure that one out for myself.”
“You’re welcome.”
Carol made a disgusted noise, not altogether dissimilar from the one his aunt made whenever Andy’s oldest brother started going on about his ideals. Andy smiled at the window. Carol was a lot like Aunt Judy. They would get along well. Granted, Carol would never meet Judy, because Judy and the rest believed Andy was all but dead. It was for the best.
“What are you smiling about? Do I amuse you?”
“Yes.”
Carol made the same sound, only louder. She stomped through the living room and into the kitchen. Andy remained at the window, watching the snow bury them deeper. If they had to leave, there were snowmobiles, but it would be better to wait for the roads to clear.
“Do we not have a microwave?” Carol asked.
“No.” He turned and followed her into the kitchen.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this then?” She gestured to the now cold and congealed soup he’d brought her earlier.
Andy picked it up, uncovered the pot on the stove and dumped it back in. He turned on the burner and stirred the thick, creamy soup.
“Is this drugged, too?” she asked.
“Everything I’ve done is about preserving your life, not ending it.” He wished he could go back, try a different sort of approach. He’d done his job too well.
“You followed me. You got into my life. Into my head. I’m supposed to just be okay with that?”
“We’re on the same side.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so, sorry.”
“You think Irene would burn you? That we’d go to all this effort just to dispose of you?”
“Once I’m not useful anymore, maybe? I’ve heard the rumors about Irene, why she was moved to that division.” Carol had her arms wrapped around her again, as if she could batten down the hatches.
“Irene is a cutthroat woman who knows how to use the tools at her disposal.”
“Is that what you are? A tool at her disposal?”
“To a point, yes.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you?”
“Would it ease your mind if you knew I’d refused orders from Irene before?”
“No.”
“Then nothing I say is going to put you at ease.” Andy schooled his face into one of calm, while on the inside he was knotting up, tighter and tighter.
He didn’t blindly take orders. That wasn’t who he was. He might be a killer, but he made sure the people he put down deserved it. Carol was good. She was safe from him. He’d sooner cut off his own head than hurt her. But she didn’t know that. She didn’t know him. She knew Mark.
The soup began to bubble again.
He spooned out a bowlful. By his estimation, her stomach would realize how hungry it was after the first few bites. They’d likely finish off this pot between them. It might not be too early to think about dinner.
“Here.” He handed the bowl to her.
“You taste it first.”
Andy gritted his teeth.
His word was his bond, and now he had to prove himself. Because he’d made the wrong call. It was his penance, but he didn’t have to like it.
He picked up the spoon, making sure to get a chunk of potato and chicken on it. He tipped his head to Carol, then popped the food in his mouth. It verged on too hot, but he hadn’t oversalted it and the cream had thickened nicely.
“Satisfied?”
He plucked a clean spoon from the drawer and dropped it into the bowl for her.
Carol took the food and turned away from him.
Her assertation of him rankled, yet he couldn’t fault her for making those assumptions. He’d have to show her who—and what—he really was.
Andy rocked back on his heels.
Why did he need Carol’s good opinion of him? What use was it? It might make working together easier, but she had no option about that. He didn’t need her to like him to protect her.
It’d been long enough since he was called on to protect, not kill or steal secrets or watch someone with questionable allegiances. Maybe that was it. He was out of practice dealing with the good guys.
He spooned up a bowl for himself and circled to the dining table.
“I organized the files as best I could without looking at them.” He gestured to the piles of folders. “Your tech is in my room.”
“Do we have wifi?” she asked.
“No.”
“Cell phones?”
“This far out you likely won’t have signal, but just to be safe, I’ll keep your phones for now.”
“What are we doing out he
re, then? If I don’t have the internet or access to the CIA databases, what good am I?”
“You don’t need either to work on the program.”
“Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t. You can insist all you like that you do, but you’re not getting them. Now, you should also know that every door, window, and even the chimney is rigged to set off the alarm if opened. If you try to leave, I will know. I wouldn’t suggest that, because the forecast indicates we’ll be in three feet of snow by nightfall, four by the morning. We’re at least forty miles from anything resembling civilization, and the locals are not friendly to foreigners. You are also not likely to find anyone who speaks English. Take that information and make what you will of it.”
“Basically I’m trapped here until I produce what Irene wants.”
“Irene is not the bad guy here. She’s trying to protect you. We all are.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t see how this is protecting me. The CIA will label me a traitor when I don’t show up for work and they discover all the missing files. They’ll send a team to my house, search it top to bottom, and when I’m gone—with all of this—I become persona non grata. With my own country. So, thanks for stealing my life.”
“None of that is true.”
“Really? Because that’s how the operational handbook reads.”
“Whoever wants you dead doesn’t want the CIA looking for you. They’ll cover our tracks for us, which protects you as well. Besides, I made them a little test and they passed.”
“You what?” Carol blinked at him, lips parted.
“Someone broke into your nosy neighbor’s house and took the security footage from the night I took you. I know, because I planted a camera of my own to watch for them.”
“It could just be—”
“It’s not. They’re good at what they do, which is piggybacking off CIA resources. The guys who did the camera job weren’t ours.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Carol rolled her eyes.
“Because this isn’t the first time they’ve tasked me with killing someone for them.”
“Wait—what?” Carol sat up straighter. “You…you work with them?”
“Not willingly.” Andy stared into the soup. He’d done his due diligence. “Irene had me go back and do an audit of the jobs I’d done in the last two years. There was one… I was able to confirm that the agent in question was selling secrets to a Taiwan low-level government official. Given what we know about our moles—”
“China and Taiwan aren’t friendly. Our moles are sympathetic to Chinese and North Korean buyers. They can’t have someone undercutting their deals, selling secrets to the people they’re doing business with.” Carol shook her head. “You can’t prove that to me, though. How can I trust anything you say or do now? How can I trust any of this?”
“Seeing as you don’t trust me, I can’t really answer that.” Andy tucked into his soup. It didn’t taste nearly as good as before. There were bitter undertones that had nothing to do with the seasoning and everything to do with the decisions that had led him here. To this moment.
Carol didn’t have to like him, she didn’t have to enjoy working with him, but she needed to at least pull her weight. Do her job, so he could do his. After all, he was only buying them so much time. When he didn’t come through, when Carol wasn’t cleaned, whoever wanted her dead would send someone else to do the job.
…
Tuesday, CIA
Mitch McConnel checked his email. Again. Because it was the only thing he could do. His mind was trapped in a loop. This game they were playing, with the informants and the moles and the double-crossing, it was going to kill them.
He’d left politics and his family to do something good with his life. Something worthwhile. Dad had put up a fuss, but the truth was it had nothing to do with Mitch himself and everything to do with leaving Dad in a house full of women. What Mitch should have done was hire some guy, stick a Mitch-looking mask on the guy’s face and be done. Dad would never have noticed and his stepmother would have appreciated having him out of the picture.
After all, she wanted the future first family to be devoid of sex scandal, and that’s what Mitch was. A scandal waiting to be talked about. The illegitimate child of the future president of America. If things went their way. The election circus had begun to gear up, and would be in full swing before much longer.
That meant Mitch’s life would soon come under a magnifying lens.
What then?
Would his CIA status protect him from nosy reporters?
He’d thought that working in an agency specializing in secrets meant he could keep his, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.
He might be the liability.
To Irene. To his guys in the field. To everyone.
If they wanted to uncover a massive information-gathering network embedded in their own agency, Mitch had to be ready to step away from this. To take a fall.
Irene thought he didn’t understand her. That he didn’t get what she’d lost for the sake of what she believed in. The truth was, he did. Which was why he respected her, trusted her, and even let his guard down around her.
Anyone could do the math.
Mitch had been born to his father’s secretary almost nine months to the day of his father’s wedding. He knew what it was to be hustled around in secret, the snide remarks made about him, his mother, the truth of it all, the burden his mother had shouldered in that office. Irene did the hard jobs no one else wanted and got treated like shit for it. Mitch had watched his mother do the same thing until the day she couldn’t take it anymore.
That was why, when whoever was behind this mess came for them, they had to come for Mitch and not Irene. Irene’s sister needed her. The assets in the field needed her. And if they came for Irene, there would be questions, but inevitably they’d stop looking. If the future president of America’s coat-closet son vanished, well, every reporter would be out there, turning over stones until his body was found and then his dad might finally say those words Mitch had wanted to hear as a boy.
I love you, son.
Chapter Four
Tuesday, Switzerland
Carol stared across the cabin. She’d given up glaring out of the corner of her eye at Andy. Now she glared away while he did…whatever. It didn’t appear to bother him one bit.
Irene was behind this. And Mitch. Maybe Hector, Rand, and Sarah, too.
Carol had allowed herself to be dragged into this mess. She’d only been trying to do the right thing, and now that goal might put her on the outside looking in for the rest of her life. She’d let that blind her to the fact that Irene was loading her down with the important files. It was Carol taking the risk, Carol putting her neck on the line, and Carol who’d been abducted. Not Irene.
Perhaps the whispers about Irene being a cutthroat bitch who only cared for herself were true. Carol hadn’t given them credence because she knew Irene, what she was going through with her sister, all about her work. But, did Carol really know Irene? Really?
Carol turned and paced down the hall.
The cabin was a long rectangle divided into smaller rooms. At one end were the communal spaces.
There was her room, a room that was kept locked, then Andy’s room. At the back of the house was some sort of sunroom, maybe a mudroom. The tiled floors would make it easier to clean, but it was cold and she didn’t like the way all that glass made her feel exposed.
She passed her room and tried the second door in the hall again.
It was the one space in the house that was forbidden to her.
What was he keeping in there?
She could see if the answer—or key—was in his room. She swallowed and glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t in her line of sight, but she could feel his presence. She wasn’t brave enough to test him, to push her luck. What if the rumors about him were wrong? What if Irene had fed her misinformation? How did she know he was really Andy at all? This could be a game
to gain her trust, get her to do…what? Finish the program to uncover the traitors in the Company?
Think.
She had to think.
“If you’re going to run, at least put on some proper clothes.”
Carol gasped and turned toward the voice.
She hadn’t heard him move, hadn’t felt his presence, nothing.
She stared at the shadow that was Andy.
“That seems like the stupidest thing to do, given the situation,” she said.
“A cornered person will do whatever they think they have to, to survive.” Andy took a few steps closer, until he was on the other side of the door. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and turned his face toward the window. It was practically iced over. “You’re wondering who you can trust, if you’ve been played, what your next moves are.”
“How… You can’t know that.”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, no, but…I can guess.” There was a soothing, gentle way to his voice, unlike before.
Was he trying to—what? Connect with her? Get into his prisoner’s mind?
“If there was something I could do to make you trust me, I’d do it. We don’t have much time, and every minute you spend with your heels dug in like this is another we aren’t spending on a solution to this problem.”
“Why kidnap me? Why lie to me? Why not tell me? Warn me this was going to happen?”
“Surveillance on you has been too tight. If we tipped you off, we weren’t certain if we could do it without showing our hand.”
“Surveillance?” She stared at his profile, his face shrouded in shadows. She’d felt someone watching her and even suspected it, but now she knew the truth.
“You and Irene have had any number of meets in your homes, in public. Didn’t you think it was strange that lately she only speaks to you at work?” Andy asked.
“I thought… Her sister…”
“Irene knew you were both being watched. She’s been at this longer than you. She has training. You don’t. Keeping you in the dark was to protect you. Do you think that if you knew there was a team watching you on your off-hours, you would have behaved normally?”
Assassin Games (Tarnished Heroes) Page 5
