by Juno Rushdan
Also by Juno Rushdan
Final Hour
Every Last Breath
Nothing to Fear
Turn the Tide romantic suspense anthology
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2019 by Juno Rushdan
Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks
Cover art by Kris Keller
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
01
02
03
04
05
06
07
08
09
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Back Cover
01
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Saturday, June 29, 9:58 p.m. EDT
Code name: Cobalt
The man locked in the interrogation room had to die tonight, or he’d ruin everything.
Most sins whispered in the darkness, but murder was a bullhorn echo in broad daylight. Under different circumstances, eliminating an assassin—a terrorist—would be hailed as just. But the avalanche of lies Cobalt had been telling—wearing two faces for so long neither were real, the depth of betrayal, committing treason—could never be forgiven. Not that there had been a choice.
Dread burned in Cobalt’s chest, but determination overrode it. Killing Aleksander Novak wasn’t about money, ideology, or ego. This boiled down to something far more basic: survival.
Cobalt entered the mark’s personal identification number into the keypad on the server room door. The analyst was so trusting and never hid her PIN when she used it. If the entry log was checked later, and it would be, this breadcrumb would lead down a carefully planted trail.
Inside, Cobalt found the correct button on the control panel and shut off power in the currently unmanned observation room. The camera in Novak’s adjacent holding room was still on, but the surveillance feed was now dead. Nothing would be recorded.
How long would the window of opportunity last? Minutes?
There was zero margin for error. Novak had to be silenced permanently. The Gray Box could never learn the truth about Daedalus. Or me.
Cobalt walked at a brisk but steady pace toward the opposite end of the sprawling subterranean facility. Heart at a cold gallop, Cobalt risked a furtive over-the-shoulder glance.
Fear was a constant stalker, a cruel companion.
Rounding the corner to the main corridor, Cobalt braced for anything. Be empty.
No one loitered in the hall making small talk. Everyone was exhausted from the grueling mission, writing after-action reports, storing gear, eager to go home.
Cobalt slipped into the break room and released a heavy breath, fingers tingling from adrenaline. Don’t stop moving. Not a second to spare.
After pouring a cup of coffee, Cobalt dumped the poison in and stirred. The mushroom-colored granules dissolved and would only leave a mild aftertaste that’d be dismissed as a poor brew. Cobalt grabbed a box of doughnuts, hustled to the interrogation room, and opened the door.
Novak looked up, premature relief gleaming in his bloodshot eyes at the coffee and food he’d requested. Face bruised, chain restraints rattling, he had the nerve to flash a gloating smile.
Ignorant psychopath. Novak thought he was going to receive a get-out-of-jail-free card in the morning. Instead, he was getting an express ticket straight to hell. Cobalt set the items down, snuck a quick look into the hall—all clear—and chanced waiting outside.
Running into trouble here would mean game over. Thirty seconds for the poison to work, but it only took one sloppy second to get caught. Cobalt hid the rubber-band tension stretching every muscle taut, trying not to snap. Desperation set in and thickened. It was impossible to walk this tightrope forever, but right now, containing this disaster was all that mattered.
Cobalt put on latex gloves, withdrew a hotel keycard—swiped from Novak’s confiscated belongings before it was inventoried—snapped it in half, and ducked back into the room.
Now the messy part. Cobalt ignored Novak’s vacant stare and sawed the jagged edge of plastic across his wrists, his skin still warm. Deep vertical cuts along the radial arteries for a speedy bleed out. Blood flowed across the table, dripping on the tile floor into a pool.
The stage was set for what at first glance would appear to be a suicide. Outright murder would trigger an immediate lockdown of the facility and everyone would be detained.
Heart racing, mind clear, insides numb, Cobalt took the doughnuts and coffee for disposal.
Bruce Sanborn, director of the Gray Box, was a shrewd, careful man. The director would order an autopsy and begin counterintelligence polygraphs as soon as possible.
Both would take days, time Cobalt needed to set the fail-safe in motion. Shocking how easy it was to form a plan on the fly after hearing about Novak’s pending deal.
Then again, this wasn’t the first time Cobalt had plotted and killed to survive. And before this was finished, it wouldn’t be the last.
02
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Thursday, July 4, 5:25 p.m. EDT
“Everyone has been polygraphed,” Gideon Stone said, flipping a switch to tint the con
ference room’s glass walls opaque, “and put under surveillance.”
“We still have nothing.” Strain leaked into Maddox Kinkade’s voice. Their team was undermanned and overwhelmed, stretched to the breaking point. “We won’t win playing this long game.”
Maddox was right. This approach was only working to the advantage of their mole.
Gideon sat at the touch screen table and brought up the final autopsy report, swiping through the digital pages. Conclusive results indicated homicide. A fast-acting poison that mimicked natural causes had killed Aleksander Novak, one so rare it was missed on the first toxicology panel.
Someone in his unit, someone they trusted with their lives, had murdered the one person capable of helping them discover the identity of the traitor—right under their noses here in the ultrasecure facility.
The obscene moxie that must’ve taken made Gideon’s blood simmer.
“We need to get up close and personal with each suspect.” Maddox looked around the table. “Run this to ground as quickly as possible.”
Only the six people sitting in that room had solid alibis for the estimated time of death and could be relied on without question. They were a close-knit crew and had been through the thick of it together.
“Let’s deal with Dad first,” Maddox said.
Slim odds that Bruce Sanborn, director of the Gray Box, was guilty of treason and murdering a suspect in custody. Dad, as they called him behind his back, cared too deeply about his people to endanger them. Still, they had to do their due diligence and investigate everyone who had access and opportunity, including the boss.
“Dad keeps secrets locked up tighter than gold in the Federal Reserve Bank,” Gideon said. “And he’s the best at tradecraft.”
“Who has balls big enough to take him?” Maddox asked.
“I think it’s safe to say I have the biggest pair.” Castle Kinkade, Maddox’s brother, dragged a hand across his bald brown head. Nobody laughed. He’d proven his mettle often enough in the field, putting his ex-Navy SEAL experience to use. “But to make it fair, whoever is left last without a target should get the headache of taking Sanborn.”
Across the table, Alistair Allen clucked his tongue. “Nice try, Elephant Balls.” His posh James Bond accent clashed with his hipster haircut and grunge attire. “As Sanborn’s protégé, you’re the best choice to get close enough without triggering his Spidey senses.”
Steel-toe boots clubbed a vacant chair as John Reece threw his feet up into it. “I’m all for fair, but that’s a valid point. I think you’re stuck with the short end of the stick.”
Castle folded his thick arms over his linebacker chest. “All right, the hot potato is mine.”
“You can handle the heat.” Maddox fiddled with her new engagement ring. The massive rock must’ve cost her fiancé a kidney. “Next, Sybil Parker. Her epic fail is the reason we’re here.”
Parker’s position as insider threat monitor was protected. The ITM and her henchmen were watchdogs, blessed with unfettered access to mission details and the authority to surveil any computer system and phone line to prevent insider threats—to catch spies. The irony.
Complicating this shitshow, the director of national intelligence had hired the ITM three-pack, and only he could fire them, making the lot untouchable without irrefutable evidence.
“I’m up for the challenge,” Reece said.
“Got a death wish?” Maddox snickered. “That praying mantis will eat you for a midday snack. It won’t be easy to play Parker. She’ll anticipate it.”
Reece tugged down a ball cap that read I’m Your Huckleberry. “No worries. I got this. I’ll approach her with serious concerns,” he said, using air quotes, “about her nemesis.”
“No love lost between her and Sanborn,” Sean “Ares” Whitlock said. The guy had dark eyes, dark hair, and an even darker presence that’d make the average man wet himself. “That’s catnip Parker won’t be able to resist. Guess you’re not an insult to our profession after all.”
Reece grinned and flipped him off. “And I’ll try to dig deeper into her minions.”
Stand-up guy taking one for the team. Gideon gave him a two-finger salute.
“Maddox,” Ares said, his voice full of grit and gravel, “you should take Doc.”
No secret the man had a thing for their resident CDC scientist, Emily “Doc” Duvall, but she avoided Ares as if he had a communicable disease. Ares obviously didn’t intend to let the hound dogs he worked with sniff around the one lady he wanted and couldn’t have.
“Doc is dying to be BFFs.” Maddox winced. “But it gives me the perfect in. Okay.”
No one would deny Ares a favor. Going along was sure as heck easier than opposing him.
“At the top of the list after Parker,” Maddox said, “is Willow Harper.”
Gideon’s pulse spiked, his insides doing a one-eighty just hearing her name.
“A sharp cryptologist. Talented programmer. Skilled hacker.” Maddox rubbed her brow. “I don’t get a malicious read from Harper, but she’s a loner. A textbook red flag. And she made critical mistakes during the last op that can’t be ignored. She was also the one who redesigned our firewalls.” Knowing gazes were exchanged. “She could dig into our network without leaving a trace.”
All true, but Gideon’s intuition—or whatever he had relied on to stay alive in this brutal job for ten years—protested. Willow Harper was no mole. Or a murderer.
There was an awkwardness about her that he found genuine. Refreshing. Her modest charm hid a loneliness he recognized. But he kept his distance. She was refined and had a gift for creating elegant programs. He was rough around the edges and had a knack for terminating threats. They were different breeds.
“I can try reeling her in with my charm and repartee,” Alistair said. “If a friendly approach doesn’t work, I can always use a bit of pressure to crack her odd shell.”
Gideon choked on the chewing gum slipping down his throat. What the—
“I should have a go at her,” Ares said. “I’m the one who’s been surveilling her.”
A snowball’s chance in hell either would succeed. Ares was a bull in a china shop, and his atomic intimidation factor would render her mute. Alistair’s crass tongue and droll facade wouldn’t scratch her shell. The team couldn’t squander time on the speed bumps of their failures.
“Applying pressure is my specialty.” Gideon’s voice was low and cool. He was the only one in the group trained in interrogation. The cruel kind at CIA black sites. “I’ll take Willow.”
The room flatlined. Everyone’s attention snapped to him, wary looks surfacing.
“Willow?” Ares chortled. Even his grim laugh could scare someone shitless.
Gideon could count on one hand the times he’d spoken to her beyond a passing salutation. On the rare occasions he had mentioned her, it’d been by surname. How he thought of her was a different story. Letting that slip was unlike him.
Gideon shrugged. “Getting on a first-name basis is logical. I’ll need to get close.” Willow had rolled off his tongue smoother and sweeter than soft-serve ice cream. Something about her inspired whimsical thoughts and deranged hope for a drop of goodness in his life.
Maddox’s insightful green-eyed gaze pinned him. His best friend saw through people, picked up on the things others sought to hide, and she knew him better than anyone. He wanted to squirm under the dissection of her scalpel-sharp scrutiny but merely flexed his jaw.
“If Harper isn’t the leak, she doesn’t deserve you on her tail.” Maddox shook her head. “I’ve seen how you look at her. I know how you’ll handle this.”
Really? He didn’t. Arching a brow, he waited.
“The lover angle,” she said. “It’s the wrong play. We don’t know enough about her—whether she’s into girls or guys or no one at all. And if you’re her type and she’
s not our traitor, heaven help her.”
He knew what she was saying. One-night stands and no attachments suited him. No one got burned. No one got a chance to see the truth about him—not since his late wife, and she’d been terrified.
“Give me some credit. I’ll feel her out and determine how to play it, but the reality is lovers fosters intimacy faster than other methods. Yields more reliable results too.”
Not that he’d ever worked a honey trap before, and sleeping with Willow hadn’t been on his agenda. Walking into the conference room, he hadn’t even planned on getting within two feet of her, never mind taking her as a target. But after observing her the last three years—her unfaltering work ethic, how she interacted with others, avoided office politics—he had an advantage the others didn’t. He knew Willow’s character.
Maddox drew her dark curls into a ponytail, accentuating the striking features of her golden-brown face. “I have a hunch Harper is innocent. If she’s cleared, she still has to work with you. The situation could get messy. Ugly. I don’t like it.”
Gideon shared her concern. There was something wholesome yet complex about Willow. He wanted to protect her, not hurt her. Out of their other choices for the job, he was the best one.
“We’re at war,” Castle said. “We were supposed to be impenetrable, but the enemy is embedded, has been fooling us for years. If this isn’t resolved ASAP, heads are going to roll.”
A mole inside the CIA or FBI would be bad, but this was worse. Their off-the-books unit operated beyond the black-and-white lines of other agencies and at times beyond the law. They were sanctioned for direct action on foreign and domestic soil with access to the most classified data. A traitor selling secrets meant getting burned in the field, being spoon-fed false intel, and ultimately threat of exposure. Nasty possibilities piled up fast. This was a political nightmare that could end careers, starting at the very top.
“We don’t have the luxury of indulging a hunch,” Alistair said. “Sometimes we do bad things for good reasons.”
“This isn’t really your forte, Gideon,” Maddox said, pausing as if waiting for him to agree, but he held her gaze and his tongue. “Flirting and finesse,” she finally added.
