by Paula Graves
And it would be so very easy to dispatch him with a simple shrapnel bomb hidden inside a pizza box, would it not?
“Life is a gamble, Phil.” His father’s gravelly voice rang in his head. “You can’t win if you don’t play, so suck it up and roll the dice.”
Crandall took a deep breath and opened the pizza box.
Nothing exploded. The contents were just eight slices of pepperoni and mushroom pizza. He released a gusty sigh and picked up one of the pieces to look beneath it.
There was a clear plastic bag lying flat beneath the pizza. He tugged it free, wiped off the dusting of semolina flour and looked at the note inside.
“We’ve tracked the intrusion to a cell phone signal bouncing off a tower in Dudley County, Virginia,” the note said. Beneath that terse announcement were several details, including the coordinates of the cell tower in question.
Dudley County, Virginia, Crandall thought. Why does that sound familiar?
He dug in his pocket for the burner phone he used for his more secretive pursuits and dialed a number. The person on the other end of the line answered on the second ring. “What do you want?”
“Information,” he answered. Then he outlined what he needed to know. “By morning?”
“It’ll cost you.”
“It always does.” He hung up the phone and reached for the slice of pizza he’d moved aside, suddenly starving.
Chapter Fourteen
Friday turned out to be a beautiful day, sunny and mild. Nicki wanted to believe the fine weather was a good omen, that her meeting this afternoon would go well and she’d finally get this undercover operation running on all cylinders.
There was just one problem. She didn’t believe in good omens. And once this operation really got underway, she’d be in the gravest danger of her life, far away from anyone who gave a damn about her or her safety.
“You don’t have to go through with this.” Dallas’s voice was a warm rumble behind her. The heat of his body washed over hers as he crossed to stand behind her at the kitchen window.
“Yes, I do.” Of its own volition, her body swayed backward until she rested against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely. “No, you don’t. Quinn shouldn’t have put you in this position to begin with. You’re not a trained agent, are you?”
“I’ve had experience working with agencies—”
“As an informant, not an undercover operative.”
“I’d be essentially an informant in this situation, too. Besides, I was sort of undercover at the farm.” Although, given how badly things had ended for Jeff Burwell, maybe that wasn’t such a good example to bring up.
Dallas felt so solid behind her, so steady, she wished there was a way she could take him with her, stash him away in her luggage so that when she was alone and scared on this upcoming mission, she could pull him out, wrap his arms around her like a warm sweater and feel this safe again.
“It’s not the same thing.” He tightened his hold on her, pressing his cheek against her temple. The rough bristles of his morning beard pricked her skin, sending a light shiver down her spine.
“I’ve got three more hours before I have to go meet Del. Can’t we talk about something else?” She turned in his arms to face him, flattening her hands against his chest. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
His lips curved in a brief smile. “This game will bore you to death.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She tugged the lapel of his shirt. “I never did find you that desk. I need to do that before I leave for my new job.”
“What if he wants you to leave right away?”
“I’ll tell him I need to give notice at work and talk to my landlord. They can’t expect me to drop everything and go to work today.” She shook her head. “If I agreed to that, I’d come across as entirely too eager. I’ll make them meet some of my terms before I’ll meet some of theirs.”
He tugged her closer. “You’re a tough negotiator, huh?”
“I can be.”
“Good to know.”
She moved closer to him, pressing her cheek against his collarbone. “I wish I had a way to stay in touch with you while I’m gone.”
“How are you going to stay in touch with Quinn?”
“There’s a tracking device on my key chain. Quinn can find me wherever I am.” She could tell by the sudden tension in Dallas’s body that he didn’t like the sound of that solution. “I have to trust Quinn. He’s taken care of me this far.”
“Do you know the coordinates of your tracker? For today? I could track you myself—”
She drew back to look at him. “I told you, this is just a meeting. I’m not going anywhere yet.”
His brow creased. “It would make me feel better if I could keep an eye on you.” He flashed a quick, sheepish smile. “That sounds kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?”
“It sounds really sweet, actually.” She rose to press her lips against his. With effort, she kept the kiss light, even though the need to draw him even closer, kiss him even more deeply, welled inside her like floodwaters seeking to breach a weakening dam.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her still while he returned her kiss with more desperation, crumbling her defenses until she wrapped herself around him, drinking in every bit of passion he offered.
The sound of a phone ringing down the hall made her groan. Dallas released a deep sigh against her lips. “That’s going to be Del, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Don’t answer,” he whispered, bending to kiss her again.
The temptation to give in was nearly overwhelming, but she pulled free of his grasp and went down the hall to answer the phone on her bedside table. “Hello?”
“Hey there, Nicki. Just wanted to make sure you were up and getting ready for our meeting today.”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.” She sat on the bed and looked up as Dallas came to stand in the doorway, watching her. “Is there anything I need to know before the meeting?”
“I’ve talked you up to him, so I think he really just wants to talk to you about what your duties would be. He wants to get his health back under control without having to deal with doctors and hospitals.”
“He’s going to have to have a doctor to prescribe medication,” she warned. “There’s a limit to what I can do for him.”
“He knows that. Trust me, sugar. He’s going to love you.”
Maybe it was a case of the nerves, but something about Del’s cheerful tone was starting to make her second-guess her decision to let him drive her to the meeting. “Listen, I know we planned to meet at the diner so you could drive me to the meeting, but can’t I just meet you wherever your friend is going to be? If I’m going to work with him, I’m going to need to know how to get there, anyway, right?”
There was a taut pause on the other end of the line. “All in good time,” he said finally, his tone a little sharper than it had been before. “He’s been clear about how he wants this to take place, and I don’t think we should make him feel uncomfortable right out of the gate, do you?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to back out. “I’ll meet you at the diner as planned.”
“You’ll knock his socks off,” Del said. “Trust me.”
“I do,” she lied. “Thank you so much for setting this up. I’ll see you around eleven?”
“See you then, sugar. Bye now.”
She hung up the phone and looked at Dallas. “Am I crazy to do this?”
“Yes,” he answered flatly.
“I can’t back out now.”
His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with anger as he gazed back at her, but he didn’t speak
. He didn’t have to. He’d already told her his opinion of the job Quinn was asking her to do. But she was too close to her goal to stop now.
She had to see it through.
Starting with today’s meeting.
* * *
TECHNICALLY, JOHN BARTHOLOMEW didn’t work for Alexander Quinn. Instead, he worked for a limited liability corporation called Citadel Properties, a security consulting firm with which Quinn had signed a contract. But the truth was, Citadel had only one employee. And Quinn kept that one employee pretty damned busy.
On the desk beside him sat a folder containing several job applications Quinn had faxed over earlier in the week. After experiencing some troubling issues with his in-house vetting procedures the previous year, Quinn had decided to contract out the background checks for his company.
Before the end of the week, John would have to make his way through those resumes and make sure that Quinn didn’t make any hiring decisions that would come back to bite him.
But first, he had a meeting to attend.
The drive from Abingdon to River’s End took almost thirty minutes, most of that time spent on winding two-lane roads that wound around the mountains and dipped into shady hollows deep in the backwoods of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Dugan’s Diner wasn’t much to look at from the outside, just a boxy glass-front eatery on the main road into town. At a quarter to eleven, the parking lot was just starting to fill up for the midday crowd. John parked to one side, near the road, to give him a decent view of any cars entering or exiting the area.
Quinn hadn’t told him specifically to tail Nicki and Del McClintock to the secondary meeting place, but he hadn’t told him not to, either. John was still considering his options when he saw Nicki’s Jeep pull into the lot and park a row away from the front.
He picked up the small pair of binoculars lying on the seat beside him and took a quick look at her through the driver’s side window. She looked tense. Understandable. He was tense on her behalf. But he hoped she’d get her nerves under control before McClintock arrived. The success of this operation might well depend on her being able to keep a cool head.
His cell phone trilled in his pocket, giving him a start. He checked the display and found the number was blocked.
Quinn, of course. His boss didn’t bother with the niceties. “You have her in sight?”
John lowered his binoculars. “I do.”
“Don’t interfere. I don’t know how well trained McClintock might be, but you can’t risk his catching you tailing him.”
John swallowed a sigh.
“Are we clear?” Quinn asked, steel in his voice.
“Perfectly.”
“Is the tracker working?”
John picked up the tablet lying on the passenger seat and brushed his fingertip across the screen. The GPS tracking software popped into view, a flashing green light indicating Nicki Jamison’s current position on the map. “Working fine.”
“Let’s hope she keeps that key chain on her at all times.”
John spotted a blue Chevy Silverado pulling into the parking lot. It stopped behind Nicki’s Jeep, engine revving.
“McClintock’s here,” John told Quinn.
“Is he alone?”
“Seems to be.” He lifted the binoculars and took a good look at the truck. McClintock sat alone in the cab. “Just him.”
As he watched, Nicki exited the Jeep and walked toward the passenger door of the Silverado. She opened the door and climbed into the cab, gracing McClintock with a nervous smile.
The door closed and the Silverado pulled out of the parking lot into the light stream of traffic on the main road. They disappeared around the curve.
“She’s gone off with McClintock,” he told Quinn.
“Tracker still working?”
John checked the GPS tracker. On the move with the truck. “Yes.”
“Keep an eye on the tracker. I’ll be in touch.” Quinn hung up.
John put his phone in his pocket and cranked his engine. The urge to ignore Quinn’s orders and follow the Silverado set John’s nerves on edge, but he forced himself to turn the wheel and head down the highway in the opposite direction. Nicki Jamison was a resourceful woman who’d smashed through barriers to the Blue Ridge Infantry’s inner circle that experienced agents hadn’t been able to get beyond.
He had to trust her to do her job, just like he had to do his.
He had almost reached the road back to Abingdon when his phone rang again. He pushed the speaker button and answered. “Yeah?”
It was Quinn. “We have a situation.”
* * *
THERE WAS NO KNOCK, just the rattle of keys in the door and the creak as it opened. Dallas quickly closed the laptop and picked up the baseball bat Nicki had given him that morning before she left for the diner.
Pushing to his feet, he headed for the door to the makeshift office, easing a quick look down the hallway. His heart skipped a beat as a man stepped into the hall, his gaze locking with Dallas’s.
“Get out of here or I’ll call the cops,” Dallas growled, pulling himself up to his full height and swinging the bat in front of him.
The other man’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t look overly worried. “You’re not going to call the cops, Mr. Cole, because they’re already looking for you.” He held up his hands, showing they were empty. Dallas didn’t see any sign of a weapon on him. “My name is John Bartholomew. I work with Alexander Quinn. I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Dallas tightened his grip on the bat, caught off guard by the man’s terse announcement. “Alexander who?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Cole. I’m the man who picked up Nicki’s messages on the mountain, including the information about your unexpected intrusion into her undercover operation. She calls me Agent X.”
How would he know what Nicki called her contact? Unless—
No. Maybe this man had intercepted something. Or worse—what if he’d gotten his hands on Nicki herself?
“I’m who I say I am,” the man who’d introduced himself as John Bartholomew said brusquely. “But I don’t have time to prove that to your satisfaction. So I really, really need you to take a leap of faith here.”
“Why don’t you have time?” Dallas asked, his grip on the bat so tight that his fingers had begun to feel numb from the pressure.
“Because there are FBI agents heading this way right now, with plans to take you into custody. They could arrive at any moment, so it would be in your best interests to get the hell out of here while we still can.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
The other man sighed deeply, as if he was growing exasperated with Dallas’s stalling. “How about Cade Landry’s word?” He lowered one of his hands and reached for his pocket.
Dallas took an instinctive step back toward the storage room, putting the door frame between him and the other man. “Put your hands back up.”
The man withdrew his hand from his pocket, a cell phone clutched between his fingers and thumb. “Quinn texted me a video link. He thought you might need persuasion.” He turned the phone toward Dallas. “You’ll need to come closer.”
Dallas shook his head. “Put the phone on the floor and slide it to me.”
One of the man’s eyebrows lifted, but he did as Dallas said. Dallas stopped the sliding phone with his foot.
“Turn your back and put your hands up on the walls.”
John turned around and lifted his hands, pressing his palms flat against the walls on either side of him.
Dallas crouched and picked up the phone, keeping his eyes on John until he had the phone in his hand. He glanced at the screen. There was a video link cued up. Pressing his lips to a thin line, he hit the play button.
A familiar face filled the screen. “Cole, it’s Landry. Quinn seems to think you’re going to be your typical pain-in-the-ass self, so listen quick. John Bartholomew is telling you the truth. Get out of the cabin now.”
“How do I know this wasn’t filmed under duress?” Dallas asked aloud.
“By the way, nobody’s forcing me to record this,” Landry continued on the video, as if anticipating his question. The man actually smiled a little, as if he knew he’d predicted Dallas’s reaction correctly. “Olivia says hello. Now please get the hell out of there.”
The video ended, and Dallas looked up at John. Before he could speak, John’s cell phone rang, nearly scaring Dallas out of his skin.
John looked at Dallas over his shoulder. “That’s Quinn. He’s the only person who has that number. I need to answer it. He may have new information.”
Dallas pushed the Talk button. “Quinn?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before the man spoke. “Dallas Cole, I presume?”
“Why did you send your errand boy to come get me?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“I’d like to hear it from you,” Dallas said tightly.
“There’s no time.” Quinn sounded impatient.
“Make time.”
“I have contacts in the FBI who informed me that certain intrusions into their computer system have led them to believe you are trying to hack the FBI’s network.” Dallas could hear the irritation in Quinn’s voice over the phone. “They’ve somehow traced the intrusion to a system working off a cell phone operating in Dudley County, Virginia. They’re sending agents from the Bristol resident agency. They should be there within the next twenty minutes. I suggest you get out now.”
Dallas glared at John, who was watching him with wary eyes.
Quinn’s voice sharpened. “By the way, once you leave, I suggest you ask John to show you the GPS system he has tracking Nicki’s whereabouts.”
