Double-Cross

by Meredith Fletcher

  I CAN LOOK AROUND. Sam would force Mitchell to allow her to do that. Or assign someone like Howie Dunn to do that.

  LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU FIND OUT. WE WANT TO CHECK ALL POSSIBILITIES.

  I WILL.

  ANOTHER WEIRD THING HAPPENED, TOO. ALEX CAUGHT AN FBI AGENT SNOOPING AROUND AT ATHENA.

  WHY WOULD THE FBI BE INTERESTED? Again, that tendril of almost-recognition danced in Sam’s brain.

  HE DIDN’T STICK AROUND TO TELL HER. ALEX WILL TRACK HIM DOWN.

  The cursor paused again. Sam waited, absorbing the information. Had someone stolen Rainy’s eggs when she was just a kid, and then killed her years later when she found out what they’d done?

  Josie finally continued. AND HERE’S ANOTHER WEIRD THING. WHILE KAYLA WAS CHECKING RAINY’S MEDICAL FILES AT ATHENA, SHE BLACKED OUT.

  WHAT CAUSED IT?

  DON’T KNOW. SHE WAS EXAMINED AND FOUND HEALTHY. YOU KNOW KAYLA. HARDLY EVER SICK. SHE JUST…PASSED OUT. NO WARNING.

  The near-memory tugged at Sam’s attention again. Something was there, but she couldn’t get hold of it. Mysterious blackouts and failed seat belts tied together somehow.

  YOU’LL LET ME KNOW WHAT THEY FIND OUT?

  OF COURSE. WANT TO HEAR SOME NEWS THAT WILL WANT TO MAKE YOU BARF?

  NOT REALLY.

  WELL, YOU’RE GOING TO ANYWAY. GUESS WHO SHOWED UP AT THE FUNERAL?

  Sam remembered the vast number of people. The possibilities were staggering. DON’T KNOW.

  SHANNON CONNER.

  The memory twisted through Sam’s mind. Shannon had been a student at the Athena Academy, too. She’d started the same year that the Cassandras had, and had been part of another orientation group led by Allison Gracelyn. In their junior year, Shannon had tried to frame Josie for theft and create a black mark against all of the Cassandras. Tory had proven that Shannon had staged the theft. As a result, Shannon had gotten kicked out of the academy, the first and only girl to ever be expelled from the school, as far as Sam knew.

  Shannon had gone on to success, though. Oddly enough, she’d become a TV news reporter—as had Tory. Occasionally, Sam had seen Shannon on cable anchoring news for ABS, Tory’s rival station. Tory was a reporter for UBS and covered world news, seeking out headline stories. The rivalry that had begun at the academy had continued out into the world of news. Shannon seemed to be constantly on Tory’s trail, on the verge of getting stories that Tory scooped her on.

  WHAT WAS SHANNON DOING THERE? Sam asked.

  SOMEHOW SHANNON HEARD ABOUT THE EGG-MINING POSSIBILITY. WE STILL DON’T KNOW HOW. SHANNON SHOWED UP AT THE CHURCH RIGHT AFTER THE SERVICE AND STARTED ASKING ALL KINDS OF QUESTIONS ABOUT SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENTS BEING DONE ON RAINY AND OTHER ATHENA STUDENTS.

  YOU’RE KIDDING.

  NO. ALEX TOLD HER OFF, BUT IT DID HIT THE NEWS.

  The cursor blinked for a moment while Sam gathered her thoughts. She was having to deal with way too much in a short amount of time.

  OOOOOOPPPS! Josie wrote. GOTTA SCOOT. GOT ANOTHER MEETING TO ATTEND THAT I’M ABOUT TO BE LATE FOR, AND I’M THE ONE HOSTING IT. GOOD TALKIN’ TO YA. STAY IN TOUCH, SPYGIRL.

  I WILL.

  I’LL BE CHECKING IN ON YOU FROM TIME TO TIME.

  DO THAT, Sam typed, and hoped that her friend would. The contact with the outside world, brief as it was, made her situation easier to bear. She logged off the computer.

  Without a word, the two CIA agents bundled the computer, the chair and the cart up and departed.

  Filled with nervous energy and frustration that she wasn’t there with her friends, that she wasn’t helping look into Rainy’s death if they all felt something had warranted the attention, Sam started pacing. Once she caught herself doing that, she took a couple of quick breaths, then launched into her martial arts forms, hoping to find temporary peace there.

  Riley McLane had been missing for the past three days, which bothered her, as well. Her nights rotated nightmares about finding Rainy in her wrecked car and unsettling dreams of naked racquetball games with Riley. The nightmares had disrupted her sleep with fears and pain and loss. But the nude dreams had left Sam frustrated in ways she’d never before experienced.

  SOMETHING TRULY WEIRD IS GOING ON, SPYGIRL.

  Trepidation oozed through Sam as she read Josie Lockworth’s message.

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Sam typed.

  ALEX HAD A FAINTING EPISODE, TOO. LIKE KAYLA. ALEX, WHO’S HARDLY HAD A SICK DAY IN HER LIFE.

  Sam stared at the screen. Nearly two weeks had passed since she’d first chatted with Josie over e-mail. She’d been locked up for a month. Personally, she knew she was a surprise to the CIA who were keeping her under observation. Only the resiliency she’d learned as a child served to keep her physically, mentally and emotionally away from the abyss of loneliness and despair.

  None of the other Cassandras had been cleared for contact. Sam had the impression that Mitchell wasn’t going to make that happen unless he was forced to. However, Mitchell had allowed Howie Dunn to search for possible enemies among Rainy’s clients. There hadn’t been any, and she had let Kayla know via Josie.

  HOW DID THE BLACKOUT HAPPEN? Sam asked.

  ALEX WAS DRIVING HOME FROM WORK. DRIVING. JUST LIKE RAINY.

  Sam automatically fit the details to the scenario she had created about Rainy. WHAT ABOUT THE SEAT BELT?

  IT HELD. SO IF SOMEONE WAS BEHIND ALEX’S BLACKOUT, THEY DIDN’T WANT IT TO LOOK TOO MUCH LIKE RAINY’S ACCIDENT.

  ALEX IS OKAY?

  YES, THANK GOD. SHE WAS REALLY LUCKY.

  Sam’s throat closed up, Someone was after her friends…and she couldn’t help them.

  ALEX FOUND OUT MORE ABOUT THE MYSTERIOUS FBI AGENT. I JUST FOUND OUT TODAY MYSELF AND WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW.

  TELL ME.

  HIS NAME IS JUSTIN COHEN. REMEMBER THE LEGEND AROUND ATHENA ABOUT THE DARK ANGEL?

  Sam did. And back in school, Alex had actually seen him from a distance. The young man had broken in to the academy twice, the second time being while the Cassandras were there. He’d claimed the academy had killed his sister. Over the years, the Dark Angel had become something of a Robin Hood figure to the school, a legend the girls giggled over late at night.

  JUSTIN COHEN IS THE DARK ANGEL. HIS SISTER DIED ABOUT NINE MONTHS AFTER RAINY’S “APPENDECTOMY.” DOING THE MATH ON THIS ONE, SPYGIRL?

  YEAH.

  TURNS OUT THAT JUSTIN’S SISTER, KELLY, ACCEPTED FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO BECOME A SURROGATE MOTHER. UNFORTUNATELY, SOMETHING WENT WRONG WITH THE PREGNANCY AND SHE DIED.

  WHAT ABOUT THE BABY?

  HOSPITAL RECORDS SAY IT DIED AS WELL. DARCY IS CHECKING UP ON THE POSSIBILITY OF OTHER SURROGATE MOTHERS. RAINY MIGHT HAVE A CHILD OUT THERE. IN A STRANGER’S HANDS.

  That thought chilled Sam. WHO DID THIS? she asked.

  WE DON’T KNOW YET. BUT HERE’S WHY JUSTIN BELIEVES ATHENA ACADEMY HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH HIS SISTER’S DEATH. THE NURSE WHO TOOK CARE OF HER AT THE HOSPITAL WAS BETSY STONE. KAYLA’S GOING TO TALK TO HER.

  Sam sat, stunned. Betsy Stone had been Athena’s resident nurse since the academy began. Sam chatted with Josie a little while longer, batting around possibilities, that Betsy Stone or Athena Academy were in on whatever had happened to Rainy. All too soon, their chat time was up.

  When she was alone again, Sam’s thoughts turned dark. Someone had claimed the life of one of her friends and nearly taken the life of another. As long as the Cassandras saw fit to pursue the mystery, Sam felt certain that all of their lives were potentially forfeit.

  And she was stuck in a damn cell on bogus charges that she couldn’t disprove and couldn’t begin to understand. She couldn’t help them. Most of all she hated the helpless feeling that filled her.

  However, the past two weeks hadn’t gone unrewarded. She’d finally remembered the elusive memory involving failed seat belts and blackouts. Now all she had to do was get someone to listen to her.

  Riley stopped in front of the security door to Sam’s private ho
lding cell and pushed his hand against the palm scanner mounted to the right. The screen pulsed and the reader read his palm print. Three seconds later after the ID had been confirmed by the automated system and the agent manning security on the video camera overlooking the hallway, the locks clicked open.

  He started to enter, then felt uncomfortable just barging in. Sam was waiting for him. He knew that because he’d stopped off at the observation room after his arrival. And she had sent for him. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that just walking in was an invasion of whatever privacy she had left.

  He closed his fist and knocked. The thumps sounded hollow and lonesome out in the hallway. She’d been inside for five weeks, more or less in solitary confinement. He knew he couldn’t have gone as long as she had and still remain as sane as she was. It was almost as if she thrived on the solitude.

  “Come in.” Sam’s voice sounded surprisingly normal.

  Taking a deep breath, Riley pushed the door open and followed it inside.

  Sam stood across the room, leaving plenty of space between them. She wore sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt that muffled her natural curves somewhat.

  “You knocked,” Sam pointed out.

  Riley nodded. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” Out of habit Riley swept the room with his peripheral vision. He spotted the white rose beneath the bed. The flower looked fragile and delicate.

  “Thanks for coming, too,” she added. She wrapped her arms around herself, showing a hint of insecurity.

  “I was told it was urgent. If Mitchell hadn’t okayed the meet, I wouldn’t have been able to come.”

  “I think he expects me to confess everything to you.”

  Disappointment flooded Riley. He didn’t want to be the confessor figure. If Sam had really worked with terrorists smuggling arms, he didn’t want to be the one to go on record as a witness, didn’t want to hear it from her lips. But he would, and the room’s surveillance systems would keep track of her every word.

  “Don’t worry, McLane,” she said. “I’m not confessing to anything.”

  Riley felt immediately relieved, then got frustrated with himself. He didn’t like the fact that she was able to see through him so easily.

  “I’m not worried,” he said.

  “If you say so.”

  Her casual dismissal of his brief defense irritated him. “What did you want, St. John?” His tone came out harsher than he’d intended.

  Sam dropped her arms to her sides and placed her right foot behind her left at a ninety-degree angle. The movement was unconscious, and Riley felt she hadn’t even noticed her own movements. He felt bad about her response. He couldn’t help wondering how many harsh voices she’d endured in those foster homes, and how many of them led to other forms of abuse.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you had planned,” Sam said.

  “I didn’t have anything planned.”

  An eyebrow arched over one ice-blue eye. Her look took on a sardonic cast. “Rumpled slacks, ditto on the shirt and tie and a sports coat. I don’t think you were at home watching ESPN with the guys.”

  “I was out.”

  “And unless my eyesight is failing me, that’s a lipstick smudge on your shirt collar.”

  Riley resisted the impulse to reach for his shirt. He had been out with someone he occasionally dated and slept with while in the Langley area. The woman was a fellow agent he’d developed a casual relationship with in the field and had tracked that back into the occasional hotel room. Neither of them took the relationship home or took the involvement as anything more than physical release.

  “I was out,” Riley said.

  For a minute he thought she was going to press him on the issue.

  Then she broke eye contact. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal life.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Maybe the woman you were with felt like I did.”

  “It’s a friendship, St. John.” Agents who spent most of their time out in the field undercover or beating the bushes learned to have liaisons rather than love affairs, one-night stands instead of meaningful relationships. Riley had seen too many agent marriages crumble under the pressure of long-distance relationships and a job that was anything but nine to five. Of course, there were exceptions to the rule, but he’d never wanted to buck the odds, or found a woman worth taking the chance with.

  “You have many friends like that?” Her tone was sharp.

  Riley thought about how he should respond. The answer was no, but the woman he’d been with was truly a friend. They shared themselves when they could and when they needed to let someone in who understood the dark and dangerous world in which they lived. But it had to be someone who wouldn’t take it personally when each of them chose to shut down and deal with personal crises and issues when those times came.

  There had been other women over the years. Some had moved on. Two of them were dead, and one of them Riley had killed when she’d tried to murder him.

  “Forget it.” Sam raised her hands and brushed the question away. “What you do isn’t any of my business.”

  Riley wanted to tell her that, no, it wasn’t any of her business, but he was too surprised. Is that just a little jealousy, St. John? Is that what’s going on here? The thought took him totally by surprise. Still, it was understandable because he hadn’t been able to be as cold and strict as Mitchell during the few times they’d encountered each other.

  “She’s just a friend,” Riley said, before he could stop himself.

  “Okay. You have a friend. I got that.” Those ice-blue eyes flashed angrily.

  Riley felt even more uncomfortable and grew increasingly irritated with himself. Her reaction to the situation wasn’t logical, but she had a reason not to be logical. She’d been locked up for five weeks with limited human contact and a hell of a stress load on her. He, on the other hand, had no excuse for the way he felt. He’d abandoned a warm and willing woman in a hotel she had paid for to come and stand before another woman who was probably the most trouble he’d ever seen. All so he could feel guilty and mad at himself.

  “My friend has nothing to do with this, St. John,” he growled.

  “Good. Then I’m happy for you and your friend.”

  “Is that what you called me here for? To pick a fight?”

  “I’m not picking a fight.”

  “You should try standing on this side of the conversation.”

  Sam looked at him. “Try being locked up for five weeks.”

  Riley held his hands up at his sides. “Okay. You win. You’ve got it worse than I do. I hope calling me here and reading me the riot act about the fact that I have a life and you don’t helps you out.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “And I don’t need the grief.” Riley turned toward the door, cursing himself out for not simply staying away. When Mitchell had called about Sam’s request, the director had advised him to stay away, but they both recognized the fact that Sam had more resources to survive in her situation than just about anyone they knew. That was saying a lot. So Riley had come and Mitchell had allowed it because Sam had them both over the barrel. Riley needed to exorcise some of his guilt, and Mitchell still needed answers regarding the terrorist activity in Berzhaan.

  “Riley.” Her voice was softer, more vulnerable. “Wait.”

  Standing still, one hand on the door, Riley said, “I can’t help you, Sam. You’re going to have to help yourself out of this mess. I don’t have any answers.”

  “Please.” Her voice broke.

  “Mitchell’s not going to listen to me,” Riley said. “And I don’t have anything to tell him.”

  “It’s not about me.”

  He waited, not knowing what she was going to say.

  “I think my friends might be in danger.”

  That caught Riley’s attention and came far enough out of left field that he turned around.
“What friends?”

  Sam glanced pointedly at the lipstick mark on his collar. “Obviously not the same kind of friends that you have.”

  He looked at her, not knowing how to respond but unwilling to leave her. Damn, but she looked so vulnerable with her arms wrapped around herself. Just the same, he knew she’d try to kick his ass if he mentioned it.

  She broke eye contact and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I intended to say. I apologize. I’m just not very good at being helpless.”

  “It’s okay. If I was in your shoes, I don’t think I could handle five weeks of solitude.”

  Her eyes flashed again. “Being trapped in here isn’t the problem, McLane. I can do this. Sooner or later I’ll get out. No matter what Mitchell says or does, I know that’s true. Believing anything else just won’t work. I’ve been in lots of places worse than this.”

  For a split second Riley got an image of what Sam St. John had been like as a foster child. Quiet and willful, she’d learned to bide her time even when she was very small.

  “The problem is I can’t help them,” she went on.

  “Your friends?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Are they in trouble?”

  “I think so.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “From the information Josie has been giving me.”

  “Josie?” Then the name clicked. “You mean Captain Lockworth.” Riley hadn’t been part of that information loop.

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I think they may be in danger.”

  “From what?”

  “Not what,” Sam corrected. “Whom.”

  Riley pointed to the bed. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Crossing the room, Riley sat on the edge of the bed. He tried not to remember that she slept there, all curled up tight in a ball against the wall in the corner. The bed was neatly made, with military precision corners. One of Sam’s earliest foster parents had been an army drill sergeant. Evidently he’d taught her how to make beds.

  “Whom do you think your friends are in danger from?” he asked.

  Sam held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I don’t know.” Before Riley could say anything, she hurried on. “I also think Rainy was killed. I don’t think she died in a traffic accident.”