Fatal Deception

by April Hunt

  “What’s interesting?” Roman shifted his Maglite around the walls.

  “You’ve never been a great conversationalist, but you’ve been quiet even for you…ever since you had your chat with Isabel Santiago. I’d think it was a coincidence, but I’m allergic to coincidences.”

  Roman retorted, “And I think you’d better pay attention to what you’re doing, or you’ll end up a greasy spot on the bottom of this elevator shaft.”

  As Ryder’s laughter echoed in the tight quarters, Roman’s mood worsened. The deadly FC-5 virus wasn’t the only thing he’d had difficulty getting his mind off last night. Isabel Santiago had also followed him home.

  Roman prided himself on being able to read people. It was a talent embedded into his genes. And his gut told him that what you saw with Isabel was what you got—a talented, dedicated woman who was as allergic to failure as Roman was. If she had something to do with this fiasco, he’d donate his left nut to science.

  But he’d learned five years ago that his gut wasn’t infallible.

  As if reminding him, a sharp pain sliced through his left leg, right beneath his prosthesis straps. The shadow pain didn’t come as often as it had even a year ago, but when it did, fucking A.

  Roman clenched tight to his rappel line and breathed through the stinging pain. It took two counts of ten until it didn’t feel like someone was hacking through his bone with a dull bow saw, and by the time it was over, Ryder’s gaze settled on him like an anvil.

  “You know it’s not the end of the world, right?” Ryder’s tone was suddenly serious.

  “Pretty sure that’s exactly what this virus could do in the wrong hands.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Feeling a connection to someone isn’t a bad thing…especially when that person’s a smart, successful woman like Isabel Santiago.”

  “There is no connection,” Roman lied. “Other than the one I’ll feel against my jaw when she’s finally let out of her little glass bubble.”

  Ryder’s gaze bored into the back of his head. “You were that much of an asshole?”

  His lack of a response answered the question.

  Ry muttered under his breath, questioning at what point in time Roman had become an ass. But hell if he knew.

  Roman shined his flashlight over the walls, looking for any sign someone other than them had been down this way. “Maybe you should worry less about my female connections and more on your own. When will you stop fawning over a certain klutzy bartender long enough to ask the woman out? Or are you hoping she digs the creepy stalker vibe and extra hours you’re clocking at Iron Bars?”

  Ryder glared. “We were talking about you. Not me.”

  “All’s fair in love and ass busting.” Roman snuck a look at his brother’s puckered expression and chuckled as his flashlight beam hit a vent. “I got something.”

  He swung his body out and landed on the far side of the shaft, where an HVAC vent grate dangled precariously from a lone corner bolt. The exposed hole gaped open, large enough for a broad set of shoulders.

  Instant fucking tunnels.

  “I’ll be damned,” Ryder murmured.

  Roman snatched his walkie. “Jaz, you anywhere near the east end of the building?”

  The speaker buzzed before the former Marine sniper’s voice answered. “Turning the corner now, but I’m not seeing anything out here that’s raising any alarms.”

  “Is there a venting system? It’ll be grated, probably a tight three-by-three or somewhere close to it?”

  “Hold on.” A minute later, she came back. “Nope. Don’t see—uh, wait a sec. Well, hell. There’s one hidden behind a construction dumpster about halfway down the building.”

  “Feel like going on an adventure?” Roman asked.

  It took less than three seconds for his meaning to sink in. “You’re fucking with me. You expect me to crawl in there?”

  Jaz’s curses made both brothers chuckle. “Thanks for asking, Curva. Pretty great of you.”

  “I should’ve let Tank come and stayed back at Steele Ops.”

  Roman smirked. “That’s what you get for always trying to one-up him.”

  Jaz cursed again, but a few seconds later, low, rolling thunder echoed through the vent as she crawled through the small space. The closer she got, the louder and more creative her curses became. Five minutes later, she glowered at him in person.

  Sweat dotted her brow. “Next time someone needs to crawl in a hot, dark hole, I’m not it. Care to tell me what the point was behind this exercise?”

  “This is how they did it.” Roman’s gut feeling from before roared back.

  “This is how who did what?” Jaz’s dark eyes widened. “You think this is how those assholes got in and out of the lab without detection? How the hell is that possible?”

  It was more than possible. It was probable. During his stint with Special Ops and the Euro division of the CIA, he’d executed nearly the same type of operation, but that had been years ago and continents away. Seeing it here in his hometown—now—caused a bad taste to climb up from his throat.

  This wasn’t a hostage extraction. This was a bio-threat. People who went to these kinds of lengths didn’t come with a whole lot of boundaries…or a very long list of things they wouldn’t do to make sure they got their prize.

  Ryder whistled. “So Isabel Santiago wasn’t lying when she said they appeared and disappeared into thin air. They basically did.”

  “To play it safe, we still need eyes on everyone with any kind of access to the Legion, and that includes Carmichael, the guard, Maddy Calhoun…and Isabel Santiago.” Roman volleyed his brother’s questioning look with a determined one of his own. “What?”

  “You want to keep an eye on the doc because you think she actually had something to do with it, or is it because you’re concerned?”

  Roman wanted to say it was the former reason, but he made it a rule not to lie. His gut told him that Isabel Santiago didn’t have an evil bone in her body. Sarcastic? Yeah. Short-tempered? Probably that, too. But just because she didn’t emit an evil mastermind vibe didn’t mean that someone within Tru Tech didn’t have their hand in this mess.

  Or their whole damn body.

  Chapter

  Four

  “I can practically hear you grinding your teeth through the mike. It’s distracting,” Liam complained from the ear comm tucked into Roman’s right ear.

  “I wouldn’t be grinding my teeth if you picked up a lead. A facial rec. Voice ID. Hell, I’d be happy with a half-assed image of a tattoo.”

  From his perch back at Steele headquarters, Liam sighed. “It’s not like I haven’t been trying, but like we thought, these guys are fucking smart. They don’t show anything identifying on the video surveillance, and the bastards took out every security cam in a two-block radius of Tru Tech. They weren’t taking any fucking chances.”

  Roman couldn’t blame his brother. After casing the elevator shaft the previous day, he’d spent all night staring at the security feed himself only to come to the same conclusion. They had jack shit. It was a jagged pill to swallow that came precariously close to the one he had to down after he’d lost his leg.

  Sitting on the sidelines and waiting for things to happen had been one of the toughest things about life post-amputation. He wasn’t wired that way, and that hadn’t changed because he was now one appendage short. With Liam working his magic on Tru Tech’s security system and scouring the dark web for any sort of virus talk, that left only one other thing for Roman to do to stave off the formation of a bed sore on his ass.

  Isabel Santiago.

  He could’ve stationed himself outside of the security guard’s hospital room, or across the street from Carmichael’s fancy Georgetown townhouse or Maddy Calhoun’s modest studio apartment, but instead, he’d taken responsibility for Isabel himself.

  And hell if he knew why. At the idea of one of his brothers or Cade following her around the city, he’d quickly tagged Hunt
er “Tank” Dawson as his second and hadn’t left room for negotiations.

  Liam resumed whistling, the tune changing from the peppy sounds of the fifties to something that sounded like the Beatles.

  “Are you going to be doing that much longer?” Roman demanded grumpily.

  “When music dies so does a small piece of my heart…so yeah. Gotta make sure the entire muscle’s intact for when I meet my special lady.”

  Roman snorted. “Thought you met her last week at O’Malley’s.”

  “So did I, but the physical beauty far surpassed the library she had going on upstairs, and I love myself too damn much to compromise. Guess we can’t all be as lucky as you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  It was Liam’s turn to stop. “Dude. I may be the youngest, but I’m by far the smartest. Isabel Santiago is the legit thing—beauty and brains—and it’s obvious she’s gotten to you.”

  “She hasn’t gotten to me.”

  “When you’re done there you should hit up the ER at George Washington.”

  “Jaz is on guard duty.”

  “Yeah, not for babysitting detail…to have someone check out those third-degree burns on your ass, because your pants just went up in flames as if they’d been doused in gasoline.”

  Tank’s low chuckle came over the comm. “You’re going to have to put that ER visit on hold because we’re headed toward you, Ro. Half block out.”

  “On it.” Roman secured his sunglasses, thankful for the momentary reprieve.

  He leaned against his motorcycle as if waiting for someone inside the small neighborhood coffee shop. Keeping tabs on Isabel since she’d been released from quarantine twenty-four hours ago, it had come to everyone’s attention that Perk It Up was her go-to spot for caffeine boosts…and she required a lot of them. At the end of a late afternoon jog was no exception.

  Roman sensed her before he saw her, his entire body nearly humming from the close proximity. No one would’ve guessed that Tank had already trailed her for a full five miles. Her stride was long and even, dark hair swaying with each pound of her sneakers. As she passed him, she didn’t spare him so much as a second glance, and then she tugged the coffee shop door open and disappeared inside.

  Roman’s gaze dropped to the generous swell of her ass in her tight running pants.

  Fuck Tank for having stared at that ass for the last five miles.

  “Thank you for turning down the run,” Tank’s voice, full of humor, pulled Roman’s attention across the street, where his friend smirked. “Gotta say, it was a nice view.”

  “Swipe that shit-eating grin off your face, or the next time the weapon cage needs to be cleaned out, you’re doing it with Jaz.”

  Tank’s smile fell. “Jaz in the cage? Surrounded by a shit ton of weapons?”

  “And ammo…so do you really want to goad me right now, man?”

  “Point taken.”

  On Roman’s left, a white utility van turned toward M Street. It slowed as it approached, and then took off before making a right at the end of the next block. His gut stirred in warning. “Did you see the van?”

  “Did it have a rusty patch over the front passenger wheel well?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the third time it’s past me and Isabel on this run.”

  Fuckin’ A.

  “Tighten the perimeter around Isabel.” Roman pushed off his bike and headed toward Perk It Up. “Liam? Do you think you can find it on traffic feeds? I want to know if it’s coming around again.”

  Liam’s fingers clicked on his computer. “Give me one sec…and…yeah. There it is. It looks like it made a second right. If it makes a third I think it’s a pretty safe bet it’s coming your way again…and there’s the third. It’s coming back around.”

  * * *

  Isa paid for her extra-large caramel macchiato and stepped back into the gorgeous summer day. A lot of people had taken advantage of the nice weather, and she was no exception. It was either leave her Foggy Bottom townhouse in favor of a run to—and around—Constitution Gardens, or crawl out of her skin.

  The second she’d gotten her clean bill of health, she’d visited Frank at George Washington University Hospital and was thankful to find that his outlook was hopeful. But seeing him on the mend hadn’t gotten rid of the eerie shiver that had taken residence in her spinal column, one she’d hoped a little sun and physical exertion would help evaporate.

  It was still there hours later. If a five-mile run wouldn’t shake it off, she wasn’t sure what would. Sleep hadn’t helped, because every time she’d closed her eyes last night, her mind replayed the scene at the Legion over and over again. Maybe Roman Steele was right. Maybe she did know something. Maybe she saw something. And maybe she’d missed a chance to stop it from happening. But hell if she knew what that something was.

  As the sun set, Isa slipped her phone from her armband and dialed the one person she hoped could put her mind at ease. It took five rings for her grandfather to pick up.

  “What’s wrong?” Carlos Santiago answered in lieu of a greeting.

  Isa chuckled. “That’s how you’re answering the phone now, Abuelito? What if I had been a potential customer wanting to book a room at the ranch?”

  “Caller ID is a miraculous thing, sweetheart. Now tell me what’s wrong so I can help you fix it.”

  “How do you know something’s wrong?”

  “Because despite me telling you it’s not needed, you still feel the need to check up on me every week like clockwork. You missed a check-in.”

  Isa couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. There wasn’t much her grandfather missed, or an obstacle he couldn’t tackle. A former US Air Force pilot, he’d seen and done it all—including having been one of the first pilots involved in the Pedro Pan flights from Cuba to the US in the sixties.

  That’s how he’d met her grandmother.

  At eighteen, Marisol Ortego had fled Cuba with her two younger siblings and was their solid rock during an uncertain time. She’d been strong and independent, and according to Isa’s grandfather, it had been head buttings at first sight.

  Tales of Romeo and Juliet, King Arthur and Lady Guinevere had nothing on Carlos and Marisol Santiago. They’d had a love story like no other, the kind Isa had always held up in comparison to her own relationships.

  Even after losing her grandmother to a long arduous battle with breast cancer, her grandfather still lived every day in hopes of making her happy by opening up their Texas horse sanctuary to the public.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Grandpa,” Isa lied. “Work was a little chaotic yesterday, and by the time I had a free moment to call it was already late. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Bah. You work too much, sweetheart.”

  “Says the man who refuses to listen to doctor’s orders and hire a few more hands around the ranch. One of these days you need to tuck your superhero cape away and let others step up a bit.”

  Her grandfather scoffed, making her smile. “Don’t be sassing an old man.”

  “I’m not sassing an old man. I’m sassing my grandfather.”

  He chuckled before sighing. “Ah, I miss you. When are you coming home for a visit? It’s been far too long.”

  “Soon. I promise,” Isa whispered.

  There wasn’t any place she wanted to be more than the ranch where she’d been raised. Growing up as an Army brat, she’d been shuttled all over the globe, but the only place she’d ever felt like home had been Texas. The day her parents let her choose to stay with her grandparents had been one of her happiest.

  To this day, a million things could be happening and her life could be imploding in front of her eyes, but the moment she stepped onto Mari’s Sanctuary, everything calmed. Breathing came easier. Things that seemed insurmountable suddenly didn’t look so bad.

  She needed that right about now.

  “There’s some stuff happening at work right now,” Isa admitted vaguely, “but as soon as i
t’s settled I’ll be on the first plane out. I swear.”

  Her grandfather grumbled. “You know I love you to the sky and back, sí?”

  “Te amo, too, Abuelito…and please hire a ranch manager like Dr. Oleson suggested. You’re supposed to be doing less of the physical work as you get older, not more.”

  “I’ll think about it. I promise. And when you decide to really tell me what’s wrong, you know where I’ll be.”

  After saying her goodbyes, Isa ended the call. Sometimes her grandfather was too perceptive for his own good—and sometimes her own. Knowing she’d caused him even an ounce of worry twisted her stomach into knots, but she couldn’t deny feeling a bit better just hearing his voice.

  As Isa tucked her phone back into her armband, a movement on her left caught her eye. The eerie tingle that had been with her since she left her apartment roared back, and with it a loud screech of tires. A white van jumped the curb in front of her. The door slid open, and before Isa could shout, two sets of hands yanked her off her feet and into the back.

  “Let me go!” Isa ripped her left arm away and swung it back, her elbow slamming into something soft.

  One of her attackers teetered backward from the unexpected blow, but his friend shoved her facedown onto the van floor as the van roared to life.

  “Guess you haven’t learned your lesson, Dr. Santiago.” Her hands were yanked behind her and secured with what felt like hard plastic ties, nearly cutting off circulation as he cinched them tight. “I should probably say that I’m disappointed, but I’m actually kind of glad. Makes this more fun.”

  That voice…

  Isa’s heart clogged her throat as she registered its owner—the same masked man from the Legion. “What do you want? Haven’t you done enough?”

  “Not even remotely, sweetheart.” The van jerked right, and the man on her back shifted his weight. “What the fuck? Be fucking careful!”

  “Yeah, we got a problem,” someone said from behind them. The driver. “Road’s blocked up ahead from an accident, and I think we’ve been spotted.”

  Isa didn’t know what that meant, or who would’ve spotted them, but she didn’t care. Her hands may be tied, but her legs weren’t. Using her kidnapper’s distraction to her advantage, she tucked her knees close to her chin, and aimed straight for the back of the driver’s headrest.