by Dee Davis
“And I suppose you’ll deny almost killing me?” she said, her voice still low and trembling.
“That, I’m afraid, was a mistake. My men can be a bit overzealous. And when your knight-errant showed up, things went from bad to worse. I only wanted to talk with you.”
“And trash my house.”
“Again,” he said, “my people may have been a little overly enthusiastic. But you killing Fogerty only made it worse.”
“So you’re admitting your involvement in trying to capture Alexis?” Avery asked.
“I’m admitting nothing officially. But even if I did, I doubt seriously, under the circumstances, that I’d be criticized for trying to stop the sale of a very dangerous formula that was stolen by Ms. Markham’s father in the first place.”
“If my father had the formula,” Alexis said, anger making her overenunciate each word, “it would be because it belonged to him. He and Wallace created it in the first place.”
“Except that he had a contract with the government, which makes any discoveries he made our property. I was only acting in the best interests of the Department of Defense and, by association, the American public it is sworn to protect.”
“Except that you don’t work for DOD anymore,” Avery said.
“I’m still a public servant.”
“There’s no point in trying to hide behind the flag, Bastion,” Avery said, “not when you’ve been running an operation off the books with a number of questionable deaths in its wake. Depending on when you start the clock, the body count ranges from five to nine.”
“Two of which can be attributed to you.” Carmichael pointed to Tucker. “And I already told you I’m not responsible for the explosion that killed Atterley. I told you, George was helping me. He’s the one who told me Ms. Markham had the formula.”
“I don’t believe any of what you’re saying.” Alexis leaned forward, her gaze locking with Carmichael’s. “I don’t have it. And there’s nothing I’ve said or done that would make George believe I did.”
“I don’t have an explanation,” Carmichael said. “I only know that I’m certain George believed what he was telling me. He thought you’d betrayed him.”
“How? It wasn’t even his formula. And I was just a kid when my father died.” Alexis shook her head, fighting confusion. None of this made any sense. But she could see Carmichael believed everything he was saying. Maybe that was what George had been trying to tell her. Maybe he’d used Carmichael to gain his freedom and wanted to warn her of the resulting danger.
“Look, even if we stipulate that you didn’t kill Alexis’s family or George Atterley,” Avery said, lifting a hand to silence Alexis when she started to protest, “there’s still the matter of Milo Alozono and Peter Dryker. As I said, we’ve got proof that Dryker was on your payroll, and we have documented evidence that he was involved in the break-in at Alexis’s house, as well as an attempt to break into her bank box.”
“None of that has anything to do with his regretful demise,” Carmichael said. “The connection is completely circumstantial. And as far as I’m concerned, a tragedy. Peter, as you already know, was a longtime friend. And his death hit me hard.”
“And Milo?” Alexis asked, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she fought to maintain control. The bastard was far too good at explaining away his involvement. “What about him?”
“I afraid I’ve no idea who you’re talking about,” Carmichael said.
“He’s the man you used to plant a tracking device in my phone. And the one you gave the stolen information about Tucker. He was my friend, and you used him to get to me.”
“Doesn’t sound like he was much of a friend. But I’m afraid I still don’t know who he is. Dryker handled all of that. As you already know, I did pull strings to access the information. But it was at Dryker’s request. It was his idea to smoke you out.”
“So you’re seriously sitting here claiming that none of this is your fault?” Tucker sounded as indignant as she felt.
“No. I’m telling you that anything I did was done in the interest of national security. I’ll admit Peter’s methods could be a bit on the rough side of things. But he usually got the job done with a minimum of fuss. You, however”—he turned his full attention on Alexis—“turned out to be more than he’d bargained for. If anyone is responsible for his death, Ms. Markham, it’s you.”
Alexis popped up out of her seat, rage ripping through her with surprising force. “Me?” The word reverberated through the room, and she felt Tucker’s hand on her shoulder, his touch soothing her in a way nothing else could.
She sank back into her chair, gripping the arms but back in control again.
“I’m sorry,” Carmichael said. “I know this has been difficult for you. But I truly believed you were trying to sell the formula.”
“And now?” Avery asked, his gaze appraising.
“Now”—Carmichael paused for a moment, as if considering his words, then continued. “Now I think there are other forces at work. Forces far more dangerous than any of us would have expected. We’ve danced all around the idea of who might be offering the formula for sale, but we haven’t talked at all about who might be trying to buy it.”
“And you think you know,” Avery said, his words a statement rather than a question.
“I do. I was approached recently by a businessman out of Canada. His name is Alain DuBois.”
Tucker shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
“Nor had I,” Carmichael said. “He’s French Canadian. Head of a company that buys and resells antiquities. But he wasn’t coming to me as the president of DuBois, Ltd. He was approaching me as a member of an international group interested in buying the formula. His request was that I back down from my investigation and leave the handling of Ms. Markham to them. They, like you, seemed to believe my interest in the formula was all about making certain it was covered up. And it was their assertion that if I backed off, they could satisfy both their desires and mine.”
“And you agreed.”
“Of course—it was the only prudent thing to do. This isn’t the type of organization one plays games with.” Carmichael spread his hands wide, waiting for Avery’s response. It came immediately.
“The Consortium,” he said, his voice laced with certainty. “Alain DuBois was speaking on their behalf.”
“I don’t understand,” Alexis said, feeling as if the power in the room had shifted back in favor of Carmichael. “What is the Consortium?”
“We don’t know anything definitely.” Tucker shrugged. “In fact, if this Alain DuBois is truly on the inside, it might be the closest we’ve gotten to finding a way in. They’ve managed to infiltrate our government—”
“—including A-Tac,” Carmichael inserted, his words goading.
“And they appear to be interested in manipulating high-end arms deals—both legitimate and black market—on an international level,” Avery continued. “We ran into them full force in Colombia. And then came home to discover that one of our own had been turned. So for us, identifying and capturing these people is personal. Like Bastion, we believed you were the one trying to sell the formula. First, because of your connection to George, and then later, because we realized who your father was.”
Alexis nodded, feeling again that she was on the outside, that none of these people really had her best interests at heart. Tucker’s hand still lay on her shoulder and, without stopping to think, she shook it off, wanting nothing more than to escape all of them.
“Speaking of which,” Carmichael said, leaning forward, his gaze encompassing the three of them, “since we’re sharing, there’s one more thing you need to know.” He opened his mouth and then closed it again, his eyes widening in surprise, the sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the room.
“Get down,” Tucker cried.
For a moment everything seemed to move in slow motion: Tucker throwing his body against hers as he dragged her to the floor. The open wi
ndowpane shattering as a second bullet found Carmichael. The older man gasping once and then falling forward onto the table as Avery dropped back behind a chair, firing at the window.
Then there was silence, the only noise the sound of her heart as it pounded a staccato warning against her chest.
“We clear?” Tucker called, waiting for Avery’s affirmative response before rolling off her. “Are you all right?” He framed her face with his hands, searching for signs of injury, his eyes filled with worry.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, knowing that, in fact, she was not. But she wasn’t bleeding, and, for the moment, that was all he needed to know.
“Avery?”
“I’m fine too.” The big man looked back from the shattered window. “Whoever was out there is gone. I don’t think they were interested in us. Just Carmichael.”
“Is he dead?” Alexis asked, wondering how many times in one life a person could ask that question. She sucked in a ragged breath, fighting to keep her panic at bay.
“Yes,” Avery confirmed after checking for a pulse.
Tucker’s arm closed around her shoulders, and even though a part of her wanted to shake free, she couldn’t find the strength, every ounce of concentration going into keeping her fear from turning into a scream.
Carmichael was dead. And he’d wanted to tell her something. Just like George.
CHAPTER 24
Every time we move a step forward,” Tucker said, reaching for his bottle of beer, “something happens to send us right back again.”
They’d gathered at Drake’s house, in part because they’d wanted to spare Alexis more of the war room and partly because they all needed a modicum of downtime even as they proceeded to move forward.
Madeline had whipped together a quick dinner of homemade macaroni and cheese and salad, the former being a family recipe that made Tucker damn glad he was now a member of said family. She was sitting on the sofa, next to Alexis, who, though quiet, seemed to be coping well enough. Still, he’d seen her face at the scene and known immediately that she was holding on by only a thread.
Avery was there along with Nash’s wife, Annie. Like Madeline, Annie was intent on circling the wagons around Alexis, immediately accepting her as part of the unit, hovering like a mother hen, offering her empathy. Lord knows, between the two of them, Annie and Madeline had been there and back again. If anyone could help Alexis through all of this, it was them.
Harrison sat at the table within easy reach of both his computer and the mac and cheese. He’d already finished two servings, but Tucker had a suspicion that given the opportunity, he’d go for a third. The man could put away food like nobody’s business.
Tyler and Hannah were in the lab going over everything they had on the three bombings and the unexploded ordnance from Alexis’s house.
Simon and Nash were in California finishing up work on the scene and searching Carmichael’s effects for additional insight into his revelations about the Consortium. They were all reporting their findings via computer, but so far there hadn’t been anything earth-shattering.
“The ballistics report didn’t yield anything we didn’t already know,” Annie was saying. “Probably a sniper rifle. Definitely modified for distance shooting. But the striations on the bullet don’t match with anything we’ve got in the system.” Annie had spent her time with the CIA as a sharpshooter, which made her the resident expert in ballistics even though she was partially retired.
“They haven’t been able to pull anything from the scene, either,” Harrison said, picking up where Annie left off. “Most likely site for the shooter is either the rooftop of the town house behind Carmichael’s, or possibly an attic window in the home beside it. The first house, predictably, is empty. But there were no prints and no trace on the roof.”
“And the attic?” Avery asked.
“That house is occupied,” Harrison said, consulting his computer screen. “But the owners are out of town and the attic window was open. But there was nothing else to confirm that it was the point of origin. And, frankly, the angle wasn’t as direct as the empty house.”
“If we are dealing with a shooter hired by the Consortium,” Annie mused, “I wouldn’t have expected to find anything. They can afford the best. And people that good don’t leave a trace.”
“A lesson we had to learn the hard way,” Avery said, referring to an attempt to frame Annie a while back for the murder of a diplomat.
“Well, these days it’s harder to get by without leaving something behind,” Annie acknowledged. “But these people are ghosts. Anything in the chatter to indicate one of the freelance operators has been sighted in the States?”
“Nothing that Hannah could find,” Harrison said, looking up from his computer. “Which doesn’t really mean anything, of course, because they’re as good at getting in and out as they are at killing a target without leaving any evidence behind.”
“But what I don’t understand,” Alexis said, running a hand through her hair, “is why they’d want to take out Carmichael but not me. Surely I’m more of a threat when it comes right down to it.”
“It’s possible they believe you’re still the key to finding the formula,” Avery said, pushing out of his chair to walk over to an ice bucket for another beer. “But I suspect it was more about what Carmichael knew. If they thought he was about to come clean with us, which he was, then he’d have been deemed a liability and dealt with accordingly.”
“Or maybe they already had him targeted, and it was just coincidence that we happened to walk into it,” Tucker said. “Either way, you can bet your ass they were already aware of our involvement, and I’m guessing not pleased about it.”
“And with Carmichael out of the way,” Drake added, “we’re the only fly left in their ointment.”
“So why not try and take you out when they had the chance?” Madeline asked.
“Maybe they figured taking us out would only have stirred up the hive.”
“We tend to go into overdrive when one of our own is threatened,” Annie said to Alexis. “But I guess you’ve already seen that firsthand.”
Madeline reached over to cover Alexis’s hand with hers. “We’ve got each other’s backs. No matter what.”
Alexis frowned but didn’t pull away. Tucker recognized that expression. She was feeling isolated and overwhelmed. But she wouldn’t give any other sign of her discomfort. It was one of the things he admired the most about her. And one of the reasons he wasn’t sure she’d ever really let him in again.
“So what about this Alain DuBois?” Madeline asked. “Have you been able to track him down?”
“Not so far.” Harrison shook his head. “He isn’t registered in any hotel in Sacramento. And his airline ticket was open ended.”
“Meaning he could still be in California,” Alexis said, pulling free of Madeline to pick up her water glass.
“Yes,” Tucker agreed. “It’s a definite possibility. Or he could have made it home via some other form of transportation. We’re checking out all the options.”
“DuBois’s company is based in Montreal, but he has homes in Paris and London and a chateau in the Loue Valley.” Harrison was typing as he talked, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “We’ve got operatives abroad checking them all out. But so far we haven’t been able to confirm him leaving Sacramento.”
“Any chance he has a place there too?” Drake asked.
“If he does, it’s under an assumed name. Or he’s borrowing it from a friend. I’ll run a check on known associates. The man’s got to be somewhere.”
“We’ll find him,” Avery said. “And with any luck, he’ll lead us straight to the Consortium, but we’ve still got another problem.”
“The bomber,” Alexis said, leaning forward. “Carmichael said it wasn’t him.”
“And unfortunately, I think he was telling the truth. Which plays into an idea we touched on the other night at Alexis’s house.” Tucker wished Carmichael had been the key. Alex
is deserved answers. “That there were three players involved that night.”
“Carmichael’s men, the man in the kitchen—presumably hired by the Consortium—and whoever tried to set off the fifth bomb.” Drake frowned as he considered the list.
“Fifth?” Madeline asked.
“Yeah. Duncan Wallace,” Harrison said. “Between what Molly told us and Tyler’s digging, it looks like it was definitely intentional. There were traces of an accelerant used. So even if the MO isn’t exact, it fits the pattern. And it’s not that big a jump from arson to bombs.”
“But if it wasn’t Carmichael, then who the hell wanted my family dead?” Alexis asked, slamming the glass down on the table with more force than intended. “Sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around all of this. After we talked to Molly, I was so sure it was Carmichael.”
“We all were,” Avery agreed. “What about the other fifteen on the list?”
“Molly did say there were a couple of indirect connections,” Tucker said, feeling as if they were swimming in mud. “But then she gave us Carmichael.”
“Well, at the time it was the best lead,” Annie said, getting up to pour herself a second glass of wine. “But now it seems like maybe we should follow up on the other people on the list. Maybe recheck things with this Molly.”
“Oh God,” Alexis gasped, half rising from her seat, “has anyone checked on her? I mean, if these Consortium people are getting rid of loose ends…”
“Molly isn’t a threat to them,” Tucker soothed, taking Annie’s seat on the sofa but fighting the urge to put his arm around Alexis. “She was connected to the project, sure. But she doesn’t have the formula, and she doesn’t know anything about the Consortium’s involvement.”
“But maybe they think we told her. I mean, you said that they’ve probably been watching us—watching me.”
“We’ll send someone to check on her,” Avery said. “Harrison can arrange it now. And we’ll make sure the New York office keeps an eye on her until this is all over.”
