Zero Trace

by Cara Carnes

  The lead suit’s phone rang.

  “You’ll want to answer that,” Gage advised, his tone so helpful it was saccharine sweetness rolled in chocolate.

  The man answered as he glared at Zoey. He paled a couple moments later. “Yes, sir, Mr. Secretary.”

  Mr. Secretary? Zoey gulped. What the heck had she gotten herself into now? She had a knack for stirring up trouble when she wasn’t even trying. Heck, she not only stirred it up but rolled around in it on a regular basis. This entire situation, however, was ten grades crazier than she was used to.

  Sure, she worked at the NSA, but she was a civilian data miner. She compiled data into succinct reports that got filed away, never to be seen again. She wasn’t a cog in the system. Hell, she wasn’t even a screw in the system. She was the belly lint, if even that. Yep, that’s what she was—the belly lint of red tape bureaucracy.

  No matter. She’d survived her second existence by thinking fast on her feet. Fake it until you make it. That was her motto. She’d follow Gage’s lead and then figure out how the heck to get the train back on track.

  Whatever went down with her because of The Arsenal mess couldn’t endanger the people relying on her. No, she couldn’t" let that happen.

  “With all due respect, sir, she—" The man paled more. “Of course, Mr. Secretary. I understand.”

  He clicked off. His face reddened as he holstered his weapon and motioned for the other men to do the same. Gage kept his pointed at them but released the guy pinned to the floor.

  “This isn’t over,” the man warned.

  “No, it isn’t, Leonard Mall. It’s just beginning,” Gage replied.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “I’m Arsenal. We make it our business to know everything about everybody we’re up against.”

  “I’m not your enemy,” Leonard replied.

  “Do you still intend to take her into custody if given the chance?”

  “Yes. She committed a multitude of crimes against our country.”

  “Right, then you’re my enemy,” Gage said matter of factly. “Zoey, pull the keys from my pocket and get in the black Escalade in the first spot to the right. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Pull the keys from his pocket? He’d be there in a minute? The man was a loon.

  But he’s a loon with a plan. The instinctive, lizard part of her brain was okay with obeying a loon as long as he had a plan because it was more than she had at the moment.

  Zoey ignored the impressive bulge of muscles along his torso and the way his cargo pants molded perfectly against lean hips, a tight ass, and muscled thighs. Michelangelo’s David had nothing on this guy. Yowza.

  “Word of advice, tell your pal Ian to back off. If he keeps coming after Zoey, we’re going to come after him.” Gage jerked his head toward the door. “Move, Zoey. Keys. Escalade. Now.”

  Ian Schmidt was her smarmy boss at the NSA, the bastard who’d kept the operation she’d blown under wraps. Hearing his name pushed her into action.

  Right. She plunged her fingers into his pocket, snagged the keys, and hesitated a moment.

  “Zoey.” Gage’s voice was more warning than anything else, if she read his tone correctly.

  She exited the coffee shop and climbed into the passenger’s seat of the Escalade. She would’ve taken the driver’s seat instead, but she’d been around men like Gage enough to know he’d insist on driving his own car.

  He got into the vehicle, started it up, and pulled out without a word. She waited a couple moments, but he didn’t offer any form of conversation, introduction, or anything else in the way of civilized conversation. Apparently, standing off against armed federal agents bypassed any need for niceties.

  Good to know.

  “Thank you,” she said lamely into the silence.

  She’d never been very good at being around people, especially virile, handsome men like Gage Sanderson. She rambled when she got nervous, and the scary situation made her way, way more nervous than usual.

  “I’m Zoey, by the way, but I guess you know that already.”

  “Yeah, I sort of got that figured out.”

  “I, erm, Quillery said you’d take me to my place so I can get my cat.” And warn Jade I fouled up our entire underground operation without even trying.

  “The cat’ll have to wait.” He punched a button on the display panel between them. A ringing boomed through the speakers.

  “She secure?” a woman asked.

  “In process,” Gage answered.

  “Erm…by ‘wait’ do you mean an hour or two…or….”

  Gage turned his head and glared.

  “Right. So more than two. Okay, that’s a problem.” In more ways than one. Time to lie her ass off. “See, I was supposed to be home hours ago, and Dobby is really, really not a patient kitty. He’s a tightly wound, emotionally challenged little guy who demands a regimented schedule.”

  Zoey forced the conversation about Dobby to the surface despite the running list of serious shit she had to deal with. While her cat was definitely on the list, he was probably item number twenty-seven, possibly as far down as thirty. All the rest of the things above him, though, were severely classified in Zoey’s personal security protocol system.

  She’d started the slightly modified version of security clearances for her…personal cause…after she got started four years ago. Back then it’d been no more than a few extra hours a week here and there doing what she could to help clean up the cesspit of perverts on the dark, deep web, and everywhere else she could.

  “Hey, Zoey, you with us?” The voice on the speakers dragged her attention back to the present.

  “No, I need to get to my house. I have a cat. Dobby. I need to get my cat.” Talk about lame.

  But Dobby was an excuse to get to her house, where she could contact Jade without alerting Gage or anyone else that something was up.

  Talk about epically shitty timing. The Arsenal mess couldn’t have happened at a worse time. She’d just taken on a new client—the highest profile one she’d ever attempted. Sara Cherling and her newborn daughter needed an out, a fresh start from a deranged psychopath.

  While Zoey didn’t typically become involved in domestic disputes until after a divorce, she did intervene in certain situations. Sara’s was…troubling. Complicated.

  Terrifying.

  She deserved a reboot on life.

  Fresh starts were what Zoey’s entire underground organization was about.

  A new life.

  One where no one knew who they were, what they’d survived.

  And all that was at risk now because Zoey had helped The Arsenal.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  Yeah, right. She’d passed panic hours ago, back when she’d saved that Arsenal team.

  “Zoey.”

  The firm voice on the other end of the speaker demanded her focus. “I’m here.”

  “You aren’t alone. Gage is going to help you secure your cat and whatever else you need. Then you’re coming home. To The Arsenal. You’re one of us now. You’re safe.”

  Zoey swallowed and took in the words, even though she knew they weren’t true.

  She wasn’t Arsenal. She was a civilian so far from their caliber of operative precision it would be almost laughable if the situation weren’t so terrifying. And she was far, far from safe.

  Because mere hours before Vi’s first call asking for help a couple of days ago, Zoey had taken the only daughter and grandchild of a prominent United States congressman and made them disappear.

  “I don’t trust her,” Gage declared into the com.

  Zoey Dansworth may have saved Fallon and his team, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t trouble. The woman skulked into her bathroom and shut the door. They’d been in the small, upper northside apartment for five minutes, and she’d yet to find Dobby—aka the reason they were there.

  Gage glowered as something flashed in his peripheral vision. He drew his weapon and
eased into the next room, a small dining room. The entire apartment was…

  Clean.

  Too clean.

  Antiseptic, devoid of personal touches. Gage wasn’t the personal touch kind of guy. Give him a pillow and a passable sleeping surface, and he was good to go. But he had three sisters and a mom.

  Women nested.

  Hell, even Vi and Mary nested in their operational theater at The Arsenal compound—little knickknacks spread here and there, a few more than at first now that they’d both settled in with their men.

  “She saved Fallon. I’ve worked with her in the past. She’s solid,” Vi said.

  Gage couldn’t think of anyone he’d trust more than Vi and Mary, but that didn’t make them right. He aimed his weapon under the dining room table, where the white tablecloth moved. Something swiped at his leg.

  What the ever-loving fuck?

  He jumped backward and flicked the safety off his gun. A growl rumbled from beneath the table, followed by a hiss. Some rabid animal maybe? The paw had been small and gray, definitely not a cat.

  “What are you doing? Put that away!” Zoey swatted his hand, positioned herself in front of his drawn weapon, and crouched down. “It’s okay, Dobby. The mean, scary commando isn’t going to hurt you. Come on out. It’s okay. Come on.”

  Gage clicked the safety on his gun and listened as the woman cooed and whispered nonsensically. A hideous thing crawled from beneath the dining room table.

  “That’s a cat?”

  No way in hell. The wrinkled animal was half rat-gray and half tan, with bulging, green eyes. A feral-like rumble radiated from it as it swiped at Gage again and offered an opened-mouth hiss.

  “Don’t be rude,” Zoey spat angrily as she curled the hairless, big-eared “cat” against her body and glared. “Dobby is a beautiful Sphynx. He takes a while to warm up to people, though. Here, you get to know him while I pack his clothes.”

  “Clothes? Cats have clothes?” He stared at the strange woman as she went back toward the bedroom.

  Snickering on the other end of the com made Gage growl a low warning in his throat. “Don’t.”

  “Oh, you don’t scare me, Gage Sanderson. My man growls way better than that,” Vi said.

  She was not wrong. Judson Jensen was one of the few men Gage wouldn’t ever want to take on in a fight. The former assassin had become a hell of an Arsenal asset, one who got a wide berth from everyone—including Gage.

  “Here, put Dobby’s sweater on him, and I’ll get the rest of his things.”

  The hairless cat growled from his new position in the crook of Gage’s arm. Zoey, aka Zero D, wandered out of the room. He followed.

  Her shoulder-length hair was a bright purple with pink tips. She was a short bundle of full curves he couldn’t help but appreciate, especially since she’d changed into curve-hugging leggings with telephone booths which ran down her short legs.

  He glanced down at Dobby, who watched with a wary expression. “I don’t like the situation either, but we’d best man the fuck up and get on with this. You gonna let me do this the easy way, or are we going the hard route?”

  Dobby growled.

  Fair enough.

  Zoey’s voice drifted from the other room. Suspicious, he quietly made his way toward the bedroom, but couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  “Can you amplify what she’s saying, Vi?”

  The earbud he wore went silent a heartbeat, then returned, the volume louder than before. Gage didn’t know how Vi had turned the com into a listening device. He never understood half of what she and Mary did. That’s what made them the Quillery Edge.

  “I’m sorry. I know the timing sucks, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll be in touch when I can, but until then I need you locking everything down, just in case. I’m sure it’ll be fine, but we need to be safe.” Zoey’s voice paused. “Okay. Let me know if you see anything or anyone at all suspicious. Don’t try and be a badass. Bye.”

  “Find out who she was talking to,” he ordered.

  “Already in process,” Vi said. “I started vetting her through HERA before we dispatched you to retrieve her. Her phone records will be dumped soon enough.”

  Good.

  While a part of Gage was more than willing to eat a bullet because she’d saved Fallon and his team, he wasn’t fully ready to trust her. Not yet.

  He’d almost died because of blind trust once before.

  He wouldn’t ever let it happen again. The moment she entered the living room, he crowded into her personal space until she backed up against the wall. The flash of fear in her gaze gave him a second’s hesitation, but this needed to be done.

  The Arsenal was good people. They didn’t deserve to get mired in whatever shit Zoey Danson was hiding. She’d done Fallon and his team a solid, which meant Gage and everyone else would have her back.

  “You’re hiding something,” he said.

  “Step back.”

  “Whatever you’re hiding had better not surface and affect The Arsenal. If it does, you and I are gonna have problems.” Gage stepped back and handed over the sweater-clad cat. The sooner they got back to The Arsenal, the better.

  2

  Present Day

  “I don’t wanna learn no more,” DJ said. His gaze slid to his big brother.

  Zoey’s eyebrows rose because it was the first time she’d heard Dallas’s youngest son express himself so emphatically. Too bad it was a load of malarkey fed to him by TJ. The eldest didn’t bother hiding his smirk as he wrapped an arm around his little brother.

  Unfazed by the adamant declaration, Ellie Travers waded in. “That’s a shame. I was going to take you both to the river. I figured you could look for more flat rocks for that collection you and Kamren started. Then I had something really special and classified I needed your help with.”

  Zoey took a sip of her sweet tea and eyed her newest friend. The Arsenal’s new office manager was not only proving herself to be a kickass front office asset, but she was fabulous with the boys. Ellie never should have left teaching.

  Zoey filed the thought away in her mental tickler of things to ask the woman. No one seemed to know much about her. Weird.

  And not a good sign, as far as Zoey was concerned. The last time a woman they didn’t know much about showed up at The Arsenal, there’d been an explosion, a civil war within a gang, and a murder. Yeesh. She got tired just remembering all poor Kamren had gone through. And the woman still kicked ass and helped Dallas find the boys.

  “Classified?” TJ asked.

  “Yep. I need your help really badly, too.” Ellie sighed dramatically as she pushed her plate of half-finished food to the boys. They quickly reached over and divvied up the leftover barbecue. “I guess I’ll have to ask one of your uncles.”

  Like that would happen. The woman practically crawled under her desk anytime one of the Mason brothers entered the reception area. Zoey couldn’t blame her since Jesse hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms. The tidal wave of ill-greeting had bled into his brothers for some reason.

  Zoey had voiced her concerns to Dylan one day, but he’d ended the discussion quickly. Leave it alone. There’s history there.

  Okay, then.

  “Speaking of help,” Ellie said, her gaze now directed at Zoey. “I could use yours. You can access the security feeds from the mess hall, right?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Zoey scrunched her nose. Security feeds were pretty damn boring.

  “We’re running out of some stuff way faster than we should. It’s almost like someone’s raiding the supplies,” Ellie said. “I figured it might be worth looking into.”

  “Maybe.” Zoey shrugged. “I can’t imagine the Masons getting up in arms over missing food, though. They’ll tell you to order more.”

  “Still.” Ellie chewed her bottom lip. “Can you check anyway to make sure there’s nothing weird going on?”

  It was a simple enough request, but something Zoey didn’t have time to deal with. Too bad she’d never
learned the value of the word “no.” “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” Ellie glanced at the boys. “Now I need to recruit for my classified mission since my helpers aren’t available.”

  TJ was about to crack beneath Ellie’s ingenious “classified” project when the cell in Zoey’s pocket vibrated. She coughed on her tea a moment because the damn thing never rang, mainly because only one person had the number.

  Jade never, ever called her. She always called Jade. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. That was the rule—one they’d never, ever broken.

  “Be right back,” Zoey said as she snagged her backpack and headed toward the bathroom. She’d learned long ago to be prepared for anything.

  Ever since arriving at The Arsenal, she’d taken that lesson to an entirely new level, mainly because operating her underground venture without anyone catching on was proving to be a serious pain in the patootie.

  She slammed the bathroom door shut and latched it with the little hook. Snagging the phone from her bra, she punched the green phone icon on the flip phone. “Jade. What’s wrong?”

  “What isn’t wrong? I swear, these women are trying to kill me, Z. You’ve gotta come and straighten these girls out and catch up.”

  The man’s voice was a couple octaves higher than normal and about a thousand miles an hour faster than usual. Zoey could count on one hand the number of times Jade had been this agitated. None of them had ended well.

  “Start from the beginning. What’s wrong?”

  “Cecilia and Gwen came back from the grocery store around the corner bloodied up to hell. I’d told them not to go, but I had to follow up on a police report I’d helped Jennie file, so of course those two went anyway.” Jade took a breath. “Assholes down the block were beating up a kid, and they weighed in.”

  “You’ve got three women in a safe house? Since when?”

  “Since you’re eight weeks behind processing them to go into the network,” Jade said. “I’m not leaving them stranded ’cause you’re playing badass and can’t find the time to run the network.”

  Zoey squeezed her eyes shut as she straddled the rickety toilet in Bubba’s Barbecue and pulled out her laptop. She activated it as soon as she had it semi-perched on the tank. “We talked about this, Jade. We need to lie low.”