I brushed my fingers across the mouse pad, waking my computer screen. My hands trembled as I typed my password, one keystroke at a time. Slowly and deliberately. Then there they were: the words behind the pings. Subject line after subject line. Every one the same, and in all caps.
BROOKE, TIME TO GET BACK TO WORK!
I crossed my arms, hugging the softness of Teddy’s sweater around me, and swallowed.
Ping.
Each of the emails had an attachment. My first instinct was to open one of the emails and the corresponding attachment, but I hesitated.
I knew the drill. I’d been through this many times before. The attachment could disappear after I opened it, and I’d be the only one to have seen it.
Or the attachment could give my computer a deadly virus and destroy more than just the accompanying attachment.
I pressed my fingers into my forehead and closed my eyes. “Think, Brooke. Think.” The sender of the emails obviously intended for me to have the information. “Just like all the other times,” I whispered.
But I was out of the game. I had left the FBI over a year ago, unable to continue in my role as an analyst. Or as a special agent, the job I’d held before that. Life had broken me, and I’d left. So why was someone sending me information now?
It didn’t matter. I had it, and I knew I couldn’t ignore it. I opened my eyes and stared at the repeated subject lines. And as if a gun had fired to signal the start of a race, I sprang into action and let instinct take over. I dug an external drive from my desk drawer, plugged it into my computer, and made a backup of everything on my hard drive. Then I started recording my keystrokes and everything that appeared on my screen, preserving whatever I saw next.
When I was ready, I returned to the email.
It was empty except for the file. I double-clicked the attachment, and a video popped up.
It was a dim room. People laughed. Men were dressed in suits. Flashes of color indicated women in dresses. It looked to be a ritzy cocktail party.
The video was shaky, probably taken from someone’s phone based on the low quality, and the image went in and out of focus. Then the camera zoomed in on one person in particular. A woman. “Melissa Centers,” I whispered. The lieutenant governor. I’d seen her on television before, at an event with Truman.
The people in the video raised their glasses in some sort of toast, then tipped back their beverages. Everyone cheered.
Several seconds passed.
The person filming the video moved closer to the lieutenant governor. The image became clearer. That’s when everything went south.
The smile on the lieutenant governor’s face faded. Her eyes widened. She stumbled, dropped her glass, and struggled to catch a breath. Her hands clawed at her throat, then stretched out to her side, grasping for something—anything—as she collapsed to the floor.
People screamed. Others rushed to her side.
The video zoomed in on her face, her wide, terror-stricken eyes. She was no longer moving. A trail of foamy liquid slid from the corners of her lips.
I slapped my hand over my mouth.
More screams erupted, and the video went black. At least it didn’t wipe my hard drive, as I had feared.
I grabbed my phone on my way to the kitchen. A single wine glass, stained with last night’s merlot, sat on the counter next to an empty wine bottle. I removed a clean juice glass from one cabinet and a bottle of bourbon from another. After pouring two fingers of bourbon, I turned the glass up and swallowed the amber liquid, closing my eyes and cringing through the burn. When I opened my eyes again, I eyed the glass warily, considering the image of the lieutenant governor doing exactly the same thing moments ago.
I picked up my phone and dialed.
“Donaldson.” Special Agent Mike Donaldson answered on the first ring.
“I need you.”
That was all it took. Three little words, and I was back in the game—a game I had no desire to play.
After asking Mike to come to my house—without offering any specifics as to why—I ended the call.
In front of me, sitting on top of a stack of mail, was a fancy piece of cream cardstock, embossed with curly script. I’d almost discarded it several times over the last week. It was an invitation to a party hosted by Kentucky’s Governor Truman Spencer, and it was scheduled for tonight.
I let well-trained muscles click into action. I raced through my quaint Virginia house, gathering laundry, both clean and dirty, and throwing it all on my bed. I removed Teddy’s sweater and stripped off my pajama shorts. I found a pair of jeans, slid them on, and pulled a black cardigan over my camisole. I slid some short ankle boots on my feet.
From the top of the closet, I got my suitcase and began stuffing it haphazardly with clothes from my bed, from dresser drawers, and from the closet. I darted to the bathroom and gathered an armload of toiletries.
When I’d filled one suitcase, I carried it to my car and stuck it in the back seat of my Mini Cooper. Then I returned to my bedroom closet, tossed boots, high heels, flip-flops, and anything else I thought I might need into a canvas bag, grabbed more clothes in my arms, carried them out, and stuffed the bag and the loose clothes into the car’s tiny trunk.
The last thing I did was grab the unopened box holding a new laptop from the top of my closet. I packed it into a computer bag, along with the drive I’d just used to back up my old computer. I loaded this into the car as well.
Back in the living room, I flinched at the sound of a car door.
The FBI had arrived.
Mike stood in the doorway, the look on his face difficult to read. I hadn’t seen him in over a year. Not since Teddy’s funeral.
He was bigger than I remembered. Taller. His dirty blond hair was longer, but still short enough to spike in the front. He rubbed his hand across a well-groomed beard—another change.
I frowned at the gold band on his ring finger. “You got married.”
His hand froze before he held it out in front of his face and stared at the ring, as if he’d forgotten it was there. His eyes found mine. “Yeah. Last month. We wanted to invite you…”
I shook my head and held up a hand. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what, Brooke?” The line in his jaw went rigid. “You haven’t spoken to anyone in over a year.”
That wasn’t exactly true. I saw people at the grocery store and places like that. And I had friends. And how would Mike know who I had or hadn’t spoken to? “You knew where I was,” I said sheepishly.
“Surely you didn’t call me to discuss my ability to find a missing person.”
“No.” I backed up and gave Mike room to enter. That was definitely not why I had called him.
His investigative gaze circled the room, profiling me in less than ten seconds. I wrapped my cardigan tighter around me and squeezed my arms across my chest. Mike spoke with his back to me. “I’m assuming you saw the morning news.”
“I saw the headline.” I was trained not to listen to information reported by the media about a case I might be called to investigate—for risk of tainting actual evidence.
He turned, studied me. Apparently he thought he saw something in my eyes that most certainly wasn’t there. “No.”
“No to what?” I asked. But I knew what he was thinking.
“No,” he said again. “The director is never going to reinstate you just because you feel guilty about Teddy. And what, now you want to save his brother?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“No? Then what are you up to?”
“He found me.” I swallowed hard, keeping my gaze pinned to his and refusing to show an ounce of the vulnerability I was feeling.
When he narrowed his eyes in question, I walked to my computer, woke it by touching the mouse, and entered my password. Staring back at us was a screen full of the same subject line repeated over and over.
“Is it Romeo?” he asked.
“I guess.”
Romeo was cons
idered a confidential human source, or CHS, on the last few cases I’d worked on with Teddy. I was an analyst with the Bureau at the time, but I was also Teddy’s backup when Mike wasn’t available. Romeo had chosen to provide me with information, and had refused to have contact with anyone but me. Other agents had named him Romeo—because of his apparent infatuation with me.
“Have you opened the attachment?”
I nodded. “It’s a video of the lieutenant governor at some event where she was poisoned.”
He clicked on one of the emails and opened the attached video. After watching it, he straightened. “Fuck.” He tapped on his phone and lifted it to his ear. “Get in here,” he ordered the poor soul on the other end. He turned to me. “I’ll take this from here.”
“What is that supposed to mean? He contacted me. How are you going to take care of it?”
A man pushed through my front door. By the way he was breathing, he’d sprinted from the car. “What’s up?” His eyes met mine. “Oh. Hi, Brooke. It’s been a long time.”
“Hi, Carlos. How’s it going?”
Carlos Salazar had become Mike’s official partner after Teddy died. He’d been with the Bureau less than a year at the time.
“Good. You?” he asked. He didn’t even attempt to hide the uneasiness he was feeling standing with Mike, me, and the giant elephant in the room.
“Take her computer,” Mike ordered, not giving me time to answer Carlos.
Carlos looked from Mike to me and back to Mike. “Okay, boss.” He headed for the computer.
I didn’t even pretend to object to them taking my computer. I had expected it, planned for it even. After Carlos unplugged my computer and carried it out the door, Mike faced me. “I’m going to put an agent on you twenty-four seven. We might need you to come in to make a statement.” I started to object on both counts, but he lifted a hand to silence me. “Look, Brooke, CHS or not, Romeo is dangerous… and if the lieutenant governor was truly poisoned—”
“Don’t be an asshole, Mike. I know firsthand what Romeo is capable of, and what this murder looks like.” My voice climbed steadily. “But you don’t know what Romeo wants any more than I do. Besides, I don’t need, or want, your protection. I might not be a part of your team any longer, but I’m not brain dead. I know how this works.”
Mike winced at the venom oozing from my voice. We both had our share of anger stored up. “I’m not suggesting you can’t protect yourself. But these guys—if it’s the same guys—won’t hesitate to take you out if they think you’re involved again. I don’t know why Romeo sent you those emails, but—”
“It’s a game to him. He wants me to take the bait and play again.”
“You did the right thing by calling me.”
I crossed my arms and stood in front of the window, looking out onto the front lawn. Clouds had moved in, and it looked to rain. “It would have been wrong of me to withhold evidence in an active investigation.” I faced him. “Thanks for coming.”
He took several slow steps toward me, touched my arm, then leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Take care of yourself, Brooke.” He retreated, keeping his dark eyes trained on mine. “But stay away from this case. I’ll have an agent here within the hour. For your own safety. Don’t fight me on this.”
When the door closed behind him and his car disappeared down the road, I grabbed my leather jacket, phone, and car keys, and headed for the garage where my car was already packed with everything I’d need for an extended trip to Kentucky.
Two
The weather in Kentucky in the spring was difficult to predict. Tonight, it was cold, in the forties, and drizzly, which made my strapless cocktail dress and high heels almost unbearable. The party, an annual affair, was the kickoff to the Bluegrass Derby festival—a two-week-long series of events that celebrated a single, two-minute thoroughbred horse race.
After showing a security guard my personal invitation, I pulled up to the governor’s mansion. A young valet opened my door and helped me from my vehicle, then slid behind the wheel and whisked it away before I could change my mind about attending tonight’s celebration.
“This way, miss,” a man said, gesturing toward the stairs leading to the front door. As if I couldn’t find my way to the lit-up entrance.
I climbed the stairs to the front door. My feet were cold, and it had been way too long since I’d worn four-inch heels, so I wasn’t surprised when I stumbled at the top of the stairs.
A warm hand to my forearm steadied me. When I righted myself, I lifted my head and met the gaze of a man who stood slightly taller than me despite my extra four inches. “You okay?” he asked in a foreign accent. His striking blue eyes temporarily pinned me.
“Oh… uh… yes.” I gave my head a little shake. “Thank you. It’s been a while.” I nodded toward my Jimmy Choos.
He followed my glance to my decorated feet, then slowly followed the line of my legs, and beyond, until he found my eyes again. “Well then, I’m glad I was here to catch you.”
He drew his hand back, leaving a cool sensation on my skin where his palm had rested, and gestured for me to continue toward the party.
As I passed through the front entrance, flashing my invitation to the Kentucky state policemen standing guard, I turned to thank the stranger for his help again. But he was gone. Poof. Disappeared into thin air.
I slid the invitation into my clutch. I had received it weeks ago, and like all invitations I’d received in the last year from Governor Spencer, I had planned on tossing this one in the trash. But Truman had refused to cancel tonight’s party despite the death of his lieutenant governor—and that told me he wasn’t taking the threat on his life seriously. I owed it to Teddy, Truman’s brother, to make sure he understood the threat was real.
Music and laughter was everywhere inside the mansion. Servers walked around with trays holding glasses of champagne, silver julep cups filled with bourbon, and bite-sized hors d’oeuvres. As I walked through the grand foyer, I took in the scents of flowers from the many arrangements.
One of the servers passed by, and I grabbed a julep cup. I downed nearly half before I slid into the crowd of the state ballroom.
The governor was laughing with a small group of people next to one of several makeshift bars. I took another sip of my drink, ordering myself silently not to drink too much. I was already feeling the effects of that first gulp. But seeing Truman, who looked so much like his older brother Teddy, threw me off balance. They shared the same facial structure, height, and eyes.
Just seeing those hazel green eyes solidified my determination. I drank the rest of the cocktail, letting the sweet bourbon slide smoothly down my throat, stinging only a little. Then, handing the silver cup to another server, I started toward Truman.
Half a dozen steps into my journey across the room, I was stopped with a firm grasp to my elbow.
“Funny. I distinctly remember telling you to stay away from this case.”
I looked from the hold on my arm to Mike’s eyes. “And here I thought Kentucky was way out of your jurisdiction.”
“It would have been, but thanks to the evidence you gave us, my investigation led us here. We’re coordinating with state police investigators.”
I pulled my arm away and faced Mike, putting my back to the governor. “That’s great. I’m glad you’re here to keep the governor safe. I, on the other hand, was invited.” I pulled my invitation from my clutch. “See. Just a partygoer. A supporter of politics and horse racing.” I could also have said that the governor was my brother-in-law, but that would have been putting way too much salt into way too many wounds.
Mike stepped closer. “This is your only warning, Fairfax. Stay away from this case, or I will have you arrested for obstruction.”
I rotated my shoulders back. “Just be sure you have enough evidence to put me in jail before you do it. Because if you don’t, I’ll make your life at the Bureau a living hell—and sue you for false arrest.”
He smiled then. “You
know me well enough to know that I don’t bluff.”
“Neither do I,” I said through gritted teeth. “And we both know I have enough pull to wreak havoc on your career.”
His expression faltered. He swallowed hard. “Just stay out of our way.”
“Brooke?” a voice said behind me.
I turned slowly. “Truman. Hi,” I said nervously.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I glanced over my shoulder at Mike’s smug face. “According to the invitation, you asked me to come.”
He smiled. “I know. I just didn’t think…” He leaned in, and sliding a hand around my waist, he kissed my cheek. “I’m happy you came. When you didn’t come for the inauguration, I just assumed…” He gave his head a little shake. “It doesn’t matter. I’m thrilled you’re here.”
Mike cleared his throat behind me.
“Hi, Mike,” Truman said. “I thought you’d be on your way back to Virginia by now.” Truman knew Mike because of Mike’s partnership with Teddy.
“No, sir. Agent Salazar and I still have some work to do.” He glanced around the room before lowering his voice. “We’ll be meeting with your state police detail in the morning.”
“Fine.” Truman grabbed my hand and tugged. “Come on, Brooke, I’ll introduce you to some people and then we can catch up.”
“Governor,” Mike said before we could walk away.
Truman lifted his hardened jaw in Mike’s direction.
“Please remember what we discussed earlier.”
Truman tugged harder on my hand, and we walked away. With a glance over my shoulder, I threw Mike an icy look that said, “kiss my ass.”
“I know Mike was Teddy’s best friend, but I never liked that guy,” Truman said.
I leaned in closer. “What did he tell you?”
He eyed me sideways. “He told me not to let you get involved in the murder investigation.”
I bit my lower lip. “Who said I was here to get involved?”
Truth is in the Darkness (Paynes Creek Thriller Book 2) Page 28
