Covert Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  “You’ve heard of them?”

  Relief fluttered through her. John worked for Raptor. Trina’s boyfriend, Keith, was the CEO, and the private security firm had provided protection for her and Trina last summer in DC. She knew Raptor. For the first time since the crazy had started, the tension in her belly eased a fraction. She could call Trina, who could get the scoop on John from Keith. “My close friend Trina is shacked up with your CEO.”

  Surprise flashed in John’s eyes. “Keith Hatcher?” he said.

  She nodded. “Yes. I was living with Trina when they started dating a year ago.” She paused as the full meaning sank in. This ramshackle house was owned by Raptor.

  She felt light. Relieved. “That changes everything. I lived with Trina because I was in DC for an internship at Naval History and Heritage Command. My boss was Mara Garrett—the US Attorney General’s wife. She and Curt are friends with Raptor’s owner. I’ve met him too.” She stopped abruptly and waited for John to fill in more than a name. What if he’d said he worked for Raptor because it was a convenient lie in the face of her obvious suspicion?

  Chapter Twelve

  Trina Sorensen leaned against her kitchen counter in her apartment in the heart of Washington, DC, and stared at the screen of her cell phone, willing it to ring. It had been over twenty-four hours since Cressida had sent the text about Todd’s sudden appearance in Antalya, and five hours since Curt called to say the body of a murdered Turkish man had been found in Cressida’s hotel room. Trina had left messages and texted Cressida several times but had received no response.

  Authorities in Antalya had confirmed Cressida had caught her flight to Van, but by the time they’d located her hotel, it appeared she’d fled. The night clerk had informed the police that Cressida had returned to the hotel in torn clothing and sporting welts on her arms and neck. She claimed she’d been mugged. He also said she’d been accompanied by an American man who he thought was a guest of the hotel, but he wasn’t certain.

  As far as anyone could tell, Cressida and the American had disappeared.

  Was the American Todd Ganem?

  After everything Todd put her through, Cressida wouldn’t be in his company unless she was under duress.

  Warm arms surrounded Trina, and she released her phone as she leaned back against Keith’s chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “If Cressida’s okay, she’d have replied to one of my texts by now.”

  “She was mugged. She lost her phone.”

  “But what about before she was mugged? Why didn’t she text me then?”

  He stroked her hair. “For all we know, her battery died.”

  She turned in his arms and hugged him. “I appreciate that you want to make me feel better, but we both know this is serious, and I need you to be honest with me about the situation instead of trying to humor me.”

  “I’m not—” He stopped. After a long moment, he cradled her face and brushed his lips across hers. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m being protective, which is not what you need right now.”

  “Thank you.” She gently nudged him away so she could pace. She was anxious and needed to move. “We need to get everyone together. Curt, Mara, Lee, Erica, Alec, Isabel. Maybe we can do something. Curt can get us updates from the State Department. Maybe Lee can hack her phone and find out where she is. Alec can use his senate connections…I don’t know, for something.” She twirled to face Keith. “Don’t you have a Raptor team working with the Kurds in northern Iraq? How long would it take for them to get to Van?”

  Keith looked sheepish. “They’re, um, gearing up now.”

  She pursed her lips. “And you didn’t tell me this because…?”

  “I didn’t want you to know how worried I am. I figured you were afraid enough already.”

  She gave him a short nod. Okay. Those protective instincts again. Unnecessary, but awfully sweet. Once. “When will they reach Van?” she asked.

  “The car line at the border is a nightmare, especially with heightened security due to ISIS. It will be faster for them to fly and land on the NATO airfield in Batman.”

  “How far is Batman from Van?”

  “Roughly two hundred miles.”

  She tried to quash the disappointment. “They won’t reach Van until sometime tomorrow, then.”

  “They’ll find her. My guys are the best. You know that.”

  “Who’s on the team?”

  “Mostly ex-Special Forces guys you don’t know. But Sean Logan was working a security detail in Greece and is en route to Istanbul now. He’ll meet up with the team either in Batman or Van.”

  Those words, more than any others gave Trina hope. Sean knew Cressida. More important, Cressida knew Sean. Cressida didn’t trust easily, but she knew Sean was safe.

  Ian would be sweating if his cover with Raptor wasn’t fully backstopped. He knew enough about the private security company to get through this conversation. But the fact that Cressida knew Keith Hatcher personally was a problem.

  Ian had never met Hatcher and didn’t even know if the man had been briefed on the false credentials Raptor provided Ian and a few other Company men. It had been set up thanks to connections between the deputy director of the CIA and Alec Ravissant, not long after Ravissant bought Raptor. The “embassy employee” cover was weak with overuse in the Middle East, and so Ian—or rather John—had bona fides from a real security company with international contracts and operatives stationed in several countries in the region.

  But Ian had fucked up yet again. He’d told Cressida he’d flown in from DC yesterday—which was where Raptor’s home office was located, where Hatcher lived and worked—he couldn’t admit he’d never met the man who’d taken over as CEO when Ravissant won a seat in the US Senate last November. The company was big overall, yes, but not the DC office. And if Cressida’s friend was Hatcher’s girlfriend, she probably knew that.

  Plus there was the reminder she’d worked for the wife of the US Attorney General. Could that be why she’d been selected to carry the chip? Or were they back to the possibility she was a traitor who’d cozied up to the AG’s wife?

  Thank God he wouldn’t be the guy who informed Curt Dominick his wife needed to be questioned. As it was, this little wrinkle meant the head of the CIA would question Dominick. Unwitting or not, Cressida Porter had carried data for a terrorist cell. Her connections in DC would suffer fallout.

  “You know Rav,” he said casually, using Alec Ravissant’s nickname. “What are the odds?”

  She studied him, suspicion in her gaze. “Given that I worked for NHHC and lived with Trina Sorensen last summer—and given what happened to her—pretty low, actually.”

  Her pointed look caused his brain to race. Shit. What happened to Sorensen? He’d been in Istanbul, chasing down Chechen rebels who were trying to link up with al-Qaeda, but the way she looked at him made him think a Raptor employee should know the details. If it involved Trina Sorensen, then it must have to do with Hatcher, not Ravissant. All at once it came to him—the CIA had briefed him, since it related to his cover. “You were living with Dr. Sorensen when the explosion took out Hatcher’s home?” There were more details that came to him, but everything the CIA had learned after the explosion was classified, and Ian doubted even Cressida knew who was really behind the attempt on her roommate’s life.

  Her features relaxed, telling him he’d said the right thing. “It was terrifying. She was assigned a Raptor bodyguard after that, and I even stayed at Alec’s estate in Maryland for a few days while things were sorted out.”

  Hell and damn, this couldn’t get any worse. Sorensen had been assigned a bodyguard? Shit. Cressida would expect him to know the guy. There was no way he could bluff his way out of this. For a moment, he considered telling her the truth. Would she laugh in his face if he told her he was a CIA case officer?

  Shit. He couldn’t break cover. Not until he knew exactly why Hejan had chosen her. “I don’t know the details—I was working on a security assignmen
t here in Turkey most of last summer.” It was always good to stay as close to the truth as possible. “My language skills keep me in the Middle East about ninety percent of the time.” He dropped onto the sofa.

  The tightness in her jaw had eased. She cleared her throat. “I’d like to call Trina. I need to tell someone where I am—and who I’m with.” She waved her arm to indicate the room. “I’m scared because no one knows where I am.”

  At least she hadn’t said she was terrified of him. Progress. But unfortunately, Trina was the last person she could call, not until he was certain Hatcher would confirm his employment without hesitation. If he looked up Ian’s human resources file, he’d find the necessary documentation, but if he answered without bothering to check, he’d raise more questions for Cressida than Ian could safely deal with right now.

  He frowned apologetically. “No cell phone coverage out here. We’re too far from the town. The earthquake took out the secondary cell tower. It has yet to be fixed.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Can I see your phone?”

  He plucked it from his pocket and handed it to her. He hadn’t lied about cell coverage, but he had no clue how he was going to put her off when they were in antenna range.

  She raised an eyebrow as the screen woke with a request for his passcode.

  He told her the number without hesitation. As promised, the phone had no reception. Her shoulders relaxed as she handed him back his phone.

  She flopped down on a chair in the living room. “So what do we do about Hejan? I need to tell the police what I know. If Todd—” Her voice cut out, and he knew she’d unhappily connected those dots. She shook her head. “No. Todd was many crappy things, but I can’t believe he’s a murderer.”

  Ian moved to the chair in front of her and leaned toward her with his forearms resting on his thighs. He took her hands in his. They were cold and trembled a bit. “We need to figure out our next step. You walk into a police station right now and they’ll take you into custody, and I might not be able to help you.” This was mostly a lie. Ian could vouch for the fact that Hejan had been alive when Cressida left her hotel room, and Stan had passed that information up the line. The police wanted her as a witness, not for murder.

  Her shaking fingers closed around his. A gesture of trust. He was such a shit to scare her this way.

  “Thank you. It seems like every decision I make—chase my mugger, stay at the hotel, go to the police—is wrong somehow.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. A soft, fleeting warmth before she pulled back. Full stop retreat.

  He smiled. “There’s another decision I’d rethink. If I were you, I’d do this.” He kissed her, slipping his tongue between her lips.

  She responded with a low groan deep in her throat as she stroked his invading tongue with her own, garnering a physical reaction from him that had nothing to do with why he’d pursued the kiss but everything to do with why he didn’t want it to end.

  He took her face between his hands and pulled her forward, urging her to his lap as his mouth caressed hers with an intensity that surprised even him.

  Damn, but she turned him on.

  She complied with his silent plea and settled onto his lap. At last, he had Cressida’s sweet, perfect body in his arms, her ass pressed against an erection that belied his mercenary kiss. His mouth left hers so he could nuzzle below her ear and slide down her smooth skin to nip at the hollow of her collarbone. He wanted to taste all of her, to feel her nude body against his, to make her come hard and fast against his mouth and then again when he was inside her.

  He wanted to enjoy the slide of her inner thighs against his hips as he thrust into her, to make her cry out his name as he brought her to orgasm.

  The rush of heat was fast and furious. Logic disappeared in the wake of overwhelming want. From the way she kissed, the way she attacked the buttons on his shirt, she’d been hit by the same raw need. His arms tightened around her, then he stood, lifting her. This would be better if they moved to the bedroom.

  But he hadn’t even taken a step when she pushed at his chest and said, “John, is that smoke?”

  He shook his head, uncertain if she’d made a joke about the heat between them and feeling strangely irked she’d called him John. A second later, he smelled it.

  Shit. He set her on her feet and pulled his gun. Of all the dumbass things to do. He’d gotten fucking distracted, and now their “safe” house was on fire.

  Chapter Thirteen

  This was not happening. It couldn’t be real. Cressida was trapped in a nightmare. It wasn’t possible that Todd had appeared in Antalya; Hejan had been murdered; she’d been robbed (twice); possibly abducted (in spite of being foolish enough to want to jump in the sack with the man, she still wasn’t sure); and now black smoke poured from under the front door of the ramshackle hideaway.

  Her gaze darted around. The side door to the carport was their best exit. She took a step toward the door, but John caught the back pocket of her jeans, stopping her.

  “Not yet,” he said and nudged her backward. He scooped up the small rug she’d been standing on and dropped it against the base of the door, partially stemming the waves of smoke. Next he shoved the couch backward and slammed the heel of his boot into the floor, which gave way under the quick pressure of the blow. He knelt over the hole and tossed splinters of wood aside, then plucked a backpack from the hidden recess.

  With the bag slung over his shoulder, he turned and caught her shocked gaze. “Firm believer in the Boy Scout motto,” he said, then strode past her toward the side door. She followed, plucking her gun from the kitchen counter on the way.

  He paused by the exit. “We go together.” He nodded toward the gun in her hand. “Can you shoot if you have to?”

  She nodded, tightening her grip on the weapon.

  “I’ll unlock the car with the remote the moment we open the door. The driver’s door is closer. Dive in and crawl across to the passenger seat. I’ll follow and provide cover fire if need be.”

  He did not just use the words “cover fire” in a sentence. She just stared at him, her mind caught on that one phrase and unable to move forward.

  He stroked her cheek. “You’ll do fine, Cress. I believe in you.” Then he kissed her, a quick hard kiss that broke her mental paralysis.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “On three?” she asked, because wasn’t that what people said in these situations?

  A smile lit his eyes. “On three.” He then whispered the count in her ear.

  He shoved the door open, and she sprang forward. In seconds, she was inside the car and crawling across the gearshift, John right behind her. Thankfully there’d been no need for cover fire.

  The engine started instantly. She hadn’t even twisted into her seat before they lurched backward down the short driveway, then, with a sharp turn, launched forward down the bumpy, pitted road.

  She grappled for the seat belt as her head bounced against the roof. Finally settled in the seat with a fastened belt, she found her voice. “Is anyone following us?”

  “No. But if the purpose was to smoke us out, they know we only have two choices once we hit the main road.”

  “Which are?”

  “Return to Van, or head west. There’s a NATO base in Batman.”

  She glanced out the window. The night was pure inky black. No streetlights. No city lights. No car lights ahead or behind. Complete darkness, all around. “Which way are we going?”

  “To Batman. You’ll be safe on the base.”

  This time, Cressida didn’t protest and say she needed to gather research for her grant proposal. Being smoked out of the safe house appeared to have woken her to the seriousness of the situation. Or maybe it was learning Hejan had been murdered in her hotel room. Ian didn’t particularly care which had gotten through to her, he was just glad she was cooperating.

  “How far is it to Batman?” she finally asked.

  “About three hundred kilometers.”

  �
��Can you translate that to hours?”

  “Four and a half, maybe five. This time of night, we should get through the checkpoint quickly.”

  “How will we get through? I don’t have my passport.”

  “Hopefully I can talk our way through. If not, bribery.”

  She slid down in her seat and murmured, “I can’t believe I’ve sunk to bribery.”

  “You won’t do the bribing, I will. And only if it seems necessary.”

  Ian drove in silence as he considered the situation. He’d set up the house near Kurubaş just a few weeks before, when Hejan had told him the microchip was destined for the Van region. Given the number of dwellings abandoned due to the earthquake, it had been an easy task to find a place that would suit his needs. At the time, he’d given himself twenty-to-one odds he’d need it, and fifty-to-one he’d need the apartment he’d outfitted in Siirt.

  Because the Kurubaş house wasn’t an official asset, he’d told only one person the location, but thankfully, he’d told no one about the Siirt hideaway.

  He just prayed they’d get to Siirt safely so he could stop running and call Stan. Because it appeared CIA rookie Zack Barrow—the only person who knew the location of the house on the outskirts of Kurubaş—was working for the wrong side.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Zack knew he would, Ian was taking the girl to Batman. Zack had read Ian’s playbook and knew every move he’d make between Van and Batman. Admittedly, Zack had been surprised when Ian informed him of the remote safe house, but all the better to run him down in a place where he’d feel secure. Too bad Ian had plucked the wire from Cressida’s back pocket after smoke poured into his little hidey-hole. Zack found the listening device in the charred Turkish rug Ian had dumped in front of the door.

  Finding it meant Ian suspected Zack, but then, Zack had never taken Ian for a dumb case officer, just a complacent one. Although the hideaway near Kurubaş didn’t argue for complacence. Ian was supposedly a decent poker player, but Zack knew every one of his tells.