by Katie Reus
“You think someone triangulated my cell?” Surprise was in her voice as she stood back up. “I guess it’s possible. Crap, I left it on, thinking that since”—she looked down at the unconscious guy—“my people already knew where I was, it didn’t matter. Hey, is that how you found me?” she suddenly demanded.
Snorting, he shook his head and started patting the man down for weapons, ID, and communications devices. “He’s got to have transportation near here.” After the man had killed them, he’d have wanted to make a quick getaway.
Once the NSA agents arrived they’d be able to track it down. Tucker pulled a knife and another pistol off the guy. Nothing else, though. The man might be an amateur, but he’d been smart enough to leave any identifiers behind. Not that it mattered once they ran his prints and face. This guy was screwed. Of course that was only if he was in one or more of the multiple databases the NSA used, but Tucker guessed he’d be in one. Either a military or criminal history because the guy had moved like an operator, albeit not a pro like him, but good enough.
“Are you going to answer me?” Karen asked as he stood.
“We found you by old-fashioned investigative work. It helped that we knew what you looked like and where you worked.”
“You followed me home from work?”
“Yep,” he said, fighting a grin when she scowled. Her frown deepened as she followed him into the hall. “You’re lucky I was even in the office this week.”
Yeah, he had been lucky, in more ways than one. He felt damn lucky he’d even met this incredible woman. He picked up the fallen picture frame from the floor, surprised it hadn’t broken until he realized it was a hard plastic type of material that only looked like glass. “Are you angry we followed you, or that you didn’t see us?”
“Both,” she said as he slid the retrieved pistol over to his bag with his foot.
The guy sent to kill them might have been wearing gloves, but Tucker still didn’t want to contaminate any possible evidence the NSA might find on the weapon. Because there might be evidence on the bullets, the magazine, any of the interior someone might have missed while cleaning it.
“I’m always careful when I leave work,” she continued.
“The four of us split up and followed you, so it’s not as if you’d have been able to spot a tail like that,” he said, stopping to pull her into his arms. He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth, which immediately smoothed out the frown. He was impressed that she wasn’t freaking out from the attacker breaking into her friend’s house, but he couldn’t be surprised. She held up under pressure like a trained soldier. “I want to do a sweep around the house—”
A soft knock on the front door made them both still. Tucker moved into action, tucking Karen behind him.
“Raptor?” a male voice called out.
“It’s Ortiz. That’s a code word,” she whispered. “It’s me. I’m okay,” she called out, loud enough for the man outside to hear. She went to move around him, but Tucker held on to her hip and kept her in place.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered, using his battle-mode voice.
Normally his men fell right into line when he used it. Instead Karen sighed, as if she thought his precaution wasn’t necessary. “Okay, but it’s my guy.”
The way she said “my guy” rankled Tucker, the force of his annoyance surprising the hell out of him. He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but he wanted to be her only guy. Frowning at the continuing possessive thoughts, he unlocked the front door, then moved backward so that he and Karen were on the opposite sides of it when it opened inward. The door was a momentary shield. He kept one hand on her hip and the other on his weapon. He didn’t train it at the door, though it went against his instincts to keep it lowered.
These men were coming to help him and Karen; he couldn’t draw on them. He still wondered if they were going to restrain him and take him into custody, but even if they did he had to go with it. He couldn’t risk Karen getting caught in any scuffle.
“I’m armed and there’s a bound man in the kitchen,” Tucker said as the door slowly opened.
The two men moved into the entryway like trained operators, weapons up, definite vests on under their shirts, and wearing don’t-fuck-with-me expressions. Tucker kept his body in front of Karen, unable to completely ignore his instinct to protect this woman. He knew one of the men, had seen him on an op before, but they weren’t even acquaintances.
“Put your weapon on the floor and move away from her,” the man with dark hair and clear Hispanic features said. The same guy from the Tasev op.
The other man shut the front door with his booted foot, his hands never wavering.
“It’s fine, you two,” Karen said, elbowing Tucker as she stepped out from behind him.
Since he didn’t take orders from strangers well, Tucker holstered his weapon instead of putting it on the floor.
The two men relaxed a fraction. The untrained eye wouldn’t have picked up on it, but Tucker noted it in their stances, however slight.
“Step over here,” the first man said, his focus on Tucker but his order clearly directed at Karen.
Wearing the same clothes she’d been in the previous morning, she looked sexy in her fitted running pants and equally body-hugging long-sleeved top. Her jacket must still be upstairs. And he knew that she wasn’t wearing panties, something he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about with two trained men holding weapons on him.
“A guy broke in here,” Karen said, doing what the man ordered as she stepped away from Tucker. “One of you needs to check on him. He’s still alive, conscious by now, and I’m betting Wesley will be able to find out who sent him.”
“He’s probably got a vehicle close to here too,” Tucker said, not fighting it when the man who hadn’t spoken yet moved over to him and took Tucker’s weapon.
The guy moved like an operator, smooth and efficient.
“You’re sure you’re okay? You haven’t been coerced or hurt?” The man Tucker guessed was Ortiz spoke again.
“I’m fine. Will you two please take your guns off him?” she demanded. “He’s saved my life more than once.”
“After he kidnapped you,” the other man finally said, but holstered his weapon.
“I never said he kidnapped me.”
Both men snorted, but Ortiz holstered his weapon too and jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “You come with me,” he said to Tucker.
Though he hated to leave Karen, he did, not wanting to make the situation worse than it already was.
“I’m Ortiz,” the man said as they entered the kitchen. “Officially,” he added, since they’d run across each other at Tasev’s place months ago.
Tucker nodded. “Tucker Pankov.” Which he no doubt already knew.
“You know the guy?” Ortiz asked, motioning to the man on the floor who was groaning softly.
“Nope.”
Bending down, Ortiz glanced at the guy’s face and shook his head. “Don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything.” He pulled out a handheld device from one of the pockets in his cargo pants before tugging off the guy’s gloves. Though the man half protested, making grunting sounds and clearly out of it, Ortiz pressed the man’s forefinger to the screen and typed in some commands. “We’ll know who he is soon enough.”
Tucker didn’t comment on the hardware but was impressed. He knew some small teams in the FBI had the handheld biometric scanners, but they were expensive and very rare, only used by special divisions that dealt with serial killers and other high-profile cases. Too expensive for the DEA’s budget. Apparently not for the NSA.
“So, what now?” Tucker asked.
“You and Karen are coming with me. I’ve got a team to follow us and they can grab this guy.” He motioned to the man on the floor. “But Burkhart doesn’t want anyone else to have eyes on you just yet.”
Tucker nodded, understanding. If word got out that the NSA had a man wanted for his alleged role in the Botanic Garden bombing in it
s custody, Burkhart would have everyone breathing down his neck. “Someone needs to do a clean of the house.” He wouldn’t need to explain.
Ortiz nodded in the direction of the front of the house. “Freeman will do a complete wipe-down and a check for this guy’s vehicle.”
The man was awake now but hadn’t said anything. His face was turned away from them, but his breathing was slightly erratic. Oh yeah, the guy was nervous. He’d talk soon enough, though, Tucker had no doubt.
“Sounds good.” Tucker wanted to stay and help but knew that was impossible. He wasn’t running the show anymore and right now he wondered if he’d just thrown himself into that proverbial lion’s den.
All he cared about was clearing his guys and hopefully a future with Karen.
Chapter 14
HUMINT: human intelligence: the gathering of information from human sources. It is done both openly and covertly.
“Hey,” Wesley, said, answering his phone on the first ring when he saw Selene’s name. “I’m about to talk to Paula Jacobs, so make it quick.” He was sitting in an armored SUV in her driveway about to knock on the woman’s front door at this ungodly hour. The sun wouldn’t be up for a few hours yet.
“Pankov and Karen are here. We’ve got him in a secure waiting room. You want me to send an interrogator in for him or wait for you?” she asked.
Normally Wesley didn’t micromanage, but in this case he wanted to be the one talking to Pankov, especially since he didn’t want any more people than necessary even knowing Pankov was at his facility. “Wait for me. Is that it?” She could have just texted him, so he was surprised she’d called.
“Not exactly. Uh . . .”
Wesley blinked at Selene’s hesitation. A trained sniper and agent, she rarely held back about anything. “Is Karen injured?” he asked, ice snaking through his veins.
“No, it’s not that. We did a full clean of her friend’s townhome.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Freeman informed me that there was a used condom in the master bathroom. It wasn’t that old.”
It took a lot to surprise Wesley. “Pankov and Karen?”
“I’m guessing but I haven’t asked. Should I put her in a waiting room too?” Meaning, did he think Karen was working some angle and had known Pankov longer than she’d let on?
He’d had a team watching Karen about six months before he recruited her and had done an intense background check. All his people had to be thoroughly vetted. It didn’t mean people never turned once they were working with him—he knew that firsthand—but he was going to go with his gut. “No, just keep an eye on her. Don’t let on that you know about them. If there is a ‘them.’” For all Wesley knew, Pankov had forced her. That thought made him want to order his driver to back the hell up and get straight to the office. “I won’t be long here.”
“Okay.”
Once they disconnected he slid his phone into his jacket pocket. “I’m heading in,” he said to his driver.
His driver, who was also former military and part of Wesley’s security team whenever he needed it, frowned in the rearview mirror. “We haven’t done a thorough enough check of her yet. You shouldn’t go in alone.”
“I think I can handle it.” Right now time wasn’t on their side, not with a missing drone out there and one of the Botanic Garden bombing suspects sitting back at his office. And his gut told him that approaching Paula Jacobs, a woman who’d just had a baby a few days ago, with his hulking security guy was just going to piss her off.
Especially since the DEA agent had been so accommodating. He’d contacted her using her private e-mail, wanting to set up a meeting later today, and she’d responded almost immediately, telling him he could meet her now—hours before sunrise.
After a quick knock on the door, the front porch light clicked on. The place was upper middle class, close to a bunch of schools, and from the various toys, bikes, and basketball hoops he’d seen at almost every house on her street, he knew it was a family-friendly neighborhood.
The door opened and a guy who looked as if he could bench-press two of Wesley stood there looking grim and annoyed. His mouth pulled into a thin line. “ID?”
Not exactly surprised Paula’s husband had answered, Wesley pulled out his credentials and showed them to the man. He’d read the woman’s file and knew her husband owned multiple auto body shops in the city. They’d met in college where he’d played football—which, given his size, wasn’t exactly surprising.
Once the man was satisfied, he handed the ID back to Wesley and stepped aside so he could enter. “She’s in the living room,” he said, shutting and locking the door.
Wesley knew the man’s name was Sean, but it was apparent he didn’t plan to introduce himself. Following the giant, he found Paula sitting in a recliner breast-feeding her newborn. She had a blanket thrown over herself and the baby, but it was obvious what she was doing.
He felt like a schmuck interrupting them now, but there was no other option at this point. “Agent Jacobs, I’m sorry to disturb you guys at this hour and on your maternity leave, but I appreciate your meeting with me.”
She gave him a tired smile. Her blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun on her head; she had no makeup on and was still stunningly attractive. “It’s no problem, and you can call me Paula. I knew it would be impossible for me to get away with this little guy attached to me so often. And I also knew we’d be awake, so I figured it’d be easier for you to just come here. Why don’t you sit?” She tilted her head at the nearby couch. “And, honey,” she said to her husband, “will you get Director Burkhart something to drink?”
He shook his head as he sat. “I’m okay, but thanks. And call me Wesley.”
It was clear her husband hadn’t planned to get him anything anyway, as he sat on the edge of the recliner, his expression grim, just staring at Wesley.
Wesley hid a grin when his wife nudged him, clearly annoyed. “Listen, my son is almost done feeding, which means he’ll be going to sleep again soon for about two hours. And we’re both exhausted, so why don’t you just ask whatever it is you need to ask?”
Appreciating her candor, Wesley did just that. “How well did you know Max Southers?”
Paula’s expression turned pained at the mention of Max. “We worked in different divisions, but our paths crossed enough that we were friendly acquaintances. He’s going to be sorely missed. I . . . I wish I could say I can’t believe what’s been happening on the news, but you and I both know how close our country comes to being attacked every day.”
“Do you think there’s a Shiâ connection to Max’s murder?”
She shrugged and the baby made a grunting sound but didn’t stop what he was doing. “I know what the news reports have been saying, but I don’t know enough about what he works—worked—on to even make an educated guess. I deal more with pharmaceutical and big-business drug crimes, which, considering you’re the director of the NSA and sitting in my house at two in the morning, you already know. Just tell me why you’re here, please.”
“Someone used your security code to revoke clearances for Tucker Pankov, Cole Erickson, Paxton Brooks, and Forest Kane.”
Now her brow furrowed. “The agents from the news? The ones suspected of the bombing?”
He nodded, watching her carefully. People could feign surprise and some were just natural-born liars, but her expression seemed sincere. And he was very good at reading people. “The same.”
“I’d never even heard of them until the news broadcast, which isn’t strange considering how big the DEA is, but . . . are you certain? Why isn’t my boss here, then? I thought maybe you needed to talk to me about one of my older cases or something.”
This was where things got tricky. “It’s likely one or more of your superiors will visit you soon. I didn’t get the information from them.” He wasn’t going to say how he’d retrieved it, but she’d connect the dots.
“Are you trying to accuse my wife of something?” her husband growled, the question no
t surprising Wesley. “I think we need to call our attorney.”
“I’m not accusing her of anything.” He pinned the man with a stare. “I know she didn’t revoke the clearances, because she was in labor when it happened. My team has checked and there’s no way she”—Wesley looked back at her—“you had anything to do with it. If I’d wanted to make this official, I would have. But I don’t want to bother with red tape right now. I just need answers without involving anyone but us. If you want to call your attorney and your superior and set up an official meeting, fine.” He paused, waiting.
Paula lifted the gurgling baby from her chest and handed him to her husband as she pulled her breast-feeding cover over her shoulder. “Will you burp him and grab me a bottle of water?”
It was clear the man wanted to argue, but he nodded, shot Wesley a dark look, and strode from the room, cuddling the baby on his shoulder.
“Look, my husband’s really overprotective right now.”
“I don’t blame him.” In fact, he’d judge the guy if he wasn’t protective of his wife.
Paula gave a half smile. “I know who you are and the kind of clearance you’ve got. And I appreciate you coming straight to me because I realize that if you thought I was involved with whatever, you’d have just hauled me in for questioning. But I still don’t know who could have accessed my security code other than my superiors. I’m careful about my information. And even if the order was given by me, is it possible it was a glitch? If these guys did bomb—oh, shit. You said the order was given when I was in labor. That was before the bombing.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, clearly exhausted. “Have they been under investigation or something?”
Wesley shrugged, unsure about a lot concerning the four agents at this point. “As far as I can tell, not officially. To me, it looks like someone wanted to kick the four men out of the DEA’s system.” And he wasn’t going to tell Paula why, because she didn’t need to know. “They did it before the bombing and wanted to cover their tracks. But they didn’t want to throw you under the bus. It’s easy enough to prove you had nothing to do with revoking their clearances. What I want to know is who above you could use your access code and who you think had a reason to want Max dead.”
