Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International

by Misty Evans

  “Parker would never destroy a work of art like this, so if she didn’t cut it open to hide something, we don’t need to cut it open to find it, right? Beatrice said to check the studs and stuff.”

  “That still requires I damage the purse.”

  She bit her bottom lip and snatched the ugly purple thing away from him. “My bag. I’ll do it.”

  The clang of metal tripped something in his brain. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to finger the double metal hearts hanging on a tassel attached to the strap. “What are these?”

  “Adornments, most of the handbag designers have a little leather tag or a metal one with the designer’s name and logo on them.”

  “No, hooked in the tassel loop. Is that a cuff link?”

  “A cuff link?” Savanna turned the tassel over, eyeing the flat gold-plated metal with a scrolling monogram. “That’s weird. I don’t recognize those initials.”

  “Not your boyfriend’s?”

  A slight sigh left her lips. “Ex-boyfriend’s, you mean? No. His initials were BG.”

  Trace suspected she didn’t have a boyfriend, yet was annoyingly relieved when she confirmed it.

  Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked them in while seeming deep in thought. “I don’t know anyone with those initials off the top of my head. Maybe it was someone I did a story on and Parker’s trying to point me in that direction.”

  “Or maybe it’s not about the initials.” Trace removed the cuff link from the tassel loop and held it up to the light. Turning it over to the smooth side, he saw the slim line he was looking for dissecting the gold rectangle about a third of the way down. He gave a gentle tug and the top half disengaged, revealing a flat metal end. “Bingo.”

  Savanna leaned in. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Where’s your laptop?”

  Setting down the purse, she went to her desk, grabbed the laptop and brought it back to the breakfast bar.

  The cuff link’s USB fit snugly and sent the laptop whirring in an attempt to open it. No dice. The thumb drive was encrypted. Heavily. “This may take a while,” Trace said.

  Savanna opened the fridge. “I’ll break out some wine.”

  “Not here. We need to go to the safe house.”

  Holding the bottle, Savanna paused. “Fine. I’ll bring the wine with us. Just let me get a change of clothes and my—”

  “Incoming,” Rory said in Trace’s ear. “Doorman coming up in the elevator.”

  Savanna, of course, heard the same warning. “Randy? What does he want?”

  Trace unplugged the USB. Even after the day she’d had, Savanna still wasn’t thinking like a hunted person. He knew he should have locked down the elevator and stair door, but he’d wanted to make it easy for Parker if she tried to make contact. “We’re not sticking around to find out.” He touched his comm and said to the crew, “Exiting south side via fire escape.”

  “Copy that,” came the replies from Reese and Petit. Petit added, “Car’s running and in place.”

  “It’s only Randy,” Savanna said, looking at him with an incredulous air. “You said he wasn’t dangerous.”

  “Elevator is there. Doors are opening,” Rory said.

  “We have to go, Savanna. Now.”

  “But I need clothes. Underwear. My toothbrush.”

  Her doorbell rang and Trace placed a finger to his lips. He moved in close, looking down at her, and whispered, “There are clothes and hygiene products at the safe house.”

  “Miss Jeffries?” Randy knocked on the door. “Are you okay? Cori just told me there was a shooting at the studio. She said some other gal was on air doing your show.”

  Savanna frowned, her fingers turning white as she squeezed the wine bottle. Trace moved her toward the patio doors.

  “Miss Jeffries?” Randy called again. “Are you in there?”

  Why did the doorman think Savanna was home? He’d seen her and Trace leave earlier for the studio and hadn’t seen them return.

  Or had he?

  At the glass doors, Trace stuck the USB in his pocket and tried to take the wine bottle from Savanna. She held tight, hugging it to her and giving him a look that suggested taking it from her would cost him something.

  He’d seen the way she was staring at his crotch at the office. The open appraisal had made his dick instantly hard and he’d had to force himself back to the task at hand.

  For some insane reason in this moment of subterfuge, he wanted to kiss that look off her face instead of getting her out the door and down the snow-covered metal steps.

  The lure of an undercover op. It always heated his blood, made him hyperaware of everything, including a sexy woman a few inches from him.

  Randy knocked again and rang the doorbell. Trace heard the distinct sound of a lock picker scratching against metal.

  At this moment, what he and his overcharged libido wanted didn’t matter. Keeping Savanna safe was his first job.

  Unlocking the patio doors softly, he let her keep her bottle as he snatched up the laptop and hustled her out into the night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  _____________________

  ______________________________________________________

  SAVANNA HADN’T EVEN sniffed the wine but her head spun like she’d drank the entire bottle as the black Escalade sped through the night, a bullet train taking her to safety.

  At least she hoped safety was still an option.

  She clutched the wine bottle like a security blanket, knowing it was stupid and pointless, but needing to hold onto something. Since she didn’t even have a change of underwear or her toothbrush, and she couldn’t exactly grab Coldplay in a tight clench, the wine bottle would have to do.

  Streetlights flashed by, the snow appearing crystalized under their glow. Coldplay sat beside her, speaking to a man named Rory on the car phone. Rory relayed instructions concerning the USB drive inserted into her laptop’s side slot once more.

  “The car has Wi-Fi,” Rory said, giving Coldplay the password to link to it. “I’ll send you the decryption software once you’re hooked up. Takes a minute or two to download, then you can sit back and relax while it does its thing.”

  “Thanks, man.” Coldplay’s face was lit from the laptop’s glowing screen, his brows knit as his fingers typed furiously. “I’ve never seen this level of encryption.”

  “I can see what you’re seeing,” Rory replied. “It looks like a cocktail of NSA, DOD, and maybe some Chinese hacker shit thrown in.”

  Coldplay’s fingers stopped and he sat back. “Software’s in. How long will it take to decrypt?”

  Rory made a hmm noise on his end. “Couple hours minimum, up to a day, max.”

  “But the software will crack the decryption, right?”

  “No guarantees, but between Bea and me, we’ve never found a code we couldn’t crack. Our software on the black market would be worth billions.”

  Head still spinning, Savanna sank farther into the seat, closing her eyes. First, the accident, then the shooting. She’d peeked out and saw…

  She wasn’t sure what she’d seen. It had all happened so fast. One minute Coldplay was dodging bullets and the next he was whipping a framed photo at the shooter.

  Bile inched up her throat and she massaged the area. The same area the picture frame had slit open on the man.

  The blood. There had been so much blood.

  Hugging the wine bottle closer, she swallowed the acidic burn. Her mind replayed the scene over and over. How had Coldplay moved so fast, been so accurate?

  Like a freaking super soldier.

  She hadn’t had much time to think about it, let it all sink in, until now. The hollow hiss of the gun firing—Coldplay had told her the assassin had used a suppressor—and the solid thunk when the bullets tore into the wall still echoed in her head. Coldplay had known what was going to happen before it happened.

  How?

  Coldplay had admitted to being in the Navy, a trained soldier. It had to be that
. But what if…?

  An idea took hold in her head, but it was too preposterous. Too coincidental.

  You’re reaching for a story where there is none. It had to be the adrenaline. The whole freaking surrealism of the moment.

  No matter what, she would not become some conspiracy theorist or drama whore. Her speculations would have to wait.

  Stick to the facts, she told herself.

  Fact one, I’m alive.

  And, as far as she knew, Parker was too. Plus, she had the USB Parker had planted on the Gucci.

  Savanna didn’t know what information the tiny drive held, but whatever it was, it had to be something that would help her solve the mystery of what was keeping her sister on the run.

  A warm hand touched hers, jarring her back to the present. “You okay?” Coldplay asked.

  She’d left her gloves behind and was clinging to a chilled wine bottle. Her fingers were popsicles. The feel of Coldplay’s fingers, warm and rough, made her want to trade the wine for him.

  “I’m fine,” she said automatically, and then caught herself. “Well, not really.” She tried to laugh it off, shook her head. “I’m…”

  “It’s all right to be scared,” he said.

  “Overwhelmed was the word I was looking for.”

  “Ah.” He withdrew gloves from inside his coat pocket and handed them to her. “Completely understandable.”

  How was he so unfazed by all of this? He’d killed a man earlier, yet seemed more concerned about her frozen fingers. Of course, that was his job—to protect her—but apparently being shot at and having to kill someone in order to do so, didn’t bother him.

  Slipping her hands into his gloves, she staved off a shiver. The gloves were too big for her, but lined with something soft and they seemed to have picked up body heat from being inside his coat.

  Every one of her muscles ached. Every nerve was fried. For a second, she wished she had one monstrous-sized glove to climb inside.

  But she wasn’t a hider. Not since her gymnastics days. The truth had to be faced, secrets exposed. When they weren’t, someone always got hurt. She’d learned that the hard way.

  “So Randy was in on it?” she asked, trying to wrap her mind around all the shit.

  The flickering light of the laptop glinted in her bodyguard’s eyes. “He wasn’t able to bypass the security system.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Since he wasn’t able to break in or engage us, I don’t know his motive or have proof he’s working for the president.”

  “Make an educated guess.” Her voice came out stern, unapologetic. “You didn’t hustle me out of the apartment and down the fire escape because you thought Randy was harmless.”

  “He may have been. I don’t take chances.”

  “Yet, you took a chance on me, on this assignment, knowing I was being stalked by the president. Risky business.”

  His mouth opened, and then closed again. He looked at the laptop, focusing on the screen as the decryption software continued to work.

  “How many are there? People after me, I mean,” Savanna asked, her voice softening. “Is there anyone I can trust?”

  Again, the slightest hesitation. His attention stayed glued on the screen. “We don’t know how deep this goes. At the moment, everyone is suspect.”

  She knew it was coming, his confirmation. It still sucked the air from her lungs. It wasn’t every day your world was turned upside down, but she’d lived through other experiences that had seemed insurmountable at the time. Experiences that had gutted her and left her gasping for air like a fish out of water. She’d made it through those and she would, by God, make it through this one too.

  Setting the wine bottle on the floor, she nodded, mostly to herself. “Okay, then. What can I do to help?”

  Coldplay finally looked at her, the glint in his eyes showing surprise.

  “What?” she said.

  The corner of his mouth quirked, the tension in his body lessening slightly. He stared at the screen once more, but not with the same intensity. “Nothing.”

  “Look, I’m not used to being in this type of situation—being dependent on someone else for my very life. Not being in control…I haven’t felt like this since…well, that doesn’t matter. I don’t like this situation, and it’s difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that the president of the United States is trying to kill me, but I’m getting there. I will help in any way possible to bring this situation to a safe close for both of us, but the one thing I will not do is sit back and let you take all the risk. Once we figure out what’s on that USB, I will help you and your team come up with a plan and a solution to getting my sister back and keeping all of my body parts intact and functioning.”

  She could have sworn he was pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. “That would be my plan as well.”

  “Don’t humor me. I’m serious.”

  His gaze slid to meet hers and this time he smiled for real. “I’m not humoring you. I plan to use your investigative skills, intelligence, and knowledge to keep us both safe and bring a successful conclusion to this mission.”

  Mission. Why did the use of that term make her flinch?

  An uncomfortable realization took hold in the pit of her stomach right along side the one about Linc Norman being out for her blood. She’d half-hoped she had become more than an assignment to the man seated next to her.

  He’d certainly become more than a bodyguard to her, and she didn’t even know him.

  Swallowing past her bruised ego and the illogical thoughts about Coldplay, she nodded. “What other theories do you have?”

  “On what?”

  “Back at the office, Beatrice suggested you had other theories on why the president is threatening me. I want to hear them.”

  From the front seat, Emit said, “ETA five minutes.”

  Coldplay closed the laptop’s lid. “After we get you settled in the safe house, we can talk more.”

  “Not can, will. We will talk more.”

  He didn’t respond, his attention focused on the road ahead of them. His reluctance was as palpable as the dry, heated air swirling around her from the vents.

  Savanna knew when to push for answers. She also knew when to back off and let her quarry think they were off the hook. She and Coldplay would have plenty of time to talk once they were at the safe house, but there was one thing she needed to clear up right now.

  “Let’s get something straight,” she said. “You work for me, and if you’re withholding information, or you have theories you aren’t telling me because you’re worried about my reaction, I will fire you. This is business between you and me, but it’s my life you’re screwing with. I have a right to know everything when it comes to threats against me.”

  The tension returned in Coldplay’s body. His jaw muscle jumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

  That went well. He’d saved her life twice today and here she was pissing him off.

  “I’m sorry to sound like a bitch, it’s just…” She searched for the right words, couldn’t find them. Her throat constricted as she tried to explain, the old fear cutting off her voice like it had done all those years ago. “Like I said earlier, I’m not used to being dependent on anyone. I’m not used to being scared or running from my problems, and right now, you’re right. I am scared. I may have received a few threats over the years, but no one has actually tried to kill me.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, then without looking at her, reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ll get through this.”

  The way he made it sound like they were partners, the way his squeeze went straight to her heart, loosened the stricture around her throat ever so slightly. As long as she was admitting to the truth… “You’re the only one I can trust and I don’t even know your real name.”

  Those eyes, now shadowed, slanted down. “One of these days, I’ll tell you.”

  That promise, spoken in the dark, warmed her heart in a way sh
e hadn’t felt in a very long time. “I’m holding you to it.”

  He chuckled. “I know you are.”

  And then they were turning into the drive of the safe house and Savanna lied to herself, telling the scared little girl inside of her that everything would be all right.

  “THE HOUSE IS secure,” Trace announced as he entered the sprawling gourmet kitchen.

  The snow was coming down hard. The weather forecaster on the small TV in the corner hutch claimed they were in for another brutal winter storm.

  Savanna was hunched over, hunting through one of the kitchen drawers. She’d kicked off her shoes and was barefoot, her hair still wet from the snow, and her skin too pale for his liking. “I can’t find the damn bottle opener.”

  Two wine glasses sat on the marble countertop next to the bottle she’d snagged at her apartment. As she searched the drawer, she tossed out various utensils onto the growing pile beside the glasses. “Garlic press, cheese grater, apple slicer, meat thermometer, kabob sticks…”

  Her head fell back and she growled softly in the back of her throat. “People, you’re killing me. Where’s the damn corkscrew?”

  That growl did strange things to him, just like her closeness and fighting attitude had in the car. She didn’t like admitting to being scared, but she had, and yet, her fear hadn’t stopped her from also demanding he keep her in the loop and accept her help.

  He suspected her bravado wasn’t a false front. There was no pretense, no whining, no cowardice hiding behind it.

  Setting the laptop on the island, he opened the lid and placed his phone next to it. The house’s security system was top of the line and linked to his phone so he could keep an eye on all the exterior cameras and monitor the invisible perimeter lasers from anywhere inside. Still, he’d checked all three floors of the house, inspected each window lock, and personally made sure every exit was secure. The place was locked up tight, every surveillance camera working properly.

  The decryption software chugged along on the laptop and he couldn’t tell if it was making progress or not, but Rory seemed confident, and Trace had no other option than to trust that the guy knew his stuff.