Andy gripped his gun in his pocket and proceeded through the open door. The stairs led down to a hidden floor beneath the building.
He didn’t hurry. There weren’t people after him, which was enough to tell him he hadn’t quite been made yet. Hopefully that meant they didn’t have Carol.
He had to stop thinking about her and focus.
The subbasement was easily twice as deep as the previous floor. The rooms below had roofs. Big support columns propped up the building above. He didn’t spy a single person moving about.
Andy reached the floor. Another stair led up on the other side of the space, a good thirty or forty yards away.
He strode down the hall, peering into open doors.
Most were dark, their occupants gone home for the night, but the trappings were enough to tell him that this was a regularly staffed office, right under their very noses. They’d begun this search expecting a handful of individuals, instead they were looking at a well-run, covert operation that was entrenched. This was a parasite that wouldn’t come out easily, which was all the more reason for Carol to get out, get the information, and take it to someone who could do something.
Andy edged down the hall.
He peered into a room that was partially walled off.
A one-way glass window gave him a look inside the interrogation room and the bloodied man inside.
“Don’t. Move.” A man stood at the foot of the stairs Andy had descended, gun up.
What if this man thought he was serving the CIA? What if he didn’t know who he was working for? Unless Andy was positive, without a shadow of a doubt, he couldn’t take the shot. His moral code wouldn’t allow it.
Chapter Nineteen
Carol’s hands shook and tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them. She’d tried, but her eyes were broken.
The two-hour trip back to DC was now pushing four. She’d only stopped at the predesignated places to switch cars. Andy had insisted on lining up several in an attempt to shake a tail. At every stop she waited for ten or so minutes, staring into her rearview mirror, hoping to see Andy. They’d planned to travel separately, decreasing the risk that they’d both get caught. He’d insisted she be the first out and on the way. It didn’t stop the gut-deep desire to know he was there with her.
He’d said they were going back to DC in different directions, to spread the trail out or something. She knew there was no reason for him to be there.
“Snap out of it,” Carol muttered to herself.
The five o’ clock hour was breathing down her neck. Traffic in the city would be ramping up, and Carol was headed into the thick of it. If everything had gone right, she’d already be in place by now, but she wasn’t.
Andy had counseled her on how to pick the best hiding place. She understood every point he’d made. And she was still ignoring them. The plan wasn’t holding water. Her gut told her to do something else.
This thing was bigger than them, and they needed the people with the right set of skills to take on the Company, the moles—and win. There was only one person who owed her a favor of that level to step up to the plate.
It took her another hour of winding her way through the clogged streets of DC to reach the unassuming, historical brick building. The bottom floor was a bakery and coffee shop, a dry cleaner, and a third retail space that seemed to change every time Carol was there.
Carol pulled into the tiny lot, sliding into one of the reserved visitor spaces, and breathed a small sigh of relief.
She was here.
It still might end badly, but if there was one person she could trust to do the right thing, it was Carol’s best, and maybe only, friend. Lillian Matthews.
Carol peered around the car, but she wasn’t Andy. She didn’t have that sixth sense for trouble. Which was why she needed to get inside.
She grabbed her small duffel and got out, leaving the keys on the seat, and jogged for the basement entry.
The Matthews Corp resided in the basement of the building. An odd location for what was arguably one of the most influential sort-of law firms in the area. The firm was valued for more than their law skills. In truth, they fixed problems for their clients, big or small, it didn’t matter so long as they could be paid. Ownership was still in the hands of its creator, Margaret Matthews, but operations had passed to her nieces, one of whom Carol considered the closest thing she had to a best friend.
Carol said a silent prayer and pulled at the heavy, old door with the Company name written in gold foil across the opaque glass.
It swung open without protest. A beep echoed in the otherwise silent basement space.
Carol pulled the door shut and flipped the deadbolt.
“Welcome to the Matthews… Carol?”
She pressed her back to the wall, seeking the shadows, and turned to face her training-days roommate. Lillian Matthews was still in her workout attire. She was an early riser and had often called Carol to chat, usually while Carol was headed into the office. Their conversations were always one part friendly and one part fact-finding. Carol had always been aware that Lillian applying to the CIA was about positioning herself for a future in the Matthews Corp and not about working for the Company at all.
“Hi, Lily. I’m afraid I’ve come to call in my favors. All of them. I need help.”
Lillian’s mouth snapped shut and she pulled the earbud from her other ear. There was a single moment of pause before some inner switch flipped. Carol saw it in the shift of Lillian’s shoulders, a little start as though someone had turned the ignition key. This wasn’t Lillian, Carol’s friend, anymore. This was Lillian-fucking-Matthews, fully aware of the clout her last name carried and capable to wield it with nothing more than an arched brow.
“This way, away from the door.” Lillian ushered Carol into an inner office. “Coffee? Tea? Something to eat? Help you relax?”
“There’s no time for anything else.” Carol sank into the too-comfortable guest chair in Lillian’s office.
“There’s always time for tea. Talk while I make you some.” Her tone was hard, brooking no argument.
She’d changed from the quiet, reserved woman Carol had roomed with in the beginning. Lillian had always lived in her older sister’s shadow. The CIA training was all Lillian’s idea, and there she’d blossomed. Between the Matthews Corp connections and the ones Lillian had built during her short time at the CIA, they were the best team to take on this job Carol could think of.
“Before I tell you anything, I need to sign a contract and I need an NDA from you on behalf of the Matthews Corp.” Carol couldn’t go sharing secrets because they were in trouble.
“I can’t sign unless I know what the job is.” Lillian handed over a mug of tea. “Even after everything you’ve done for me.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Carol smiled weakly and sipped the tea. “There is a threat to national security, and the people who should handle it have their hands tied. There is a very good chance I will end up dead before the week is out. I need someone who can take the evidence I have and make these bastards pay.”
Lillian’s lips parted and her eyes widened.
Her career at the Company might have been short-lived, but the two women shared a belief in the greater good, doing what they could to preserve the integrity—and safety—of their country.
Lillian’s eyes trailed from side to side, reading Carol’s face. That was one particular skill she had that no one could quite wrap their head around. Carol didn’t need to say anything else, Lillian would see it in the lines and tenseness of Carol’s expression. This was Lillian’s gift, what made her valuable to her team. She read people like a page in a book, scrying secrets in the lines around a person’s mouth and eyes.
“I’ll get the paperwork. You know where the panic room is?” Lillian thumbed over her shoulder.
“I do.”
“The others will be in later, so we have time, but not a lot to make our case for this. I need to know everything.
If at any point you need to go in there, do it. We’re going to make those bastards pay.”
“Can I send an email or two?”
“Of course. Here, use my tablet.” Lillian handed her the sleek silver device, then turned on her heel and strode out of the office.
“Thanks.”
Carol created yet another new email address, her hands shaking the whole time. She inputted Irene’s email from memory, and prayed this time she saw it. Or answered.
Fox is in the henhouse while the hens are laying. Need to gather the eggs before they’re ruined. I heard flower garnish is in this season.
Carol set the tablet down and doubled over. She buried her face in the bag to mute her sobs.
She didn’t know where Andy was, but she knew they were in trouble. He should have made it back to the city by now. He’d have found her.
There shouldn’t have been that many people at the facility, and that woman—the one who’d tried to kill them—shouldn’t have been there, either. They’d walked into a trap, and Carol feared that she was the only one who’d gotten out.
Lillian’s footsteps thumped on the old hardwood floors.
Carol straightened, wiping her eyes and setting the bag on the floor.
Now was not the time to fall apart. Tears wouldn’t solve anything. She had to be strong, for Andy and Irene and Mitch and the others.
“My sister is probably going to kill me for this.” Lillian sat down behind the desk, pen in hand and a stack of papers in the other. “Should be fun. Sign here, here, here—and in these two places. Now, get talking.”
Carol scrawled her signature with shaking hands and began with the important parts. She didn’t go into detail about her kidnapping or the names, it was the events and facts that were important. Even the quick version took close to thirty minutes with no interruptions. At first Lillian scrawled notes, but after a while she stopped and put the entire pad of paper in a shredder.
There wasn’t any part of this that could be written down.
“Holy shit, Carol, you’re in way over your head.” Lillian stared at the desk while Carol gulped the now-cold tea. “What is it you want us to do, specifically?”
“We have a suspect list, cases, and possible accomplices or collaborators. We need to narrow it down to a short list of people we believe are involved in selling national secrets.”
“And then what? Whoever brings this list to light is going to come under heavy fire.” Lillian tapped the desk with her pen.
“I have a person who can help with that.” Carol shifted in her seat.
“Can I know who?”
“Not yet. I’ll write a contact phone number down and seal it in an envelope. You have a safe we could put it in?”
“Of course.”
“Good. We’ll put it in there, and don’t open it until you’ve got some hard evidence.” Carol hoped they could trust Senator Fowler, that he was every bit the good man they believed him to be.
“Okay, where do we start?” Lillian wound her ponytail into a bun and stabbed her pen through it.
“The list. I want to go through and eliminate everyone who is dead or retired, anyone who is not an active player right now.” Carol dug into her bag and pulled out the drive Andy had given her. “One other thing? When your IT guy gets here, I’ll need to download some more…sensitive information. But it can’t be here.”
“Our guy is good.”
“How good?”
“Scary good.”
“I’ve met scary good.”
“Then you know he’ll be good.”
Carol doubted anyone could be as good—or terrifying—as Andy, but she’d take the next best thing.
…
Georgia prowled from one side of the viewing room to the other.
She could kill him.
Open that door, fire a bullet, and Andy would breathe his last.
It would be so easy.
“We need to make him talk.” The only director in SICA she’d ever met stepped up to the window. His upturned collar, sunglasses, and hat pulled low obscured much of his face and identity. She’d been at this long enough she had a good idea who he was, but she’d never confirmed it.
“I could help with that.” Georgia would be happy to.
“I need you for something else.”
“Oh?”
“The asset sitting on Jennifer Sark has gone silent. I want you and Tate to check in on them.”
“Now?”
“Soon. We have other things to discuss.” He turned from the window and strode out of the viewing room.
Georgia glared through the one-way glass at Andy’s slumped-forward form. She’d kill him, one way or another.
For now, she followed the director down the hall and into his now-empty office.
All around them the rooms were being broken down, files and equipment moved.
“Close the door?”
Georgia did as he asked. Being alone with a man of his standing was a dangerous thing. He hadn’t lasted this long playing a double game without killing a few people.
“We need to be prepared for this to blow up in our faces. Our little upstart has left us vulnerable on multiple fronts. She is a risk.” He tipped his head forward, peering at her.
“I can handle that,” Georgia said slowly. She’d enjoy it, too.
“I bet you would. No, we need her. At this point, we must operate under the assumption that one of these troublemakers will try to reveal us. When that happens, all fingers need to point to one person, understand?”
“I do.” Georgia didn’t like it, but then again she was a point-and-shoot girl.
“Good. We need a few things in place. I’m counting on you to assist with this.”
Her, and not that arrogant ass, Tate. Georgia preened a little on the inside.
“Whatever you need, sir.”
“Good. Here are the instructions. Read the texts.” He handed her a top-of-the-line burner phone. “Go now. I’ll call if we find out anything else. I’m not sure we’ll be able to squeeze some blood from that stone in there, but it’s worth a try. The other one hasn’t told us anything.”
Georgia kept the smile off her face, but just barely.
…
Carol deleted another name off the working list.
“Is it just me, or are there a lot of dead people on this list?” Lillian made another deletion. Being in the same document was a little disorienting, but they’d found a rhythm.
“It’s not just you. At this rate we’ll eliminate fifty percent just because they’re dead.”
People died every day from accidents, natural causes, and they couldn’t rule out the risky nature of working in the field. But this? It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“How many people are on our list so far?” Lillian scrolled up through the still-living people. “There’s…sixty-seven names on this list, and we’re only through a very small number of what’s here.”
They’d gone through three hundred in an hour.
It wasn’t fast enough.
If Andy were there, he’d have written a program already.
The front door to the office jostled and the lock scraped open.
Carol turned, her heart trying to escape between her ribs, and her lungs forgot how to work.
“Anyone in?” a man called out.
“It’s just Jesse,” Lillian whispered to Carol. “Morning, Jesse.”
A grizzled man with a scar across one cheek stood in the doorway. He wore black pants and a black shirt that went with his dark hair and eyes. There was a cool, calculating way that Jesse stared at Carol that made her blood run cold.
Andy had looked at her like that in the beginning.
She didn’t know anything about Jesse, but she recognized the man standing in front of her as a very dangerous man.
“We have a new job?” he asked.
“Jesse, you’ve met my friend Carol?” Lillian gestured to her.
“You’re the job?”
&
nbsp; “Why is everything a job?” Lillian sighed and rolled her eyes.
“You have a contract in your outbox, you’ve gone through four cups of coffee, you’re still wearing your workout clothes, and your hair is in a bun. You always put your hair in a bun when you’re working.”
“I do not. Stop pestering me.”
Jesse merely shrugged.
“Fine. Yes. Carol did bring us a job, and…I could use your help.” Lillian sat back in her seat.
“Does Camilla know?” Jesse lifted his brows.
“No. I am a Matthews, you know? I don’t have to get permission from my sister to do business.”
“If Camilla hasn’t signed off on it…”
“Jesse.” Lillian got up and circled the desk to stand in front of the man.
He was bigger than Carol had realized. He towered over Lillian, and she was not a small woman.
“You know how sometimes Camie talks about doing the right thing because we know it’s the right thing? This is one of those things. If she doesn’t want to do it, fine. But I am, because Carol is my friend and she’s helped us. Remember the Peterson case? She’s the reason everyone went home. You know what she had to risk to do that for us, and now Carol needs our help.”
Jesse grimaced and glanced away. He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with his options. Andy didn’t like being backed into a corner, either. Carol bit her lip to keep from telling him it was okay, that they could do this on their own, but the truth was that without Andy—she couldn’t do this. It wasn’t in her wheelhouse.
“Do you have something I can do in”—he checked his watch—“ninety minutes? Because that’s when Camilla will be back, and no amount of Camie, please is going to budge her if she doesn’t like it. And the fact you didn’t call her first tells me it’s something Camilla isn’t going to like. I work for her, not you.”
Lillian snapped to action. They picked up everything Carol had brought with her and relocated to Jesse’s cave of an office. The rig and setup were similar to what Andy had in his bunker hideout, further underscoring that Jesse was what Carol recognized him as. She swallowed, grateful to Lillian for taking charge while Carol floundered.
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