by Paula Graves
“Do you believe him?”
She frowned, clearly giving the question serious consideration. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Landry—I think maybe he’s a burnout. He does his job competently enough, but his heart’s not in it.”
Darcy knew the type. He’d gotten dangerously close to being one of those burnouts himself by the time he’d resigned from the DSS and taken Alexander Quinn up on the job offer with The Gates. “Apathetic, then? Or openly hostile toward being ordered around?”
“Not hostile,” she said quickly. “If anything, he was too much the opposite. Nothing fazed him. Or interested him. He did his job because it was required of him, but there was no joy. No anger. No fire for justice. No fire at all.”
“And you say he works out of the Johnson City RA?”
“Right. I think he was with the Richmond, Virginia, field office before that.”
So, he’d moved from a bigger office to a resident agency, Darcy thought, jotting a note for himself. Sounded like a step down, not up, the bureau career ladder.
“Someone at The Gates was in the Johnson City RA before taking a job with us,” he murmured. “I might be able to get her alone, away from the office, and pick her brain about Landry.”
“You’re talking about Ava Trent, right?”
“You know her?”
“I met her once or twice. Never worked with her. But yeah, I think she and Landry worked together on a couple of cases before she left the FBI.”
“Before the BRI discovered the listening device, did you learn anything about their plans? You said the FBI believes they’re plotting something very large and very deadly, yes?”
Her eyes narrowed at his tone. “You know something about that, don’t you, Darcy?”
He gave himself a mental kick for not being more guarded with his thoughts and expressions. Despite eight years apart, he’d easily fallen back into the camaraderie he and McKenna had shared with the other “glorified security guards” watching over the US Embassy in Tablis. Despite the traditional interagency rivalries, people tasked with protecting America’s diplomats in dangerous places had learned the hard way that working as a cohesive team was the only way to survive the challenges.
But was it a good idea to trust her with some of the secrets he and the other agents at The Gates had uncovered during their recent investigations into the criminal nexus between the Blue Ridge Infantry, an elusive group of black-hat anarchist hackers, and a loose confederation of methamphetamine manufacturers? A lot of good people had put their lives on the line for the information they’d helped gather. He wasn’t going to betray their trust just to get on McKenna Rigsby’s good side.
“You don’t trust me?” She sounded both hurt and angry.
“I have to be careful. Some of the things I know are volatile.”
“A lot of what I know is volatile. But I need your help, so I have to tell you what I know.” She slanted a considering look at him. “Maybe then you’ll tell me what you know and we’ll both be better equipped to handle whatever kind of storm is blowing our way.”
“Maybe.” It was as much of a concession as he intended to offer until he heard more.
She blew out a breath, exasperation edging her expression. “Okay, fine. We think they’re planning a domestic terror attack.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So you do know more than you’ve said.”
“I haven’t said anything, so of course I do.”
She narrowed her eyes further at him. “We don’t think they’ll try to repeat their plans from the attempted attack on the Tri-State Law Enforcement Society convention.”
“No more poisoned béchamel?”
“Exactly. They’re going for something bigger. I do know there’s something up, something specific that they’re planning. We were able to glean that much from their discussions before they discovered the bug.”
“Just no details? No idea of the target?”
“Only that it will be big and very public.”
“Of course,” Darcy agreed. The point of any terrorist attack, domestic or foreign, was to incite fear and panic in the populace. “I suppose the more pertinent question is, what do they hope to accomplish? Do they have a goal beyond creating chaos?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” She unfolded her legs, stretching them out in front of her. She flexed her bare feet, pointing her toes, then curling them up toward her shin, as if stretching her calf muscles. For a moment, her concentration centered entirely on stretching and contracting her muscles, and Darcy found himself watching the bunching muscles of her calf with almost as much focus, imagining how those toned legs would feel beneath his touch.
When she spoke again, the sound of her voice sent a jolting ripple along his nerves. “There has to be something they hope to accomplish, but apparently nobody at the FBI can agree on what that could be.” She looked up at him. “How about y’all? Anybody have a theory?”
“When our happy band of mismatched criminals was working for Wayne Cortland, figuring out what they wanted was easy enough,” he said. “Cash.”
“Which funded their individual projects, whatever those might be.” She agreed with a brief nod. “That makes sense.”
“But to stick together now, without that unifying entity, there has to be something else animating them. Something beyond cash.”
“They all seem to hate the government.”
“Many perfectly law-abiding people think ill of the government.”
“But they don’t conspire to poison a convention full of cops.” She grimaced as she clasped her hands together and stretched her arms over her head. “There has to be something more specific than just some nebulous dislike for government.”
“Unless they’re planning to cripple the government in order to create the sort of chaotic conditions necessary for a revolt.” Darcy knew firsthand how close the BRI had come to doing something just that massive only a month before.
“Cripple the government? You know as well as I do how many safeguards are in place to prevent governmental collapse.”
“A month ago, the BRI was conspiring with hackers to shut down power to the eastern half of Tennessee, remember?”
“Creating trouble for half a small southern state is not the same as bringing down the federal government.” She shook her head. “And that was really about Albert Morris and his greed, wasn’t it? Morris was banking on the power failure to send state governments rushing to Cyber Solutions for help hardening their infrastructure against hacking—that’s why he invested in so much of their stock.”
“Morris was also trying to sell the federal government on Cyber Solutions,” Darcy pointed out. “Which suggests he knew bigger attacks were on the horizon.”
“But Morris was arrested and Cyber Solutions is under enormous scrutiny. What good would it do anyone to attempt another infrastructure attack?” McKenna shook her head, morning sunlight slanting through the cabin windows setting off sparks in the auburn curls dancing around her face. The urge to bury his face in those soft curls hit Darcy like a gut punch.
He dragged his gaze away, looking down at his clenched hands. “The only thing the BRI, their hacker mates and the drug dealers that help fund them have in common is a desire for chaos. So perhaps the more pertinent question is, what’s driving the traitor in the FBI?”
McKenna’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “That’s a damned good question, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “What benefit could someone in the FBI receive from letting a terrorist attack play out?”
Chapter Eight
“You told him about the GPS tracker?” Sunlight angling through the large window in Alexander Quinn’s office set Olivia Sharp’s face aglow and turned her eyes to a dazzling turquoise. Right n
ow those turquoise eyes flashed angry fire at the occupant of the chair in front of Quinn’s desk.
“I did.” Cain Dennison sounded unapologetic. “I’ve also removed the one I found in my own truck,” he added, looking away from Olivia and meeting Quinn’s steady gaze. “And warned as many other agents as I’ve been able to talk to. If that’s a problem for you, then I’ll resign. But I’m not going to work for a company that treats me and the rest of the agents around here as if we’re criminals who need to be tracked at all times.”
“Fair enough,” Quinn conceded. “I’ll send out a memo to the other agents who’d like to have their trackers removed, as well.”
“You’re making my job twice as hard,” Olivia protested.
“Work it out,” Quinn said bluntly, his gaze leveling with hers until she looked away. He turned back to Dennison. “Have you informed Anson Daughtry, as well?”
Dennison nodded.
By the window, Olivia muttered a soft curse.
“I would have preferred that you had come to me first,” Quinn told Dennison, “but I do understand your sense of violation.”
“Why did you do it, then?”
Quinn folded his hands in front of him, not sure how to answer. Old habits died hard, true, but he should have known better than to play games with his agents’ lives. One of the reasons he’d left the CIA after so many years with the agency had been his increasing disgust with the way the government viewed its agents as pawns in a high-risk game. It had ever been so, of course, and probably would be so for as long as a dangerous world required spy games to keep the planet from going up in flames.
But people used to matter. They had value beyond their usefulness. The spy game had never been fair or aboveboard, but the players used to be more than just human chess pieces.
He’d almost forgotten that himself, more than once. Had let the game control him when he should have been controlling the game.
People had died. People who shouldn’t have.
“I forgot who I am,” he said finally, meeting Dennison’s gaze without flinching. “I forgot why I’m here.”
Dennison’s eyes narrowed but he gave a short nod. “We all do, sometimes.”
“You’re right.” Olivia walked away from the window and dropped with casual grace into the seat next to Dennison, crossing one long leg over the other. “One of the reasons I left the FBI was to get away from this sort of game-playing. I’m sorry.”
“Look, I know we all want to find out who among us is leaking information. But if we’re all going around suspicious of everybody, it’s going to kill our ability to work as a team.” Dennison stood up. “For the record, I don’t think for a second Nick Darcy is the mole. He doesn’t have a treacherous bone in his body.”
“We have to do the investigation,” Olivia said. “We can’t assume anything.”
“I know that. But I don’t think he’s going to listen to anything else I have to say.” Dennison pulled a well-worn baseball cap from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled it over his head. He tipped the brim toward Olivia, then shot a long, hard look at Quinn. “If you want someone spying on him, you’ll need to find another agent.”
Olivia’s gaze followed Dennison from the room. “Perhaps I made a bad choice with that one.”
“You were looking for an agent Darcy considers a friend,” Quinn said. “Dennison is as close as it gets.”
“Darcy’s quite a loner.”
Quinn shot her a pointed look.
Her lips curved slightly. “Touché. But I have good reasons for my curmudgeonly ways.”
“As does Darcy.” Quinn leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers over his stomach. “For the moment, he and Agent Rigsby are safe. He’ll protect her because he knows I want him to. And because he has a connection to her.”
“A connection?”
“An old one. But he’s the one she went to when she was in trouble.” Quinn had seen signs that the pretty FBI agent and the quiet, serious DSS agent were forming a special connection, though he’d never detected any sign that they’d crossed a line. Wouldn’t have been his business if they had, though knowing all the secrets inside the embassy had been part of his job as a CIA operative.
“What do we know about her problems with the bureau?” Olivia asked, curiosity sparking behind her bright eyes.
“The only word we’re getting is that she’s gone rogue. She disobeyed an order from her superiors and is now considered a compromised asset.”
“And we have no idea what that order might have been?”
Quinn sat up straight. “She was asked to meet a fellow agent for extraction from an undercover assignment.”
“Undercover doing what?”
“That’s the question.”
Olivia was silent for a moment, her gaze lowered to her folded hands. When she looked up again, Quinn didn’t miss the worry in her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? Is it about Landry?”
He’d wondered when she would get around to asking that question. “Landry was assigned to the same investigation Agent Rigsby was on.”
“But he’s out of Johnson City. You said Rigsby was working out of the Knoxville Field Office.”
“Joint operation.”
Olivia’s fingers threaded together, her grip so tight that her knuckles began to whiten. “Has he gone rogue, as well?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
She relaxed visibly. “Do you want me to try to find another agent to replace Dennison on the Nick Darcy investigation?”
Quinn shook his head. “Dennison was the best you were going to get. I’ll cover it myself. I think he still trusts me enough to stay in touch if he needs help.”
“You don’t think he’s responsible for the leaks, do you?”
“I don’t.” Quinn looked up at her. “I don’t think Daughtry is responsible, either. But they were the only other agents who knew about Mallory Jennings and her work here. Someone leaked that information to some very bad people. So we have to look closely at both Darcy and Daughtry.”
“If you don’t think it’s one of them—”
“I don’t think either of them would leak the information intentionally.”
“But you don’t know whether it might have been an accident,” Olivia finished the thought for him. “So maybe I should be looking at the people around them?”
Quinn opened his desk drawer and pulled out a folder. “I’ve surveyed three months of security video and compiled every contact between Darcy, Daughtry and other agents and support staff. The notes are here.” He handed the folder to Olivia. “Have fun.”
She took the folder, her eyes narrowing. “You want me to do background checks on all the people those two have come into contact with for the past three months?”
“Yes.”
She released her breath on a long, slow sigh. “Can I have some agents to help me out?”
“Sure.” Quinn waved his hand at the folder. “Anybody who’s not working another case and isn’t on that list of contacts.”
She shot him a hard look. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Everybody in the office is probably on this list.”
“I culled the list to support staff. If none of those pan out, then we’ll start looking at field agents.”
“Fine.” She slapped the folder against her hip and stalked out of the office, looking like a pissed-off swan as she floated out the door, slamming it behind her.
Quinn couldn’t hold back a smile.
* * *
“I DON’T THINK it can be either the FBI director or his deputy, so we can mark them off the list.” Darcy came back from the kitchen with a bowl of soup for each of them. He set the bowls on the coffee table between them and pulled spoons wrapped in paper towels from the pocket of h
is jeans. “Here you go.”
McKenna took the spoon and dipped it into the thick broth. “What is this?”
“Hearty beef and vegetable, or so the can said.” He pulled the armchair closer to the footlocker doubling as a coffee table. “It’s fluids and nutrition, both of which you need, so eat up.”
The soup was pretty good for something out of a can, and she was hungrier than she’d thought. She’d consumed almost half the bowl before she realized Darcy was watching her.
“What?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
He smiled. “Glad to see your appetite is coming back. You used to eat like a horse when we were working at the embassy.”
“Yeah, well, that was eight years ago. Oh, to be young again.”
“You still look great.”
A flutter of pure feminine pleasure darted through her. “Back at ya.”
“There are more cans in the kitchen if that’s not enough.”
“This should be plenty.” She put her spoon down for a minute, not wanting to eat so quickly she made herself sick. She hadn’t had a decent meal in a couple of days, so she’d have to ease her stomach into being full again. “I don’t think my SAC would betray me,” she said, playing with the corner of her napkin. “So that leaves my supervisory special agent, Darryl Boyle, the head of the Johnson City RA, Pete Chang—”
“And Cade Landry.”
Something about Darcy’s tone made her sit up straighter. “Do you know something about Landry I should know?”
He shook his head. “Just that he worked a case recently that The Gates ended up getting involved in.”
“Was it Susie’s case?” She didn’t remember her cousin mentioning any involvement with the FBI, but there was a lot about her life that Susie—Susannah—hadn’t told McKenna.
“No. It was earlier than that. He was assigned to a case involving a married couple ambushed and abducted from their motel room—”
“Oh, right. That’s the case where it came out that Sinclair Solano was still alive. And not really a traitor.” Some of the people she worked with hadn’t been happy about learning they’d spent years and resources hunting a fugitive that the CIA knew was one of the good guys. “Let me guess—Quinn was the CIA agent who failed to inform all the other pertinent government agencies that Solano wasn’t actually a terrorist.”
