by Paula Graves
He smiled at the memory. “You always did know how to get people in trouble.”
“How was I supposed to know the eggs were for some VIP brunch the next morning?” She took a bite of the omelet. “You still have the touch.”
“I think it’s just that you have the palate of a culinary philistine,” he said, affecting his most plummy accent.
“Snob.” She pointed her fork at him. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good omelet must be in want of a wife.”
“Nice. Paraphrasing Jane Austen. Which actually makes you a dilettante not a philistine.”
“Don’t make me look that word up.” She shot him a saucy grin that made him want to sweep the plates of omelets aside and have his way with her right there on the kitchen table.
“Rigsby, you’re better educated than I am. Now, finish your spectacular omelet and stop trying to distract me with your smart mouth.”
He made quick work of his own omelet, moved his plate aside and slid the laptop computer in front of him. “Have you started looking into the backgrounds of any of the other agents on the suspect list?”
“Not since I found the articles on the Richmond bomb case.” She stopped about two-thirds of the way through her omelet, pushing the plate aside. “Ugh, stuffed. You want the rest?”
He eyed the leftovers. “Since when do you leave food on the plate, Rigsby? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. I just—” Her reluctant tone made him look up. She was frowning, her earlier good mood gone.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was just thinking about the past couple of weeks. Those men in the BRI aren’t misunderstood. They’re not mistaken or misled. They’re cruel, chauvinistic bastards. They treat their women like property, to use or abuse as they see fit.”
Something in her eyes made his chest ache. “What exactly was your role in this undercover operation, McKenna?”
“They have what I suppose you’d call ‘groupies.’ Women who like the mystique of their pseudo patriotism. You know, I’ve investigated other militia groups. Some of them aren’t bad people. They just take individual freedom very seriously and worry about the encroachment of the federal government on matters that should be private or local. And I get that, Darcy. I do. I grew up in the mountains where federal programs have left whole generations of people on the draw. That’s what we called it. The monthly welfare payments people draw. That’s what happens when you let the government try to fix all your problems for you. But the BRI—they’re just playing at that kind of ‘don’t tread on me’ sensibility. They don’t mean it. They want something else altogether.”
The pain in her voice caught him by surprise. She’d talked about her North Carolina childhood quite a bit during their time together at the embassy, but most of the stories had been happy memories.
“What was your role?” he prodded, more gently this time.
She toyed with her fork. “I was supposed to befriend the groupies. Try to work my way into the perimeter of the group that way.”
“You’re not groupie material.”
She smiled at that, and he felt some of the tightness in his chest ease. “No, I’m not. But I was the only woman on the task force, so I got tapped anyway.”
“How far inside did you get?” he asked, not certain he wanted to hear the answer.
“Not far,” she said quickly, her gaze darting up to meet his. “Not far at all. They’re very suspicious of outsiders. And I may have the right kind of accent, but this is a group of people who know everyone they’re dealing with. The bureau tried to set me up with a backstory that would be convincing, but I think they sometimes forget that the BRI isn’t just another backyard militia. They’ve been working hand in glove with some very bright computer geeks for a few years now.”
“And someone saw through your cover story?”
“I don’t think it was that, exactly,” she admitted. “They weren’t going to let me into the inner circle if they couldn’t go deeper into my background, though. That much was pretty clear fairly soon.”
“You told me before someone in the FBI found out you’d gotten close to putting something together on the BRI. How, if they wouldn’t let you into the inner circle?”
“What I learned wasn’t from the BRI. It was from one of the anarchists.” A smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. “He was young. And hot for me. He wasn’t particularly subtle about it, either. And I realized maybe there was more than one way to get the information I wanted. But—” Her smile faded, and she looked down at her hands.
Darcy leaned toward her, touching the back of her hand with his fingertips, his gut twisting with sudden alarm. “But?”
“He wanted sex. I wasn’t going to give it to him. Definitely not in my job description.” She turned her hand over, her fingers brushing lightly against his. Once, twice. Then she pulled her hands into her lap. “He got violent. I had to take him down, and after that, they looked a hell of a lot more closely at me, I guess.”
“Is that when you overheard people talking about the Fibber?”
She nodded. “I had to sneak a lot at that point. People would clam up if they saw me coming. Honestly, I’m not sure why they didn’t just kill me at that point. Maybe they thought I’d be useful in another way. Maybe by feeding me misinformation about what they were up to.”
“How can you be sure they’re up to something at all, then?” Darcy sat back, searching her face for any sign she was keeping something from him. It wasn’t that he thought she’d intentionally mislead him about something important regarding the case they were investigating.
But maybe she’d keep to herself anything that happened to her when she was vulnerable and alone in a den of vipers like the BRI.
Was there something she wasn’t telling him?
“You think I’m lying?” Her eyes narrowed in response. He should have known she’d see through his attempt to cover his doubts.
“I think maybe something happened with the BRI that you’re not telling me. Did someone—?” His throat closed up before he finished asking the question.
She leaned forward suddenly, reaching across the table to close her hand over his. “No, Darcy. No. Nothing like that happened. I promise you.”
He saw the truth in her eyes and felt his muscles relax, just a little.
She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. “I know they’re up to something because Ax let that much slip before I had to pull my best judo moves on him.”
Darcy arched one eyebrow. “Ax?”
“It was his nickname, I’m sure. He never told me his real name. The BRI seem to go by their real names, but their anarchist buddies are all about the pseudonyms.” She started to withdraw her hand, but he caught it, twining his fingers with hers. She looked up at him, her sharp green eyes softening. “I think he was trying to impress me.”
“Are you sure it was the truth?”
“He tried to backtrack once I had him on the ground. Said he was just making things up.”
“But you didn’t believe him?’
“No. I’m pretty good at figuring out when someone’s lying or telling the truth.” She let go of his hand. “If you’re going to catch up with Olivia Sharp, you should probably get a move on.”
He couldn’t tell if she was trying to deflect him from her experiences with the BRI or if she was simply eager for him to see what Olivia had to say about Cade Landry.
Either way, she was right. The earlier he showed up at The Gates, the more likely he’d catch Olivia Sharp on her way in or out of the office.
* * *
“MR. DARCY HAS a concussion, but he’s not showing any signs of a more dangerous injury.” The military doctor looked tired and harried, his tone clipped but his eyes kind as he paused in the triage w
aiting area to update the ragtag handful of embassy security personnel who’d gathered to get information on their fallen comrades. “He’s asking for someone named Rigsby?”
All eyes turned to McKenna. She felt heat rising in her cheeks.
“You can see him for a few minutes, but don’t stay long. There’s a lot going on in the triage area, as I’m sure you can imagine.” The doctor nodded toward the door leading into the base’s busy medical unit. “He’s in bay number four.”
Ignoring the curious looks of the other agents, McKenna entered the triage unit and followed the signs to exam bay four, where she found Darcy resting on a gurney. His eyes were closed, and his face looked pale and haggard. But when she moved closer, he opened his eyes and managed a halfhearted smile. “Good. You’re here. I need a lawyer.”
She moved closer, her fingers brushing the sheet beside his hand, allowing herself the ambient warmth but not the actual touch of skin to skin. She felt too vulnerable at the moment to trust herself. “You need a lawyer?”
“They’re keeping me in this bloody hospital against my will,” he grumbled, his dark eyes soft and persuasive as he gazed at her beneath the gauze bandage over his wounded head. “File a motion or something.”
Relief fluttered through her. If he was well enough to complain, he was in better condition than she’d feared. “I have a better idea. Listen to what your doctors tell you to do. And do it.”
He grimaced. “I was really counting on your rule-breaking tendencies, Rigsby. You’ve let me down.”
Her knees felt wobbly, but there was nowhere to sit except the edge of the gurney. And she’d be damned if she’d do something so intimate with dozens of military doctors moving from patient to patient behind her. She found the steel in her spine and managed a smile, though she could feel the hot sting of tears at the backs of her eyes. “They’ll let you out as soon as they think you’re out of the woods. I should let you rest.”
As she started to back away, Darcy’s hand snaked out to circle her wrist. “Cameron?”
She shook her head, blinking back guilty tears.
“I’m sorry.” He released her hand. “What about Jamil and the others in the kitchen?”
“Jamil is okay. He sustained some minor burns and a broken arm. Rafik is in surgery for a ruptured spleen. They haven’t found Yusef. They’re not sure if he was blown clear of the kitchen by the rocket fire and managed to walk away or...”
“Or al Adar captured him.” Darcy grimaced. He knew as well as she did what the terrorists did to “collaborators.”
“Darcy, you need to rest.”
“They’re transferring me stateside as soon as they release me.”
The twisting pain in her gut caught her by surprise. “So soon?”
He nodded, holding her gaze with his fathomless brown eyes. “I don’t know where I’ll be reassigned.”
So this is goodbye, she thought, seeing the truth in his troubled gaze. “I’ll be sticking around for a while. The bureau wants those of us who survived to help the incident investigation team.”
He nodded, wincing a little at the movement. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because I don’t think I’ll see you again after this. We both know you won’t try to look me up. Will you?”
The finality hit her like a body blow. Appearances be damned, she sat on the edge of the gurney before her legs gave out. “No. I won’t,” she admitted, hating herself. Hating him. And wishing they were different people in a different place at a different time.
“I don’t think I would have survived the siege without you, Rigsby.” He brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Thank you.”
She was not going to cry. She wasn’t.
“Don’t let the bureau break you. They’ll try. They always do.”
“I won’t.” Tears burned the backs of her eyes but she didn’t let them spill. She couldn’t.
Not while Darcy was watching.
McKenna woke with a start, her heart thudding heavily against her rib cage. Blinking away the sleep, she checked her watch. Only thirty minutes had passed since Darcy walked out the door. He’d told her as he left not to worry unless she didn’t hear from him in a couple of hours.
Then she was supposed to call Alexander Quinn.
She rubbed her eyes, surprised to find tears dampening the skin beneath them. She’d been dreaming, she remembered. About that last day with Darcy at the base hospital outside Tablis.
Saying goodbye.
She knuckled away the tears and sat up from the sofa, eyeing the laptop she’d set on the coffee table before stretching out to rest her eyes. Her life was in danger. Her reputation as an FBI agent in tatters. It would be so easy to give up, to just hunker down and wait for everything to unfold. Sooner or later, the BRI would strike and everything she tried to warn people about would come to pass.
But she wasn’t the kind of person who could sit back and let people die if she could stop it.
It was time to get back to work.
As she opened the laptop, she heard the thud of footsteps on the porch outside. She barely had time to grab her Glock when she heard the hard scrape of metal on metal and the door began to open.
She whipped the Glock up and brought it to bear on the broad-shouldered man who stepped through the door. The morning light poured in behind him, rendering him little more than a silhouette in the bright rectangle of the open doorway.
“Don’t move,” she commanded.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” a familiar voice replied, his baritone tinged with amusement.
Son of a bitch.
“Nice to see you again, Agent Rigsby,” Alexander Quinn said.
* * *
“WHY DO YOU want to know about Richmond?” Olivia Sharp crossed her legs, showing off an impressive golden tan and well-toned thigh muscles. She had an easy sensuality about her that reminded Darcy of a CIA agent he’d known back in Tablis. Tara Brady had worn her sexuality like armor, hiding the vulnerable woman underneath. Darcy had a feeling Olivia Sharp was not so different.
“I’m investigating the possibility that there’s an FBI turncoat aiding the Blue Ridge Infantry.” Darcy didn’t see much point in lying.
“Investigating?” One honey-brown eyebrow arched delicately. “I thought you were on suspension.”
“It’s a personal project.”
“What led you to me?”
“Cade Landry.”
She flinched. It was only a slight twitch, but Darcy had been watching for any shift in her expression. She schooled her features immediately, her expression settling quickly back to neutral.
But she’d already given herself away.
“I worked with him,” she said a second later.
“You both were involved in the botched raid.”
Her jaw muscle twitched. “There was a miscommunication.”
“Landry led your unit into the warehouse against orders.”
“He said he received an order to go in.”
“You didn’t hear the order?”
Her eyes narrowed a notch. “I don’t remember very much about the incident. I sustained a concussion from flying debris after the bomb detonation. I’ve never been able to remember the moments directly preceding or directly after the bombing.”
He decided she was telling the truth, mostly because he could see a hint of turmoil in those cool blue eyes. She didn’t like not remembering what had really happened.
“How many people were in your unit?” he asked.
“Four, plus the unit commander, who wasn’t directly on scene.”
“Names?”
Her eyes iced over. “Why?”
“I told you. I think someone in the FBI might have been aiding the BRI members you had cornered in the warehouse.”
>
“If so, he wasn’t very good at it. One of the bombers blew himself up and the other was killed by sniper fire when he went for the detonator on his bomb belt.”
That was new information, Darcy realized. “Sniper fire?”
“If he’d managed to set off the explosives belt, a lot more people would have died. The sniper made sure that didn’t happen.”
“Who were the members of the unit?”
“I was a member, of course. Cade Landry, as you know. We lost the other two members of the unit—Len Davis and Kevin Darnell. You must have seen their names in news reports if you’ve been looking into the incident.”
He had, of course. Two FBI agents killed in the line of duty were big news. “And the unit commander?”
“I told you, he wasn’t on the scene.”
“No, I mean, who was he? What was his name?”
Her brow furrowed. “Are you testing me or something? If you’ve read the news reports, all of this information should have been in those articles.”
“Most of it was,” he admitted. “But not the name of the unit commander. He was even quoted. But not by name.”
She looked genuinely puzzled. “Are you sure?”
“I’m certain. It’s made me wonder how one manages to head up an FBI operation that went entirely pear-shaped without his name being splashed across news accounts.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He has some decent connections in Congress. Enough that his career didn’t go completely south.” Her lips curved. “Though he himself went south.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, he was transferred to a field office right here in Tennessee,” Olivia answered. “He’s a supervisory special agent in the Knoxville office. Darryl Boyle.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You can put your weapon down, Rigsby. I’m unarmed.”
McKenna didn’t trust him, she realized. She’d talked big about going to Quinn earlier, but now she knew she’d have talked herself out of it. “I’ll just hold on to this.” She dropped the barrel away from him, however, waving him toward the armchair across from where she sat.
