The more she considered the situation, the more things felt right. Thomas accepted big bucks from the drug cartel, probably from Mexico, in exchange for keeping them below radar with the very agency he worked for. Anger surged through her at the idea. Agents put their lives on the line each and every day, some dying in the process, in order to try to curtail and stop the flow of drugs into the country. And here, one of their high-paid, butt-kissing supervisors grew rich by trading favors with the very people he'd sworn to capture.
Frustrated and disgusted, she headed to her bedroom intent on a long, hot shower and some much needed rest before she worked another full day on narrowing down her search and collecting evidence of illegal activities. Marching by the dresser, she caught sight of the little jewelry box with the dove peacefully resting on top. Slowly, she reached out, plucking it from its resting place, and eased the lid off like she did each time she returned home from being away.
Sure enough, a small white paper filled the interior.
Intrigued, she quickly pulled it out and unfolded it with nimble fingers before reading the message aloud.
"S set free tonight. One million bounty on you if brought in alive. Three days to find turncoat. Find out who signed release papers then let's make a deal."
Blinking, she read it over once more, her stomach knotting with the offer of a fortune to bring her in. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry would have his nose to the ground searching for her. Sure, she would arrive in one piece, but that didn't mean untouched. A cold tremor raced down her spine.
Three days. Why that amount of time? The note stirred more questions than it answered, while solidifying her belief that her guardian angel worked undercover. Why else would he warn her of the bounty? If he truly worked for Santora, he would have marched into her apartment, bundled her up in an area rug like a mummy, and dropped her at his boss's doorstep, no questions asked. Instead, he'd risked life and limb to warn her of Santora's plans. All the writing on the wall spelled out undercover agent.
Who in their right mind would set Santora free? She needed to discover who signed the papers and organized for a top level drug lord to walk free twenty-four hours after his arrest. Even the best lawyer couldn't get a judge to set bail that quickly, not for such a high-profile criminal. No. Someone with power working on the inside had to be responsible.
Thomas. He held enough power, being in command of the district DEA office, and his shady finances remained elusive and too vague for her comfort. He couldn't do it without help, but two more names stood out in her search, working at the same branch, and below Thomas in rank. The puzzle pieces clicked together.
Somehow she needed to find evidence to prove the tie, foolproof documentation that would stand up to scrutiny in court.
Sitting down on the bed, she reclined back, staring at the ceiling as she let her mind whirl with ideas. The visitation log would only show that Thomas entered the holding area and spoke with Santora. While helpful, it would only be beneficial in combination with other supporting evidence. However, if she managed to get her hands on the actual signed form that gave Santora his freedom, it could make the majority of the case.
Any smart mole would have signed the paper then made sure it vanished forever just in case nosey investigators rummaged through stacks of paperwork at a later date. For all she knew, he had already disposed of it. This meant she needed to get into the office and talk with the person who knew everything—his secretary. More than likely she knew nothing about Thomas's activities, but she handled all the routine paperwork, filing each document, scanning it into the computer. She would be the one who could point her to the exact location of the paper she sought. On the flip side, Thomas obviously would recognize her and wouldn't turn down an extra million to cuff her and drive her personally to Santora. Thus, showing up in person could put a major dent in her longevity.
Sighing, she left that train of thought, turning to the man who stood between her and Santora. He would certainly be bilingual and have dark hair and skin tone. Everyone in that particular drug cartel fit the same genetic trademarks. Otherwise they would stand out like an elephant wandering down the middle of Times Square. Not something their leader would appreciate as drug lords preferred to blend in and stay low-key until they controlled everyone and everything in their world. Only then did they step out into the sunshine, flaunting their wealth and power for all to see.
For Thomas to not know an undercover agent existed in the fold, the order had to have come from above him or from a federal oversight agency. The guy could be anything from a federal agent to a local cop with the abilities needed to camouflage himself with those around him. Insanely courageous, he had to work well under pressure, keeping his cool at all times, while being constantly on guard for threats to his cover.
She found those qualities more than attractive in a man. Handsomeness only carried a man so far in her opinion, the rest came from inside, the attitude, the bravery, the willingness to go above and beyond, to meet risk head-on and prevail. A pretty face could mask unwanted qualities. Partying frat boys never caught her eye; instead, she turned to the hardcore military types time and again, yet still never found one that quite matched with her wants and needs.
She wanted to meet this one, was eager to put a face with his endeavors.
Hope springs eternal.
Lark sighed, rolling onto her side. As much as she turned her nose up at the idea of a traditional life for a woman—getting married, having a couple of kids, and baking cookies for school holiday parties—she also longed for the opportunity to choose her own life. Hard to meet a goal of finding her other half and living happily ever after if every man she met backed away from verbal spars or she could kick his rear in a friendly martial arts match. She was an "in-your-face" girl and wanted a man who would not only stand up to the task, but give as well as he got. In her experience, they didn't exist. Much like the fabled Loch Ness Monster, many people claimed to have seen the elusive animal, but no one could drag one in for proof.
Glancing at the small jewelry box, she pulled her thoughts away from self-pity and on to more important matters such as staying alive with a powerful enemy determined to not only catch her, but make her pay dearly for her part in his capture. She had to move fast, pulling whatever strings necessary to get her hands on the log listing each and every person coming into contact with the jailed Santora, and release form along with any other tiny scrap of evidence she could find to link Thomas and Santora. Without it, the three-day time limit would expire, sending an avalanche of greedy headhunters crashing down on her head.
Ideas and plans dried up like rain in the Sahara desert. She quickly discarded each possibility because it either involved too much risk of discovery or would take far too long. Nothing short of breaking into the DEA office would solve her dilemma and that would not only strip her of her access, but land her butt in jail. Although, lock up might just keep her out of Santora's hands, at least for the time being. With a snort, she sat up, grabbing her cell phone. It was time to call in some favors.
Chapter 10
Thomas reclined back in his black leather office chair, folding his hands behind his head, impatiently waiting while his slower-than-snail-mail computer ran a new software program, checking all his accounts and following any signs of meddling, too much interest, or hacking.
Once again he patted himself on the back, congratulating himself on a job well done. Under the guise of moving Santora to a smaller jail where he would be less likely to end up dead from a rival gang member's homemade weapon, Thomas signed him out, delivering him into the hands of his employees, both in on the plan and partaking of a small portion of the drug lord's vast wealth. They transported him to an isolated location where Santora's driver waited before dashing off toward freedom and the safety provided by their fortress-like base of operations. The two men would return with stories of how they were ambushed, knocked out, and woke up to find their charge long gone. He would use his powerful influence to make sure th
ey received no more than a slap on the wrist, ensuring their future presence in case something came up at a later date.
His own bank account should fatten with bonus pay from having to do more than his typical influential command for authorities to remain hands off and out of Santora's territory. Linking his name to Santora could mark the end of his lucrative career, but it was an opportunity he couldn't pass up with the piles of money flowing in his direction for modest effort on his part.
He would bet nearly all government officials believed their coworkers resisted the temptation to take under-the-table money or work for the other side, taking faith and confidence in each person's honor and unscathed morals. Just like he wanted it. However, a few proved to be less gullible, trusting no one, and constantly searched for clues that a man had slipped from his pedestal to wallow in the mud with thugs and criminals. Thomas purposely kept his nose clean and watched his back for that very reason. A rumor, a hint of wrongdoing, would send a whole team of busybodies to his door to comb through his life with a magnifying glass, something that simply couldn't happen.
The green bar across his computer screen filled completely, signaling the completion of the analyzing program. Sitting forward, he clicked the mouse, haphazardly glancing over the results. What he saw shocked the breath out of him.
"What the…?
Instead of the usual results of no more than a handful of inquiries, usually from credit card companies intent upon checking out his financial situation in order to send him more applications than a person could stand, he discovered someone had deeply and intently rifled through his account, sneaking past more than one barrier, only to reach a pitfall which led them to a dead end, a neat trick and one he insisted the lead DEA IT person install to guard all his personal files and protect confidential data. That he used it for his personal information only made sense to Thomas, though he dared not mention it to anyone else. Technological security was a huge issue with any government computer and he wasn't the only employee that took advantage of that protection to borrow for his personal life.
"Who are you, you son of a bitch?" Frantically, he read through the many hits, finding time and again where someone methodically beat at his financial door, nearly managing to bypass his final wall. A tidal wave of panic roared through him as he realized how close they came to finding multiple account transfers and other documentation directly linking him to not only Santora, but to a few other unscrupulous characters that the federal government would prefer lived behind bars for life or had already met their demise, now sweating it out in eternal hell. His fingers flew over the keyboard, backtracking the intruder, searching for any identifying factor he could use to find and eliminate the threat once and for all.
Each and every time, the program spit out the same information. The local library. That was the origin of the inquiries, which meant either someone actually spent hours per day sitting on an unyielding wooden chair, working hard to delve into his business, or they were one of these computer gurus that could transmit information from their computer anywhere in the world and send it through another computer, tricking the program and person into believing the actual middle computer held responsibility rather than the original. He would bet on the latter.
Running his hands through his short blond hair, he considered his options. So far, the final wall held tight, which meant the guru needed more time and ability to slink past. That could hold for another day or decade, he couldn't be sure. In the meantime, he had to find a way to cover his tracks better, but he dare not erase vital emails and other information, lest a game of hardball became necessary. His hedge against blackmail would come in quite handy if any one of the traitors decided to finger him to the authorities.
Still unsure what to do about the hacker, he flipped over to his secure email account, noting a recent message from Shark. Clicking on it, he found a short note explaining that the boss was looking for a woman, the one who had turned him over to the DEA to begin with. A small black and white picture sat below the words. He clicked on it, enlarging it to full screen, and blinked. Hitting the print icon, he sat back, immediately grabbing the paper as it fell into the tray.
Once more, he relaxed in his seat, this time holding the image before him. "Well, I'll be damned." Staring at it a moment longer, a slow smile appeared on his face. Not only did he know her, but he could pull up her contact information in a matter of seconds.
The pieces fell into place. She must have tagged Santora then decided something fishy existed in the department, which sent her to searching through his files in an attempt to catch him red-handed. He recalled her nosey habit the brief time she had fallen under his jurisdiction. Her snooty attitude and haughtiness had frankly irritated him as did her small curvy feminine form, cut out more for an aerobics instructor than his agency. She could handle herself, he gave her that much, but he resented having to put up with a woman in a man's profession. Women belonged at home to take care of the house and children, just like his wife. Not toting guns around and tracking down bad guys.
She had the balls and brashness to attempt such a feat, but this time that wet-dream body wouldn't save her. He held the winning hand in a high-stakes game and would only be too happy to watch her house of cards fall into a messy pile. The reward would pad his bank account while he enjoyed watching her learn a hard lesson on why women shouldn't mess in a man's world. Both would be an early birthday present for him, one he couldn't wait to see.
Chapter 11
"Here's what I have thus far. It's not much, mostly circumstantial evidence." Clutching the printed pages from her purse, she laid them on Ryan's desk.
"Are you sure you're on the right track?" He picked up the small pile, thumbing through each page as his blue eyes scanned over the information.
Of her four brothers, Lark remained closest to Ryan, for a variety of reasons. He was the nearest to her in age, a mere two years older. They'd teamed up as kids to harass the older siblings and played with one another when no one else had time or the willingness to do so. She loved her male-dominated family, but Ryan held an extra special piece of her heart.
"One of the team with some serious hacking skills couldn't even get through the protective walls. He said it was locked up tighter than the Pentagon, which is saying something big."
"Sounds like it." He glanced up at her before resuming his investigation of the documents.
He reminded her so much of their father, Jake. Tall and built, his boyish face took on a serious expression now, but at home, he glowed with amusement and mischief. Both men worked hard and used their time off to play harder. Blond hair, a couple of shades darker than her own, swept across his forehead. When amused, dimples appeared on his cleanly shaved cheeks.
Jake, as well as all his children, had attended West Point. While Lark, Ryan, and Luke chose to resign from their military lives, the two oldest brothers, Marshall and Deacon, still served. In all reality, none of them had considered much else after high school. The military was all they knew as kids when their parents had packed them up and moved them all around the world as soon as the papers arrived with new orders.
Despite the lack of constancy, Lark wouldn't trade the experience for anything. Not many kids visited such exotic locations, let alone lived there long enough to soak up cultures and languages. While others her age might have been playing in the streets or riding their bicycles, her family walked the Great Wall of China and enjoyed the exquisite tropical offerings of Fiji.
Their mother was the exception to the military life, having attended a public university and never once considered joining the service. She'd cheered in college and had met her husband while cheering for the team playing against his. Jake, a running back at the time, had received a big shove out of bounds while carrying the ball. Unable to stop, he'd plowed her down where she had been positioned on the sidelines.
Ryan placed the papers back on his desk then leaned forward, resting his elbows on a large desktop monthly calendar. "It's not muc
h. You have to have something much more concrete in order for me to even approach a judge for a search warrant."
She nodded. "I know and I'm working on it." Brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, she met his gaze. "You get the same feelings I do? That Thomas is the one?"
For a long moment, he remained mute. "Yeah, after this and what you told me, my gut says he's the one. Unfortunately, the court system doesn't operate well on just gut instinct."
"Don't I know it."
"You okay?" His blue eyes, a match to hers, flashed with concern.
"Yeah. I'm doing okay. My guardian angel is keeping me informed with notes and I notified my boss. He scolded me and warned me to call before I hit quicksand." A grin appeared. "He threatened to take it out of my hide if I waited too long to ask for help from the team."
"Sounds like a good man." Ryan leaned back in his leather office chair.
"Best boss a girl could ask for." She spoke with sincerity and truth.
"So, returning to the DEA full time is out of the question?" He steepled his fingers to rest under his chin.
She heard the trace of worry in his voice. "I'll remain on a contractual case-by-case basis, but no, I'm not going to return, at least not in the near future. What I do now makes me feel… I don't know. Alive. Like I'm actually doing some good in the world." Lark scooted closer and said in a stage whisper, "You should see all the toys. Man, oh man."
Ryan chuckled, his shoulders easing for the first time since she walked into his office. "You were always a sucker for a good rocket launcher."
"Hey, takes one to know one," she quickly defended, knowing for a certainty the rest of her family, with the exception of possibly her mother, drooled over the latest high tech gadgets available in confidence to the military. Gathering up her purse, she stood to leave. "I'll let you know if I get anything else of value."
Sky's Lark Page 5
