A Kiss to Kill

by Nina Bruhns

  Well, well, well. Wasn’t that interesting.

  Maybe ol’ Alex Zane wasn’t so crazy after all. Because Gregg recognized the man at once.

  And damned if it wasn’t SAC Wade Montana.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “MONTANA and the wife?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a wife intercepted classified intel from a husband working for the government and used it for profit,” Quinn said.

  “Or a government official blackmailing her into doing it,” Darcy suggested.

  The team erupted in heated discussion. They’d all been summoned to the STORM suite for a sunrise breakfast, where Kick and van Halen had just finished telling of their nocturnal adventures. Marc had already been dispatched to watch the Altos house until a strategy could be decided.

  Alex took another bite of toast and gracefully refrained from saying “I told you so.” But inside he was doing the Snoopy dance. He’d been right about the bastard all along.

  He glanced at Rebel. His beautiful angel looked more like the angel of death. Furious that her lover—former lover, he corrected himself—had been called into question. Yet again.

  “I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” she insisted for the dozenth time. “He would never hurt Gina. He just wants to be sure she’s safe. He feels partly responsible for what’s happening to her.”

  Gina was sitting on the sofa next to van Halen. She looked like she wanted to sink right through the floor and disappear. But she didn’t defend Montana, Alex noted.

  He gritted his teeth. Only Rebel was doing that. Along with shooting him dagger looks. What? Could he help it the man was a traitor? At least she wasn’t still sleeping with the bastard.

  He hoped.

  Bad enough he’d thought for one electrically evil moment that she’d spent the night with van Halen. He’d caught her coming out of the other man’s hotel suite this morning in blatant dishabille, as his mama used to say. Thankfully, Gina had followed close behind and saved his ass the embarrassment of a very ugly scene. Hearing Gregg’s story over breakfast, and seeing the way he now held Gina close to his side, explained Rebel’s presence in his suite, which Alex had not been able to bring himself to ask her about at the time. Not after she’d politely nodded good morning to him without a damn hint in her demeanor that just the day before they’d been agonizing over not having children together. No doubt he had Montana to thank for that, too. Had she actually taken his ill-conceived advice?

  Jesus.

  “So what are we going to do about this goddamn goatfuck?” he asked now. Meaning the Altos thing.

  Rebel skewered him with another death-ray glare. Language? Probably not.

  Her phone rang and with an angry stab she shut it off.

  Okay, then.

  “They had an affair,” Gina said into the momentary blip of awkward silence. “Wade and Erika Altos. A few months after he and I broke up. He told me about it at the time. Probably thought it would make me jealous and go back to him.”

  Darcy snorted. “Yeah, because taking up with another woman is always the best way to endear yourself to the one you love,” she muttered, pouring coffee into two fresh mugs and handing one to Quinn. “Typical.”

  Rebel continued to glare at Alex.

  What?

  “You hear what they were arguing about?” Quinn asked.

  Kick shook his head. “The car windows were closed.”

  “We have to assume he told her about us finding the 25K al Sayika contribution to her husband’s campaign at Mahmood’s apartment,” Tara observed.

  “If the wife didn’t already know.”

  “So if she tries to blow town, she’s guilty and we pick her up,” Kick said, checking his cell phone for texts. So far, no movement reported from Marc.

  “And if Congressman Altos packs his bags, he’s the guilty party,” Quinn said, “and we have the evidence we need to put the thumb screws on him about our Trigger theory. I feel like we’re running out of time. If we’re right and it is a presidential assassination they’re planning, we need to notify POTUS. But I’d like a little more evidence than pure conjecture.” He looked to Darcy. “Still nothing from Altos’s home computer?”

  “Not a blessed thing. No hidden files, no suspicious e-mails. Not even any porn. The man’s freaking Mr. Clean,” she said, visibly frustrated as she headed back to the conference table where, judging by the dirty cups and empty snack bags, she’d already been working at her computer array for hours.

  “Did he ever return home last night?” Tara asked.

  “About half an hour after the wife came home,” van Halen confirmed. Alex watched as one of his fingers unconsciously stirred the water in the fish bowl he’d stolen from Altos’s desk last night, making its lone inhabitant dart nervously back and forth. Seriously? The man might be an ace operator, but he was truly certifiable.

  “Either way the chips fall,” Alex said, “Montana is guilty of aiding and abetting, and DHS arrests his ass for breach of national security.”

  “That’s not fair.” Rebel looked ready to explode. “We need to question him first. I’m sure he has a good explanation.”

  “No doubt,” Alex drawled. “And I for one would love to hear it.”

  “Good,” Quinn said, getting to his feet. “Because I want you to go get SAC Montana and bring him here. Whatever he knows about this whole mess, I mean to find out, one way or another. Take Rebel with you, Zane, and tell him we’ve decided to let him see Gina, since he asked yesterday. If he’s innocent, he’s got nothing to worry about.” He turned to Rebel. “That fair enough for you?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, getting to her feet. “Right away.”

  “Hey,” Alex protested, holding up his toast. “I haven’t finished eating yet.”

  “Tough,” she said, and strode out the door.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered, and got up to follow.

  “And Zane,” Quinn said testily, tossing him the keys to one of the team’s SUVs, “I ordered you to fix that situation.”

  Alex grabbed his jacket and shoulder-holster, which were draped over his chair, and on his way to the door threw them on. “I did, Commander,” he returned over one shoulder. “Can’t you tell?”

  A fingerprint had come back from the murder scene at Walter Reed. Bleary-eyed, Sarah stared at the name on the ID. It had taken quite a bit of digging, but she’d finally found the bastard in the OPM government employee database.

  Gregg van Halen. A former CIA agent gone rogue.

  She frowned. Hadn’t Wade mentioned a CIA covert operative who’d turned traitor? The man he thought kidnapped his ex-fiancée a few days ago?

  She looked at van Halen’s face on the computer monitor. Short-cropped sandy hair, angular jaw, shadowed cheek-bones. Brutally handsome, as the song went. Like he could kill a man and not even blink. Which he obviously had at Walter Reed. She just prayed he hadn’t killed Wade’s ex-fiancée, Gina, too.

  With a yawn, she hit the button on the computer to print out a hard copy.

  She’d worked all night and was dog tired. She’d managed to get a warrant for the limo service’s call records, and had tracked down every single incoming phone number listed. There’d been thirteen numbers for offices up on the Hill, which she planned to narrow down this morning by hook or by crook.

  As soon as she got herself another cup of coffee.

  And phoned Wade.

  She’d been ducking his calls since yesterday afternoon, and regardless of how big of a jerk she thought he was for engaging in a dogfight over another woman right in front of her face, he deserved to know about van Halen.

  She also wanted to find out if her newest murder suspect was the same man Wade suspected of abducting his ex-fiancée. It made sense, but she needed to know for sure.

  She should call Commander Quinn, as well. Although, he did have other sources. The wolf guarding Wade’s redheaded FBI agent at the hospital had been from STORM, and had no doubt g
iven Quinn a full report. Still. The commander had been as good as his word, so Sarah wanted to return the favor. And who knew, maybe he’d dug up something she hadn’t.

  But first, coffee.

  Okay. And maybe a ten-minute nap.

  AFTER the breakfast meeting, Gina was feeling a little shell-shocked by everything that had come to light. Either that, or the exhaustion was finally catching up with her.

  Kick and Tara had gone back to McLean to join Marc surveilling the Altos house, watching to see whether the husband or the wife would make the first move.

  Quinn had finally gotten a call from his contact in the Cayman Islands, along with an e-mailed packet of bank statements from him. He’d been plenty excited about whatever was in it. He and Gregg were about to leave for the Capitol for a meeting with Congressman Altos’s chief of staff. It was Saturday, but the man was in the office preparing last-minute details for a subcommittee meeting of the House Appropriations Committee, which the congressman was scheduled to attend that afternoon.

  Gina still found it hard to believe a member of congress would betray his country. And for what? Pure greed, if Gregg was right about the al Sayika blood diamonds being his motive. It would almost be more palatable if the other theory was correct, that the terrorists themselves were planning to set off a dirty bomb. As terrifying as that was, the motive would be ideological, not simple avarice. She was glad Quinn had put three other men on tracking down the nuclear trigger possibility. But her money was on greed.

  “You’ll be okay?” Gregg asked, putting his arms around her. He was wearing the brown suit again. He looked strangely at home in it. Like a real businessman. If only. But after last night she knew this man would never be tamed. Even in handcuffs, he took total charge.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she said. “Go. Just hurry back.”

  “I will.” He kissed her. “Stay with Darcy. She’ll keep you safe while I’m gone. I hear the woman knows seven kinds of marshal arts, all black belts.”

  She smiled, glancing over at Darcy, who rolled her eyes with a grin, then went back to her computers.

  “And don’t even think about—”

  “I know, I know. No going out for ice.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “For any reason. Not without Darcy.”

  “I promise.”

  “We’ll be back soon. Hopefully before Alex and Rebel bring in Montana.”

  With a final kiss, he followed Quinn out the door. It closed behind them.

  “Hold on to that one, girlfriend,” Darcy said without taking her eyes off her computer screen. “He’s definitely a keeper.”

  “Yeah,” Gina said with a stab of hopeless longing. “If only he felt the same way.” She couldn’t help feeling she was living a temporary reprieve. When she’d awakened this morning to find him gone . . .

  Darcy spun her chair around and regarded her. “Gina. The man is head over heels. Anyone can see that.”

  “Maybe. And maybe in a parallel universe he’d do something about it. But not in this one.” His life was his job. There was no room for her in it.

  “Really? What’s his problem?” The monitor beeped twice, and she spun back to type furiously on the keyboard for a few seconds, then twirled around again, looking at her expectantly.

  Gina wandered over to the easy chair and sat on the fat arm. “He had a rough time as a kid. He’s shut himself off. Refuses to acknowledge his emotions. Doesn’t think he’s capable of love.”

  Darcy’s brows went up. “Jeez. Someone should hand him a mirror when he looks at you.”

  Gina smiled wistfully. “I’m such a wreck, I’m terrified I’ll drive him away just through my neediness. He’s the only thing keeping me sane through all of this. I’m so tired I’m about to fall over, but I can’t even sleep without him there.”

  Darcy gave her a worried look. “You should try anyway. Curl up on the sofa until the guys get back. Who knows, maybe you’ll drift off.”

  Gina looked around the sitting room, ablaze with sunlight pouring through the windows and French doors, and alive with the techy noises from Darcy’s computers. No way. She sighed, and thought longingly of the bed she just left . . .

  Well, why not?

  “Maybe I will try,” she said, getting up. “But not here. Our suite is right across the hall. I’ll be able to smell him in the bed. With the drapes pulled, I can pretend he’s there, sleeping next to me. It could work.”

  Darcy crossed her arms. “You heard what he said. No leaving the suite. This one.”

  “Without you, he said.” Gina spread her hands in appeal. “You can walk me across the hall and watch me go in and close the door. I swear I won’t open it for anyone, and I’ll call you when I want to come back. I even have a gun. Gregg gave me his Beretta yesterday.”

  Darcy started to shake her head. “I don’t—”

  “Please?” Gina said. “I’ve been terrified nonstop for a week. I could really use the rest, before . . .”

  She didn’t complete the sentence, but she could tell that Darcy understood. Having narrowed down Altos or his wife as the traitor, events were starting to come to a head. But if the Trigger was still out there somewhere, and Gina had an awful feeling he was, things would get a lot worse before they got better. She didn’t want to be cross-eyed from exhaustion when all hell broke loose.

  “I shouldn’t,” Darcy said, breaking down. “But I do get the man-smell thing. I’m the same way about Bobby Lee. So I’ll go along with this. But I swear, if you step foot outside that room without calling me I’ll shoot you myself. I’m serious.”

  “I won’t. Cross my heart,” Gina said, and on impulse gave the other woman a hug.

  With a start, she realized Darcy was the first person she’d willingly touched since her abduction, other than Rainie and Gregg. A milestone? Oh, yes. A happy one.

  Darcy insisted on clearing the other suite first, of course. With weapon drawn, she searched every nook and cranny before giving Gina the okay to come farther than one step inside the door.

  “Is that the Beretta?” Darcy asked, and pointed to the gun that still sat where Gina had left it on the sideboard yesterday.

  She nodded.

  “Keep it with you. Put it under your pillow while you sleep.”

  “I will. And thanks,” Gina said, preparing to close the door after Darcy as she left. “I’ll call.”

  “No ice,” the other woman warned with a wag of her finger, walking across the hall again. “And no room service, either!”

  Gina laughed and waved, and closed the door as Darcy watched like a hawk. “Don’t worry,” she assured her firmly. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “YES, I’m Bruce Hearn. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  Altos’s chief of staff sized up Gregg and Quinn in a heartbeat. He did not ask them to sit, did not offer them a beverage. Maybe it was the thrift shop suits. Hearn’s own attire was strictly Brooks Brothers. Or maybe even tailor-made.

  Quinn, however, was not taking no for an answer. He gave the man his best lazy Southern smile and ambled farther into the office. Gregg took up a position closer to the door. He could play dumb muscle when called for.

  “You, Mr. Hearn,” Quinn drawled with calm confidence, “are in very big trouble, sir.”

  The other man straightened and marched straight to the desk, where he lifted the phone. “I’m calling security.”

  Quinn tipped a photo of Asha Mahmood onto the desktop, where it skidded to a stop directly in front of Hearn. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

  Hearn stopped abruptly. Slowly, he set the receiver down. His eyes jerked up from the photo. “Who is that? What’s this all about?”

  “Oh, I think you know who she is,” Quinn said. “And what this is all about.”

  The chief of staff looked from Quinn to the photo and back again. Oddly, he didn’t seem the least bit rattled. “Who are you people?” he demanded.

  “Someone who just might be able to keep your butt out of pr
ison. But only if you cooperate and answer my questions.”

  One gray-tinged brow went up. “About what?” Quinn pointed to the photo. Hearn hesitated for a moment, then said archly, “She’s a . . . friend of the congressman.”

  Quinn continued to quiz the man while Gregg observed. On the downside of fifty, Altos’s chief of staff appeared to be the epitome of a Washington insider: groomed, wealthy, entitled. For someone being threatened, Bruce Hearn was also remarkably composed. He didn’t even glance in Gregg’s direction. Blythe ignorance? Gregg didn’t think so. On the contrary, Hearn had the look of a man who’d been around the block a time or three but knew how to conceal it well. But then, so did everyone working inside the beltway.

  Gregg decided to take a stroll around the office. Hearn began to protest, but was cut off by Quinn. Gregg was careful not to touch. Just look. Everything appeared completely normal. The door to the private office presumably used by Congressman Altos stood partially open, so he ducked inside for a look-see.

  He smiled. On the desk stood a pristinely kept goldfish bowl identical to the one he’d taken from the Altos mansion last night, except the fish was blue, and the gravel was red and white arranged in neat stripes. How patriotic.

  Placed exactly below the glass bowl was an agenda for a meeting of the Defense subcommittee that Congressman Altos would be attending at two o’clock. The subject: the final vote on a recommendation for tougher laws on terrorism. Talk about ironic.

  Gregg checked his watch. It was just after eleven. He quickly read over the agenda. And saw something that he hadn’t on the one Zane found on Allah’s Paradise. Something scheduled for right after the meeting.

  Oh, shit.

  Quinn finished up his interview, and just before they left, Gregg turned back to Hearn. “Nice betta.”

  The chief of staff met his gaze directly. “What?”

  “The Siamese fighting fish. In Altos’s office.”