Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2)

by Lisa Hughey

  Not everyone was happy, I thought.

  “What are you doing with the money? Got a nice bank account somewhere in the Bahamas, you piece of horseshit?”

  “Bitch.” The major took a menacing step toward me.

  In the periphery, the senator had watched our exchange, his head shifting back and forth. “Now see here.”

  “Shut up, Dick.” Vandenburg pulled an AK-47 from behind his waistband and handed the Sig Sauer to the senator. “Hold this.”

  Thankfully, the senator knew what to do with a weapon, and he kept the P229 pointed toward the floor.

  “We use the money to outfit the troops,” the Major ground out. “Do you know how much body armor costs? And the right kind of bullets? Our troops are dying,” his voice broke, “because those blowhards,” he jerked his chin toward the senator, “Can’t give us enough money to protect our soldiers.”

  I said, “What about the heroin that’s making its way all over the world?”

  “That’s not my problem.” The major dismissed the increase in heroin traffic, the increase in opioid-related deaths with a shake of his head. “My charge is to protect the men and women who work for me-at any cost.”

  The major lifted his assault rifle.

  “You can’t mean to kill them,” the senator bluffed.

  “You’re implicated, asshole,” the major said. “It’s either kill her, or your career is history.”

  I only had one choice.

  I wanted to fight. I wanted to defend myself, defend the rights of the women and children in that village.

  I had a responsibility to make sure Fariya’s sacrifice was just. I was the only one now who could confirm to the authorities that those fields hadn’t been destroyed until after the poppies had been harvested.

  But I had to protect my baby too.

  I felt the heavy weight of my body. My legs substantial and strong were rooted to the cold marble beneath my feet. I was here. I wasn’t going anywhere. Like the stubborn dandelion, tough and hard to get rid of, culling life from any source.

  “Now see here, I’m sure we can come to some sort of negotiation.” The senator tried reasoning. “That’s the Director of Field Operations for the NSA. You can’t shoot him.”

  “The NSA doesn’t have field ops,” the major rebutted.

  Surprise. Looks like Major Vandenburg didn't know everything.

  Deliberately, I looked at the senator and the major. Very slowly I engaged the safety and turned the weapon to give to Carson. “Let it be noted that I am remanding myself into custody.”

  "Gentlemen, the fugitive has surrendered. Your work is done."

  “What?” Jordan said.

  “You promised to trust me.” It was the only way to keep everyone safe. To keep Jordan from bearing the burden of transgressions of everyone around him. To keep the baby safe. I looked steadily at him as Carson put plastic restraint cuffs on my wrists.

  “Shit,” Jordan said softly, realizing he was trapped.

  “You gave me the idea. This way I’m, we’re, protected until we can get everything straightened out.”

  “You stupid bastard,” the major barked at Jordan.

  “That’s me,” Jordan snarled.

  “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone. Kept getting in the way,” he ranted. Vandenburg gestured to me. “Why the hell would you go after her?”

  The major hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

  “He’s right.” I was more trouble than I was worth. Yet Jordan had come after me, and kept coming even when it was apparent I was avoiding him.

  Emotion unfurled in my chest, strong and bright and unchallenged. He loved me.

  “You’re mine,” Jordan said.

  “Well, isn’t that romantic?” the Major sneered. "But it doesn't matter."

  “You can’t kill Carson Black,” the senator said desperately, as if finally realizing all hell was about to break loose.

  “Wait a minute. Carson Black?” The major blurted.

  “Yes.” Carson nodded once.

  “You authorized the press release on her,” the major said gleefully.

  Fuck.

  Betrayal sharp and hot, burned under my breastbone. Jordan had been worried Carson had an agenda. He’d been right. And I’d played right into Carson’s hands.

  I certainly would never have believed he would be the one to engineer my death. But it made a logical sense. Fifty four ninety one was his mistake. His snafu.

  And I’d been trying to open it up.

  “I did.” Carson’s voice was neutral. Was he confirming or asking? “Major, you really don’t want to shoot anyone.” He stepped so that he was blocking Vandenburg's line of sight to me.

  “You can’t argue about shooting them.” The major kept his gaze trained on us, never once looking at Carson.

  I looked at Jordan. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed.

  We were outnumbered. “Shooting us isn’t a good idea. Other people know we’re here.”

  Carson himself had suggested we call Zeke. Wait. That didn’t make sense. But I'd have to figure that out later, assuming there was a later.

  We’d war-gamed the possibility of a gunfight. But we hadn’t factored in Carson as a traitor.

  “Negotiation’s over.” The major lifted his weapon and roared at Carson, “Get out of the way.”

  “Drop!” Jordan yelled.

  I dropped to the cold marble floor as Jordan fired at the major. Taking in priority of targets, Major Vandenburg had to be first. He was the overt threat to both me and Jordan.

  And if Jordan had time, he could shoot Carson too. But the repercussions of shooting a high-ranking intelligence officer were huge.

  The senator didn’t think well on his feet, apparently, as he just stood there dumbly. When the first shot sounded, the senator squealed like a pig at the noise and flash of it all. Weapon fire boomed, enormously loud in this tomb of a monument.

  Don’t hit the senator, I prayed, not wanting Jordan to have his father’s death on his conscience.

  A flash on my left told me Carson had fired. Fuck. I curled onto my side, protecting the baby, and swung my legs out hitting Carson behind the knees and taking him down. He hit the marble floor with a grunt.

  I shifted my attention back to the battle, working at the restraints on my wrists.

  The major had on state of the art body armor. Finger already on the trigger, he was hit multiple times in the chest, and the force knocked him back.

  Jordan launched himself in front of me, continuing to shoot as he dove.

  What the fuck was he doing? This was not part of our plan.

  Jordan’s last bullet was a kill shot to the Major’s head. With a neat little hole in his forehead and a look of surprise on his face, he disappeared, tumbling backward down the stairs, his weapon still firing, mostly spent bullets raining down on us.

  I heard the thud of impact as one of the major’s bullets hit.

  Behind me, Carson swore.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Finally I got the damn cuffs off. Frantically, I ripped open Jordan’s shirt, looking for a wound. “Shoulder,” he gasped. “I’ll be okay. Check Carson.”

  I crawled over to Carson, who had blood pouring out of a crease wound in his head. “Wasn’t me.”

  “Later,” I said.

  “No. It wasn’t me. I didn't authorize the press conference.” He gripped my hand with more force than I would have thought possible with the amount of blood pouring down his face and obscuring his eyes. “There’s a traitor somewhere.”

  Quickly I tore off one of my sleeves and wrapped it around his head as tightly as possible.

  Switch our weapons, Carson pantomimed.

  “What?”

  “I got the kill shot,” Carson said hoarsely.

  He was trying to protect Jordan.

  I ripped out the other sleeve and crawled back to Jordan to tie the material around the wound in his shoulder. Keeping my back to the cameras, I quickly switched the weapo
ns.

  A moan from near the steps brought my attention to the senator as he tried to slink away.

  “Oh, no, you don’t, pal.” I ran over to where he was still semi-huddled on the ground trying to crawl away, and planted a boot in his back, right between his shoulder blades.

  If everything had gone as Carson agreed, the CIA had representatives in the security booth were watching the entire exchange. They should be here any minute.

  “Smile for the security camera.”

  The senator’s voice shook. “It’s my word against yours, who do you think they’ll believe?”

  “Mine.” I ripped open my shirt. I had been wearing body armor. I’d also been wearing a wire.

  ***

  I hated hospitals.

  Everything about them. Antiseptic and Betadyne, the smell of medicine and sickness. All the odors reminded me of the day life as I knew it ended.

  And I hated the waiting.

  Carson came up behind me, rubbed my shoulders. “You can go in soon.” A large bandage covered the top of his skull. He’d been lucky.

  Jordan was still in recovery to repair the damage to his shoulder.

  “Can I see him before they take me away?” I thought about going back to prison, even for a short time, and my stomach turned. But until we could get my name cleared, it was the safest place for me...and the baby. I placed a hand over the little bump.

  “You’re all cleared,” Carson replied calmly.

  “Really?”

  “Well, you’ve got about five more minutes.” He gestured to the television. Senator Jordan was giving a press conference on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. He had a bandage on his head.

  “He was injured?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  The bandage played better. I guess.

  “This country owes a large debt to the efforts of civilian Staci Grant who helped us uncover a large heroin smuggling ring. Through her assistance, and agreeing to make herself a target, we were able to capture the people responsible.”

  No mention of Major Vandenburg. Somehow I didn’t think his involvement would be making the morning news.

  Carson said, “I spoke with your boss. He said to apologize.”

  “About what?”

  “They had suspicions about Vandenburg but hadn’t been able to prove anything. Every time they went to a suspect village the poppy fields had been destroyed. They had been hoping that by leaving you in the prison that they’d finally be able to get the evidence to nail him. The recording from the wire you wore should help tie up the loose ends.”

  “What about the traitor?”

  “Believe me, I’m still looking for him.”

  Had to be someone fairly high up, I thought. “After all that it had nothing to do with--”

  Carson’s hand on my wrist stopped me.

  5491.

  He inclined his head.

  Then the nurse interrupted, “He’s in his room if you want to go in.”

  I walked into the hospital room hesitantly.

  Jordan lay on the blinding white sheets. “Hey,” he said, smiling fuzzily.

  “Hey.” I went closer to the bed, looking him over carefully. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Pretty good right now.” He grinned wryly. “Give it an hour and we’ll see.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Since we’d been back together we’d been on the run. Now...now reality was here.

  “That dive wasn’t part of the plan,” I said lamely.

  He tugged me down against the uninjured side of his body. “Neither was that surrender.”

  “Yeah.” I was afraid I’d hurt him, but his grip was firm. “I was protecting you.”

  “I don’t need protection.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I know. It’s one of the very best things I love about you.” Jordan squeezed me tighter. “You can take care of yourself.”

  Love?

  “But the little guy in there needs both of us.”

  I felt compelled to contradict. “Or girl.”

  Maybe he was right.

  Love. A pretty scary word.

  Except, if this were anyone else, anyone, I would have been long gone.

  My mouth suddenly dry, my heart just edging on frantic, it occurred to me that epic didn’t have to mean sacrifice on a grand scale. It just needed to be epic for us.

  I’d been protecting him, loving him as much as he’d been protecting me. “How about we...protect each other?”

  Then I realized it wasn’t just us anymore.

  Jordan and I had made a baby.

  The idea of the baby, the true miracle of the life I couldn’t feel inside me swelled over me in a tidal wave. A real, living entity of both of us, a mixture, a perfect physical expression of our love for each other.

  I rested my hand on my belly, and Jordan’s hand slid over mine, curling underneath the tiny bulge that seemed to get a little bigger every day.

  “And Junior.”

  I snorted. “I got checked out while we were waiting. I...we seem to be fine.” I thought about all my body had been through in the last two months, torture, abuse, drugs, starvation, and still this baby had held on. “This baby is a fighter.”

  “Like her mother.”

  “Like her father.” I contradicted, then took a deep breath. “Forgive me?”

  “Of course.”

  The tension eased from my body. “No more secrets.”

  “Agreed.”

  We had lots of details to work out, but I had confidence in us. I lay my head down next to Jordan’s on the scratchy linen pillow.

  Maybe I didn’t hate hospitals so much anymore. After all, life as I knew it was over...but a new life was beginning. Again.

  Thank you for reading BETRAYALS!

  If you enjoyed Staci and Jordan's story, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this book too. Here are some suggestions.

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  Please tell other readers why you liked BETRAYALS by reviewing it at one of the following websites: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads. If you do write a review, please send me an email (with a link to your review) at lisahughey@pacbell.net. I'd like to gift you a copy of the next Black Cipher Files book, (Zeke and Sunshine's story coming Fall 2012), or the first book in the series, BLOWBACK, as a way of thanking you. This offer is good until June 30, 2012.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks so much to Alicia Rasley for always imparting wisdom and for giving Jordan his scarab.

  Thanks to Ross for giving me info on WWII guns.

  Thanks to my whole family for giving me room to work. Thanks for all the emptied dishwashers, sorted laundry and folding clothes. And putting up with cereal for dinner.

  Thanks to Lynn, Adrienne, and Sophie for reading at a moment’s notice and generally keeping me sane. And to all of the Pens Fatales for their encouragement and support.

  Thanks to Martha for her daily check-ins and silent but deadly expectations. You spur me to be more creative, more productive, more everything and I cannot express how much I appreciate it.

  Finally, thanks to Jim for everything. Love you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lisa Hughey has been writing romance since the fourth grade, which was also about the time she began her love affair with spies. Harriet and Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys later gave way to James Bond and Lara Croft and Jason Bourne. Exploring the complex nature of a profession that requires subterfuge and lies fascinates her. She loves combining her two passions into fiction and hopes you love the results.

  You can find her on the web at www.lisahughey.com, or the group blog www.pensfatales.com ,on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lisa-Hughey-Fan-Page/133768193335188 on Twitter @lis
ahughey and on email: lisahughey@pacbell.net She loves to hear from readers!

  Happy reading!

  EXCERPT OF BLOWBACK

  Blowback

  Blowback (bloʹ bak) n. A deadly, unintended consequence of a covert operation.

  Eerie blue light penetrated my consciousness first. The regulated thump-thump of tires pounded in my head, echoing with fierce resonance.

  Where the hell was I? Why did I feel like this? I kept my eyes closed, knowing pretense was paramount to my survival. Wherever I was, it wasn’t normal.

  Ha. My life would never be normal.

  I tracked back to my last memory. I’d hooked up with a guy. Had relatively indiscriminate sex with him.

  I inhaled shallowly, carefully, not wanting to give away anything. I still smelled like sex. Really great sex.

  I wanted to smile but kept my expression lax.

  I’d longed to stay in that bed. Sleep with him. Just sleep with the comforting warmth of another human being. The ache had been so intense that as soon as he dozed off--I left.

  That was my last memory.

  “You can stop pretending.”

  I continued to fake sleep. I didn’t know that male voice. It was bland, not angry, but with a slight smirk, as if he knew something I didn’t.

  “You should be awake by now. We calibrate our doses very carefully.”

  That statement raised so many questions, I decided to comply with his unspoken request and let my eyes drift open. I calculated we were moving at a speed of about thirty miles per hour. Suburban, blacked out windows, bulletproof glass. The blue light came from the interior dome in the big SUV.

  “The light is to protect your eyes. The drug affects your pupil’s ability to dilate and contract.”

  What drug? I kept silent.

  “Not very curious, are you?”

  My last conscious memory was from the motel off of 295 near Alexandria around nine in the evening. It was pitch dark out now, so I’d been out for awhile.

  Lucas. Could the guy have been a plant? Possible. Since he was my last clear memory, it made sense.

  I sifted through the spaghetti of my brain. For the past two days, I’d been undercover, shadowing Staci Grant’s life. Last night, I’d encountered Lucas Goodman, who’d been looking for Staci and thought he’d found her when he found me. The sexual heat between us had been instantaneous and mutual. A few sweaty hours later, I’d left, confident my movements as Staci had been tracked. My cover had been working.