Concrete Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Glad to do it.”

  She began to pull away, but his fingers hooked around hers in a manner that was anything but casual. He glanced up at her building. “If you invite me up for a drink, we could talk about your need for a new work computer.”

  Damn. She hadn’t seen that coming. How in hell did she keep winding up in this situation? She cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  JT WATCHED ERICA KESLING as she hurried inside her apartment building. His lawyer would have his ass if he knew he’d just come on to an employee. Even worse, he’d botched it. But then, he wasn’t the least bit interested in her, so he could hardly be expected to bring his A-game.

  The building was nice. Not deluxe or anything, but with twenty-four-hour concierge and security, it couldn’t be cheap either, and Lee’s hacking hadn’t revealed any roommates. A steady income from artifact trafficking might be the only way she could afford to live here.

  He’d had the perfect opportunity to try to earn her trust and blew it by waiting too long and then coming on too strong. He should have chatted her up from the moment she climbed into his car, but he’d held back. Because Lee had a thing for her.

  Lee needed to understand the simple truth: Erica was a suspect or tool for gaining information. Nothing more, nothing less. JT didn’t know if his former stepbrother had the stomach to be so manipulative, but he suffered no such qualms.

  Erica had been a suspect even before he decided to ask Lee to work undercover. As an archaeologist, she could know the value of the smuggled artifacts. Then Lee’s hacking had revealed her shockingly bad credit history, including allegations of fraud. She’d moved closer to the top of the list, and they’d decided to place Lee in her office. The woman had motive and means. Had she seized an opportunity?

  He picked up his cell and called Lee. “You still at the office?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’ve already grabbed that file from Arnie’s office, you need to take it home with you. Erica noticed it was missing.”

  “Will do,” Lee said. “I just finished rewiring my Ethernet jack so I can connect to the protected Iraq LAN.”

  “You know I have no idea what that means, right?”

  “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re an engineer,” Lee said.

  “I don’t need to know how a computer works to use it.”

  “Basically, I have access to the secure Iraq project network without anyone in Bethesda knowing.”

  Finally. “Did you get ahold of Dominick?”

  “Just got off the phone with him.”

  “What did he say? If you find something we can use, will it be admissible in court?”

  “According to him, I’m not a federal law enforcement agent, so I don’t need a subpoena. And since you—the CEO—gave me permission, legally, I’m not hacking. We’re good.”

  JT had been worried about Lee talking to his longtime friend, Curt Dominick, the US Attorney for the District of Columbia, about their investigation. He didn’t want the feds to open their own investigation. To avert scandal, JT wanted to find the guilty parties and hand them over to the feds with a red bow—a display that corruption wasn’t tolerated at Talon & Drake. After debating the issue for a week, he finally gave in to Lee’s request to consult with Dominick. They needed to be certain anything Lee found could and would be used against the bastards who were using his company to smuggle. “Good. Now find the sons of bitches. This is taking too long.”

  “I’ve only had a day and a half in the office, I have to hide what I’m really doing, and I have a supervisor who expects me to work on her projects.”

  “I told you to be inept so she’d give up on you and do the work herself.”

  “You told me to be an incompetent, indecisive, Indiana Jones wannabe,” Lee said. “I’m the intern from hell. I hate me.”

  JT laughed. “I’ll meet you at your apartment in a half hour.” He hung up, glad Lee had conquered the network-access problem. Lee was relentless when trying to solve a problem or master a task. That was why he’d earned his fifth-degree black belt before he turned thirty, could play pool blindfolded, and had never met a computer system he couldn’t hack. If there were clues in the Bethesda network files, Lee would find them.

  The problem now was Erica. JT stared into the lobby of her building. He’d seen the way Lee’s eyes had followed her in the copy room. He’d heard it in Lee’s voice. Lee was taken with her.

  Regret twisted JT’s gut. If Lee’s infatuation stopped him from pursuing every lead, JT would have to intervene. There was too much at stake to worry about Lee’s—or Erica’s—feelings.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LEE MADE A POINT OF ARRIVING in the exercise room before Erica on Thursday and was working out with the bag when she arrived.

  She shook her head. “Are you trying to annoy me, or does it just come naturally?”

  “Use the treadmill,” he said, knowing that would irk her even more.

  She rolled her eyes and instead chose the free weights. For work, she always wore her hair in a thick twist at the nape of her neck, but for exercising, she always tied her hair in a ponytail that reached her waist. The silky dark strands tantalized him, and he wondered what her hair looked like loose and free. She weight-lifted with the same intensity she worked the bag, constantly pushing herself harder. The bruise she’d gotten when she fell on Monday was visible below the hem of her shorts, a vivid purple mark on otherwise perfect skin, but he was more interested in the way her tight tank top hugged her chest as she strained and flexed.

  “If you’re not going to work out, let me use the bag,” she said.

  He shook himself, realizing he’d been staring. “Want to spar?”

  She set down the hand weight and studied him. “We don’t have pads,” she said finally.

  “I’ll be gentle with you.” He tightened the Velcro straps on his foam gloves.

  She smirked and pulled her gloves from her workout bag. “I make no such promises.”

  She circled him on the mat, clearly not wanting to waste time with trivial things like rules. Of course, he’d been doing his best to piss her off since they met, so he had it coming.

  She kept her eyes on his and feinted left, then kicked high to the right. He blocked the kick and punched, checking his swing so his glove merely kissed her shoulder.

  As she kicked and punched, her face became flushed, her eyes bright. He caught her in a clinch hold to halt a blow and felt the burn of her vibrant energy. She kicked high, and his block knocked them both off-balance. They hit the mat with arms and legs entangled, her body pinned beneath his. She laughed, full, loud, exuberant.

  He propped himself on an elbow as his own laughter subsided, then looked down on her. His breath caught. She was so damn beautiful…but it was more than that. It was her brains, her drive, the way she’d faced down a man who obviously scared her. And his reaction to her was a problem. But right now, he just wished he weren’t wearing the damn gloves. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair.

  She pushed against his chest. “Let me up.”

  Remember your role. “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

  “I’m not afraid.” She pushed again.

  “Liar. Let me take you out. Dinner, tonight.”

  “You aren’t my type. I like men who can earn a degree in less than seven years.”

  He held back a grin. She didn’t like his character. He could live with that. He didn’t like the intern either. “And I like a challenge.”

  This time when she pushed, he rolled back and she got to her feet. “Then go challenge yourself with the weights, Romeo. We’re done sparring. I get the bag now.”

  He chuckled and gave her what she wanted. After he’d showered and dressed, he timed his exit from the locker room to match hers. “I was going to get a smoothie. Join me?”

  She hesitated, then said, “I can’t.”

  “C’mon. My treat.” He took her
arm and pulled her toward the juice bar. He bought her a drink and breakfast sandwich, and they settled into a table in the corner. “Since I paid, we can consider this our first date.”

  She shook her head but smiled and thanked him, then took a bite of the egg-and-cheese sandwich. The look of pleasure on her face was out of scope with the rubbery food.

  The only thing he’d seen her eat all week had been antacid tablets. He knew about her financial troubles from hacking into her credit report. Was she so broke she was skipping meals? He felt a rush of something he didn’t want to name.

  She was a suspect, but her outward poverty indicated innocence. Was she really as impoverished as she seemed? He had an idea for another way to get close to her. “You’ve taken some karate. Do you have a dojo in town?”

  “Not anymore. I can’t afford it. But the company gym is free.”

  “I can teach you. I’m a fifth-degree black belt in Kenpo.” It was refreshing to tell her the truth for a change.

  “You’ve worked that hard at one thing? You didn’t switch to yoga, then Tae Kwon Do? You’re destroying my slacker image of you.”

  He smiled. When he was twelve, after a CIA hacking incident that nearly landed him in jail, Joe had been determined to find Lee a safer hobby. Being a sly bastard, Joe convinced JT to take up karate. Private lessons with the stepbrother he worshiped was all the incentive Lee needed to make karate the focus of his teen years. He shook off the feeling the memory stirred and focused on the woman who had begun to wreak havoc with his mind. “When do you want to start your private lessons?”

  “Never. And I won’t spar with you again.” She set down her drink. “Lee, I’m your supervisor—”

  “So? We’re both adults.”

  “Really?” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Are we both adults?”

  If only she knew. He’d never been fond of his intern persona, but in that moment he really hated the bratty prick. “It’s not like this is a real job. I’m only here for six weeks.”

  “That’s the problem. For you, this isn’t a real job. For me, it’s my whole life.”

  “That’s…pathetic. We need to find a way to entertain you outside of work.” He grinned. “I have an idea…”

  She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You are the most exasperating—”

  “—charming—”

  “—frustrating man I’ve ever met.”

  He leaned to whisper in her ear and inhaled her heady scent. “And you’re as turned on by me as I am by you.” He stood and headed for the elevator, secure in the knowledge she was staring after him, probably annoyed by the truth of his words.

  He found the truth damned inconvenient himself. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, but as long as he was, he’d use it.

  She joined him as he waited for the elevator. Like her tightly coiled hair, her face was all business. The workday had begun.

  When they reached their eighth-floor office, he pushed open the door and came to a dead stop. Their office had been ransacked.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FRIDAY MORNING, LEE FAKED running Internet searches on Thermo-Con and Higgins while Erica sat at her computer and quietly muttered curses directed at the room, the computer, the project, and herself. If he’d made progress yesterday during their sparring match, it had been undermined by the vandalism, and she’d been remote for the last twenty-four hours.

  Other offices had been trashed on Wednesday night: Rob Anderson’s, a chemist’s, and accounting. Now he was left wondering which office was the real target?

  His Ethernet rewiring hadn’t been discovered—he currently had unfettered access to the Iraq network. But there could be other reasons to target the archaeology lab he shared with Erica. On Monday he’d used Erica’s log-in to hack into other secure areas of the network, to familiarize himself with the system. Had he made a mistake and left tracks? Had someone targeted their office because he’d screwed up and directed suspicion to Erica?

  She let out a stream of curses that would make a Teamster proud.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. “We’ve got seventy-two hours until the Thermo-Con EA is due, and we’ve found exactly nothing about the history of the house. We haven’t answered a single research question.”

  He tried to think of something encouraging to say but was distracted by the way her blouse stretched taut across her breasts, one button threatening to give way. Christ, he was thinking like a damn teenager. He turned back to his computer.

  He was losing sight of what mattered.

  She might have turned to trafficking Iraqi artifacts because she needed money. The theory was solid. The only problem was Erica. He couldn’t reconcile the woman sitting across the room with those actions.

  She was a puzzle he didn’t need. He had bigger mysteries to solve. He opened the e-mail that had started this foolish quest, hoping to see a piece of information he’d missed the first five hundred times he’d read it.

  JT—

  Talon & Drake employees are smuggling something out of Iraq. I don’t know for certain what is being smuggled, but I suspect artifacts.

  Talon & Drake equipment is being shipped back to the US via military transport. Because the military is involved, security is tight and transport information is classified. I don’t know what is being shipped or when it will arrive, but I believe the smuggled goods will be hidden inside the equipment and a Bethesda office employee will know how to retrieve them. I am gathering proof and will keep you informed.

  —Matt Weber

  On the surface, the e-mail was short on substance and details. It lacked names and specifics but was full of unsubstantiated accusations and excuses for being vague. It could have been a hoax. Lee wanted it to be a hoax. But the damning fact was Matt Weber had been killed by an IED an hour after sending this. Just another contractor caught in the cross fire.

  JT didn’t believe it, and neither did Lee.

  JT’s request for an inventory and status of equipment in Iraq revealed nothing. Officially, Talon & Drake had no equipment en route from Iraq via military transport. But JT hadn’t been satisfied with that and had asked Lee to hack the network to see if shipping data had been buried on purpose. Lee’s job was to search without tipping off the conspirators. They wanted to catch them red-handed. So here he was, scouring the internal network to determine what piece of Talon & Drake equipment was being returned, how it was being shipped, and when it would arrive. Once he had a lead, they’d use the information to catch the smugglers in the act with the help of the FBI. By rooting out the bastards internally and making an example of them, JT hoped to protect Joe’s campaign from being tainted with scandal.

  But figuring out who in Bethesda was involved wasn’t so simple. Because of the need for security on the defense contracts, the Bethesda network at Talon & Drake was extremely secure, and the computers used for the Iraq project had their own separate network. Until Lee spliced the cable Wednesday night, all the computers with access to the Iraq project files had no online access at all. The only way in was for Lee to rewire the system so his Ethernet jack had access to the internal Iraq project LAN.

  Between the necessary rewiring, copying all e-mails sent to and from Talon & Drake employees, and setting up a trap to capture every cell phone call made within the building—and then matching cell phone numbers to known users, to weed out all but the anonymous prepaid phones favored by criminals—he’d been very busy as he pretended to be the ultimate slacker.

  Time wasn’t on their side. In a little more than a week, Joe would officially announce he was running for president, and Lee’s cover was sure to be blown. Lee’s mother had divorced the senator twenty years ago. Right now, no one cared about or remembered their five-year marriage. When Joe ran for the Senate the first time, Lee had been a twenty-year-old junior at Columbia. Living in New York and busy with school, he hadn’t been part of the campaign and was just a footnot
e in Joe’s biography. Six years later, Joe’s reelection had been a walk, and there’d been no reason for Lee to get involved. But presidential politics were on a different scale, and after Joe made his announcement, the press would scour Joe’s history, and it would be impossible for Lee to keep his identity secret. He needed a break. And he needed it soon.

  LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Erica sat at her desk, flipping through the Thermo-Con file. Lee was doing Lord knew what at his computer, but she’d bet good money—if she had any—it wasn’t the research she’d asked him to do.

  She’d get on his case, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. More than a day had gone by since someone had destroyed her office. Someone. Who was she kidding? It had to be Jake. But why? Was it a warning? Had he been looking for something? If he knew about the photos she’d taken of the artifacts… She didn’t want to think about what he was capable of.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Jake was capable of.

  She could contact the FBI, but it wasn’t that simple. Artifact theft didn’t rank with drug trafficking or mob violence. It wasn’t like the FBI would place her in the witness protection program. Hell, given her credit history, they’d probably assume she wanted to be in the program to escape her debt.

  She would never be safe from Jake and Marco.

  And now the project she’d demanded so she could have an in with the tribe was a bust. The draft EA was due on Monday, and she had no new information on Thermo-Con except for the paltry sentence they’d found at the National Archives that included the name Higgins. She’d spent hours yesterday at the Library of Congress and come back with nothing.

  She’d managed to leave Lee behind, but this morning Janice sent her a stern e-mail saying she wasn’t supposed to go on research excursions without her intern.

  She studied the bad photocopy of the front page of the Fort Belmont newspaper, the Citadel, from early 1953. She’d read the article several times. She’d even read the neighboring columns, in hopes they would contain a kernel of information. One of the headlines said, FORT BELMONT SOLDIER DIES IN KOREA, WIFE’S AND SON’S WHEREABOUTS STILL UNKNOWN, and told about the missing mother and son mentioned in the journal they’d read at the archives.