"Did you live in New Haven at the time?"
"No, we were in Woodbridge then, which isn't far. Anyway, that was the one and only time I went to the storage center. After my mom died, one day my dad showed up with all my boxes. He said he wanted to give me some of my memories back and make me feel better." She paused. "I didn't know he still had the storage unit. It wasn't something I thought about, that's for sure. But I guess he kept it all these years. Maybe he needed it after he sold the house I grew up in."
He was beginning to think that Alan had a lot more secrets than anyone could imagine. "So that's it, that's the whole story? Was there anything else on the voicemails?"
"No, just vague apologies and telling me to be careful and to run as fast and as far away as I could once I did the two things he asked me to do—get the key and go to the storage unit."
"I still don't like that the unit is in New Haven where he went to school. Maybe Peter Hunt knew about his beer bottle collection and where he stashed it."
"I don't think my father would send me into trouble."
"Well, the cabin didn't work out so well." He got to his feet and walked around the room, thinking about all the different scenarios that could play out. His gut was churning, his instincts telling him they could easily be walking into some sort of a trap.
"What are you thinking?" Sophie asked worriedly.
"That we should abandon the storage unit and just lay low until we figure out what's going on."
"But I have to go there. My dad told me it was important. I have to follow what he said. It was the last thing he asked me to do."
"When he asked you, he didn't know someone was going to find you at the cabin. He wouldn't want you to go into danger."
She stared back at him with determination in her eyes. "We can argue about it all night, but I'm going there in the morning. My father left me something, and I have to know what it is."
"I can stop you."
She got to her feet and walked over to face him. "You could probably do that, but you're not going to."
His heart thudded against his chest. "Why wouldn't I?"
She didn't answer right away, and the tension between them tightened so much he felt as if something was about to snap—maybe him. He shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her, because with her standing so close, he could barely remember what they were arguing about.
"Because you want to know what's in there as much as I do," she said finally.
He blinked, forcing himself to refocus on the conversation.
"And you know that if we don't find the storage unit first, whatever is there could be gone forever," she added.
"It could already be gone," he said. "We don't know if we're ahead or behind."
"We'll find out tomorrow. You should take a shower, Damon; you look hot."
He was hot all right, fired up by the situation, by her, by the damned summer heat. "Finally, one of your ideas I actually like."
He went into the bathroom, shut the door and took a deep breath. He never had trouble concentrating on a mission, but Sophie was making it almost impossible to think and act logically. He could not run on emotion the way she did, or they were both going to end up dead.
Stripping off his clothes, he got into a cold shower and felt a rush of relief.
Unfortunately, he had a feeling the heat would be back as soon as he left the shower, because he and Sophie still had to get through the night together.
Ten
Sophie sat down on the edge of the bed as she heard the shower go on. She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow down her racing pulse. Damon had definitely gotten her worked up. She felt like she'd just finished a ten-mile run. Not that she ran enough to know what that would feel like, but it was probably like this.
She got back up, adrenaline and something else making her want to move.
The something else was, of course, Damon.
For a moment there, she'd thought he was going to kiss her. And for a moment there, she'd wanted him to. She'd wanted to go back to the night they'd spent together when everything bad had faded away, when only good feelings had washed over her, when she'd felt desired and adored and connected…
But look how that ended…
She'd woken up alone. Even though she didn't regret the night, she did wish he'd given them a chance to see if they could have had more than a night.
But she didn't need to be thinking about that now.
She had bigger problems—much bigger problems.
She wasn't stupid. She knew that someone else might know about the storage unit, but she had to trust in someone, and right now the only person she could absolutely trust was her father.
Still, as Damon had reminded her, the cabin had been attacked and surely her father had not anticipated that happening. Was she going to walk into another dangerous situation? But if she didn't go, she'd never know what was there, what her father wanted her to have, and that was unthinkable.
So, she'd go and hope that Damon wouldn't try to stop her.
That thought made her wonder if she shouldn't leave while he was in the shower. She could get a cab, leave Damon to find his own way back to New York. Although, he'd probably track her down at the storage unit. There weren't that many in New Haven. She really should have kept that piece of information to herself, but it was too late now.
Run or stay…the decision seemed suddenly huge.
And then the bathroom door opened and Damon walked out in jeans and no shirt, beads of water clinging to his broad shoulders, the perfect amount of dark hair drifting across his chest and down his hard abs. Right now, he looked a lot less like a federal agent and very much more like the incredibly hot guy she'd had sex with four years ago.
She swallowed hard as he crossed the room and stood in front of the air-conditioning unit, shaking out his damp hair with his fingers.
Yeah, leaving really wasn't an option.
She sat down on her bed, starting to think of the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress as her island of sanity in the midst of her turbulent life.
She grabbed the remote and turned up the sound on the television. The local news was on, the first story about a protest at Yale over a new increase in tuition fees. Nothing particularly earth-shattering there, and that was fine with her. She was trying to calm down, not get amped up over more bad news in the world. Maybe they'd do the weather next or sports, things that wouldn't change the course of her life.
"We have breaking news," the female anchor said, interrupting her co-host, who was about to talk about an upcoming art festival. "Out of New York," she added, then paused, as she listened to whoever was talking in her ear.
Damon turned away from the air conditioning to look at the television.
A photo came up on the screen, and for a split second she was terrified it might be a picture of her father or of her, but it was a man she didn't recognize. She blew out a breath. "Thank God, it's not my dad or us," she murmured.
"Don't thank God yet," he said tersely.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer as the news anchor continued with the story. "The body pulled from the Hudson River earlier tonight was that of thirty-six-year-old Lorenzo Venturi, the youngest son of the infamous Mafia leader, Giancarlo Venturi, who died in prison last year after serving half of a life sentence for murder, racketeering, money laundering and a long list of other criminal activities. He is survived by his older brother Stefan and his mother Venetia."
"Damn," Damon said, his profile turning hard. "That's not good."
"What does this guy's death have to do with us?"
"Your father ran the organized crime division, Sophie."
"I know that. Was this guy part of one of his cases?"
"Yes. And I'm fairly certain that my friend who's in trouble has been undercover with the Venturi family for the last year."
"What does this mean then? Is it such a bad thing when one of the bad guys ends up dead?"
"Depends on who killed him and why. And whether or not they were also responsible for your father's death."
"I can't imagine it's the same person. This man was a criminal. My dad was a federal agent."
"Venturi could have been turned into an informant by your dad. He could have been passing him critical information."
"And that's why they're both dead?" she asked.
"Possibly. Or it could have been a power grab between the Venturi brothers, who resurrected the business after their father died."
"That makes more sense. If you look back through history, brothers killing brothers to attain power is quite a common theme."
"It's a plausible theory," he said. "But all we really know for sure is that the body count is going up fast, and we don't want to add to it."
"No, we don't," she said heavily, his words reminding her just how precarious her life was right now.
"You wanted another puzzle piece, Sophie. We just got one. Now we have to figure out where it fits."
"Maybe there will be an answer in the storage unit."
He met her gaze. "I still think it's a bad idea. Maybe I should go alone."
"No way. That's not happening."
"I could take the key from you. I could figure out where it goes."
"You could, but you're not going to, because we're in this together. You asked me to trust you, and I have. You're not going to let me down, are you?"
His expression hardened. "No, I'm not going to let you down."
"Good." She flipped the channel to a sitcom rerun, desperately needing some canned laughter and happy music.
"I'm going to see what else I can find out about Lorenzo Venturi's death online," Damon said, reaching for his phone.
"Are you sure your search won't trigger some FBI flag? You're using the motel Internet. Can't it be traced?"
"It can, but with news organizations reporting on Venturi's death, I think there will be thousands of searches on the subject tonight. We won't stand out."
"You always have an answer."
He looked up from his phone, his blue eyes unusually dark. "Not always, Sophie."
"What question can't you answer?" she asked daringly, knowing she probably shouldn't, but she couldn't stop herself.
"How we're going to keep our hands off each other tonight."
Her breath stuck in her chest. "Well, it would be easier if you put your shirt back on."
A slow smile spread across his face. "But it's so hot in here."
"Yeah, and you're not helping." She turned up the sound on the television again until it was almost blaring.
Damon retrieved his shirt from the bathroom, covering up just the way she'd asked. She just wished she hadn't asked…
"You don't have to worry, Sophie," Damon said a moment later, a gleam in his eyes. "Nothing is going to happen that you don't want to happen."
Which only made her worry more…
* * *
When had his life gone so wrong? Wyatt walked through the 8th Street arcade which was housed in an old warehouse. The arcade was crowded with kids, and it reminded him of when his biggest goal had been to break the record on whatever video game he was playing. But that life felt like a lifetime ago and yearning for it was pointless, so he quickly made his way to the back of the building where the batting cages were located under an array of bright lights. There were five cages, the first two being used by high school boys. Bree was in the last one.
He paused, watching her adjust her helmet over her ponytail, then her batting stance, as she waited for the ball machine to start. The first pitch came in hard and fast. She swung and connected in the sweet spot of the bat, sending the ball soaring into the netting behind the machine. If they'd been on a baseball field, it might have gone over the fence.
That was Bree—always swinging for the fences.
He felt another odd wave of nostalgia. Watching Bree reminded him of when they'd all first met at Quantico, how filled with hope and optimism and energy they'd been. They were going to run the world, but now the world was running them—or at least him. Perhaps Damon, too. He'd read the messages in the forum, and he knew Damon was in trouble. He couldn't count on him for help.
Could he count on Bree?
He'd never really known her that well. She'd had a fling with Jamie and been partnered with Damon on a lot of team assignments, so she'd been closer to them, but as for him and her—they'd always been on the periphery of each other. He did know that she was smart, fearless, and fiercely loyal. He needed all three traits about now.
Taking another look around, he saw no one who rang any alarm bells, so he walked over to the fence, standing behind her.
"Took you long enough," she said, without looking at him. "I'm almost out of quarters."
He didn’t know why, but the normalcy of her words lightened the load he'd been carrying the past few days. "Looks like you'll be ready for summer softball."
"No time for games." She hit one last shot into the nets before setting down her bat and walking over to him. As she got closer, her frown grew. "You look awful."
"Good thing I don't have a mirror."
"Damon said you were messed up."
"You talked to him?"
"Yesterday—before he went looking for Sophie Parker, and ran into a barrage of bullets. But he's okay—for now. Did you see his messages?"
"A few minutes ago. He doesn't say—is he with Parker's daughter?"
"Not sure, but I think so. She's still officially missing." Bree paused, her blue eyes getting more serious. "Damon didn't tell anyone at the Bureau he was looking for Sophie. He's put himself in a bad position by not bringing anyone else in on the information he had. Peter Hunt was furious when Damon's car was found shot up at a cabin apparently owned by Alan, although the ownership was buried beneath layers of LLCs. Peter told everyone in the office today that the next person who goes off on their own is going to be fired, no questions asked. I've never seen him so worked up, but then he did just lose one of his best friends."
"Which begs the question—if Peter and Alan were close, why didn't Hunt know about Parker's cabin?"
"A good question. Maybe it was Parker's safe house."
"How did Damon know about it?"
"Probably from Jamie. He used to go to the Adirondacks in the summers. That's why his sister had Jamie's wake there. I'm guessing Damon met Sophie at the lake that weekend."
"Right. You didn't go to Jamie's wake, did you?"
"No. Just the funeral," she said, a shadow flitting through her gaze. "At any rate, Damon and Sophie are not at the cabin anymore. Where they are now, I have no idea, but Peter has a lot of people looking for them."
"What do you think of Hunt?"
"He has a good reputation and a lot of powerful friends. I saw him leaving the office today with Senator Greg Raleigh."
"That's interesting," he muttered. "Senators don't usually come to the office."
"That's what I thought. I looked him up. Raleigh went to Yale the same time as Alan and Peter. I'm sure he was there to find out what's going on in the investigation."
"To make sure justice will be served…or not."
"You've gotten very jaded, Wyatt."
"Can't deny that. Been undercover too long."
"Speaking of which, I just heard that they pulled Lorenzo Venturi's body out of the river. Does that mean anything to you?"
She knew he was working with the Venturis? Sudden doubt stiffened his spine. Had he made a tactical error? "Should it?" he challenged.
"Well, Alan works on organized crime. You work for Alan. He's dead, and now, so is a known mobster. Seems like there could be a connection," she said with cool confidence. "I doubt I'll be the only one to make it. Any idea who killed Venturi?"
"No. But it was probably the same person who killed Alan and tried to take me out."
"That sounds like another Venturi. Why are you so afraid of coming into the office, Wyatt? If you're made, you need protection."
&n
bsp; "I don't know who to trust at the Bureau."
"Why? What happened?"
"Alan set up a meet with me on Monday. Someone was waiting for me, and it wasn't Alan. There's no way anyone would have known about our meet if they didn't get the information from Alan or didn't know how to hack the system. It was an inside job. I'm sure of it."
She frowned, not looking completely convinced.
"You want more?" he asked. "Then add this into the equation. The attack on me was on Monday, two days before Alan died. Where the hell was he when I was fighting for my life? Why didn't he respond to the emergency protocol I initiated after that?"
"Is it possible he didn't get the message?"
"If he didn't, then someone close to him was keeping him from getting the information."
"Like Karen Leigh?"
"She's his right hand."
"Okay. What else can you tell me? I can try to help you from the inside, but I need more information, Wyatt. You're going to have to trust someone, and I'm all you've got."
She was right, but he didn't like it. "There's a new player in the Venturi operation. I overheard an argument between Lorenzo and Stefan two weeks ago. Lorenzo told Stefan he was selling out the family, that his father was probably dying a second death in heaven watching him work for his enemies. Stefan told him it was a new world and to get used to it or get out." Wyatt paused. "It's possible that the new player decided to eliminate Lorenzo."
"But what part does Alan play in any of this? Aside from missing the meet, why don't you trust him?"
"I've been feeding him evidence for months, but he kept saying he didn't have enough. I also gave him information to use in busting a smaller side group, who could probably produce more evidence on the Venturis. He agreed to run a sting, but someone tipped off the group, and the bust went south."
"That might not have been Alan's fault."
Perilous Trust Page 11
