Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  He drew in a breath. "Look, I don't know if Alan was playing both sides, but I have to find out. Unfortunately, I have no resources and it looks like Damon is in as much shit as I am."

  "Well, lucky for both of you, there's a woman around to bail you out," she said with a cocky smile. "First things first—where are you staying?"

  "On the street."

  "That must be why you smell like garbage. You'll stay at my apartment."

  "No. Someone could be watching you."

  "Why would they be watching me? I'm not in Karen's division. I don't work with you or Damon."

  "But you were at Quantico with us. Alan was your instructor, too. He brought you into the New York office, just like he did with me and Damon."

  Her gaze narrowed. "You think that means something? He brought in a lot of people, and we all went through Quantico."

  "There's a link. I don't know what it is, but my gut tells me that the three of us being in New York is not random."

  "You can't sleep on the street, Wyatt. There's an underground garage in my building. I can sneak you in through there. No one will see you come in. We need to work on this together."

  He was tempted. A bed and a shower were starting to feel like desperate needs, but he didn't want to put Bree in danger.

  "I can take care of myself," she said, obviously reading his mind. "I also have food there. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

  "I could eat," he admitted.

  "Then it's done. 53rd and Hayes, walk between the first two buildings. There's a side door into the garage. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes." She paused. "You can trust me, Wyatt."

  He walked back through the arcade and onto the street. He hoped he wasn't about to make a huge mistake.

  Eleven

  Damon woke up before Sophie on Friday morning. It was his second restless night in a row, and his mood was not the best, especially since the air conditioning seemed to have kicked off. The sun was just coming up, so he took another shower, before quietly re-entering the room.

  Sophie was asleep, her golden hair laying in beautiful tangles across the white pillow, one hand tucked under her chin. She'd thrown off the covers and her top had crept up her torso, revealing a beautiful patch of creamy skin.

  His cold shower quickly became a distant memory.

  Grabbing the phone, he searched for a car rental place. There was one only four blocks away. That was good news. And it opened at seven—five minutes from now. He'd rent the car, find them some breakfast and by the time he got back, Sophie would be awake, dressed, alert, maybe even a little annoying, so he could get rid of the very inconvenient desire he felt for her.

  He didn't really know how he'd made it through the night, but endless episodes of sitcom television had finally sent them both into a stupor. Since he'd told her nothing was going to happen that she didn't want to happen, he'd waited for her to make a move, but she hadn't.

  That was probably the smartest thing she'd done in the past two days.

  Now it was time to start thinking about what was ahead.

  He checked the parking lot, which didn't take long, since there were only a few cars, all of which were empty. There was an older man in the office, sitting behind the desk. Through the blinds on the window, he could see the television was on.

  He walked quickly down the street. Hopefully, nothing would go wrong before he got back.

  * * *

  Damon was gone—again.

  Sophie walked over to the window and looked out. There was no sign of him.

  He wanted her to trust him, but he continued to keep her out of the loop, and she was getting a little tired of him calling all the shots.

  Where on earth had he gone? They didn't have a car. Had he called a cab? Walked somewhere? Had he looked up the storage unit address online and gone without her?

  She quickly put her hand into her pocket, relieved when her fingers curled around the key. If he'd gone to the storage area without her, he'd have taken the key. Although he didn't know which unit it was; she had that information in her head.

  She didn't really believe he'd abandoned her. He seemed to be determined to stay as close to her as possible.

  Unless their personal chat the night before had made him nervous?

  She smiled at that thought. Damon was a tough, fearless guy—a soldier, a special agent, a man no doubt fully prepared to die while carrying out his duty. But when it came to talking about anything personal, he spooked pretty easily.

  Having learned more about his family, his selfish parents, his back-and-forth childhood, she had a better understanding of why he might stay away from relationships. He hadn't had good role models growing up. Love in his life probably looked like a battlefield. And Damon didn't want to die on that field, so he stayed out of love.

  At least, she thought he did.

  He hadn't mentioned any women in his life. And he'd said there was no one to worry about him, but perhaps she was making assumptions.

  Turning away from the window, she told herself to stop thinking about his love life and concentrate on what was ahead. The storage center opened in an hour. In a very short time, she'd learn exactly what her father had left her. Hopefully, it would give her some sort of peace, closure…something to help start the healing process. It would be even better if it also provided information and clues as to who had killed her dad.

  Taking advantage of Damon's absence, she got into the shower and let the water and shampoo clean away some of the grime of the last two days. She hadn't taken a shower since before she'd left for work on Wednesday morning, and it felt good to feel clean again.

  It also felt like she was taking the first step back into her life, although that was probably an optimistic thought. There would be no return to normal for her, because even when they figured out who had killed her father and tried to kill her, her dad would still be gone. At the end of the day, she'd be alone. There would be no dad to call after an exciting discovery on a dig, or a bad day at work, or something funny a student had told her. No dad with a shoulder to lean on when life got tough or she felt sad. No dad to walk her down the aisle, hold her first child, tell her future husband he better be good to her or else…

  Her mouth trembled as all the sadness she'd been holding at bay came back with the power of a rushing waterfall. She bit back a sob, telling herself it still wasn't time to cry. But the dam was breaking and here in the steamy shower with the water pounding down, it was easier to let the tears fall.

  She cried for her loss. She cried out her fear. She cried for the injustice of it all. And when she finally ran out of emotion, she let the water stream down her face and wash it all away.

  By the time she was done, the hot water was gone and it was almost a relief to feel nothing but cold. The chill brought back the protective numbness that would keep her going, allow her to do what she needed to do.

  She grabbed a towel, dried off, then blew-dry her hair, used some blush and lipstick that she happened to have in her bag, and put her sad, sweaty clothes back on. Picking up another outfit might have to get on the schedule at some point.

  When she stepped out of the bathroom, Damon was sitting at the table with more bags of food, and the smell of bacon made forgiveness a little easier. "So, you're back."

  "You can't be too angry," he said with a pleading smile. "I brought you bacon, pancakes, waffles, and eggs."

  "And what did you bring for yourself?" she asked, as she sat down across from him.

  He smiled. "Not in a sharing mood?"

  "You should have woken me up and told me where you were going, Damon. You left me here without a note or a phone."

  "Sorry. I didn't see any paper, and I thought you could use the sleep. I was only gone twenty minutes. Eat, you'll feel better."

  She frowned but decided eating would get her further than arguing. She opened the carton holding three buttermilk pancakes, lathered each with a slab of butter, and poured on some maple syrup. Then she took a b
uttery bite and almost sighed with delight. "This is good."

  "Excellent," he agreed, as he munched on a piece of bacon.

  She noticed his concerned gaze, and wiped her mouth with her fingers. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

  "Are you all right, Sophie?"

  "Don't I look all right?" she countered.

  "I thought I might have heard you crying."

  "That was just the shower running," she lied, hoping her red eyes didn't completely give her away. "I'm fine. I'm ready to get on with the day. Do you think we should take a cab to the unit?"

  "I rented us a car."

  "What? Already?"

  "There was a place not far away. I had enough cash to cover it."

  "But it's in your name. How can we use it?"

  "We won't use it long, but I wasn't sure how far away the place was, and I like having a car with us, in case we need to make a quick exit. Or in case your father wants you to go somewhere else."

  "Okay." She did wonder if there would be another stop after this one, if her dad had left her more instructions to follow, but she'd find that out soon enough. "Did you check your forum this morning? Did you hear from your friends?"

  He nodded. "Yes. Bree said they met up last night. Everyone is safe for the moment." He paused. "Do you know Senator Raleigh?"

  "He went to school with my dad. Why?"

  "He met with Peter at the office yesterday."

  "I'm sure he's trying to find out what happened." She saw something in Damon's eyes. "Why does it bother you?"

  "It doesn't bother me; I'm just trying to figure out if it's an important detail or not. What do you know about him?"

  "Not much. My dad probably saw him once a year at a golf tournament for Yale alums. I don't think they had much contact beyond that." She racked her brain to think of any other details. "He's married. He lives somewhere in Connecticut. That's all I know."

  "Who else goes to this golf tournament?"

  "Peter Hunt; he's a very good golfer. Harrison Delano and Michael Brennan usually go."

  "Delano—he owns the hotel chain, right?"

  "Delano Hotels, yes. I think Harrison owns a lot of other things as well—boats, planes, small islands. Karen told me that my father had a dinner on his calendar with Harrison for this week, but, of course, he didn't keep it. She wanted to know what that was about. I had no idea, and I told her that. I was a little surprised, because I know my dad had a bit of a falling-out with Harrison a while ago, something to do with a botched anniversary weekend at one of his hotels. I think my dad wanted to surprise my mom with something special before she died, and Harrison charged him over the moon for it. There was definitely some kind of misunderstanding, and I know Harrison didn't come to my mom's funeral. But somewhere along the way, they must have patched things up."

  "Interesting. Who's Michael Brennan?"

  "Michael runs a hedge fund. He's a finance guy, somewhat on the serious side. He has a daughter around my age and a son a few years older. We used to see them for holiday parties back in the day. My mom and Michael's wife were friends for a time." She paused, thinking how long ago that life seemed now. "All those friendships kind of disintegrated after my mom died, which is kind of weird, because they were my dad's friends, but I think she was the one who liked to socialize. My dad was always working. She had to make sure he'd take time off once in a while. Otherwise, he never did."

  "Your father ran with a rich crowd," Damon commented.

  "He graduated from an Ivy League school—what do you expect? But they're not all rich. Peter certainly isn't. And Diane is definitely not."

  "Diane?"

  "Diane Lewis. She's a long-time friend and a professor at Yale now. She gave me a lot of advice when I was deciding what degrees to get and whether or not I should take my teaching position at NYU. She was a big help." She paused, thinking about how sad all of her father's friends must be, especially Diane, who had such a big heart. "I wish I could talk to Diane, too. She's a lovely person, and I know she must be worrying about me."

  "You'll be able to talk to her when this is over."

  "Will I?" she challenged. "My dad's messages made it sound like I was going to have to disappear for a long time."

  Damon frowned again. "I don't know how he thought you were going to manage that on your own with the entire FBI looking for you, and God knows who else."

  "I don't, either. Maybe the answer is in the storage unit." She wiped her mouth and stood up. "Let's go."

  * * *

  Sophie grew more nervous the closer they got to the storage center, and she was actually glad she wasn't driving this morning, since she couldn't seem to stop the waves of unsettling unease rocketing through her body. Was this a good idea? Was she crazy to make another stop at a place her father had owned? Was Damon right?

  Damon suddenly put a hand on her thigh, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

  "Take a breath," he said, glancing over at her.

  "I just have this terrifying feeling that my life is about to change again. Not that I can even imagine how it can get any worse."

  "Don't try to imagine that."

  She nodded, but she couldn't help noticing that he hadn't told her everything was going to be all right.

  "Is this the place?" he asked a moment later.

  "Yes," she said, as he slowed down.

  The storage center sat on a half-acre of land. A large two-story building housed the office and a one-story structure of about fifty eight-by-ten foot units formed a U-shape next to the building. The property was on the outskirts of town by the interstate and was surrounded by a chain link fence. It was a few minutes past eight, and the front gate was open, but Damon didn't drive through the entrance, continuing on for another few blocks.

  "What are you doing? That was the place."

  "Just taking a look."

  "What are you looking for?"

  "Anything I don't want to see," he said vaguely.

  "There was a white Jetta by the office. It could belong to the manager. I didn't see any other cars."

  "Nor did I. Where's the unit?"

  "It's around the back. It faces the interstate."

  "Okay." He made a U-turn and then returned to the storage center, driving through the entrance gates, then turning right to get to her unit.

  "It's there," she said, pointing to the third one in.

  He parked in front of the unit. "Let's do it."

  She got out of the car and met him by the padlocked door. Her fingers were shaking again, so bad she could barely put in the key. To her dismay, it didn't work.

  "Try again," Damon said.

  She drew in a breath and inserted the key again. It worked. She removed the lock and put it aside.

  Damon pulled up the roll-back door, and they walked into the space. There were a couple of large boxes in the unit, a bicycle she remembered from her dad's limited fascination with bike racing that had probably been part of his way of escaping from the grief of her mom's death. The beer bottle collection that had once been a source of contention between him and her mom was in an open crate on the floor. There was a filing cabinet that had once sat in her father's study and a small table that had been in their family room. A signed bat from Barry Bonds, one of her dad's favorite ballplayers, was propped up against the wall. But it was the silver aluminum suitcase next to the table that drew her attention. It was the one thing in the unit that she didn't recognize.

  She moved toward it, Damon right behind her. She was going to lift it, but it was heavier than she expected. Damon grabbed it and put it on the table.

  "You want to open it, or do you want me to?" he asked.

  She felt suddenly paralyzed. "I don't know if I should look inside."

  His deep-blue gaze was filled with understanding but also determination. "I can do it if you want."

  "No," she said quickly, realizing she couldn't make that choice. "My dad left it for me. I have to be the one to look at it first."

&nb
sp; Damon took a step back and motioned her forward.

  She licked her lips, then unzipped the case and lifted the lid, not sure what to expect.

  "Oh, my God," she murmured.

  Inside the case were stacks of hundred dollar bills.

  "Shit!" Damon swore. "What the hell were you thinking, Alan?"

  She was silently asking her father the very same thing. Then she noticed the mesh pocket on the inside lid of the suitcase. She unzipped it and pulled out passports and driver's licenses, her shock mounting as she saw her face, but different names, on each item. "I don't understand. What is all this?"

  "Your exit package," Damon said tersely. "Your dad knew you were going to need this to start over."

  She met his gaze. "Where—where did he get all this money?"

  "Do you really want me to answer that?"

  She could hear the anger in his voice, the betrayal…

  "No. No." She threw the passports and IDs back into the pocket and zipped the suitcase shut. "Let's just leave it here."

  "We can't do that," he said, grabbing the case.

  "I don't want it."

  "Your father left it for you, and we're not coming back for it when you change your mind. Now, let's get out of here."

  Before they could leave the unit, two men rushed inside. They wore black T-shirts and black jeans, ski masks covering their faces, a gun in each of their hands.

  Her heart thudded against her chest.

  They were trapped. There was no way out.

  Twelve

  He should have closed the door while they were inside.

  He should have left Sophie in the car.

  He should have done a lot of things.

  Instead, he'd let them get caught like mice in a trap.

  "Hand the case over," one of the men said in a deep, gravelly voice.

  He couldn't see their faces, but by their athletically powerful body types, he imagined both to be in their thirties.

  "Do it, or she dies," the second man said, aiming his weapon at Sophie.

  He could feel Sophie inching closer to him. Good. He wanted her behind him when he made his move. And he would make a move, because there was no doubt in his mind that these men were not going to leave them alive whether he gave them the case or not.