Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  He parked and removed the key from the ignition. "Sophie, we need to talk."

  "I know what you're going to say." She gave him an unhappy look. "I'd rather go with you, Damon."

  "I know you would. Here's the thing, Sophie. If you're there, my focus is going to be on you. That's just the way it would be. And that won't work. I have to concentrate on Karen. I have to be alert to any possible danger she might be bringing with her. This meeting is crucial. It might be the one opportunity we have to turn Karen to our side. If I can make her understand that giving up her boss will ultimately put her in a far better position than taking the fall, we might be able to unravel this whole tangled ball of yarn."

  "She's not going to get immunity, is she? If she's complicit in my father's death, then I want her to go to jail."

  "She won't go unpunished; I promise you that. But we don't believe she's running the show, and, ultimately, we want the head guy, the one giving the orders."

  "Maybe that's Peter. Bree doesn't think he has motivation or that he's vulnerable, but I'm guessing most people wouldn't have thought my father was, either."

  "I haven't eliminated Peter or anyone else for that matter, but right now Karen is the play." He paused. "I wouldn't leave you if I thought this wasn't the safer, better choice. When I get out, take the wheel, and if you see anything you don't like, just drive away."

  "Okay. I'll stay here. I get it. I don't like it, but I understand. You and Bree and Wyatt operate with a kind of shorthand. You're well-trained, you know what you're doing, and you trust each other."

  "Bree and Wyatt are two of the best," he agreed.

  "Wyatt is a little unapproachable."

  "He's been living in the shadows for a long time; it's isolating to be undercover that long. Sometimes you can forget who you are."

  "That makes sense. I feel like my old life is a million miles away, and it's been less than a week. I know when this is over, I'm going to need to actually deal with my dad's death."

  "You will, and I'll help you any way I can."

  "Thanks," she said softly, her gaze meeting his. "Damon, be careful. Promise me you'll come back."

  "I promise," he said, knowing he would do absolutely anything to keep that promise.

  He leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then he got out of the car and closed the door. He saw her crawl over the console and get behind the wheel. Then she flipped the locks.

  He took a look around, then walked up to the intersection to cross the street. As he moved through the entrance to the park, he hoped that in a few minutes they would have at least some of the answers they were looking for.

  After being off the grid the past few days, it felt strange to be walking in the open air. There were security cameras around the park, and he'd already noted where they were, so he could keep away from them. He didn't need the police getting in his way.

  Pulling out his phone, he initiated the four-way call, knowing Sophie would feel better if she could listen in. "I see the statue," he said. "I'm almost there."

  "I'm on the west side, in the trees," Bree said. "I have eyes on the statue. No sign of Karen."

  "I'm to the east," Wyatt returned. "All good on my end."

  "Sophie, you okay?" he asked, feeling like he needed to hear her voice, too.

  "I'm here," she said. "I don't want to interrupt, so I'm just going to listen."

  "If you need anything, speak up," he said.

  "I will. Hey, Bree," Sophie added. "Did the FBI ever figure out that tattoo on the shooter at the storage unit?"

  "Not that I'm aware," Bree said. "It wasn't in the update we got last night."

  "Maybe I'll research that while you're all doing this."

  Damon was happy Sophie was going to keep herself busy; that would make the time go faster.

  He moved toward the statue, a bronze art piece about ten-feet tall, depicting Alice in Wonderland and some of her friends, including the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit. It was quite a work of art, he thought, beautiful and whimsical. He could see why Sophie had liked it, and why there were lots of kids crowding around it now with their parents.

  He moved away from the statue to a drinking fountain and a bench tucked behind a small building with two family restrooms. Wyatt said he and Alan had had most of their conversations there, away from the crush of tourists.

  He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to go.

  He really hoped Karen was going to show up, because there was no Plan B.

  * * *

  No one had spoken in a couple of minutes, and Sophie's pulse began to beat faster. To distract herself, she opened up the Internet on her phone and started looking for more information on snake tattoos from Eastern Europe since Wyatt had mentioned that he thought the Venturis' new partner might be from that part of the world. That encompassed several countries, but at least she could narrow her search a bit.

  As she read more about the snakes, she wondered if she was going in the wrong direction. Maybe it wasn't the snake or the vines that were meaningful; perhaps it was the symbol.

  She opened her bag and pulled out her sketch. As she stared at it, she felt increasingly unsettled, uneasy. She really felt like she'd seen it before. But where?

  An old memory covered with cobwebs began to shake loose in her head.

  There was a party.

  Her mother had wanted to go. She was feeling better after her chemo treatments, and she'd wanted to wish her friend a happy birthday.

  She was fifteen, and bored with the adult conversation. The only kid at the party that she knew was Elena, and she'd disappeared. A housekeeper told her the teenagers were in the pool house. She'd gone down there and found a wild party scene. There were drugs everywhere. She couldn't believe this party was going on so close to the main house.

  She felt awkward, uncomfortable, scared. She was way out of her element. She went toward the bathroom. She thought she'd seen Elena go in there. She knocked. She thought she heard someone say something. The door was unlocked, so she opened it. Then she gasped, seeing Elena with a boy, her breasts hanging out of her shirt, the guy's hands under her skirt.

  "Get out," Elena ordered, fury in her eyes.

  She turned and ran out of the bathroom, bumping into a tall guy on her way through the pool house, her hair catching in the sharp edges of his ring.

  She could almost feel the tug, the sting against her scalp.

  She stopped as the guy swore and tried to disentangle her hair from the ring. It was a thick, male ring, with a red stone in the middle that looked like an eye.

  Her heart beat faster as she tried to hold on to the memory. Who was the guy?

  He'd had brown hair. He was tall. She had to look up at him. He wasn't smiling.

  Suddenly, she saw his brown eyes, and it clicked in. It was Michael Brennan's son, David. He was five years older than her and very intimidating.

  "Just hold still," he said, yanking her hair out of his ring. "What are you doing here anyway? You and Elena were supposed to stay in the house. Go back there now."

  She didn't tell him Elena was in the bathroom. She scurried out of the pool house and ran to find her parents.

  She wanted to tell them what was happening in the pool house, but her mom wasn't feeling well, and her dad was worried about her. So, she'd said nothing, and they'd gone home.

  They'd never gone back to the Brennans' house after that.

  Her mom had died several months later.

  As the memory ran around in her head, she felt like she was on the verge of something big.

  David Brennan had had a ring with the exact same design as the one she'd seen on the gunman's neck.

  Had David been the gunman? Had Damon shot David Brennan in the storage unit?

  No. That wasn't possible. Bree had reported that the FBI had no identity on that shooter. It hadn't been David.

  Maybe the design was popular. Maybe it was just a coincidence that David had a ring with the same image.

  She loo
ked back at her phone and typed Michael Brennan hedge fund investor and family into the search box. An image popped up of Michael, his wife Katya and their two children, David and Elena. In this photo, the kids were teenagers, about the same age as they'd been in her memories.

  David had his arm around his mother's shoulder, and she could see the ring she remembered on his hand. The image was too grainy to see the details, but she felt sure it was the same design.

  She scrolled through more search results, wondering if there was a clearer picture of the ring.

  In the next photo, everyone was older—mid-twenties, probably. And Michael was with another woman, a young, pretty blonde. She clicked on the article, which talked about Michael Brennan's new girlfriend, who was an actress. She remembered her father mentioning that Michael had gotten a divorce, but she hadn't paid much attention. They hadn't spent time with the Brennans after her mother died, and she'd certainly never been interested in hanging out with Elena or her brother after that strange party.

  She looked up from the phone and stared out the front window, thinking about the importance of Michael Brennan's son, David, having a ring with the very same design as the gunman's tattoo.

  If the design was Eastern European in nature, David's mother's name suddenly stood out in her head—Katya. Where had Katya been from? Czechoslovakia? Ukraine, Croatia?

  She felt like she'd been told at some point, but now she couldn't remember. All she remembered about Katya was a sweet, quiet woman, who liked to bake but always seemed a little sad.

  She needed to talk to Michael…or maybe Katya. Who would be more likely to tell her the truth? Her father's friend…or his ex-wife? Somehow, she thought it might be the ex-wife, especially since she knew Michael had been meeting with Peter over the past few days. Anything she said to Michael could be immediately passed on to Peter, and she couldn't risk that.

  A woman heading toward the intersection suddenly caught her eye. She had long brown hair almost down to her waist, straight and sleek. She looked ballerina thin—and exactly like Elena Brennan.

  Sophie sat up straighter. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

  The woman wore tight, white jeans and bootie sandals, a clingy, cropped top barely covering her midriff. She was talking on the phone and as the light changed, she walked with pace and purpose, going in the same direction Damon had.

  Her breath stuck in her chest as she remembered the photo Wyatt had shown her. Was Elena the woman from last night's meeting with Karen and the Venturi boss? Were the Brennans involved with the Venturis?

  Her earpiece suddenly crackled.

  "I see Karen Leigh," Damon said. "It looks like she's alone."

  As Wyatt and Bree confirmed his message, Sophie felt an overwhelming rush of fear.

  Why was Elena in the park? If she was there, were other mob soldiers there as well? Had Damon just walked into the middle of a set-up?

  "I don't think Karen is alone," she said into the phone, but Damon didn't answer, and she could hear him speaking to someone.

  Karen was there.

  She couldn't interrupt him now.

  If she kept yelling in his ear, or rushed into the park to find him, she might distract him, and put him in more danger. She had to have faith in him and also in his friends.

  Maybe it hadn't been Elena at all. She hadn't seen Elena since that horrible party. She could be wrong…but she didn't think she was.

  "Please be safe, Damon," she silently prayed. She could not lose another person that she loved.

  * * *

  Damon heard Sophie's rushed words, but he couldn't respond, not with Karen a foot away. His gaze swept the area, but he didn't see anyone out of place. If Karen had brought someone, they weren't visible. Hopefully, they were just there as protection for her and not to take him out.

  "What are you doing here, Damon?" Karen asked.

  She was dressed in jeans and a baggy top, and he wouldn't be surprised if she had a weapon on her. She wore a baseball cap, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, sunglasses covering her eyes.

  "We need to talk," he said.

  "Where's Wyatt?"

  "He's safe. He's putting together a very detailed case about you and Alan."

  She didn't flinch, but her tongue came out and swiped her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about. Wyatt needs to come into the office. He's in danger. So are you, for that matter. And where the hell is Sophie Parker?"

  "You're not here to ask questions. You're here to answer them. You saw the photo Wyatt sent you."

  "That was a business meeting. I was looking for information on Wyatt, as a matter of fact. I've been extremely worried about him."

  "Cut the crap, Karen." He purposefully used her first name, deliberately not acknowledging her status as an agent above him.

  "I don't think you're going to last on our team, Damon," she said, snapping back at him. "But then you might be spending some time in jail for murder."

  "You know one of the people I shot was working for the Venturi family, maybe both of them, the same family you're working for." He paused. "What do you think Wyatt has been doing for the last year, Karen? He's been collecting evidence against their organization, and you're right in the middle of it."

  "I'm not. I haven't done anything."

  "Stop lying. It's over."

  "If it was over, you wouldn't be here alone. What do you want?"

  Good. She was ready to negotiate. "I want to know who's calling the shots."

  "If you don't know that, you don't know anything."

  "I know enough to get you into a hell of a lot of trouble. But, hey, if you want to be the fall girl, that works for me. One less player off the game board."

  "You don't have anything on me but a picture that I can explain. You're bluffing."

  "I know you're dirty, Karen. And I don't just know it; I can prove it—with Wyatt's help, of course. He's not too happy about almost being killed the other day."

  "I don't know what happened to Wyatt, but if anyone set him up, it was Alan. I've had my suspicions about him for a long time."

  "Suspicions, huh? Yet you did nothing but cozy up to Alan. I'm not buying it. Try again."

  Karen took a quick look around, as if debating her next move. He honestly wasn't sure what she was going to do. Then he saw her eyes widen in shock as she fell to her knees, putting a hand to her chest, to the blood suddenly spreading across her shirt. She crumpled awkwardly onto the ground.

  "Karen," he yelled, stunned that she'd been shot right in front of him.

  He dropped down next to her. She was writhing on the ground.

  "Help me," she said.

  He heard a woman scream, "She's been shot."

  A man shouted "Gun!"

  People went running.

  He put his hands on Karen's chest, trying to stop the flow of blood from the gushing wound. She was gasping for breath, her eyes wide and terrified.

  "Who did this, Karen? Tell me."

  "I—I can't. Help me," she pleaded.

  "I'm going to help you." He could see her gaze losing focus. "But you have to stay with me." He pressed harder on the wound. "This is your last chance to come clean—to tell your story."

  "I didn't want to be a part of it," she said breathlessly. "I didn't have a choice."

  "Why not?"

  "He had pictures of me and Alan—together. They told me Alan wasn't keeping up his end of the bargain. If I didn't take over, they'd release the pictures. They'd let everyone know I was sleeping with the boss, and that's why…" She struggled to breathe. "That's why I got promoted. My career is all I have. Alan didn't really want me. He was just lonely. He said it was a mistake. Oh, God, it was such a mistake. Now it's going to end like this. I don't want to die."

  "You're not going to die. Help is coming. Who's in charge, Karen? Stefan Venturi? Peter Hunt? Who?"

  Her eyes closed.

  "Dammit, wake up," he yelled.

  Bree appeared at his side. "Damon, get out of here," s
he said. "I called 911. Ambulance, police, and FBI are on the way. I've got my badge. I can talk my way out of this. You can't be here when they get here."

  "She was just about to tell me—"

  "I heard," Bree interrupted. "I recorded everything she said on the phone. Get out of here, Damon."

  He jumped to his feet, looking around the now deserted area. "Who shot her? Who the hell shot her?"

  "I didn't see."

  "Where's Wyatt?"

  Her silence spoke volumes.

  "Dammit! Did he shoot her? Why? Because she was going to talk?"

  "Maybe," Bree said, her eyes tormented. "I don't know, but you have to leave now. Get Sophie and go."

  Sophie!

  A new terror ran through him. "Sophie?" he said, hoping she could hear him through her earpiece. "Are you all right?"

  There was no answer.

  He sped through the trees as the sirens got closer, stopping for a second to wipe his bloody hands on the grass. He slowed his pace as he reached the sidewalk. He didn't want to draw attention to himself as someone fleeing from the scene.

  Finally, he was able to get through the crowd, and he ran across the street.

  Fear squeezed his chest so hard he could barely breathe. "I'm coming, Sophie," he said. "Please be there. Please be there."

  Twenty

  Sophie was in the back of a van.

  When she'd heard screams coming over her headset, she'd known something had gone terribly wrong. Damon and Karen had been having a tense conversation when all hell had broken loose.

  It had sounded like someone had shot Karen.

  Damon had been yelling at Karen to stay with him. Someone in the background had been screaming about a gun.

  She'd yelled into the phone, but no one had heard her. Or they were too busy to answer.

  So, she'd grabbed the key from the ignition and jumped out of the car. To hell with staying behind locked doors. She was not going to sit there and do nothing.

  Unfortunately, she'd barely taken two steps when she'd been shoved from behind. The phone and the car key had gone flying out of her hand as she hit the side of the car and fell to her knees.