Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  “Ellie, EMTs need to check you out,” Sam said, ushering me to a waiting ambulance.

  “I’m okay,” I replied, veering off to the right and out of his reach.

  A familiar voice spoke from behind me, “I’ve heard that before, Conway.”

  “SSA Kurt Henderson,” I said, turning to face him. “Or do I have to call you doctor?”

  “Call me whatever you like.” He took hold of my elbow and steered me back to the ambulance.

  “I’m okay. This is a waste of time.” My protest fell on deaf ears. Neither Sam nor Kurt was buying it.

  Two hours later with a clean bill of health, Sam took me home to clean up. I showered and changed while he made coffee.

  The smell of freshly ground Arabica beans and hot coffee followed me as I wandered the house looking for the cat. She wasn’t in her usual places.

  “Sam, have you seen the cat?”

  “Nope,” he replied, pouring two coffees. “You sure you are okay?”

  “I’m fine. Doc cleared me, remember?” I sat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter and picked up the coffee mug Sam slid to me.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “How can I take care of a child? I don’t even know where my cat is and I’m always running out of cat food.” I played with the ring my cup made on the countertop.

  “Teenagers are almost human, they rarely get lost and I think most of them can feed cats,” Sam said using his let’s-be-reasonable voice.

  “You think the cat would like someone who knows how to feed her?”

  “Yeah, maybe Carla could even give the poor animal a name.”

  “I’m sure she had one but I don’t remember it. Mac always called her Puss.”

  “And you call her Cat.”

  “I’m being silly.”

  “Human, Ellie. You are being human and contemplating raising another human – that’s huge.”

  “I want what’s right for her,” I said, drawing squiggles in the condensation from my cup. “Cassie left a letter. She wanted me to adopt Carla.”

  “See? You are what’s right for her.”

  “But to take her on alone …”

  “You’ll never be alone. Lee and I are looking forward to being uncles. Your dad and brother will be right there.” He smiled wickedly. “And then there is Mac’s family.”

  Bile rose. “Don’t even joke about it.”

  The cat still hadn’t shown up. I filled her bowl with cat biscuits, put the cups in the sink and we headed into the office.

  Four

  Goin’ Away Baby

  On Friday afternoon, I stood in the empty hallway between my office and the stairwell with my cell phone in one hand and a twisted knot of anticipation in my stomach. There was no one around and no noise coming from any of the offices or adjacent meeting rooms. I’d spent most of Thursday afternoon and Friday morning trying to corroborate the message from David Dunn about Hawk. It took my mind off the cold announcement by Cassie’s brother that her funeral would be held in Richmond, with family only. Caine was organizing a memorial service sometime over the next two weeks so we could all pay our respects.

  I peered inside the dark cavern within my handbag

  A brighter colored phone would be a good idea. A black phone in a black bag wasn’t the easiest thing to locate. You’d think I would’ve learned that the first eight times I found myself searching for the damn thing since purchasing it a few months ago. Apparently, I am a slow learner.

  With the phone found I turned my attention to locating a business card.

  The hallway was still empty – a good thing. I didn’t want anyone overhearing my call. I pocketed both the phone and the card and checked the hallway again. Empty.

  A horrible feeling brewed and reminded me that I was stepping into the deep end without my trusty water wings.

  Excessive paranoia.

  A butterfly flittered in front of me. I reached out my hand and my fingers went right through it. Startled, I examined my fingers. No butterfly residue. Another one danced on the stream of light in front of my eyes. “Mac?” I whispered.

  It dipped and swooped on delicate orange wings.

  “I know I have to do this for you … but how am I supposed to do it without you?”

  The butterfly floated away on a sunbeam. I took a breath, fished a tissue from my bag and wiped my eyes. Took another breath and called Lee.

  “Where are you?”

  “Office. You?”

  “Leaving. Meet me later and bring Sam.”

  “You all right, Chicky?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Where do you want to meet?”

  “My place.” There was a huge temptation to tell him I wasn’t okay; that I didn’t think I would ever be okay again but I didn’t.

  “When?”

  “I’m on my way, via the Foundation. Gimme two hours.”

  “Can do,” he said.

  I ended the call. The next one I made was to the Director’s office.

  She wasn’t in.

  I left a voice message on O’Hare’s private line then dropped my phone back into my bag. I knew it would instantly migrate to the darkest corner.

  My hand fished out another phone. It was a pre-paid phone, this time light in color and easier to see. I held the phone and pulled the business card from my pocket.

  I took the stairs down one floor and entered the long number from the business card into the pre-paid phone. It would’ve been so much easier to use my own phone and choose his name from the directory.

  The phone rang and rang and I realized I had no idea what time it was in Moscow. I stood on the landing for the second floor and waited. The insistent ringing in my ear filled the void created by zero thought. Finally, a Russian voice answered from thousands of miles away; my brain kicked in and I knew it was four thousand eight hundred miles, plus change.

  “Da! You are speaking with Misha Praskovya.”

  “What no formal greeting?” I feigned horror and enjoyed, for a brief moment, him knowing it was a call from America but not from whom. “Too busy to greet an old friend?”

  “Special Agent Conway! Kak požyvajete?” How are you?

  “I’m okay,” I replied, and heard his deep throaty laugh.

  “My beautiful friend Ellie is okay. I am thinking this is not true,” he replied smoothly.

  “I am thinking you are a smart man, Misha.” Unconsciously, I had mimicked his syntax. “I have a feeling there is something brewing. A Marine grabbed me Wednesday night – he told me a mutual friend was back. I might be coming to Moscow. So far everything points to him still being over your way.”

  “I will make sure the paper work is in order and file a request for you to join me in a joint investigation,” Misha said. The red tape was considerable, unless we were prepared to say we were entering Russia to track a terrorist who had committed acts of terrorism against US Citizens. Terrorism opened our access to foreign countries and guaranteed assistance but I didn’t want to use the T word yet.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sam and Lee?”

  “They will come with me.” My fingers crossed.

  “This is about Mac more than the friend, da?”

  “Da, this is about Mac. It’s time for me to step up.”

  He took a moment to process this. “I understand. When do you leave?”

  “It’s not decided yet. If we come, I’ll try for a late night or early morning flight.”

  “What do you need?”

  A lump rose in my throat. I wanted to tell him that every time I stepped outside I thought someone was watching me and that all I needed was Mac. My voice quivered as I said, “I need …” I tried to steady my voice. “I need you to keep me informed Misha. Any changes in the movements of the whereabouts of our mutual friend … would be good to weed out trails that lead nowhere. Can you check Interpol for anything that fits our interest group? If I do it, the friend may hear about it. We don’t know what he’s monitor
ing.”

  “Of course. If I hear anything you will be first to know,” Misha replied. “This time Ellie, we will get him.”

  “I hope so. If you need to contact me, use this phone number, please.”

  “I will. I meet you at airport. Tell me when.”

  “Spasibo.” Thank you.

  “Safe travels my friend. Nadejus vskore vstretitsja svami.” I hope to see you soon.

  “Ja tebe pozvonju. Dosvidanija.” I’ll call you. Goodbye.

  I hung up. Part of me was secretly pleased how much Russian I’d picked up working with Misha. Though I suspected he cringed inwardly with every clumsy word I uttered. Misha’s first redeeming feature in my eyes was his fabulous accent – then he proved himself. Misha became a much-trusted member of my team, albeit a temporary one. We maintained a close tie between Delta and the FSB in Russia; Misha was our contact and a frequent visitor to the States. Another man I kept at arm’s length – for the same reasons I wouldn’t let Gerrard get too close. Tall, dark, intelligent and handsome floated my boat but I didn’t want to go there. Anyway, he still wore his wedding ring. Misha’s wife died before I met him but to me, he still felt like a married man. My fingers sought out the wedding ring on my own hand.

  Ironic.

  I shoved the pre-paid phone into my pocket; I’d keep it with me in case Misha called. Last time we tangled with Hawk, information seemed to fall into his hands before I could act. I didn’t want him to know I was working the case, even though he’d engineered my involvement. If Hawk really was back – I wanted the edge. My priority was to limit all possible ways information could dribble, leak or gush into the wrong hands.

  Once bitten, twice shy.

  In truth, I wanted to press the edge of a blade against his throat and slice, letting his blood pour from his body. Not bad for someone who really doesn’t like knives.

  The stairwell door opened. Two agents were talking as they walked entered the stairwell. I heard the tail end of the conversation; it was boy talk about a girl.

  Agent One said, “She’s stunning. Have you seen her?”

  “Don’t think so,” his friend replied.

  “You’d remember. She’s blonde, wears long-sleeved black shirts and cowboy boots. They say her right arm is all scarred, from a knife fight with a Marine over a year ago, before I graduated. I’ve never seen a finer ass in jeans.” The agent held the door for me, as I left I heard him say, “That’s her.”

  I spun around and flung the door open. Startled by my reappearance, one jumped and the other smirked nervously. With one step, I was in front of the agent-with-the-most-to-say and looked him in the eye. “I am not now and never will be a topic of conversation to you. Do you understand?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said and sounded like he meant it.

  “Good. In future, don’t discuss fellow agents like that. You’re not a teenager in a locker room. You’re an FBI agent. Act like one.”

  With that, I stepped back through the door and disappeared into the bustle of the second floor. A smile broke forth.

  Ill-mannered they were – but my ass was indeed fine.

  Five

  One Step Closer

  Friday afternoon was fast becoming late afternoon by the time I pulled up the driveway and parked behind Mac’s red Toyota Tacoma truck. For seventeen months, one week and three days, his truck had sat there. A surprisingly strong ray of sunlight bounced off the rear window of the truck, sending beams of light into the cold air. It took a few minutes for me to heap together all the things I needed to take inside. A stack of papers slid from the passenger seat during the stop-start journey from the city. Envelopes and manila folders spilled their contents on the mat. I was still retrieving them when a car pulled up behind mine. I sprang up and had a quick peek out the back window.

  Lee and Sam.

  I delved under the seat and grasped the last piece of paper, scanned it quickly then shoved it back into the correct folder.

  A light shadow fell like early dusk.

  My door opened. The shadow closed in.

  All sun disappeared. The night was upon me.

  “Want a hand?” a deep voice filled the car.

  “I got it.” I tossed my keys at Sam. “Open up the house for me?”

  He snatched them from midair and ambled away, leaving another sun-blocking shadow to oversee my progress.

  “You going to be long?” Lee asked. His sizable hands reached in, picked up all the paper work, manila folders, my laptop, cell phone and shoulder bag from my lap.

  Freed from clutter, I climbed out the car, straightened my jacket, ran my fingers through my hair and said, “Nope, all set.”

  Again, I felt a tingle in my spine and the creepy feeling of being watched. I hurried in the front door, leaving the feeling outside in the cold.

  Inside, the smell of freshly-ground dark-roasted coffee beans filled the air. I heard the coffeemaker gurgle as water started to drip through the filter. Hearing noises in the kitchen felt peculiar. I reminded myself it was just Sam.

  Lee and I went through to the living room. He piled the armful of paperwork on the side table between two big leather chairs. At the risk of declaring loudly that I’d lost my mind, I turned to Lee and said, “Did the police ever sweep Cassie’s house for bugs?”

  He shook his head. “Caine said they blocked him at every turn and refused to cooperate. That Reid guy persisted with Cassie’s death being a home invasion.”

  “But we know it wasn’t.”

  “Caine’s still trying to get our people into the house.” Lee took a breath. “What does your gut say?”

  “Someone is watching.”

  He nodded sagely then left the room. The front door closed.

  Low winter sun dappled the carpet as it shone through the bare tree branches beyond the large windows. Spindly shadows drifted across the coffee table in the middle of the room. Their pointed, gnarled tips looked like witches’ fingers. There was a temptation to draw the curtains to keep the scary shadows at bay but the sun was so nice, I just couldn’t.

  Sam called out, “Coffee will be a few more minutes.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” I called back.

  The front door opened and Lee reappeared carrying a small silver rectangular object in his hand. “What’s wireless in the house?”

  “Router, laptops, cell phones, cordless phones, Xbox, remotes, keyboard and mouse in the office, speakers both in here and upstairs, stereo, PS3. Can’t think of anything else.”

  “Let’s start turning it all off,” Lee said and then he hollered to Sam, “Come on in here.”

  Sam waltzed in the door grinning. “I fed the cat. You’re out of cat food.”

  Big surprise.

  Lee smiled. “Doing a bug check.” He held up the little silver box. “It’s an RF signal detector. My new little toy to locate bugs and cameras. It’s set so that the beep gets louder the closer I get to a signal.”

  Sam nodded.

  We split up and turned off everything in every room then met back in the hallway by the front door. Lee turned on the device in his hand and slowly swept the house. Apart from the occasional beep from something we’d forgotten to turn off, there was nothing. The RF signal detector was capable of detecting digital signals within forty feet and cameras within five feet.

  “Clean,” Lee announced.

  “Good,” I replied. We turned our cell phones back on and toured the house switching life back on. Slowly all the appliances were again ready and waiting. My paranoia slipped into the background.

  Back in the living room we all sat down. Both men watched me with inquisitive expressions. I chewed my lip and took a few seconds before speaking.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed, he nudged Lee.

  I stopped chewing and said “In one of the manila folders you bought in, Lee, are plane tickets. More accurately e-tickets. I’ve booked us on a flight to Moscow tonight.”

  Lee glanced at the pile of folders and envelo
pes and pieces of paper piled on the coffee table, then back at me.

  No jaw dropping, no stunned looks crossed their very calm faces. Slowly their heads nodded.

  “I have a question,” Sam said.

  “Just one?” I replied.

  He nodded. “How much does this trip have to do with yesterday? Have you heard from NCIS regarding the Marine?”

  “That’s two. A lot to do with yesterday – as far as interrogating David Dunn, Gerrard says Dunn is still saying very little. He is of the opinion that he doesn’t know much. This would fit with what we know about Hawk’s activity.” General terror cell operations: each member only knows his or her task, that way one person can’t pull down the entire cell. “Dunn originally reckoned Hawk was back on American soil but after some questioning by Noel Gerrard, he said he was contacted from Russia and told to deliver the message. Gerrard is of the opinion Dunn is a pawn and nothing more. Misha is meeting us. I need to let him know the flight number before we leave.”

  “Did Dunn confess to Cassie’s murder?” Lee asked.

  “No. His boots had blood on the soles. There were splatters on his pants. Blood type matched. They’re running a DNA comparison. A search of his apartment turned up a blood-splattered brown shemagh.”

  Sam and Lee nodded. Lee’s hair fell forward causing him to push it back with one hand. Until that moment I hadn’t even noticed he’d let his hair grow. He was starting to look as though he should be playing guitar and living in Nashville. He reminded me of someone but I couldn’t place who. He was almost Sylvester Stallone – but that wasn’t right. Or was it? Nope, not Stallone. Definitely someone in the music industry.

  I hauled my attention back to the situation at hand when I heard Sam’s voice.

  “How long are we away?” Sam asked.

  “As long as it takes or until we run out of leads.”

  Lee leaned back in the chair, his muscular frame filling it, a small smile on his lips. He didn’t need to ask the question I saw in his eyes but he did anyway. “Who are we going after?”

  “Hudson Hawk, or whatever his real name is. The Unsub we believe is responsible for child trafficking on a global scale and the Butterfly Murders.”