Trust No One (Vista Security)
Page 1
TRUST NO ONE
by
Diane Layne
When reality is a web of lies and the truth endangers all you hold dear you ...Trust No One.
Praise for Diana Layne, a Golden Heart® Finalist:
THE GOOD DAUGHTER: 4 1/2 Stars TOP PICK! RT Book Reviews:
“Calling this book ‘old-school Jackie Collins with a Gotti twist and enough heat to melt Alaska’ still doesn’t begin to describe how explosive it is. This is a turn-off-all-electronic-devices, one-sit read, with impressive characters, a transfixing plot and enough breathtaking action to knock your socks off! Layne has star power in spades.”
~Diane Morasco, reviewer March 2012
“With THE GOOD DAUGHTER, Diana Layne delivers all the elements of a classic romantic suspense—fast pace, a layered and twisty plot, memorable characters and the perfect balance of sensuality. An exceptionally well-executed element of Mafia culture combined with a high level of danger make the book fresh and impossible to put down.”
~Linda Castillo, New York Times bestselling author of Breaking Silence
Review for TRUST NO ONE:
“Filled with a fascinating mystery and intriguing characters, Layne follows up her explosive suspense debut, The Good Daughter, with this strong second effort. The book's hero is the perfect blend of alpha and sensitive, and the heroine's situation elicits sympathy without being overly grim. The ending leaves some threads dangling that readers will look forward to following in future novels.
~Susan Mobley RT Book Reviews August 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
TRUST NO ONE
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Diana Layne
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: dianalayne@yahoo.com
Cover Art by Shanel Anderson
Editor: Theresa Zumwalt
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
To my six children: thanks for putting up with the craziness of a writer and all that entails (including, but not limited to, irregular mealtimes with a lot of frozen pizza).
Additional thanks to these wonderful, supportive people who helped make this book possible.
To Terry Zumwalt: Editor extraordinaire
To Shanel Anderson: Brilliant cover artist
To Detective Sergeant Hank Bailey: Continuing thanks for research help. (mistakes are all my own)
To Beverly, Barb and Karen, best friends a woman could have.
And last, but most important: thanks to you, dear reader, for taking the chance on my book. I sincerely hope you enjoy Trust No One.
Contents
Cover Page
Reviews
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
The Good Daughter
Chapter 1
Damn, her feet hurt.
All part of the job.
MJ Thornberg balanced the tray of food on her hand easier than she balanced herself on spindly heels that crushed her toes in an ever-tightening vise. She’d love to meet the guy who invented these torture devices and torment him with a few painful procedures she knew.
Nope, she reminded herself, torturing was not part of the job. Not yet.
Staying in role, she forced a smile and dismissed the desperate need to limp while she delivered the meal to table seven.
And people thought being a spy was tough. Waitressing was way tougher, and she’d shoot anyone who argued.
She delivered three more meals and had taken two new orders when the mark walked into the restaurant.
Alberto Santini, PhD, on time as usual. He took a seat at table ten as usual. People were so predictable, rarely bothering to get out of their routine, unaware habit could spell danger.
MJ glanced to her partner Keith at table three, who looked oh-so-suave with his sandy blond hair and blue eyes darkened by a midnight blue Merino wool sweater. He nodded. Their plans were humming along as smoothly as a well-tuned engine.
Every day Alberto came to Abbondanza on his way home from the ISRT, Istituto Sviluppo e Ricerche Tecnologico, the renowned science research center in Florence, Italy. He sat at the same table, which by five every evening always had a riservato sign on it, his reward for being such a loyal customer.
Tonight, MJ was a variation in his routine. The woman who normally worked this shift suddenly took sick—with help from Keith and a food additive in her Alfredo sauce that mimicked a stomach virus. Fortunately MJ showed up at the right time to help the harried owner. And while she regretted the necessity of making the waitress sick, it was all part of the job.
Sidestepping another friendly slap, more than one man had tried to pinch a chunk out of her ass, MJ stopped at table ten and asked for his order. “Buona sera, signore, che cosa vuoi ordinare?”
Suspicion clouded his dark, bespectacled eyes. “Chi sei?” he said, asking who she was.
“Gabriella is sick tonight.”
With a disgruntled sniff he placed his order for spaghetti alla Bolognese, the same thing he ordered every night.
Dr. Santini didn’t look like the secret-selling type. They rarely did. With his dark hair sticking out at all angles and his dark-rimmed, round glasses framing his eyes he looked every bit the ordinary geeky researcher and not someone willing to sell out his country.
As MJ returned from taking the order to the kitchen, two men entered the restaurant. Her greeting died on her lips when they walked past her and crossed straight to Alberto’s table. Her gaze sharpened. Hang on, new players? One was a tall man with an ill-fitting suit, a hook nose and greased back dark hair. The shorter one with well-trimmed, graying hair and a thin mustache dressed in a nice charcoal colored suit.
She didn’t recognize either one of them. Her heart rate kicked up a notch. This couldn’t be a planned meeting. Alberto had ordered for one, and his look of surprise once they started talking confirmed her hunch.
She made her way back to Alberto’s table. “Signori vorreste ordinare qualcosa?” she said, asking if she could get them anything, hoping to overhear part of their conversation.
The well-dressed one dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
She didn’t argue but grabbed a bottle of wine, and on the pretext of offering Keith a refill, stopped at his table. “Vino, signore?”
As she filled his glass, he said under his breath. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know,” she answered as quietly.
“They didn’t order?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll keep watch. Take care of them if necessary.”
She nodded, secure in knowing he’d deliver on his promise. She and Keith had been partners for the last year, lovers more than half that time. She trusted him with her life.
Over the next few minutes she kept an eye on Alberto’s table while taking care of her duties. At times, the discussion between Alberto and the men grew heated.
Chances were good that these were prospective buyers for the nanotechnology the naughty Santini was selling. Terrorists were clamoring to get their hands on it, which was why the US had to get it first. By whatever means necessary.
The men left before Dr. Santini’s food was ready. Keith disappeared as well. If those two had anything bad planned for the scientist when he left the ristorante, Keith would make sure they were out of the way.
She palmed the vial in her apron pocket. This then, was what they had spent weeks preparing for—the job.
MJ turned her focus to Alberto, picked up his order from the serving bar and discreetly mixed in the extra spice.
With an innocent smile, she set his plate in front of him and continued serving her other customers while he ate.
By the time he finished his spiced spaghetti, the knock-out drops started taking effect. He shook his head, acting as if his world turned fuzzy. He picked up his wine glass, looked at it with an unfocused gaze. After a sip of water, he left his euros on the table and walked to the front door, his steps, slow, measured.
MJ left the ristorante ten minutes later, on the ruse of a smoking break. The cold outside snatched her breath. She worried it might revive the scientist and keep him from passing out as planned. Where the hell was he? She caught a glimpse of Keith sitting at the steering wheel of Alberto’s car. Not missing a step, she shoved the prop pack of cigarettes in her pocket and crossed the parking lot.
“How’s the good scientist?” She eased in, trying to keep pressure off her feet.
Keith nodded toward the back seat. “Sound asleep.”
“What about his visitors?”
“Got in their car and left. No sign of them since.”
She pulled off the strappy heels, rubbed her toes. “Thank God I can take off these horrid shoes.”
“I dunno. Your legs looked long and sexy in them. Turned me on.”
“One track mind. I’ll let you wear them later, and you can turn me on. Right now I have at least three blisters on each foot. Let’s go.”
Keith cranked the engine but the car didn’t start. Damn.
“Your show, sweetheart.” He leaned back and gave her that cocky smile she couldn’t resist.
MJ climbed barefooted out of the car, cursing the cold and that she had both the legs to wear heels and the talent to fix the car. Thing was, she only carried the most basic tools in her backpack. She hoped it was nothing serious.
“Try it again.” The car wasn’t getting any spark. She slapped the metal. “Pop the hood.”
She saw the problem right away. A loose spark plug wire. This wasn’t an accident. She tensed, turning a split second later to instinctively block the tall hook-nosed man’s arm as he tried to knock her out with the butt of his gun. Adrenaline shot through her. She exploded with a solid sidekick to his solar plexus. His air left in a whoosh. He bent double. Thank goodness she’d taken off those damned heels. Bare feet made for better balance.
In her peripheral vision, she glimpsed the other man coming toward her, but Keith was already there.
Keeping her focus on hook-nose, she threw a front-snap kick to his face before he caught his breath from her first attack. He fell backwards, knocked himself out when he landed head-first on the concrete.
MJ turned to help Keith, but he was already dragging his unconscious man away. “Where’d they come from?”
Keith jerked his head. “That silver Audi. Get the cord out of my backpack.”
“Looks like they planned on taking his information without permission,” she joked as Keith dragged the other man to the Audi.
“Yeah, imagine that. Not very nice of them, is it?” Keith rubbed his jaw where a bruise shadowed his baby smooth face.
“That should keep them out of our way.” She shut the door on the Audi before walking back across the parking lot to Alberto’s car. She pushed the spark plug wire in place and slammed the hood. “It should start now.”
Keith pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick kiss. “We work well together.”
With the adrenaline receding, she ignored Keith’s tempting kissable lips and pulled her focus to business. “Wonder how sleeping beauty is doing?”
He glanced at the car. “Still waiting for the prince. Let’s go.” With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her around the car and opened the door.
An uneventful drive through narrow streets brought them to Santini’s modest house where Keith pulled the car into the garage. He unlocked the house door and between the two of them they carried the scientist into his bedroom. They stripped him and tucked him under the layers of wool blankets on his bed.
“I’ll find his flash drive, you work on the safe,” she told Keith whose talent was safe-cracking.
“Don’t wake him up,” Keith joked, pulling on a pair of thin gloves. “No kisses.”
“Ha, ha. Do I look like a prince to you?”
“You’re right. No prince has such hot legs.” He ran his hand across her butt down to her thigh, giving a promising squeeze. “Better hurry, get what you need then change. We don’t have long.”
“I’ll be finished before you.”
As she predicted, it didn’t take long to find the flash drive inside Santini’s jacket pocket on a key ring with his passkey. He wasn’t supposed to have it, but they’d learned he ignored the company policy. A quick switch and she had the real one, he had a blank one. Maybe he’d follow the rules next time.
In a dark corner of the kitchen, she changed into black clothes, slipped on her shoulder holster, slid her Sig Sauer P220 securely into place, and pulled on a black leather jacket. She doctored her feet with antiseptic cream and band aids before tugging on thick socks and hiking boots.
“Got it,” Keith said when she entered the office. He snapped open the safe.
A month ago, disguised as gas company personnel, they’d hidden security cameras that revealed in addition to the other security breaches he kept hardcopy notes locked in the safe. They wanted to make it as difficult as possible to reproduce his work. Another team was in place to destroy the lab information. Perhaps by the time the doctor and his partners reassembled their information, the U.S. government scientists would be able to duplicate the nanotechnology and find a counter.
“I had no doubts.” She gathered Dr. Santini’s information along with the notebook computer Keith had retrieved before he worked on the safe. Years of work took less than fifteen minutes to rip off and tuck neatly into a backpack. “Ready?”
Keith shut the safe and stood up. “Not quite yet.”
“What?”
“This.” He tugged her into his arms and gave her a long deep kiss that rocked her with his passion.
“Your timing could be better,” MJ said, irritated with the way he could command her desire so easily.
“Watching you in that little skimpy dress and those sexy heels all evening made me only think about getting you naked and taking my hard–”
She gave him a smack. “Stop with your sweet talking, it’s not going to do you any good now.”
“But we have the whole night,” he promised.
A quick blink brought her to her senses enough so she could order sternly, “Not if we don’t get our asses out of here. Move, soldier.”
He clicked his heels, threw a mock salute. “Sir, yessir.” He slung the backpack over his shoulder.
Like he thought a kiss and a few sweet words were going to make her strip and spread her legs. Nope, he was going to have to work harder than that she told herself, even as she had trouble keeping her gaze off his firm ass
as they left.
They secured the locks and the garage door and keeping to the shadows, they sprinted two blocks to the stashed Vespa scooter.
It started on the first try. She climbed behind Keith and he turned the bike toward Porta Romana, the south gate out of the city. Fifteen minutes later, he turned off Via Romana, the main road to Rome, onto a little side lane. Rows of bare, pruned back grape vines lined the road.
The temperature hovered in the upper thirties. With clouds hanging heavy in the sky, the high humidity made the cold seep through to her bones. Teeth chattering, MJ climbed off the Vespa stiff as a popsicle. Briefly stretching, she headed for the relative warmth of an old stone barn while Keith hid the scooter.
“I won’t be long,” Keith promised.
A smile hovered on her lips as she stashed the backpack with all of Dr. Santini’s information into a corner, and from long habit, pulled out her backup Glock19 and hid it in another corner. She was petting a horse housed in a stall, absorbing the heat from its breath when Keith came up from behind.
“Alone at last,” he whispered. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, while his lips brushed the tip of her ear, sending a shiver up her spine. With his hands forcing her bottom flush into his crotch, it was obvious he was ready even through the layers of clothes.
“We’re not alone,” she pointed out. “There’s a horse here.”