“You’ve been a very bad girl. Getting help from some Irishman. Running from us. But now that you’re with us, you’re safe,” he answered after a few moments.
“Sure. As safe as Kat?” she accused.
“Katarina doesn’t have what you have, which is why you’re alive.”
In other words, once she gave them what they wanted, her life was forfeit.
“And what is it that I have?”
He angled his head at her. “I think you know.”
She did. Of course she knew. There was only one thing of value she had right now—the formula. But how could they possibly know that she and Henry had completed the equation?
When she spotted his hand moving toward his mask, she snapped her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see his face. No. No. No. It was a death sentence.
“Open your eyes, Ava.”
The sound of his voice had changed. He’d been disguising it before, deepening it. But now she knew it, as she’d known it in the SUV.
Ava swallowed as she opened her eyes; she whispered, her voice quavering: “Eddie.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Eddie, what are you doing?” She struggled to get to her feet once more, a helpless and frantic frenzy seizing control of her body.
“Sit back down,” he ordered as he tucked his mask in the back pocket of his black cargo pants.
She pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping the blanket around as much of her as it would cover. Her body, which had been slowly warming, grew cold once more.
“It’s shocking, I know. But you need to try and get over it.”
“God, I’ve been worried about you, and you . . .”
He knelt down before her. “And I’ve been fine. Yes.” He moved close to her face and the back of his hand rested on her cheek.
She flinched at his touch; a venom she’d never witnessed in him before splashed across his face.
“You’re so beautiful. It’s been brutal working with you. Breathing in your sweet scent every day. Wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you.” He pulled his hand away and cocked his head in her direction. “You were my assignment, though. And as much as I wanted you, I don’t get involved with my assignments.”
His words were cold and calculating. His entire demeanor was so different from just last week when they’d been joking around in the lab. He’d been wearing a mask the whole time, and Ava wondered how she could have been so blind.
He grinned at her, pressed his palms against his knees, and pushed up to his feet. “I screwed up. I let you and Henry get too close. You two went and solved the equation without me, and then Henry took off.”
Turmoil swirled inside her. He couldn’t truly know that they’d solved it. She wouldn’t be the one to give the formula away. “Henry didn’t run. He wouldn’t just take off like that. Please, someone must have him. Whatever your intentions are, if you really care about your country, we need to find him. Terrorists might be torturing him for—”
She was interrupted by his laugh. He moved toward her with quick strides and she rose to meet him, feeling unsteady and scared. “Why don’t you talk to him yourself?”
“What?” Before she knew it, Eddie was dragging her toward a door at the end of the room. He jabbed a key in the deadbolt and pushed open the door.
Her heart hammered in her chest and skipped a few beats. She had seen this kind of thing in the movies, but never imagined it happening in real life. Certainly not her own life. “Henry,” she rasped. His hands were tied behind his back, and his feet roped to the metal chair he was sitting on. His head hung low and lifeless. Blood stained his face and scalp in multiple spots, and she had to fight back the fist of vomit that rose in her throat.
She flew toward Henry, kneeling before him. “Henry?” She touched his face. “Is he alive?” she asked, reaching for Henry’s throat to check for his pulse. Thank God. “What have you done to him?”
Eddie took a few steps forward and folded his arms. “He’s just resting. He’s had a rough twenty-four hours.”
She leaped to her feet and charged at Eddie, unaware of her own intentions. She wanted to hurt him, she realized, as he plucked her arms out of the air and tucked her into a firm embrace. “Sweetie, if I knew you wanted me this bad, I might’ve just made an exception to the rule.”
She squirmed in his arms, but quickly realized it was useless. He had at least six inches on her, and he was all muscle. She’d never noticed beneath his lab coat.
She stopped struggling and relaxed her body. When he freed her from his grip, she moved toward Henry, worry pinching her from every angle. She studied Henry’s disheveled, silky-white hair. His roots were matted with blood. “Where did you find him?” she asked, without really expecting an honest answer. He’d been there for only twenty-four hours, tortured by the very government for which he worked. Had he run, then, as Eddie said?
“When Henry wakes up, we’ll all have a nice talk. In the meantime, some men are on their way here to talk to you. They’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” He held his hand out and pointed toward a chair, which sat about five feet opposite of Henry. “Unless you’d like to fight me again. I love a good fight.” He leered.
“Bastard.” She moved toward the chair. She knew she couldn’t overpower him, and she had no intention of wasting her energy. She might need it, later. She released a deep breath as she took a seat.
Eddie removed her Nikes and roped her ankles. His fingertips ran up her jeaned calves before reaching her thighs. “Relax,” he said, leaning in closer to tie her wrists behind her back. “Do I need to tape those pretty lips of yours? Or do you think you can behave?” A smug grin clambered over his face, and he added, “Of course, it’s not like anyone would be able to hear your screams.”
“I have no intention of doing anything you want.” She attempted to sound confident, but her voice squeaked with fear.
He narrowed his eyes at her but remained silent. She watched him leave the room before she took in all of her surroundings, trying to contrive an escape. Her brain was working overtime to come up with possible plans. Any plan that meant she and Henry could escape.
The room was almost as empty as the other one she had occupied, but not nearly as large. And this space had no windows. The ceilings were not as high, and the walls were dry walled and painted. A bright fluorescent light was fixed above her. The obnoxious light hurt her eyes.
But there was another door on the other side of the room. Could that be her way out? She noticed the deadbolt and realized she’d need to get the keys off of Eddie somehow. Her brain spun, attempting solutions to all possible scenarios, but she was wet, cold, frightened, and running on empty.
She had to prepare herself for the possibility that she might not make it out alive.
***
“Your place has been trashed. We probably shouldn’t be here.” Michael stepped over the mess of items scattered on Aiden’s floor.
“They wouldn’t find what they were looking for in here. Come on.” He ignored his belongings, which were strewn about in disarray. His mattress pad had been sliced open, his pillows cut, his cupboards ransacked—they’d left nothing untouched.
“Where are we going?” Michael asked as he followed Aiden out of the apartment and down a hallway, which led to a set of stairs.
“I rented one of the storage units in the basement. Under a different name, of course.” They darted down the steps and into the basement.
“And you don’t think they checked here?”
“Let’s hope not.” He stuck his key in the door, opened it, and flipped on the light. He released a nervous breath when he realized the room was intact. “Come inside and shut the door behind you.” He peered at Michael, suspecting what he’d see. Yes, he knew that all-too-familiar, steely look.
Michael rubbed his temple with one hand while shaking his head as he scanned the clutter of documents, photographs, and newspaper clippings that papered the wall. “Jesus, Aiden.” He turned around and as
sessed the whiteboard, which read “black ops,” “terrorists,” “D.C.,” “cover-up” in black, scrawling ink.
He hesitated to bring up their unfinished conversation from the phone earlier, but he forced himself to acknowledge Michael’s anger. “I know I promised you I’d stop, but—”
“You couldn’t let it go.” Michael sighed and moved closer to the collage of images and documents. “We made a deal, Aiden. I invest in the bar, and you move on. You say goodbye to your past. You were losing your damn mind,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve betrayed my trust.”
Aiden grimaced. “I did stop obsessing when I opened the bar. I just didn’t move on. Not completely.”
Michael waved his hand in the air. “You don’t think this is obsessing?” He reached for the doorknob. “You lied to me, Aiden. You promised you’d give this shit up once you focused on something new.”
“I’m sorry, but no matter how much I tried I couldn’t just let it go. Seven people are rotting in some underground jail cell, their rights are being withheld, and it’s for a crime I know they didn’t commit. I thought you’d understand. You were there with me in Afghanistan. Jesus, Michael, how can you not get it. With everything going on in this country—the hatred and distrust . . . things need to be made right.”
Michael exhaled a deep breath and turned to face Aiden, his blue eyes full of mixed emotions. “I do get it. Trust me, I do. I’ve seen all kinds of evil. And good.”
Aiden clenched his teeth and pressed his shoulder against the whiteboard, leaning into it. “Six months ago, when I was at the mosque and those unknown agents infiltrated the place, I tried to figure out who the hell the men were. They were masked, dressed just like the guys who have been after Ava this week.”
“I know this.”
“But what I didn’t tell you is that I managed to follow one of them after the takedown at the mosque. He went straight from the mosque to a hotel about ten miles outside D.C. I figured out which room he was in, hacked the computer, and got a name and a photo. The identity was bullshit—Douglas Franklin, a lawyer in Boston, and he had only one address. Just a few blocks from your pad. I didn’t think he really lived there. I figured the address was part of his cover. But when I lost my job, I decided to go to Boston and see it through. I scoped the guy’s place, and about a week after I saw him show up in Boston. The place might be part of his cover, but it was a place he was tied to, somehow or other.” Aiden approached the wall and pointed his finger at a cluster of photos. They were all of the same man—tall, well-built, and always in a suit. Nothing about the man screamed black ops.
“Are you sure you tracked the right guy?” Michael shook his head and held up his hand, showing he’d changed his mind and didn’t want Aiden to respond. “And that’s why you moved to Boston?” Michael folded his arms.
He should have told Michael the truth from the beginning, but some part of him didn’t want to drag him into the mess until he knew for sure he was right. Until he had all the evidence. And when Michael started getting worried about him, he promised he’d move on. And he tried to . . . with zero success. “I didn’t just move here because of that, but I was hoping that in time I’d catch him—”
“And what—nail the bastards and get your job back?”
“Do you want me to finish?” Aiden glared at Michael until he nodded his assent. “I installed a surveillance camera across the street from his building. He comes to Boston like clockwork—every few weeks. But he made an unplanned visit, recently.”
“What is that supposed to prove?”
Aiden took a step back and rubbed his face. “Michael, I know in my gut that the black ops people are corrupt. I think they’re the ones who have Ava. Not terrorists, but Goddamn government agents. And I know it because I saw this guy,” he pointed to the picture again, “staking out my bar Tuesday night. He was following Ava.” His heart slammed against his ribcage at the memory of that night. He’d walked Ava out of his bar, and he saw him, sitting in a black Infiniti. His attention was laser focused on the bar, and on Ava. It only took Aiden a second to recognize his face; he’d been studying it for the past six months, after all. That’s when he knew he had to stick with Ava. She was a part of everything.
“Somehow, Ava, my uncle, and my bloody mum are at the very heart of this whole thing, and I need to piece it together if I have any chance of finding Ava.”
Michael’s face twisted with shock. “Wait, your mother?”
Aiden had forgotten to bring Michael entirely up to speed. “I know the name of the black ops group—J-4-76 . . . and I know this because my mum runs the damn agency.”
Michael’s jaw might have come unhinged in that moment; his mouth was open so wide. Then he snapped it shut, his brow furrowed. “I’ve heard chatter before. Through contacts with the Department of Defense and so forth. I’ve even heard that name in passing, but I always thought it was bullshit.”
“So you never actually believed me when I told you some covert ops showed up and busted in on my operation in D.C.?” He crossed his arms.
“No, I believe agents showed up, but I assumed they were just part of some division within Homeland or the CIA. I didn’t think this ghost of a group actually existed—and that it was the same one you’ve been crusading after.” His eyes widened a fraction. “And you’re telling me your mother runs the operation? She’s the one you think set up the people at the mosque, and who now has Ava?”
“Feck, I don’t know.” He looked around the empty basement, which housed the storage units. “She barged into your loft the other night, offering protection. Apparently, she is at odds with her co-director and was in the dark about Ava’s assignment, as well as her missing brother.”
“Shit. This is a bit much, even for me.”
“Tell me about it.”
Sophia Davidson, if that was even her true name—his mother, if she could be believed—worked at the core of the entire deep shit storm of it all.
“I guess we have our work cut out for us.” Michael removed his lightweight winter jacket and draped it over his arm. “Where do we begin?”
Chapter Nineteen
The man in the suit—military haircut, deep brown eyes. The scrutinizing stare that had haunted her the moment she’d seen him on Monday in the interrogation room when the entire thing had started to spiral out of control.
He had to be Sophia Davidson’s counterpart—her co-leader.
She glanced over at the still-sleeping Henry. How could the so-called good guys be so corrupt? So ruthless?
The man approached her with two unmasked agents behind him. She recognized those men, as well—they had detained her from Director Jeffrey’s office back at Homeland and black bagged her the first time.
She struggled against her restraints a little as they moved closer.
“Eddie?” The leader turned away toward the door for a brief moment. “Do you have any spare clothes for her? She must be freezing.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Eddie answered.
The two men accompanying the man in the suit folded their arms and stood behind him. She caught sight of their holstered weapons hanging from their hips.
“Ava, if you had just told me the truth on Monday, it would have saved us all a lot of time and aggravation.” He removed his jacket and tossed it toward one of the muscled men. All they were missing to fit the look of covert agents were a stereotypical pair of black shades.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He began to roll his dress shirt sleeves up to the elbows as he stepped closer to her. Was he going to hit her? “Please, don’t make this any harder on yourself than it needs to be.” He glanced over at Henry and averted his attention back to Ava. “Your face is far too pretty to have such damage done to it.”
She fought like hell not to let his words intimidate her, but fear wedged itself deep inside her.
“Henry made a mistake. He took our money—payment after payment. He followed our instr
uctions. And then he took off like a coward. But I know you finished the job—that much we got him to admit.” The man knelt down in front of Ava and rested his hand on her knee.
“Don’t touch me,” she said through gritted teeth.
His hand remained on her knee, but his other hand worked its way to his tie, loosening it a little. “You and Henry finished the assignment on Sunday, but you two decided to keep the knowledge to yourselves. Were you planning on selling the weapon to the highest bidder? I’m sure that was Henry’s intention.”
“We didn’t finish. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She couldn’t let him break her. Not now. Not ever.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been in this business a long damn time. I know when someone is lying to me.”
Apparently you didn’t know when you interrogated me Monday, or you wouldn’t have let me go. “I told you once, and I will tell you again—Henry and I did not complete the formula.”
The man scrunched his face, adding years to his age, and pushed up to his feet. “Henry already admitted the truth. There’s really no point lying to me.”
“Why do you want me? If Henry gave you what you wanted, then why come after me?” I doubt Henry told you anything. “Why’d you even let me go Monday, just to have one of your guys come after me on Wednesday? And why Kat?”
“I couldn’t have you talking to O’Connor. I didn’t anticipate you’d go to an ex-Homeland agent for help. Small world, though. Don’t you think?” He glanced over at the other agents in the room. “You can leave us alone for now.” The men nodded without question and moved toward the door. The man waited until they were gone before he spoke again. “Some things are only for those who need to know, even with my own men.” He had the nerve to wink at her. “We let Katarina go for the same reason we let you go, but it became obvious rather quickly that she knew nothing. So, she became just a loose end, dear girl. But you, you’re the golden ticket.”
Ava was screwed. If this man was willing to divulge information to her, that meant he never intended for her to make it out of this alive. “Did the president of the United States really assign this project?” If she was going to die, she wanted to learn the truth first.
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