Pressing the 'Play' button, he watched Frank's expression. The caller's voice was disguised electronically.
"Beware. One of the latest additions to your staff is a Fed. Be careful what you say and to whom. Will provide identity with regular report."
"Christ. There goes my cover."
Dennis snapped the 'Off' button. "She's going to finger you, Frank. Think about that when your hormones get in the way."
"Dennis, there's no way you can know it was Angel."
"The call traces back to her phone. Face it, Frank. Your girl made this call."
"She's not that stupid. If she turns me over to them, she endangers herself. I'd tell them all about her."
"If you got the chance. They might shoot you before asking questions. And even if you were able to talk, it would be your word against hers."
Frank stared grimly at Dennis, his mouth compressed into a thin line. Frank knew Angel wasn't the informant. He knew it. And he'd find a way to prove it. He'd find evidence to clear her.
But what if your evidence proves she is the one? a tiny voice asked. What will you do then?
Frank glanced at his watch. If Dennis was right, based on the message he'd just heard, Angel should be making the call to betray him—again—in about an hour.
In Too Deep: Chapter Ten
Frank had left about three hours ago, muttering something about not waiting up for him. Not that she would. She'd rather be asleep when he came in rather than face the uncomfortable silence that fell around them every time they were alone in the same room.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine o'clock. Time to make her weekly status report to Hal. She would dial the long distance number and after two rings would hear the cheery female voice recorded on the answering machine telling her brightly that Susan Jelenik wasn't available right now but to leave a message after the beep.
Frank had been curious how she kept in touch with Hal without calling FBI headquarters and thus endangering her cover. She told him about the special phone number they had set up as a cover, supposedly a friend of hers who lived in North Carolina, but which was really a phone line connected to a voice messaging system. Angel called once a week, on Sunday evening around nine. Anyone checking her phone bill would assume she picked the same time each week because rates were low.
From the top drawer of her writing desk, she grabbed a small, black box that looked like a Dictaphone. Three weeks ago, Hal had explained his concern that the informant, knowing of Angel's existence, might find a way to tap into their information exchange. Disguising her voice would give one more level of protection. Not that Angel thought it would make any difference. If the informant got that far, he'd be able to trace the call back to her phone number. But Hal had insisted she use it.
As she picked up the receiver and started dialing, the front door opened. Frank's voice jolted her.
"Hang up the phone, Angel."
She glanced at him and the grim expression on his face made her obey his command instantly.
"Finished your report?" Frank asked, his voice flat.
"No, I was just making the call."
"Really?" He strolled toward her. A stiffness in his gait tipped her off that he wasn't as relaxed as he otherwise appeared.
He took the box from her nerveless fingers, examining it with mild interest. His gaze darted from the device to her. "You use this when you make your report?" His raised eyebrows told her he was as dubious about the effectiveness of such a maneuver as she was. But there was something else in his expression, too. Something that chilled her.
"Hal insisted on it. Says it'll help protect me from the informant."
"Really?" He shoved it back into her hand, his expression frankly disbelieving. "What were you going to report this week?"
Her fingers clenched around the plastic casing. "Not much. We're playing a waiting game at this point, aren't we?"
"You could say that."
He stepped towards her. She nearly recoiled from his dark expression, barely able to maintain her composure. The air virtually crackled between them. His frigid gaze captured hers, holding her prisoner, unable to move, unable to breath. She felt his essence slide into her soul, searching, drawing out her deepest secrets. Her pulse accelerated. Uncertainty flooded through her, surging into a torrent of turbulent emotions. Painful, unpleasant emotions.
Suddenly, he released her from his penetrating stare. She grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.
"Maybe tonight our wait will be over."
Something was terribly wrong. "Why? What's happened, Frank?"
"I've got a lead, but I need more information. I want you to go into Vendetti's office and grab some files." He stepped away and air came more easily into her lungs. "I'll give you a list."
A lead? That was great, but it didn't explain the fierce tension emanating from him. "Okay. He's got a meeting tomorrow morning so I should be able to photocopy what you need then."
"No." Their gazes connected again. "I need you to get it tonight. Now."
"But Frank, I can't just go into his office. It's locked and—"
He pulled open the closet door and grabbed her coat. "I'm sure a locked door won't stop you. If you haven't managed to snag a key, I'd be surprised."
"I do have one but—it should only be used in emergencies. If I'm caught in there—"
"This is an emergency." He held her coat open, ready to help her slip it on.
"I see. I'll make my call to Hal first."
She reached for the phone and started to pick up the receiver but Frank grabbed her hand. His fingers, cold and hard over hers, sent a shiver of apprehension through her.
"That can wait." He held her coat up again and she shoved her arms in.
"Are you going to let me in on this clue?" she demanded.
"Not until I have more information."
She flung her hair over the collar and fastened the buttons. "Frank, if I'm going to risk—"
"Angel," he grated between clenched teeth. "Do as you're told. I'm the senior agent and I don't have to explain every detail to you."
She felt her face drain of colour. "Yes, sir."
Clearly, there was no point arguing. The fact that he'd pulled rank on her, that he didn't trust her enough—or respect her enough—to share the information, hurt. He tugged a list out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
"I want files on all of those." He watched intently as she scanned the list of six company names, as though waiting for some reaction.
"All right. I should be back in about two hours." She turned and marched to the front entrance.
"I'm going to drive you."
"I can go myself, Frank. I don't need—"
His fingers clenched around her wrist. "I said I'm going to drive you."
* * *
As soon as Frank stepped into the house and saw Angel with the voice scrambler, he knew he'd been wrong to trust her.
His wife, the woman he loved, had been about to betray him. Again.
He had to make sure he kept her away from a phone until he could figure out what to do with her. At least, a phone she'd be willing to use to make her traitorous call. The idea of taking her to Vendetti's building seemed the ideal solution. He would get the files he needed to continue working on the case and he knew she wouldn't chance making her call from any of the phones there because the chances were too high that Vendetti had them monitored. She wouldn't chance giving herself away to Vendetti.
As he drove the dark city streets, ignoring Angel sitting less than a foot away, he wondered what he'd do with her afterward. If he took her back to FBI headquarters, which seemed the only solution, there'd be some difficult issues to work out. They'd have to find a good explanation for Angel's disappearance. Dennis wouldn't pull him out of Vendetti's operation until they'd proved in court that Angel was the informant. Once charges were laid against her, they'd have to find a way of stopping information about her cover from spreading through the Bureau like a gr
ass fire, because if Angel wasn't the one—which seemed pretty unlikely—the real informant would find out about Frank's cover and he be would be in grave danger.
He glanced at her, sitting stiffly beside him. Headlights from a passing car illuminated her hair, setting it ablaze like a halo, lighting up her face. The light faded and her angelic features returned to darkness—but the image was emblazoned in his mind.
His heart compacted against the wall of his chest. How could he have been so wrong about her? The first time, he hadn't really known her. She'd taken him completely by surprise. But this time he'd walked into the situation with his eyes wide open. How had she managed to deceive him again?
He clutched the steering wheel tightly.
Right at this moment, he wished he could inflict as much pain on her as she'd caused him—in the past, and over the weeks, months, maybe years, ahead while he tried to recover from loving Angel all over again.
* * *
Angel stepped into the large office complex and signed in at reception.
"Must be pretty dedicated," the guard said, smiling as he checked her employee identification. "You wouldn't catch me in here on a Sunday night if I had a choice."
She returned the smile, quelling the nervous flutters in her abdomen. He's just being friendly, she told herself, not trying to dig for information. "I've got to set up for a meeting first thing in the morning and I'm terrible at getting in early. I'll sleep better knowing everything's ready to go."
He shook his head. "Dedicated. That's what I call it."
He signed his name beside hers and wrote down the time under the 'In' column. She didn't like the fact there'd be a record of her time here, but there was no way around it. If all went well, there was no reason anyone should suspect a thing. The guard switched on the elevator for her.
"The hall lights'll be on up there, but not the office lights. You know where the switches are?"
"Yes, just inside the door. Thanks."
"Okay. Don't work too hard," he advised as he turned away and sauntered back to the reception desk.
She did some deep breathing exercises as the elevator crawled to her destination. Well, if she had to skulk around the office, at least late on a Sunday was the perfect time, giving very little chance of anyone catching her.
The elevator doors finally slid open and she wandered down the dimly lit corridor to Carlos' offices. Her key opened the outer door, giving her access to the main offices. All were cubicles except her own office, which had a door but no lock. She closed the door behind her, then flicked the lights on and hurried down the hall to Carlos' door, scanning the cubicles for any sign of human presence. No light spilled out from under his door, so she slid her copy of his key into the lock. Pushing the door open slowly, she peered inside cautiously, then swiftly stepped inside and switched his brass desk light on before returning to close the door.
She walked over to the credenza, which she knew Carlos didn't lock. The files kept here held nothing hinting at the type of illegal activities that went on. Why Frank wanted these files, she didn't know. Probably to do some cross-checking with other information he'd gleaned along the way, such as dates of deliveries or contact names. It wouldn't be suspicious for her to be scanning these files. The problem was being in his office after hours without a good reason.
She opened her purse and snatched out the list Frank had given her, then yanked the corresponding files out of the large drawer. With manila folders in hand, she hurried to the door and pulled it open a crack. No one was in sight so she slipped out and headed for the photocopy machine in the far corner of the office, in a cubicle set aside for the purpose. She plucked out the staple in the first document with a staple remover and fed it into the document tray. She jabbed the green 'Start' button, then tapped her foot impatiently as letters lit up telling her the machine had to warm up and to 'Please wait'.
It's okay for you, you stupid machine. You're not the one with a raging current of adrenaline flooding through your veins.
She heard a click and stifled a gasp as she realized someone had just opened the main office door. She stood unmoving, careful not to make a sound, praying the darn machine wouldn't start up before whoever it was went away.
"Miss Tortina? It's Ernie from security. You in here?"
She let out the breath she'd been holding. Fixing a pleasant smile on her face, she popped her head around the blue cubicle divider to see him walking slowly down the aisle, peering into the empty work areas as he went.
"Hi, there," she said brightly. "I was just doing some copying. You know how these meeting are. Everyone needs a copy. So much paper wasted at these things. Probably half of them wind up in the recycle bin." She knew she was nattering, but couldn't help herself.
"Sure. Say, you okay? You look kinda flushed."
Her hand fluttered to her cheek. "Yes, I…" She laughed nervously. "You startled me is all. You know, being in the office when it's so quiet and all… sort of spooked me."
Why had he come to check on her? Usually the guards could care less as long as she had the proper identification. The building housed offices for a dozen or more different companies and building security's main concern was that only appropriate employees got into the building. Any security beyond that was the responsibility of each company.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to. Anyway, I was just wondering if you'd be much longer? I'm about to go off duty and I thought we could grab a coffee or something. Or maybe I could give you a lift somewhere?"
She almost laughed out loud in relief. The man wasn't interested in anything beyond picking her up. The copy machine started and she heard the hum and sputter of the document being processed through it.
"No, thanks anyway. My husband is waiting for me and…"
"Oh. I didn't realize. Your security card doesn't list a husband as an emergency contact so… Well, you can't blame a guy for trying."
"My card? Oh, yes. I got married a few weeks ago and I guess I forgot to update it."
"Okay, well. Good night, ma'am. I probably won't see you on the way out."
"Good night, Ernie." She smiled as he went out the door. Once the door closed, she sighed in relief, then hurried back to the photocopier. Grabbing the copy out of the hopper and stuffing it on the table beside the file folders, she switched the original with the next to be copied. Performing the repetitive steps of copying lulled her into a calmer state. The green light flashed as the machine copied each page and the systematic humming and whooshing of paper traveling through the mechanism soothed her frazzled nerves.
This wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, she decided as she closed the fourth folder and reached for the fifth. She had just finished loading the second document from the stack when she heard the click of the door again.
She pressed the square green button and stepped out of the cubicle as she said, "Ernie, you back again?"
But the threatening figure facing her in the hall was not Ernie.
"Dino? What… what are you doing here?" She felt her pulse accelerate and her knees go weak.
"I think a better question is what you're doing here, Angie. What's the matter? Hubby not keeping you busy enough at home?" He strode toward her.
"I… I had some work to do before tomorrow, I—"
He pushed past her and snatched the top page from the copy bin. His gaze flicked over it, then he glanced at the stack of folders on the table. Fanning them out on the table top, he read the file headers on the index flaps, then glared at her. "You shouldn't be here, Angie. And you shouldn't be going through Carlos' files."
"Dino, you don't know—"
His hand sliced through the air. "Don't gimme that. I told you I knew something was going on and I intended to find out what it was. You didn't really think you could waltz in here unnoticed on a Sunday night, did you? The guard called me as soon as you climbed onto the elevator."
So good old Ernie hadn't really been after a date, just ensuring she was here… and would stay here until Dino a
rrived.
"Dino, I told you, I have some work—"
"Shut up," he snapped. "If you haven't done anything wrong, then you won't mind waiting while I call Carlos. If he knows about this," he tapped the stack of copies, "then you're off the hook. Right, Angie?"
He flung his hand out to grab her. Knowing if he called Carlos she'd be a dead woman, she snatched her arm away before he could close his hand around it. She lunged for the cubicle opening.
She got three quarters of the way down the aisle before he tackled her, sending her slamming into the door. His momentum crushed her against the wood. The breath puffed out of her, leaving her winded for a moment.
When he twisted her around to face him, she brought her knee up sharply, connecting with his groin. He doubled over and she lurched past him. He managed to grab her foot, sending her off balance. As she fell, she saw the surface of the receptionist's desk rising to meet her, then felt a sharp, cracking pain in her head.
* * *
From deep within the darkness she heard a tapping sound. It became a beacon in the black night that engulfed her. She focused on it and reached toward it through the fog.
"Frank?" she murmured weakly.
"He's not going to help you now."
The voice was masculine, and familiar, but it wasn't Frank's. She opened her eyes and tried to lift her head, but the action cost her too much in pain. It slashed through her head like a sharp knife. She slumped back, groaning. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. Through the haze of agony, she saw a face and tried to focus on it. The features crystallized just enough so she could identify him.
"Dino, what are you doing here?"
He stared at her. As the scene before her slowly clarified, she realized he held a gun. His eyes, fixed on her, were no longer the charming brown eyes meant to win a woman's heart. They were the eyes of a killer.
The evening's events jolted through her brain and her eyes widened.
Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers Page 114
