“The homeless man stated he saw two men fleeing down the alley. One was carrying a woman, and the other, leading, was wearing a suit. A suit, Madam Director. Who do you think that suggests?” I narrow my eyes at her, hoping this information will help break down the wall of protection she has around the mysterious agent. “Based on his behavior on other assignments, disappearing when needed and now being unavailable, we suspect it’s Smith who’s the inside man. We find Smith, we find the president.”
The chair creaks under her slight weight as she leans back and steeples two fingers beneath her chin. “You think it’s an agent.”
“Not just any agent. Smith,” I correct. “He was forced onto our team without any say from our team lead, Davis. Then, during the couple times the president’s life was in danger, Smith was conveniently unavailable or missing. We know nothing about him. Hell, I don’t think I even know his first name.” My chest heaves from the exertion of holding back the roar that my voice wants to morph into. Yelling at my boss won’t win me any favors, so I keep my tone in check.
“It’s not him specifically,” she states all calm and collected, the very opposite of the war of emotions raging inside me. “But based on the witness statement and the execution of the incident, an agent leaking the information makes sense. I’ve been sitting here trying to piece together how these fuckers knew her route to and from the residence.” She flashes an accusing glare my way. Okay, maybe she does know I’m Randi’s special friend. Whatever, I’ll deal with those consequences later. “And they knew about the smaller agent force and new surveillance. It didn’t add up until now. So yes, Agent Benson, I concur that the circumstances coupled with that witness statement, even though unreliable, point to an agent assisting with this morning’s attack on the president. But who is the—”
“It’s fucking Smith.” The table rattles under the weight of my fist slamming against the top. “Why are you covering for him?”
“It’s not Agent Smith. Move on, focus on other possible suspects.” Her delicate brows draw close. Tugging at a small necklace, she runs the charm along the length of the thin gold chain. “I’ll gather the full beta team roster. It has to be one of them or an incident would’ve been reported that an unscheduled agent was on premises before the attack. They know the rules which are in place to prevent things like this from happening.”
“Why the fuck are you adamant that it’s not Smith? The evidence since he was forced onto the alpha team all points to him.”
“I know it’s not Agent Smith.” Dropping the necklace, she casually folds her hands beneath the table, but not before I catch their small tremble. “Tell me what else you saw at the scene, what other evidence you found.”
“No,” I growl and shove away from the table, ready to stalk around to her side and shake some sense into her. A grip on my shoulder stops me from advancing on our boss.
Our female boss.
Fuck, what am I doing?
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I breathe in deep. “Tell me right now, Madam Director, right fucking now why we shouldn’t issue a search and destroy for Smith. Explain why he shouldn’t be hunted down and hung for being a traitor.” Beads of sweat dot my forehead and slip down the back of my neck with my rising anger and restraint.
Her head dips in what seems to be either defeat or acceptance.
I dare a look to my friend, who appears as confused as I feel.
“Madam Director,” Tank urges, his tone clipped. “The president is running out of time.” I fight to hold back the gut-wrenching panic his words triggers. “If you know something about Agent Smith, why we shouldn’t consider him as a suspect, tell us. Then we can move on to find the bastard who not only betrayed Randi and his country but this very fucking agency itself. Tell us. Now.”
Whoa. The controlled anger in his deep voice and expression makes me flinch, and I’m not even the one he’s talking to.
“I know it’s not him,” she murmurs, now massaging her temples with two fingers.
“How? How can you be certain. Do you even know his background?” I snap.
“Yes.”
“Tell. Us. Now.” I’ve never wanted to cause harm to a woman until now. Why the hell is she holding back? We need this information.
Sitting up tall, she collects herself, straightening her shoulders. “I do know his background, and yes, Agents Washington and Benson, I know for a fact he’s not our traitor. And I know all this with 100 percent certainty because….” Turning the chair, she puts her back to us and faces the row of dark-tinted windows that look out over the city. “Because Agent Smith is my son.”
What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?
Chapter Six
Trey
“What?” Tank and I say in unison, the shock of her confession deflating the earlier tension from the room.
With the director’s back still to us, I shift to face Tank, eyes wide, my mouth opening and closing as I search for words. But what in the hell do you say to that? Did not see that coming, because it makes zero sense.
By the narrowing of my friend’s eyes and the sharp hitch of his chin toward the woman across the table, it seems Tank is on the same wavelength.
Grinding my teeth, I sort through what to say or ask to help clarify the million questions I have, but she beats me to it.
“He was with Homeland before I transferred him to Secret Service. I won’t go into the long version, because as Agent Washington mentioned before, the president doesn’t have much time. But I can tell you he was top of his class at MIT, recruited directly out of college. You have to know he’s a good man and an even better agent with his observation talents and ability to pull apart truths and lies quickly.” Her weighted pause has me inching closer to the edge of the table, waiting for more. “He’s always had this… edge to see through things others can’t. Homeland used his talents, put him in difficult scenarios right out of training, ones that still haunt him.
“Two years ago, he stopped by for a visit, and I noticed he was different. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a darkness weighing him down. I came to the conclusion that the years he’d put into Homeland and the types of ops and requirements needed to tackle the stateside terrorists were taking a heavy toll. Then he started showing up injured.” I hold a breath as she rotates the chair around to face us. Dampness lingers along her lower lids. “I asked him what happened, asked what was going on, but he refused to open up. He didn’t… doesn’t have anyone. No wife, no girlfriend or friends. It’s just him and me. So I knew it had to be me to save him, even if it was saving him from himself.
“I had him followed shortly thereafter. The first agent I assigned to tail him was ditched in less than ten minutes. The second even faster than that. It took months to figure out how he was gaining the injuries when he wasn’t on assignment. And when I found out….” Her short blonde hair shifts along her jawline with a shake of her head. “He was in deep. I didn’t confront him, knowing he’d deny any involvement or simply walk away from me and never come back. Nor did I ask for permission when I went above his head and called in a favor, having him transferred to my agency. With Ray unraveling on and off assignments, they willingly transferred what they assumed was a too-far-gone agent to the Secret Service.”
Ray. So that’s his first name. If I had a hundred guesses, I would’ve never gotten it correct. That asshole looks more like a Frank or Dave or Charlie than a Ray. No wonder he hasn’t told us his name. Poor fuck is embarrassed it doesn’t match his persona. Unlike mine that totally fits. I think.
“Unraveling?” I question, my voice deep with focus. It’s a nice story and all, but what if she’s too close to this, considering the relationship, and can’t see the blaring signs that her son did unravel completely and abducted Randi?
“Taking greater risks than needed, almost as if he’d lost all self-preservation. Which is why he started….” She paused a moment, then looked at Tank. “You said you tried reaching out to him?”
“Correct, no answer.�
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She nods. “I’ll keep trying him. In the meantime, what other leads can you pursue? With the suit tip, agent is one angle we can dive into. I’ll look at the beta team roster, compare it to those who were killed in the attack, and go from there.”
“What aren’t you telling us about Smith?” Gripping the chair back beside me, I squeeze until my knuckles turn white. “Why shouldn’t we suspect him? What’s with the disappearing? You say you know.”
“I do, but I’m not sure it’s my story to tell. I found out by going behind his back, which cost me months of us not speaking.”
“Madam Director, tell us, or I can’t give up on the idea that Smith is behind this somehow. The disappearances are a huge indicator that he’s up to something shady.”
She huffs in seeming frustration as she purses her lips. “Fine. But not a word to him.” I hold two fingers in the air with the universal sign of trustworthiness. Unfortunately for her, I was never a Boy Scout, but she doesn’t need to be reminded of that right now. “Ray is mixed up with an illegal underground fighting circuit.”
“Huh?” I tilt my head in complete and utter loss.
“I don’t know all the details, more bits and pieces through my own digging. It’s a gruesome, everything-goes type of fight club. Every time he steps into the makeshift ring, his life is at risk. Blades of any kind are allowed. No gloves, no tape, no padding. Anything goes until one person concedes to defeat or dies. And from my informants, the latter happens often.”
“How does this tell me he’s innocent in all this? Sounds like he has an anger problem and is off his fucking rocker.”
Her thin lips press into a line at my disparaging comment about her son. “They’re everywhere, these circuits. All he has to do is put his name in the pool. And with his record, it wouldn’t surprise me that every time he’s interested, they find a fight for him to enter.”
I stare blankly at the director, needing a bit more than that to piece together whatever web she’s weaving.
“Let me ask you this. After these disappearances, did you notice any signs of injury? A flinch, a bruise, or cuts?” she asks.
I start to shake my head until a flash of memory stops me short. That time in the Oval Office, and a few others he seemed stiff almost like he was sore or healing.
“I’ve never seen him with bruises on his face, anywhere visible,” I muse. Tank paces behind me, no doubt trying to process all this new information on Smith while devising a plan for the next few hours. This isn’t getting us anywhere closer to finding Randi and punishing those responsible.
“That’s because most are unable to land a clean hit. He protects his face before everything else, which leaves other parts of him vulnerable, but from what I’ve gathered, he’s the only undefeated opponent in the circuit.”
There’s no stopping my slack-jawed expression. Well, hell. Now that’s fucking impressive.
“This doesn’t change the fact that I don’t fully trust him, but it does make me question if he’s the one we should be focused on. You say you trust him?” I ask her.
“He has his issues, but yes, I trust him not to betray me or our country.”
“Fine. There is a tip we can follow up on while we wait to hear from Smith,” I state as I shove off the back of the chair. It tips forward before righting itself and slamming back to the floor. “You’ll focus on the beta team and let us know if you find anything suspicious in their backgrounds or whereabouts last night. We’ll circle back when we’re done with this other lead.”
“What’s this lead?” she asks.
“A suggestion from someone we trust.” Tank stalks toward the door. “Let us know immediately if you obtain any new information or leads.” Hand on the door lever, he pauses and shifts to face the director. “I’m not happy that you hid valuable insight from me regarding Agent Smith which put my team in danger.” Her lips part as she readies her defense, but Tank puts his back to her. “We’ll discuss this after the president is found.”
The door hurls open under the force of his yank, slamming against the opposite wall with a loud crack. Bits of drywall sprinkle to the ground from the divot the handle created.
Tank and I stomp down the stairs to follow through on Vlad’s tip about Secretary of State Todd Rosen.
Halfway to the lobby, I realize my earlier doubt and suspicion of Smith has morphed into something resembling respect after the director’s explanation. Respect and excitement. If he was Homeland’s go-to agent for intelligence gathering, there’s a chance he might have some suspicions on who our traitor is.
Now all we have to do is find the bastard.
“We interrogate the secretary of state together,” Tank says as I slide into the passenger seat. He jams a finger against the Start button like it personally offended him.
“Interrogate or question?” I chuckle.
“Question. If anyone outside of this truck asks, that is.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at my lips. “Noted. You know where you’re going?”
He nods and yanks on the wheel, throwing the SUV into the heavy flow of traffic. A weighted silence settles around us as he weaves through the rush hour traffic. If he’s like me, he’s probably lost in his own thoughts, processing what was revealed in that office.
If what she says is true, then Smith truly is the badass fucker some have suspected him to be. I have no qualms with how he goes about managing his anger; it’s his body, his life, his choice. From what little I know, the circuit is all consenting adults. The men—and who knows, maybe a few women—who put their name in the fight selection hat have to understand the rules and risks involved. It’s violent as fuck and not my scene, but we all have to find our own way to process what we’ve done in our job to protect the millions of innocent lives in the US.
Do I judge him for the violence he dispenses to save himself?
Fuck no.
Hell, I might even respect him a little more now.
Not because of the violent way he deals with his anger but the fact that he is dealing with it in some way. The easy way would be to drown your conscience with alcohol and move on to the next soul-darkening operation, letting it all build until you implode. Him choosing another path shows dedication on his part, even if it seems a bit suicidal.
A sharp ring blares through the SUV’s speakers, cutting my rambling internal thoughts on Smith and his life choices.
Both brows shoot up my forehead at the name listed on the display screen.
Agent Smith.
With a quick press of a button, Tank ends the near shrill ringing. Static crackles through the empty space before settling into silence.
“Smith.” Tank’s deep voice rumbles through the cab. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Unavailable. I just caught the news. Where do you need me?” If he can sense the impatience from Tank’s clipped words, he doesn’t let on. Hell, his even tone makes me think he’s bored, which pisses me right the fuck off.
“Why don’t you call your mom and get caught up to speed with her side of the investigation first?” I snap.
A long pause fills the car. I watch the little time counter tick up in seconds, waiting for him to respond to my jab.
His heavy sigh blows over the mouthpiece. “What all do you know?”
“Everything. She told us everything. Now get your motherfucking shit together, Smith, and help us find her.” A full-body tremor racks my body with the impatience racing through me. “We’re headed to check out that fuckstick of a secretary of state.”
“Good thinking. There’s something off about him,” Smith muses, clearly unruffled by my obvious anger.
“We have a witness who says one of the men running away from the scene was in a suit.”
“You’re thinking it was an agent and was in on it somehow.”
“We do. Any thoughts on where we should focus after we question Rosen?” I hold in a breath, allowing a slow burn to tighten my lungs. We need another lead, something other tha
n a damn inkling from the Russian president.
“I do,” Smith responds calmly.
“Care to share?” Tank snaps, slamming the heel of his left palm against the dash, startling me. This man treats his SUV like his only child normally and never takes his anger out on it. Seems like it’s not only me with emotions running unchecked. “She’s running out of time.”
“She is. I’ll call you back.”
Without another word, the bastard ends the call.
Tank shoots a dark look my way, promising retribution on Smith for hanging up on us, before turning his attention back out the windshield.
As he drives us toward Rosen’s place, we use the downtime to talk over what we know and strategy for interrogating the secretary of state. By the time the large spacious estates with perfectly groomed yards and mature trees fill every window, we’re forty minutes from downtown and have a solid plan in place.
We’re still not moving fast enough. We need to be doing more, finding more. We’re racing a doomsday clock, the time seeming to tick faster as the hours pass without her in my arms. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running out of time. That she’s running out of time.
Stay strong, Mess. Stay strong and wait for me.
Unease churns my gut, twisting my insides as we speed down the pristine drive of Todd Rosen’s massive home—mansion, really. There’s no way this fool Rosen makes enough from his salary to afford something like this in this area. Before Birmingham pulled him out of obscurity, Todd Rosen was a nobody, so how does someone like him have all this?
“Family money?” I question, my hand hovering over the chrome door handle, readying to push it open the moment we come to a halt.
“Not that I know of. You know that tool would’ve mentioned coming from money when he made a try for our girl that time a couple years back when she was still VP. Remember that?”
“Don’t remind me,” I growl at my friend.
The SUV slows to a crawl as we round the front drive and come to a stop directly in front of the steps leading to the wide double front door. My boots slam onto the pristine white concrete drive moments after Tank shifted the SUV into Park.
Power Term: A Secret Service Romantic Suspense Series (Power Play Book 5) Page 7
