Withholding Evidence

by Grant, Rachel

  Trina wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. She was smart, if the letters PhD after her name meant anything. She’d understand the stakes. She’d keep her mouth shut. She wouldn’t sell out her country for a book deal.

  He hoped.

  But then, this was the same woman who’d slept with him, then had the gall to ask him if he were a murderer. So maybe brains she had, but judgment of character? Not so much.

  Face it, when it came to Trina, he’d been wrong from the start. He’d been thinking with his dick, and now he might end up paying the ultimate price.

  What would it be like to be a SEAL locked up with a bunch of terrorists?

  He’d take the fall for his country without question, but he’d swallow a bullet before he’d be consigned to Gitmo.

  Another ping. This one a few blocks away. Deep in the run-down projects of southeast DC. Owen was definitely trying to score drugs. Keith had to find his spotter before the needle found a vein.

  CURT FACED TRINA across the conference table. Sean remained outside the room. “You need to tell me, Trina. I do have security clearance. Attorney general is a cabinet position.”

  Hell, as AG, the man was seventh in line for the presidency. But she couldn’t form the words. Who the hell had put her up to this? And why? That was the question they needed to answer, and she’d told Curt that already. Mara had gone through her files and could find no record of the assignment. It had never passed through her, which meant it hadn’t come from the Pentagon.

  As far as they could tell, the assignment originated in Walt’s e-mail, which made no sense.

  Curt fixed her with a hard stare. “You said this directly relates to the bombing—at least you think it does—which means you are withholding evidence about what may have been a terrorist act. One that could have killed you. Keith. Your coworkers. Mara.” His voice dropped on his wife’s name.

  This was so damn convoluted, she couldn’t keep it straight. Mara’s uncle had been vice president when Keith had shot the UN force commander. Andrew Stevens had to know what had happened. But she believed Mara when she said she knew nothing and had no part in the assignment falling to Trina. The woman was a patriot who’d devoted herself to bringing home the remains of servicemen and women prior to taking a job with the NHHC. No way would she be involved in trying to expose what had happened in Somalia.

  “I can’t tell anyone, Curt. Not even you. Some secrets are too big.”

  Shit. Wasn’t Curt vetting Keith for the job with Raptor? Well, she’d nicely destroyed that dream for Keith. But then, Keith might be going to prison for murder. “Did Keith shoot Ruby?”

  “No. He was on the phone with me when it happened.”

  “How do you know he didn’t shoot him, then call you?”

  “Because I had an FBI agent staking out the place too. I appreciate Raptor’s assistance and wanted input from Keith, but make no mistake, this is an FBI investigation.”

  “I should have guessed that.” Suddenly, she felt horribly dumb. Naïve. “You’ve been running the show the whole time, haven’t you?”

  “As much as I can. If we’d known you were the target from the start, you’d have been in protective custody. But since Keith was the likely target, I was content to let Raptor provide your security.”

  “You knew about Mara pretending to be me.”

  “Yes.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m not a controlling asshole. I wasn’t having you—or Mara—followed. We were tracking Keith, but when my agents kept losing his trail, I contacted Alec Ravissant and insisted he keep me posted on Keith’s whereabouts.”

  “Did Keith know this?”

  Curt shrugged. “He signed a form authorizing a full background check. I wasn’t required to provide details on my methodology.”

  “So he’s been a suspect all along.”

  “No. Material witness. And if I didn’t have the authorization, I’d have gotten a warrant. It was just easier since Keith signed off on the background check, and Alec had his own reason to keep me in the loop.”

  “But you don’t trust Keith,” she pressed. Her emotions toward him were so confused, she wanted Curt’s take.

  He leaned forward and studied her. Finally, he said, “There was a recommendation for a commendation for Keith in his file. I was curious about that. The reason stated seemed to be an unremarkable op in Afghanistan four years ago. It appeared, from the paper trail, the recommendation stalled in a very unusual place—the office of the vice president.”

  Trina sat up straight. “Mara’s uncle?”

  Curt nodded. “Last week, I went to visit Andrew.”

  The former vice president was currently in a minimum-security prison for white-collar criminals—and Curt Dominick was the man who’d put him there. “I don’t imagine he was thrilled to see you.”

  “Quite the contrary, Andrew and I have become friends. Of a sort.” He smiled. “Andrew wouldn’t answer any of my questions when it came to Senior Chief Petty Officer Keith Hatcher. He only said the recommendation was ill-advised. Now, I don’t know about you, but when a former vice president knows the name, rank, and service record of a random enlisted navy SEAL—whom he has never met—I start to wonder.”

  Trina sat forward, uneasy with Curt’s tone. “Whatever happened in Afghanistan must have warranted notice.”

  “But the Afghanistan op was insignificant, as I said. It’s barely even classified. Andrew put the kibosh on a commendation, which makes me wonder if there is a dirty secret in Keith’s past, something the top brass knows about—right up to the head of the executive branch.” Curt’s tone turned angry. “Something the Pentagon didn’t condone but was forced to cover up. International relations get tricky when military action is involved.”

  She frowned. “But if he did something that awful, he’d have been forced from the navy. Dishonorable discharge at the very least.”

  “Not if what he did was so bad the powers that be were forced to cover up his crime for him. Hell, if they tried to eject him he could threaten to expose the cover-up.”

  “At his own expense? That makes no sense. And if he did something that awful, surely he’d have a good reason? Keith is a good man. I’ve read his service record—it’s exemplary. He’s a patriot who enlisted right after September eleventh. He’s given his entire adult life to the military. Surely he—” She stopped upon hearing the entreaty in her voice. And the ring of truth in her words.

  Curt sat back and smiled. Then he winked at her.

  Shit. She’d just been manipulated by a master. “You aren’t suspicious of Keith at all, are you?”

  “No. Everything I’ve learned about him in the last week tells me that whatever he did, he did it for a reason. You seemed to be the one who was struggling with doubt.”

  THE DRIVE TO the rehab center would take several hours, time Keith didn’t have to spare. He’d called Josh, who agreed to take Owen back to rehab. The center had the right to refuse to let him back in—but if there was anyone who could convince them to take him back, it was Josh. He was a far better diplomat than Keith would ever be.

  It made him ill to think of the jeopardy Josh, Owen, and the others faced. His fault. All his fault. He never should have reopened his door that Sunday morning after Trina said she wanted to know about Somalia. He should have deleted her e-mails unread. He never should have gotten involved with her.

  He’d been selfish, reaching for what he wanted in spite of the risks. He had no right to endanger his team that way. And Trina was now in danger too.

  Owen mumbled something. He was stretched out in the backseat. Not an OD, thank God. Just exhausted, stressed. He’d been tapering with meds in rehab and hadn’t gotten his dose today. Withdrawal had kicked in. Owen was unable to sleep but also unable to think or argue. Thankfully, Keith had caught up with him before he’d scored.

  Keith pulled up in front of Josh’s small house in McLean, Virginia. Darkness had begun to fall, and the residential street was quiet. Josh met him out front, and they
shook hands, then together they transferred a shaking, sweating Owen to the back of Josh’s car, where he lay down across the length of the seat.

  Keith met Owen’s bleak, pained eyes before his head dropped onto the cushion, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Keith placed a hand on Owen’s ankle. “You’ll beat this. We’ll help you. Always.”

  “I told her. I told her everything.” The words were muttered, hard to decipher, but the most coherent thing he’d uttered since Keith found him in the alley next to a liquor store trying to cut a deal. Owen grabbed his hair and pulled. “I’m sorry. I’m such a fuckup. I—” He choked on a sob. “I shouldn’t have—” He twisted and buried his face in the seat.

  “It’s okay, Owen. We can trust her. She’ll never tell. She’d never do anything to hurt you.” Or me. The ache in Keith’s gut began to ease. If he hadn’t been so damn desperate to find Owen, he’d have seen that sooner.

  He tucked Owen’s legs up as if his friend were an invalid, closed the door, then leaned against it. “We need to know who lured him out,” he said to Josh.

  “I didn’t get any leads at the rehab center and haven’t been able to reach Owen’s aunt. You’ve ruled out the historian?”

  Remembering Trina’s protective attitude toward Owen, he shook his head. “I don’t think she knew he’d been in rehab. It’s hard to believe she would have set up the meeting if she’d known.”

  He’d misjudged her, but then, she’d misjudged him too.

  Josh nodded toward the back of his car. “Did you mean what you said to Owen? Can we trust her?”

  “Yes. She’s smart. She knows what’s at stake.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “However, from her attitude it appears Owen didn’t tell her why I shot Kassa. My guess is he doesn’t remember that part.”

  Josh frowned. “Whoever was so eager for her to find out about Kassa probably doesn’t give a crap about why.”

  “Yeah. And that’s a problem. I hate dropping Owen and running, but I need to get back to the city. She was set up. He was set up. Someone wanted her to know what happened, and that puts her at risk.”

  “You think their next move will be to go after her now that she has useful intel?”

  Keith nodded. He believed manipulating Trina had been the goal from the start—because she was the best bet to get someone from Keith’s team to talk—and now she knew something that had been deeply buried by no less than the Pentagon. A chill of fear slid down his spine. She’s well guarded. He cleared his throat. “She’s safe for the moment, but as soon as she leaves the DOJ, she’s vulnerable.”

  Dammit, in the heat of anger, Keith had told Dominick to find her a new safe house. Dipshit move, which he’d correct the moment he got back on the road and could call the attorney general.

  Josh frowned. “You shouldn’t have left her.”

  “I needed to find Owen.” And, truthfully, he’d needed to get his thoughts in order where she was concerned. “I left her with the AG. And a bodyguard. She’s safe.”

  Josh opened the driver’s door on his car. “Go find her. I’ll call the others, bring them up to date, and take care of Owen. Stay safe.”

  Keith nodded. “You too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CONSTITUTION AVENUE WAS busy as evening shifted to night, but then, Constitution was always busy. Sean was driving, and Trina sat in the passenger seat, feeling utterly defeated. They were headed to another safe house. One without Keith.

  She might have inadvertently caused his friend to relapse and called him a murderer. He’d never forgive her, and she couldn’t blame him.

  Sean’s cell phone rang, and he hit the Speaker button. “Bring Trina back,” Curt said, his voice carrying more tension than he usually revealed. “I just heard from the team searching Ruby’s apartment. We have confirmation the guy was a Julian Assange wannabe. Homeland Security has been looking for this guy ever since a website leaked sensitive Pentagon documents on an anti-US government website.”

  Cold dread spread from Trina’s belly outward. “Are you talking about RATinformant dot com?”

  “Yeah. It appears Ruby’s avatar was Gopher. His partner Mouse is still at large.”

  Trina had never been to the website, but she knew thanks to the media coverage surrounding the Pentagon leak that the group capitalized the letters in RAT because they stood for “Revealing All Truths” and their avatars were all rodents: Gopher, Mouse, Muskrat, and Beaver, with Gopher and Mouse being the site owners and operators. Antigovernment activists with branding.

  “Trina, we think they were trying to use you to get military secrets they could publish on the website. Mara’s research into the initial assignment hasn’t turned up a damn thing. All we know is it didn’t come from the Pentagon or the navy. She’s trying to figure out how it got into Walt’s e-mail.”

  Dread turned to nausea. She had met with Gopher, because he wanted to use her to get information he couldn’t access otherwise. Before she took this job—and certainly before she’d completed the security clearance process—she’d been informed that any contact with WikiLeaks or RATinformant, or any of the other government leak websites put her at risk of being charged with communicating with the enemy. It was one of the reasons she’d never visited any of the freaking sites—even though some of the documents uploaded would probably help with her research.

  Yet now it turned out she’d met with a RAT?

  Her head throbbed. “I didn’t know, Curt. And I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “I know Trina. We’ve got your recording to back up your statement, and Sean was a witness. Come back to the DOJ. I’ve got a few more questions about—”

  Curt’s words were lost in the crunch and jolt as a car slammed into the rear quarter panel on Sean’s side of the vehicle. Trina screamed as they careened to the side. Lights and direction were a blur.

  Sean kept his head and shouted to Curt what was happening even as he righted the vehicle. Again, they lurched sideways as the vehicle pounded them again. But Sean had a firm grip and swerved to avoid the brunt of the impact.

  She twisted in her seat to see the relentless vehicle—but all she saw was one blinding headlight as the car came at them again, this time from behind. Up ahead, cars were stopped at a red light. She braced herself as Sean slammed on the brakes. Struck from behind by the speeding car, they shot forward, rear-ending the car in front of them. Trina saw nothing but the white of the airbag.

  KEITH WAS ONLY a block behind Trina and Sean and closing in when he saw the dark sedan slam into the side of their car. Stuck with a dozen cars between them, all he could do was watch in horror as the sedan struck the driver’s side again, then finally rear-ended them when Sean was forced to brake.

  Keith aimed for the curb and jerked to a stop, then sprang from his car and sprinted to the wreck, wishing he had his Glock at the small of his back, but DC gun laws prevented him from carrying concealed. He hesitated and considered grabbing his rifle from the trunk when the masked driver of the sedan jumped out of his car and circled to the passenger door—where Trina was likely to be seated. The man pointed a pistol at the front passenger window.

  He had to be sweating under the ski mask on the hot summer night, and his wildly shaking arms said everything Keith needed to know. The guy was no operative. No military man.

  Dominick had told him of Ruby’s association with RATinformant when he’d called to get Trina’s location moments ago. Odds were good this jumpy guy wielding a gun was Ruby’s partner in exposing government secrets, the RAT known by the avatar Mouse.

  Mouse was so focused on the car he’d just run down, he didn’t even scan to check his six. He had no clue what he was doing. He slowly approached Trina’s door at an angle. His back to Keith.

  No time to grab the rifle, but Keith could take this amateur down without it. He darted to the side, so he could get a better view into the car. Trina appeared to be unconscious. He couldn’t see Sean and wondered if he’d also been knocked unconscious,
or if both were playing possum with Mouse.

  It was clear Mouse didn’t know what to do. Pointing a gun at an unconscious woman was futile. The man cursed and shouted instructions that garnered no response from Trina in her slumped-over position.

  Keith charged, using a football tackle that slammed Mouse into the pavement. Keith stripped the gun and sent it skidding across the sidewalk. He pinned Mouse belly down with his hands behind his back, then torqued his gun arm, and the bastard howled with pain.

  Keith leaned down and whispered in the prostrate man’s ear, “You think you can go after the woman I love, and I won’t kill you?” Rage had taken over as the image of Mouse pointing a gun at Trina eclipsed everything else.

  Mouse sobbed and whimpered, unable even to thrash under the heavy weight of Keith sitting on his back. Slowly, the man’s words broke through the angry haze. “The government killed Gopher. Now they’re after me. Dr. Sorensen was my only hope for leverage. My only hope to stay alive.”

  From behind Keith, Sean said, “Thanks for the assist, Hatcher. I’ll take over from here. The FBI will be here shortly.”

  Mouse screeched again. “No! They’ll kill me. Like they did Gopher.” He bucked upward, fear giving him strength.

  Keith glanced behind him to see Trina—beautiful, perfect, amazing Trina—standing slightly behind Sean. A scratch above her eyebrow dripped blood. The frame above the left lens of her glasses was cracked—probably damaged by the airbag. Keith lost his voice for a moment as he prayed that was her only injury.

  Sean handed him a zip-tie, forcing Keith to focus. “Bind him.”

  Keith looped the plastic around Mouse’s wrists, cinching it tight, while Sean did the same to the man’s ankles. Then Keith lifted his weight from Mouse’s back and flipped him over, then said, “Let’s see who we have here.”

  Sean reached down and plucked off the ski mask, revealing a sweaty, freckled face that looked vaguely familiar to Keith. Then he remembered. He’d seen the guy at Rav’s house, weeks ago.