It's Always Been You

by Paige, Victoria

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The three men were stunned speechless.

  Good. Glad she didn’t overreact. Maybe the letter knife was overkill, but she really freaked out. The second she saw the look of horror on Travis’s face, she regretted what she did and forced herself to get it together.

  Nate was on his phone searching for information. “Damn. The going rate is four thousand dollars per fucking gram. We’re talking about—” he crunched some numbers and gave a low whistle. He showed them his calculations. “Twenty-five billion dollars, give or take.”

  Caitlin, who was still sitting on Travis’s lap, felt him turn rock solid.

  “It’s reasonable to conclude that the stash is somewhere in the Carpathian mountain range, and the second file contains its exact coordinates.” Travis sighed. “However, twenty-five billion dollars is currently smashed into pieces on my damned floor.”

  She shot out from Travis’s grasp. “Do you really think I’m giving them the coordinates?”

  “I’m saying you shouldn’t have been so impulsive in destroying your laptop.”

  “Oh, now, because it’s more money than you can ever imagine you’re taking the side of the people who want to use me?”

  “Stop twisting my words,” Travis rose from his chair and towered over her. “We’re not sure of their motives. They may be trying to prevent the plutonium from falling into the wrong hands.”

  She glared up at him, not backing down. “Or this could be a shady side of the agency. I’m not naive Travis. The CIA likes to manipulate the power landscape of organized crime and political conflicts to further their objectives.”

  “You shouldn’t let what happened to your team cloud your judgment.”

  “Excuse me, it didn’t happen to you!” Caitlin yelled into his face. “Sometimes I’m thankful I don’t remember. Because it would kill me to know that some of my friends died and I lived.”

  “Don’t you dare say it happened only to you, Caitlin.” Travis gritted his teeth. “I thought you died, remember? Can you imagine how I felt when I came back from a fucking mission, having already lost one of my men, only to be informed that my wife was dead?” His eyes turned bleak. “It fucking broke me, Cat. My life shattered that day. I don’t think I’ve pieced myself back together yet. So don’t fucking tell me it didn’t happen to me, because I lived that nightmare.”

  The indignant righteousness that was fueling her resistance slowly dissipated and was replaced by the urge to wrap her arms around him. She took a deep breath, reached out, and linked her fingers with his, giving him a tug to draw him closer.

  His eyes flared with an unnamed emotion. His arms came around her as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, burrowing his nose as though he was inhaling her, absorbing all that was her.

  Moments passed as they just stood there, until Nate cleared his throat, reminding them that they were not alone.

  “So what’s the plan?” His friend asked.

  *****

  Travis leaned on the doorframe to his bedroom, sipping his Scotch as he stared at his wife, fast asleep on his bed. The night had been draining. He’d been tempted to turn Caitlin over his knee and blister the daylights out of her for even thinking of holding that letter knife to her throat. Even if she were bluffing, it was no small matter. And she pulled it on him—her husband, damn it.

  He’d also seen the distrust in her eyes. That hurt him the most, but he understood her. The impact of seeing all that information probably transported her back to her days on the run. She had not met with Dr. Lester in a while. When all this shit was over, she probably needed to see her again.

  The laptop was a complete loss. Apparently, when Caitlin flung it on the floor, she stomped on it as well. They could probably reload the files from the backup drive, but some software was proprietary to the CIA and compatibility might be an issue. However, he wouldn’t be surprised if the contents hadn’t been ghosted over spyware.

  He took another sip of his drink. The confrontation also dredged up an unwitting flashback of the day he was told of her death three years before. Just when he thought he’d pieced himself back together, those memories chipped away at him all over again.

  Travis made his way back to the kitchen bar to pour himself another finger of Scotch. Nate had left and returned with a change of clothes. He was staying the night. Sam had retired to bed after making sure all the CCTV cameras and alarms passed testing. There was a possibility with the loss of the laptop that whoever was after Caitlin would come for her.

  Damn it, there was another reason Travis wished she hadn’t destroyed the laptop. Ever since they returned from Iron Ridge, Travis had a distinct feeling in his gut that something really bad was about to happen. He didn’t share this with anyone, because he didn’t want to raise any undue concern. If it wasn’t the files, then what was it?

  He heard his phone vibrate loudly on the granite countertop. He picked it up to check caller ID.

  Porter.

  “Admiral.”

  “Blake. We need to talk.”

  *****

  It was late evening of the following day when Travis finally made it to his meeting with Ben Porter. Caitlin had argued with him all day, adamant that she wasn’t going to work further on the files. Her exact words were, “Porter can go fuck himself.”

  Travis had reasoned with her to have him at least hear Porter out. Nate, thankfully, was behind him on this, which frustrated Caitlin more. Sam, the only other person who was privy to the information, was quiet, but Travis knew he was siding with Caitlin. His new recruit had not served in the military. Keeping the peace was not a simple choice. It was not black and white, good or bad. In most cases, it was about choosing the lesser evil.

  He wasn’t going blindly into this. Seven tons of weaponized plutonium was a disaster waiting to happen. At the hands of terrorists, it could mean thousands of lives lost, but Porter had to convince him that there was no other hidden agenda.

  He parked his Escalade, exited the SUV, and mounted the steps to Porter’s colonial brick home. A man dressed in cargos and a black tee with a comm device and wire attached to his ear opened the door before Travis even hit the bell.

  “The Admiral is waiting for you in his study,” the man said. “It’s—”

  “I know where it is,” Travis replied. He had been to Porter’s home countless times for dinner and late-night drinks, and it always had a comfortable feel. Not so tonight. The air was charged with tension.

  Travis walked the narrow hallway lined with landscape paintings and colonial furniture. A musty smell invaded his nostrils. He wasn’t a big fan of antique furnishings, but he was used to them because many of his business associates were collectors. At this moment, the smell was oddly suffocating.

  The light filtering through in the slightly open door to Porter’s study illuminated a triangular section in the otherwise darkened corridors. He spied the admiral puffing his pipe, his leather swivel chair turned toward the window. He was deep in thought.

  Travis rapped on the door to announce his arrival before stepping in. The admiral’s chair squeaked as he turned. He snuffed his pipe and motioned Travis in. “Blake.”

  “Admiral.”

  “Have a seat.”

  After settling in a chair, Travis waited for the admiral to speak.

  “How’s Caitlin?”

  “Honestly? She’s not too happy with you.”

  “We weren’t going to bother her. All she had to do was decrypt the files.”

  “Are you admitting that you’ve installed spyware on her laptop?”

  “It’s useless to deny now, right? I called the instant the laptop was destroyed.” Porter sat back in his chair, spearing Travis with a beady look. “Who else knows about Hephaestus, Travis?”

  “Sorry, Admiral, I’m not giving you ammunition to put a hit on anyone.”

  “Jesus Christ, Blake, you make me sound like the fucking mafia,” the admiral said with no small amount of exasperation.
“Well, whoever does—I figure either Shephard or Reece knows—they have the good sense to keep their mouth shut or good men will die. We’re at a crucial point of a three-year op.”

  “So enlighten me, Admiral. Give me something to convince Caitlin that seven tons of weaponized plutonium will go a long way in promoting fucking world peace.”

  “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room,” the admiral said carefully.

  “I’ll have to tell Cat,” Travis said, a bit incredulous.

  “Of course.” Porter waved his hand as if it was a given. “We’re trying to come out of this with most of the money in our hands—”

  “You’re selling the plutonium? Since when did the CIA participate in black market nukes?”

  Porter just stared at him with a look that made Travis shut up.

  “We’re not letting go of the plutonium. We’re setting up the Zorin Bratva to take the fall. Grigori Zorin has buyers from North Korea, Russia and Iran already salivating for this high-grade nuclear material. We plan to take their money, and take them down as well.”

  “That’s a lofty goal, Admiral,” Travis said dubiously.

  “If planned strategically, the payoff is worth it.”

  “So was taking in the gullible Travis Blake part of your grand master plan?” Travis hated that he let some bitterness tinge his tone. The admiral had no loyalties.

  “No. I saw great potential in you, Blake.”

  Travis gave a short bark of mirthless laughter. “I don’t need you to patronize me, Admiral. If you can assure me you’re certain this will take down that piece of shit, Grigori Zorin, and his entire Bratva, I’ll convince Caitlin to give you what you need.”

  “My man inside tells me that Zorin has his buyers lined up. He’s also done a background check so there will be no delay in receiving the funds. The auction site will be on neutral ground. Hungary.”

  “Why Hungary?”

  “Think, Travis. The most likely section of the Carpathian Mountains that holds the plutonium cache would be Ukraine. At about the time the Soviet Union collapsed, hundreds of tons of the material disappeared. There are only three people who know where this particular stash is. Two of them are dead, one has amnesia.”

  “If she does this, will you leave us alone?”

  Porter regarded him impassively.

  “Goddamnit,” Travis cursed and stood up.

  “I will. But, Blake, she may need a job after you let her go.”

  “I’ll never let her go,” Travis growled. “If you have doubts about my commitment to her . . .” He stepped forward and said with all the determination he was feeling. “Get this. I—am—marrying—her—again. So you can take your duplicitous face elsewhere and leave us alone.”

  “Fine. Let’s talk about betrayal for a minute,” Porter opened his side drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. He tossed it at Travis.

  “What’s this?” Travis asked warily. His fingers were on the envelope, but fear froze his entire body because he had a feeling things were never going to be the same again if he opened the brown pouch.

  “I’ve made it no secret to Caitlin that I don’t trust her. My loyalties are to you,” Porter said. “Despite everything that has gone down, you were almost like a son to me, Travis. I helped you get Caitlin back, and yes, I used her. But she used to be in the CIA and a damn good hacker. I was willing to give her back her job. I never thought you two would last because she had betrayed you from the start.”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Travis pulled out the contents. And what he saw could never be unseen.

  The first one was of John Cooper, reclined on a parked bike. Caitlin was draped on top of him. They were kissing. The other pictures were less incriminating, but there was no doubt that they were lovers in the picture.

  Travis’s chest grew tight. “I—I—knew they’d been together. This doesn’t change anything. I’ve gotten over it.” He had. But the impact of these pictures were still a punch in the gut.

  “Yes. You knew about Europe. Look closely, Travis. Behind the bike is a diner and on the sign it says Richmond, VA. The date of the photo is stamped on the back.”

  Travis mechanically did as he was told. The date. It was a year before they were married. Sarah told him John Cooper had always been a platonic friend. She lied. Did that change anything? His mind and heart couldn’t answer.

  “Why do you have these pictures? For all I know, these photos were forged. Technology has a way of screwing up marriages,” Travis sneered.

  “The man who took those photographs is retired. From what I’ve managed to get out of him, he was monitoring the activities of some agents that were suspected moles. Obviously, Cooper and Sarah were later proven innocent,” the admiral sighed. “He has more pictures. They were taken during the time she was married to you.”

  “You lie!” Travis was shaking from a tempest of emotions—fury, despair, and betrayal—as his world crumbled around him. “Why are you doing this?” he roared.

  Footsteps rushed into the study. “Everything all right, Admiral?”

  Travis stared up the ceiling, the sting behind his eyes threatening to reduce him to a heap of broken man.

  “I’m fine, Crowe.”

  Porter took out another piece of paper and handed it to him. “That’s the address of the guy in Virginia Beach. Like I said, he’s retired. After a life of spying on spies, he’s a bit paranoid. You can’t get him online. He’s a trusted friend of mine, and I told him he may be expecting a visit from you.”

  Travis shook his head, still reeling from disbelief. “This doesn’t change anything.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “I love her.”

  “You don’t seem too sure, Travis.”

  “I—love—her!” Travis gritted through his teeth, and he did. That would never change. But something died inside him.

  “You owe it to yourself to find out the truth,” Porter said. “Have those pictures looked at by forensics. I already have. If it still doesn’t matter, then go ahead and marry her.”

  “Don’t expect to be invited to the wedding.”

  Porter winced, but inclined his head. The admiral motioned to the laptop bag sitting on his desk.

  “When do you need the Carpathian coordinates?” Travis asked.

  “Anytime within the next three weeks.”

  “I’ll call you.” Travis grabbed the manila envelope, the contact information, and the laptop, and walked out.

  *****

  Caitlin was worried. Travis didn’t come home last night after his visit with Porter. Nate assured her that Travis had called him, and he was okay, but he had things to do for Porter that couldn’t wait. The look on Nate’s face worried her, and she couldn’t help thinking that Nate was not telling her everything.

  Why didn’t Travis call her?

  At around 10:00 a.m., a car finally pulled up. Caitlin ignored Sam’s holler and threw the door open, and was taken aback. Travis stood there so devastatingly handsome, yet achingly broken.

  What happened?

  His eyes were bloodshot, and as he approached, he reeked of cheap whiskey. He was looking at her with so much longing and . . . pain?

  What was going on?

  “Travis?” She smiled tentatively. He bent down and kissed the top of her head then walked past her into the house. He said something to Nate who nodded and took off from the house. Emily was out on an errand, so the only other remaining person in the house was Sam.

  Travis never glanced her way again. He handed Sam a laptop bag and just headed straight to their room. Caitlin followed him, wanting to scream in frustration.

  “Will you please tell me what’s going on?” she snapped. “What did Porter say?”

  “It’s a legitimate op, Caitlin,” Travis said as he went to the closet to pull out an overnight bag. Wait. Where is he going?

  “What are you doing?”

  Travis didn’t answer her, but continued explaining about the Hephaestus-Ca
rpathian files.

  “And you believe him? That he wants to end that murderous, arms-dealing Zorin?”

  “What choice do I have, Cat?” His eyes finally met hers. “If I say no, they’d probably just grab you. If it’s for greed, have no doubt that I will crucify Porter. I don’t give a damn if he’s CIA. I’ve made enough connections to bring him down if he’s dirty. But all signs are pointing to the fact that he’s got the support of the intelligence committee.”

  “So what now?”

  “I’ll call him when you’re ready.”

  “I don’t know when I’m going to be ready. Our moral compasses are pointing in opposing directions. This is not a decision I can make lightly.”

  “I know, Cat. But good men caught in this op are going to die if we delay any longer.”

  “How sure are we that they’d be able to prevent Iran and North Korea from getting their hands on these?”

  “They’ve planned this op for three years. And I know how Porter operates. They’ll manage it.”

  “I’d probably feel better if Porter said they were destroying them. Will the International Atomic Energy Agency ever be informed about this plutonium cache?”

  A muscle worked in Travis’s jaw. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I want to know,” Caitlin retorted. “Can’t believe you didn’t ask him this pertinent question. I’m not about to sign over a blank check for plutonium without an IAEA oversight.”

  Travis looked chastised, exhaled deeply, then strode to the dresser and pulled out some clothes.

  “Why are you packing and where are you going? And why in the hell can’t you look at me.”

  He froze, mid-packing, staring at the white shirt he had in a death grip. He cursed and threw the shirt in the bag and grabbed the manila envelope he had with him and handed it to her.

  Confused, Caitlin dug her fingers into the pouch and gasped when she saw its contents.

  “Oh, my God!” And then angrily, she said, “Who gave you this?”

  Travis cleared his throat. “Porter.”