by Lila Dubois
Juliette snatched it from his hand.
Devon Asher (D.A.) is an agent of the US Central Intelligence Agency. He was recruited by CIA Deputy H.M., friend of D.A.’s father P.
D.A. maintains a cover identity as a lobbyist. He specializes in asset cultivation and information gathering on locations in Eastern Europe and North Africa rated as near-future potential threats. He is the Trinity Masters’ primary point of contact with the CIA and will become CIA Director. A list of assets and major projects is included in the file.
D.A. nominally works for the lobbying firm Copper One. Copper One CEO is P.D. Additional information about his lobbyist position and Copper One job can be found in the file.
“No.” Juliette laid the file on the floor. “No.”
“Juliette? What’s wrong?”
“He can’t be.”
“He? You mean Devon?” Franco rubbed her arms, speaking gently. “Did you not know he was a CIA agent?”
“No. I believed him when he said he was a lobbyist.” She felt sick, physically sick.
“Maybe this is the thing he said he wanted to tell you.”
“You think?” Juliette snarled the words.
Franco held up his hands. “Sorry, I’m just trying to help.”
Juliette stood and paced, kicking things out of her way (and ignoring Franco’s pained noises) as she walked. “Check the list.”
“What list?”
“In the file. Check the list of assets.”
“Okay.” Franco’s tone was deferential. Later she could be grateful that he hadn’t stormed away when she lashed out.
“Found it. In this well-organized file—”
“Francisco!”
“Okay, okay. It says…wait, this is a list of places and names, not assets.”
“The names are the assets. Most CIA agents don’t go running around under false identities like in the movies—those are clandestine services people, and they’re more for show at this point.” Juliette’s hot anger gave way to a weary chill and she knelt beside Franco, careful not to look at the list. “Assets are informants—people who give the CIA agent information. Good agents have lots of assets and can gather information from the safety of their offices.”
“You know a lot about it.”
“Because that’s what I was supposed to be.”
“You were supposed to be in the CIA?”
“Yes. I’m the perfect candidate—well educated, speak multiple languages, familiar with different customs because I’ve traveled all my life. It’s what my father wanted me to do. Up until the summer after I graduated high school, I thought he wanted me to be a lawyer. The file said Devon was recruited by H.M.? That’s Harold Martin; he was the former CIA Deputy Director. He’s a member and he tried to recruit Devon and me. I know because we talked about it.
“I’d just come back from a summer in Europe. I thought Mr. Martin was a lawyer, thought I was meeting with him to talk about my college plans. I’d already decided I wasn’t going to be a lawyer and was going to focus on international-aid work.
“Both Devon and I said no. At least I thought we did. He told me he did.”
“Why didn’t you want to be a CIA agent?”
“The CIA is like the Trinity Masters—secretive, powerful, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get what they want. Unlike the CIA, the Trinity Masters protects its people. Assets and agents of the CIA are in the line of fire, and if something goes wrong, they get no help.”
Franco’s brows were drawn together with concern and concentration. “You thought Devon said no when he was recruited.”
“Yes. The same way Sebastian and I did.”
“Sebastian?”
“My best friend. You’ll meet him soon—assuming the jerk ever shows up.”
“Sebastian Stewart?”
Juliette sucked in a breath. “Let me see that file.”
Franco slapped it closed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Give it to me.”
Franco took her hand. “I may not have grown up with Devon, but after last night I’d say I know him.” Franco leered comically, but Juliette didn’t laugh. His face sobered. “He loves you. No matter what it says in this file.”
“Let me get it over with.”
Franco flipped open to the page he’d found and handed it to her. The asset list was a printout of an email sent by Devon to Harold Martin under the guise of offering him a vacation.
Harold,
It was good to see you. Hope we can get together again soon. Here’s the list of travel options Copper One would be happy to offer you. The first half of the list is places where we have active contracts. Let me know if you want any more information on any of them.
London
Rome
Rio
Istanbul
Ankara
Copenhagen
Edinburgh
Berlin
Sana
-
Paris
Cairo
Belmopan
San Jose
Handwritten to the right of each city was a person’s name. It wasn’t the most sophisticated code, but if only Devon and Harold knew the correlation between city and person, it was secure enough.
Her name was next to Paris.
“I’m sorry, Juliette.”
“I never agreed to this. I never sent him any information. It means that these people,” she pointed to the second half of the list, “aren’t knowing assets, but somehow he’s getting information from us.”
“Are all these people members?”
“There are a few names I don’t recognize, but most I do. And according to this, Sebastian is an active, knowing asset.” Juliette’s stomach rolled as she looked at the name next to London. “He turned down Mr. Martin, same as Devon and me. Sebastian and I both wanted to be aid workers. We took a stand, said that we wouldn’t be part of a system that had caused so much damage in the past. But it looks like he was lying to me, too.”
“Maybe there’s a reason they didn’t say anything.”
“Sebastian is my best friend. He was the first person I told about becoming Grand Master. Devon was going to be my husband. What reason could be good enough?”
Franco took the file from her and set it down. “You’re the kind of woman a man would do anything to impress.” He ran one finger down her cheek. “The face that launched a thousand ships.”
“And burned the towers of Ilium? I’m hardly Helen of Troy.”
“You are, even if you don’t mean to be.”
“Lovely. I’m just another pretty prize for men to use as an excuse.” Juliette pushed to her feet.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But that’s what I am—the princess whose marriage was more important than she was, the pretty blonde who drives men to do stupid things and becomes their excuse for bad behavior.”
Pain and anger were coiling inside her, a hot, dark snake slithering through her torso. “I’m done. I’m done being anyone’s prize.”
“Okay.”
Franco’s mild reply took the wind out of her sails. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yep. You’re right—I shouldn’t have tried to explain away their assholeness. I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I can empathize.”
Juliette hopped up onto the edge of the desk. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They sat in silence, Juliette struggling to come to terms with what she’d just learned. “It wouldn’t hurt so much if it weren’t for last night.”
“I’m not making excuses for him, but I know Devon loves you. He loves you, and he clearly knows you’d hate him if you knew what he did. It may not be right, but people do stupid things for love.”
“No wonder Sebastian kept asking about the files. They must have realized that once I was Grand Master, I’d learn the truth.”
“And you’d have the ability to have them killed.”
“It’s rare that I meet someone who actually has the ability to order a hit.”
“I’m not a mob boss.”
“But you could be.” Franco’s expression was almost envious.
“And here I thought you would be a voice of restraint.”
Franco’s head was bent over the next file. “Ha. You should have waited to put me on the small council.”
“It’s not the small council. This isn’t Game of Thrones either.”
“But it could be.”
Juliette rolled her eyes. Her stomach was still in knots but Franco’s silliness made her feel better. The urge to find both Sebastian and Devon and scream at them was clawing and tingling under her skin.
She went around to take a seat at the desk, nearly tripping over her bag in the process. Pulling out a sheet of stationary, she dashed off a note to Devon and called the courier service. She then ran it upstairs, passing it off to a deliveryman who assumed he was there on library business. While she had cell service, she took the time to send Sebastian an angry text message.
When she returned to the headquarters, Franco had moved to the table and there seemed to be even more files out on the floor in piles. He’d found some hot-pink Post-Its (why did Harrison have hot-pink Post-Its?) and was creating some sort of labeling grid on the surface of the table.
Leaving him to it, she went back to the desk, almost tripping on her bag a second time.
Picking up the duffle, she pulled out the box Franco had brought her and put it on the desk, then added the files from home to the stack of current members. Franco kept a sharp eye on her, clearly feeling proprietary about the papers. Raising her hands in a sign of peace, she returned to the desk.
The box was a puzzle, the mystery a good distraction. While mentally composing precisely what she’d say to Devon, she broke the wax seal—which was just a dollop of wax, despite the fact that she knew the Grand Master had a wax stamp. She’d seen her father use it.
She opened the carved wooden box. It smelled of cedar and almonds, and the interior compartment was much smaller than she’d expected, the sides of the box each about an inch thick, which explained why it was so heavy.
Inside was a pen, paintbrush and a small glass vial. Each item was carefully held in place by small wood props built into the bottom of the box. The vial’s cork has either rotted away or fallen out, because there was nothing left in the vial. She picked it up and carefully sniffed, jerking her head back. Whatever had been in there, it now smelled like a combination of lemon and rotting almonds.
Next she picked up the pen. It was heavy gold-toned metal shaped into a sharp-edged geometric pattern. As she turned it in her hand, the edges proved how sharp they were, cutting into her finger.
Yelping, she dropped the pen and stuck her finger in her mouth.
“You okay?” Franco looked up.
She took her finger from her mouth. “I opened the mystery box.”
“What’s in it?” Franco came over to look.
“A pen, a paintbrush and an empty vial.”
“Huh.” He studied the open box. “That’s odd. Do these things have any significance to the Trinity Masters?”
“Not that I know of. There might be something in the records…”
“Is that a hint to get back to work?”
“Nice try pretending you aren’t loving this.”
“Love-hate. It’s a love-hate kind of thing.”
When Franco went back to the papers, Juliette returned to the box. The most puzzling thing was the paintbrush. She took everything out. Once again giving herself a paper-cut-like injury from the ridiculous pen.
Sucking on her injured finger, she used her free hand to poke around the inside of the box, and was rewarded for her efforts when her nail caught in a small divot. She pried the bottom panel up, uncovering a folded sheet of paper hidden inside.
“Eureka.”
Chapter Twelve
What a complete clusterfuck this day had turned out to be. He’d handled the issue with Sebastian, but now he had mountains of information to try to sort through and verify with other assets and surveillance.
And then the messenger had arrived, bearing a note from the Grand Master. This time it had clearly been Juliette’s handwriting—she wasn’t trying to disguise it. The note had been signed “G.M.”
Respect for the Grand Master had been instilled into him since he was a baby, and as he walked down the marble hallway he had to remind himself that Juliette’s word was now law.
There hadn’t been instructions as to where he was to go, but since it had been a formal note, he stopped and put on a robe, forgoing taking off his other clothes. If at all possible, he’d rather not be naked and vulnerable for what was undoubtedly going to be a very crappy conversation.
Pulling the hood up, he went to the altar room, figuring that was the best place to wait.
And wait he did, for nearly two hours—until the sound of panicked shouts had him running for one of the shadowed arches in the back wall.
This was absolutely terrifying. Franco sat back, staring at the pile he’d dubbed “mysteries”. The Trinity Masters’ files and records contained information that could change how the US saw its own history. There was at least a lifetime worth of work for someone like him in just this small stack of paper, let alone the boxes and mounds scattered on the floor.
“We’re getting married, right? I mean, you and me?” He adjusted the piece of fabric he was using in lieu of gloves to handle the papers. “Because I need access to this.”
“You want to get married so you can work on our archive?” Juliette’s voice sounded a bit odd. She’d been muttering about lemon juice a few minutes ago, and even snuck upstairs, returning with a to-go cup of lemon wedges. He’d asked what she was doing but she waved him away.
“No, I want to get married because I’m falling in love with you and you’re gorgeous, but now we need to get married. You need me to do this.”
“You’re one of my councilors. You’re going to work on this even if we don’t get married.” She coughed.
“Before I realized it was you, I was going to ask the Grand Master if I could marry you and Devon.”
Juliette wheezed. “Devon?”
He flipped the page. Was this a map? It looked like a map. He loved maps.
“Franco!” Her exclamation didn’t have the force of a few minutes ago. She coughed again.
“What?”
“You seriously wanted to be in a trinity with Devon and me?”
“Of course. He loves you, you love him. The first time I saw you together I knew there was something between the two of you.”
“Devon and I… Devon and I…”
Her voice trailed off, and the hairs on the back of Franco’s neck stood on end. “Juliette?”
Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard.
Franco jumped out of his chair. “Juliette?”
“I don’t…feel good.”
He touched her forehead. “You’re hot.” He leaned her back in the desk chair, listening to her shallow breathing. “You were fine a couple hours ago.”
Juliette opened her eyes, gaze darting across the ceiling. “Hard to. Breathe.” She clawed at the desk, grabbing a sheet of paper and balling it up in her hand.
Franco grabbed his cell phone from his pocket. No reception. There was a phone on the desk. He picked it up, ready to call 911.
Call them and tell them what? That he was in the underground headquarters of a secret society? He needed to get her upstairs to the library.
Picking her up in his arms, Franco ran out of the Grand Master’s office—and had no idea which hallway to take. There were three options and he didn’t remember which way they’d come in.
Heart hammering in his chest, Franco picked the right-hand option and started jogging, yelling as he went. “Help! Can anyone hear me? Help!”
She said they’d b
e the only people in here, and yelling was probably futile. Whatever was wrong with Juliette had happened fast, and that was never a good sign. By the time he figured out how to get the hell out of here, it might be too late.
He was hoping for a miracle.
“Franco? Juliette!”
Devon nearly ran into Franco as he entered the dark hallway beyond the arch. Juliette was limp in his arms, her face flushed and breath reedy.
“Help me get her out of here.”
Devon didn’t ask any questions. Now wasn’t the time. Handle the crisis at hand then investigate.
He resisted the urge to snatch Juliette from the other man’s arms. If it had been anyone else he would have, but, unexpectedly, he trusted Franco. Maybe it was the grim look of determination on his face. Maybe it was the undeniable connection he’d felt to Franco last night.
“Have you called 911?” Devon smashed the button for the elevator.
“No. I wasn’t sure what to do. She has a phone in her office.” Franco shifted his hold of Juliette enough to shed the robe. When Devon reached to take her, he leaned away, keeping her in his arms.
“Her office?”
Franco leapt into the elevator the instant the door opened. “The Grand Master’s office. I assume you know.”
“I know. You know?”
“Yes. I’m going to sit on the small council, too.”
“The what?” Devon had his phone out, 911 dialed. The second the door opened and they were above ground, he was going to hit send. “Wait. You’re going to be one of her councilors?”
“Don’t worry, I told her the three of us should get married.”
What?
He didn’t have time to deal with any of what Franco had just said. The doors opened. Devon hit send.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“My wife collapsed and is having trouble breathing. We’re at the Boston Public Library.”
“Hang up,” Juliette whispered.
Devon ended the call without hesitation, ignoring Franco’s protest. “What’s going on, Jules?”
“Poison.” Her eyes were closed, but she raised one hand, showing him the cuts on her fingers. The other hand was clenched around a sheet of paper.
Devon’s vision dimmed and his stomach rolled. He couldn’t lose her.
