Savage Beauty (The Arrow Tactical Series Book 5)

Chapter 27

Like most terminals for private planes, this one is small, but given the Cayman Islands’ location, it’s on the luxe side. No one bats an eye at my gun bags. The corporate plane is here but needs to refuel before it turns around. Our departure time isn’t slated for another forty-three minutes, and I’m camped out in a seat with a view of the tarmac.

My foul mood threatens to suffocate me. And it’s my own damn fault. I should’ve seen it. Everyone described her as an odd bird. Different. Didn’t Sage once tell me she was borderline obsessed with her work? Did Sage even use the word borderline, or is my memory playing wishful tricks?

The second woman I fall hard for, and she’s the second one to decide I’m not worth it. But no, what am I saying? She offered to schedule a weekly call with me. Holy fucking shit, I’m a joke.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, forcing me to shift in the hard plastic bucket seat. Damn thing goes through another series of vibrations. I’m not in the mood to read updates. I pull it out and lay it on top of the duffel at my feet. The thing continues to vibrate with five-second intervals of calm.

With a huff, and the reluctant realization something must’ve exploded, I bend and pick up the damn annoyance. Eight missed calls. Knox. Erik. Knox. Erik.

What’re they doing? Playing tag team? I really do not feel like talking.

I click over to texts.

Erik

Did you see the Interpol update? Sloane is a suspect.

Erik

Photos on multiple websites. In Taiwan. Also Cambodia.

Knox

Have you seen this shit? How’s Sloane taking it?

Erik

Bank statement details showing payments to her in Cayman accounts.

Erik

Sloane Watson’s name is suddenly popping up everywhere on our searches. Rumors circulating that she’s bipolar.

Knox

Can you call me? Sage can’t reach Sloane. She’s worried. Something was wrong earlier. Sloane wouldn’t stop crying.

On our team server, I open the Interpol report. It’s an updated version of what we originally read. Sloane Watson is a person of interest as an employee of Origins Laboratories. Only, the report has been amended to include photographs that have surfaced of her on location over the past two years. The photographs included in the file are grainy and appear to be taken with a long-distance lens. The photos themselves strike me as odd. An incoming call interrupts my review of the material. It’s Knox. I answer through my earpiece. “Hey.”

“How’s Sloane?”

“I’m not with her. If you’re asking how she’s taking these revelations, when I saw her last, she was unaware.” My voice strikes me as a helluva lot calmer than how I’m feeling.

“What do you mean? Where is she?”

“She’s staying here. Said she ran into her boss and her old job is hers if she wants it. Which seemed weird as fuck to me, but now that I’m seeing all this?—”

“She’s not coming back with you to meet with the CIA and NSA? She thinks she can just blow them off?”

“Wasn’t presented as a mandatory meeting. Although…I mean, has she broken US laws? She’s working from the Caymans.” And she’s not my problem.

“Sage says it’s all fabricated.”

“Erik sent me a text saying they found Cayman Islands bank accounts. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’” Knox has to expect a sister will claim innocence.

“Sage says the bipolar rumors are completely off.”

“I haven’t gotten that far in the report. But you’ve got to admit, everyone describes her as strange.”

“Yes, but she’s even-keeled, right?”

“She could be on medication. Look, I’m not saying the woman is evil. I know she’s not. She’s disciplined, and if she suffered from something like bipolar disorder, I’d expect she would stay on her meds. Who cares if that’s the truth? But come on, she’s obsessed with organs. I could see her rationalizing the illegal organ trade and being a part of it. Knowing what I know about Sloane, she’d justify it as helping others like her sister. But…” I scratch my jaw, thinking about the alleged bank accounts. “I saw that apartment of hers. If she’s stashing money, she’s doing so with a noble goal of opening a research facility or something like that.”

“None of this adds,” Knox says. “If she’s involved in something like that, why come after her? Why come after Sage?”

“Maybe she pissed the wrong guy off. I don’t know.” My head hurts. I just want to get on the plane and put some distance between me and this case.

“Why couldn’t our team find these bank accounts a month ago when we were searching high and low for any information on Sloane Watson? Now, suddenly, information is coming out of nowhere. The concerns about erratic behavior are dated from almost a year ago. If those posts had existed when we were doing our research, we would’ve found them.”

A smear campaign?

I flick back over to the photos that struck me as odd. There’s Taiwanese writing on a sign in the background, but it’s blurred, and I don’t know Taiwanese. But there’s something else. The shadowy figures in the background all appear taller than Sloane.

“What are the chances a five-foot-ten woman is going to be shorter than all the other people at an Asian airport?” I enlarge the photo. One of the shadowy background figures is missing an arm. Another figure hovering near her on the sidewalk appears to have one foot. “This is an AI-generated image. How the hell did Interpol not pick up on that?”

“Click to the photos in Cambodia. They’re real.”

“Yeah, well, we know she was there. And we also know they didn’t have a gun on her.” The Cambodian photos could be legit.

“But then there are the bank accounts,” Knox says under his breath. “And she chose to stay.”

“I take it Sage isn’t with you?”

“No. She had to go back to the school for parent-teacher meetings. I’m torn.”

“About?”

“None of this has made sense. We’ve been assuming she had information someone didn’t want exposed. But maybe this has always been about either trying to control her or force her hand at something. I can’t think what would be in it for her to bring us into this, though. Unless it’s a distraction of some sort.”

“Sloane would never agree to someone going after her sister. She loves her sister more than anything…anyone in the world.”

“You’re positive about that?”

“No question. And, Knox, she rides a bike to work. A rusted beach cruiser. Her apartment’s fine but nothing to write home about. No ocean view. For that matter, the view is of a parking lot. Money is not her motivator.”

“Why did she choose to stay?”

“Her job.”

“They offered it back to her?”

“If she could prove her story was accurate. Where all did you say posts are showing up about her?”

“Random blog posts. Industry, and when I say industry, I mean her industry, science-related groups. People she went to school with on Facebook. Some deeper commentary on LinkedIn, which is the only social media account she has.”

“Would it be enough, do you think, to prevent her from being rehired?”

A beep sounds alerting me to an incoming call. It’s Erik.

“I gotta go.” I click and answer, “Erik.”

“Did you look over everything?”

“Knox and I were just going over it.”

“What’re your thoughts on this?”

“Something’s off.” Sloane might be many things, but she’s not conniving. “What do you think?”

“I think if any of this is correct, I’ve got to fire several on my team. But we hire good people, so that makes me suspicious.”

“You know some of those photos are AI, right?”

“I didn’t study them.” There’s clicking. “’K. Someone’s checking them out. You’d think Interpol would do that, right?” He’s gruff. Annoyed. Aren’t we all? “Out of all of this, the bank accounts are the most damning piece of evidence. The rest is innuendo.”

“Can they fake bank accounts?”

“Let me get back to you.” The call ends.