CHAPTER FIVE
The gray sedan was gone, replaced by the spinning blue, white, and red lights of law enforcement vehicles.
Amelia wasn’t sure how so many police cruisers and unmarked cars had fit into the neighborhood.
The sheer number of people standing on sidewalks and in the Dumonts’ and Callaghans’ driveways was enough to fill a high school gymnasium.
Despite all that, Amelia didn’t know anything and had been all but trapped, ordered to stay put until Hailey and Jonathan were brought out.
She shivered under the jacket someone had draped over her.
Official-looking people with badges milled about the damp, foggy night.
The rookie cop in charge of babysitting her looked as thrilled as she felt to wait, uninformed and ignored.
His radio crackled. He jumped at the chance to be involved.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Amelia didn’t catch the garbled order.
The police academy must teach cadets how to decipher mumbles from static.
Exhaustion flamed her irritability.
If Amelia couldn’t find her sister and head to bed soon, she would scream.
Standing around and shivering wasn’t making her mood any more congenial.
The rookie cop scanned the street then beckoned her.
“Come with me.”
They weaved between unmarked cars through the labyrinth of uniformed people with badges and guns.
Amelia miscalculated the curb while wearing Hailey’s wet, oversized shoes and stumbled.
The rookie cop didn’t notice that she nearly face-planted.
Amelia caught up and found him with two suit-clad men.
Neither wore ties. Both flipped their badges at her with such speed and finesse that she didn’t get a good look at them.
Her brain garbled their names as though her hearing was filtered through cotton balls.
She didn’t introduce herself.
Everyone seemed to already know who she was.
The rookie cop was more animated than he’d been in the last hour, as if he wanted to impress the two men they were standing before.
When the two suits shooed him away, disappointment dragged his features into an exhausted frown.
She wanted to snap that at least he could go home to his family and his nice warm bed, not worrying that everything he understood about his world had been turned upside down.
Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s my sister and brother-in-law? Can I talk to them now?” Their scrutiny made her unsteady.
Apprehension tightened in her chest. Something was wrong with the only family Amelia had.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. Jonathan didn’t make it.”
“Wait. What? No.” Her equilibrium tilted.
Amelia’s legs went weak.
Didn’t make it sounded like he died, like the nightmare was only getting worse.
“What do you mean ‘didn’t make it’?”
One man’s frown dipped.
The other’s brow furrowed.
“Single shot to the back of the head. Found in the kitchen.”
Bile rose into her strangled throat.
A tornado of words echoed and slammed in her pounding head.
Their unemotional faces focused on her like she was a specimen in a lab.
Jonathan didn’t make it?
“No. That’s not possible.”
As if on cue, a gurney with a covered body was brought out the front door.
Her hands covered her face.
“No.” Her knees turned to noodles.
“ No .”
One of the men grasped her by the elbow, half holding her up, half turning her away from Jonathan.
“Take a deep breath, Ms. Stone.”
His hold on her arm pinched too tightly.
The pain refocused her from Jonathan to the here and now.
Maybe he did that on purpose.
Maybe he was trying to help.
Her noodle knees regained their sea legs, and after a minute, he let go of her arm.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Wait—” Her chin snapped up.
“What about Hailey?”
Both stared at Amelia as though she was supposed to tell them.
The man who had held her up asked, “Was she with you?”
“No.” Suddenly, the cold night air was hot and sour.
Dread curled deep in her gut.
She couldn’t take a deep breath.
Her stomach revolted and threatened to be sick.
A retching hiccup convulsed in her belly.
“She was with Jonathan.”
One of the men shook his head.
The other’s lips pinched.
“ Yes . She was with him.” Panic threaded her dread.
Glass shards tumbled in her lungs as she tried to breathe.
“They stayed inside. Together. They told me to leave. To call the number. To get help.” Amelia turned back toward their house.
It was good that Hailey wasn’t inside, wasn’t it?
“She escaped?”
“Fleeing the scene is a possibility,” the quieter of the two said.
Both held her gaze with an air of suspicion.
“Possibility” was said as though the chance of it was beyond what she could hope for.
“What else could it be? She was taken?” By Jonathan’s murderer?
God… If Amelia had only run faster, if she hadn’t searched the street for trouble but had rushed into the Callaghans’ house, help would have arrived sooner.
She’d been frozen in a neighbor’s driveway and then kitchen while someone took Hailey and killed Jonathan.
Suffocating guilt pummeled her.
The man raised his shoulder.
“We’re processing the scene. There’s only one thing we’re certain about: There’s no sign of your sister.”
Camden knew the phone wouldn’t ring again, and even if it did, the odds of the caller being related to the previous night’s call would be slim to none.
The chance that he even intercepted one of the CIA’s calls was so slight that it would probably never happen again.
He had no idea how many other phone centers could have picked up Amelia’s call, and while there was a problem with agents in danger, they would only call when they were up shit creek and grasping at their last shreds of hope.
Still, he watched the phone intently as if he could will Amelia to call again.
“Cam, you don’t have to be here.” Amanda placed a coffee cup in front of him.
“It’s fine.” After Amelia called, he’d camped in the operation center in case she called again.
He wanted to know what had happened and if everyone was safe.
He wondered if Amelia had been reunited with her family.
His normal assignments didn’t attach an emotional component.
If people were scared, that was fine, because Titan was there.
They would swoop in and save the day.
If they were in danger, again, all would be okay.
His team would eliminate threats—job done.
He could kick back with a beer and not think about the details of the assignment ever again.
This was different. It was a situation completely out of his control.
Camden wanted to know more.
He wanted details on the fallout.
Amelia was safe. Help had arrived.
That was important. But he wondered if the CIA agents had been able to help Jonathan and Hailey Dumont.
Camden had used Titan’s resources, not exactly with permission, and searched what was available in their databases—nothing.
He turned to Google and learned she was a professor.
He was a researcher.
Neither looked particularly like a spy, but not everyone could be James Bond or Jason Bourne.
Camden sent a request for more information to Parker Black, the man who oversaw Titan Group’s global technology operations, but the request was unanswered.
Either Parker was on assignment, or he was ignoring Camden.
Either way, he shouldn’t have asked Parker.
Camden ran a hand over his face.
He and bureaucracy weren’t great partners.
Would Parker say something to their boss?
Jared wasn’t in the business of wild goose chases and didn’t want anyone on his team playing the role of unnecessary hero.
Maybe that was what Camden was doing.
He certainly wasn’t supposed to stay on the phone and talk Amelia through the situation.
Their orders were clear: Call for assistance if threats were deemed real.
The phone rang. He jerked back.
Amanda and Shah paused their conversation.
Another call for the second day in a row was an anomaly, if the last week had been any indication.
He answered.
“Camden?”
Amelia’s voice washed over him.
Hearing from her was confirmation that she was safe—but he’d already known that.
There was more to the feeling, and he had no idea what it was—maybe concern or worry.
He didn’t know why.
“Passcode?”
“We talked last night.”
Of course, he knew that.
Still, he had rules.
Not to mention, Shah and Amanda were watching.
As much as he wanted to hear from her, as many questions as he had, she couldn’t just call.
“Passcode, or I have to disconnect.”
“No, no, no. Wait,” she pleaded.
“Please wait.”
Why was she calling?
He drew a deep breath.
It could be a test. But the means of tripping him up felt off.
He wondered if Jared would screw with him like that.
He checked his watch.
It was almost the same time as she had called the day before.
If only he’d checked to see if her local news had turned up any report in her neighborhood, then at least he could rule out if this was some kind of employment test. “Passcode, or—”
“Do you know how many times I’ve called this number until I was finally routed to you?” she asked.
He didn’t mean to smile.
He turned his chair so that he didn’t face Amanda and Shah.
“I have to hang up.”
“Four stupid words will keep you on the phone with me?”
“Well… yeah.”
“ Camden . I know it’s you from last night.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
He should disconnect the call, yet curiosity didn’t let him.
She let out a bone-crushingly exhausted breath.
“Banana. Light bulb. Chicken. Heart. Does that make you happy?”
The corners of his lips quirked.
He chuckled. “Not sure about happy, but my bases are covered.”
“So, it’s Camden, right?”
“Yeah, Amelia. That’s me.”
“You remember my name?”
Amanda and Shah inched closer.
Camden wanted to shoo them away.
“Yeah, I remember your name. I don’t usually sit and answer calls, and even if I did, yours will probably be one of the most interesting I’d ever get. So, yeah, I remember your name.” He probably always would.
Her story would stick with him.
“I’ve been redialing this number over and over,” she admitted.
“But it wasn’t you.”
His index finger tapped against the handset.
“I have no idea how many other places take these calls. But it’s probably a few.”
“Everyone hangs up on me.”
He laughed and wondered how many times she’d called.
Had she given the passcode each time?
Or asked for him by name?
The CIA could be tracking her calls.
Jared could.
“You’re not supposed to call this number if there isn’t an emergency.”
“Don’t hang up,” she pleaded.
“Please.”
His index finger tapped again.
This was a test—one he was certain he was already failing.
Goodbye, Titan career.
Hello… motel security?
That would be all that he would get if Boss Man deemed he’d screwed up with a CIA asset—or an asset’s family member.
But he still hadn’t hung up.
“Why are you looking for me?”
“No one will tell me anything.”
He almost laughed.
“I can’t tell you. Even if I knew. Which I don’t.”
“You knew enough to listen to ‘Banana. Light bulb. Chicken. Heart.’ Or whatever. That’s more than anyone else.”
He ran a hand over his face like he could scrub away his hesitation.
Camden wasn’t one to overthink.
Amanda and Shah were watching him in a way that made the room feel small.
“You shouldn’t…” What?
Say that? What did it matter?
“I should go—”
“My sister is missing. My brother-in-law is dead,” she whispered.
“I talked to investigators, and they act as though I’m hiding Hailey in my back pocket. And there are these people… They say they worked with my sister. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t have any answers, and the things that I have been told are… They just don’t make sense.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I can’t help you.”
“Where are you?” After a moment, she let out a defeated breath.
“Of course, you can’t tell me that. No one can tell me anything.”
“I need to keep this line open—”
She scoffed.
“Right. Because whoever you are, wherever you work, you want me to believe that you don’t have call waiting? Even if I didn’t call a hundred times before I found you and talk to a hundred different people, do you expect me to believe that your super-secret call center doesn’t have more than one phone line for your super-secret bullshit? Got it.”
His lips quirked.
Camden dropped his head back and stared at the lights in the ceiling.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
No one would tell her anything other than an approved cover story, and no matter what they told Amelia, a well-thought-out cover story wouldn’t matter if there wasn’t a body to bury.
Missing people were almost harder to process than murdered ones.
The lack of a body meant hope.
Hope wasn’t helpful.
It wasn’t kind. It was a torment that loved ones fought against, praying that one day, life would return to normal.
Most times, it never did.
“I’m going to find my sister.” She paused as though expecting him to shoo her away from the plan.
But he didn’t, and Amelia grumbled.
“Lord knows no one else is doing anything to help Hailey—”
“You don’t know that.” The CIA tracked its assets.
If one went off the grid, they would dedicate resources to resolving the situation and, if need be and circumstances allowed, the recovery of remains.
“I thought you could help me.”
“Me? I can’t.” He couldn’t say that he was Titan or not CIA.
He couldn’t say squat.
“You don’t even know what helping would entail. How can you say no without knowing what I want from you?”
His mouth pinched.
“All right, Amelia, forget the fact that my boss would fire my ass on the spot for even having this phone call. Call me curious. What do you want from me?”
Amanda and Shah crept closer.
Camden waved them back.
“Are they listening? Your boss, I mean?”
He glanced around the operations center with its surveillance equipment and technology that could probably track a fart on the International Space Station.
He didn’t know and wouldn’t lie to her, so he punted the question with a half answer.
“This is a secure line.”
“A secure line,” she repeated with a dry laugh.
“My sister didn’t teach art history, did she?”
Is anyone just an art history teacher?
If they lived in the Washington, DC, metro area, the answer was probably a fifty-fifty chance they were an art-aficionado-slash-CIA-operative.
“You know she did. Everything you know about her and her husband was real.”
“But there was more. Another layer I didn’t know about. Right?”
Camden wouldn’t answer her, but he didn’t have to.
Amelia already knew.
Cops had probably talked to her then swiftly deposited her into the capable hands of men with obscure badges and dubious backgrounds.
Their conversations would have had far more substance but somehow without any information to decipher.
“What does a secure line mean?” she asked.
“Like in the movies? Untappable. Untraceable.”
He shrugged.
“Just as it sounds. No one can access the line. It’s safe.”
“For people like my sister to call into if they’re in trouble.”
He repositioned and leaned back in the office chair.
“Look, Amelia. It’s late for you. The middle of the night, right? You should get some sleep and forget this phone number. All right?”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t get the permanent marker off the inside of my forearm. I woke up and thought the whole thing had been a nightmare. But then I looked down and saw my sister’s chicken scratch in black Sharpie on my skin. I think I’m going to see your phone number in my head for the rest of my life.”
Fuck.
That wasn’t going to help her move forward from whatever she’d stumbled upon.
Camden didn’t have any advice.
“You should talk to someone—”
“ I am . You.”
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
Her stubbornness was a pain in the ass.
But he sort of appreciated her tenacity.
“Someone who knows what to say. Because…” He sucked in his cheeks and tried to play out a few responses.
She deserved the genuine truth, and he didn’t have that.
“I don’t feel like I’m doing right by you or this conversation.”
The phone line was quiet.
He wished she would hang up and forget everything.
At least, part of him wished that.
Another growing part of him was curious.
He wished Amanda and Shah weren’t listening.
She broke the silence.
“You know…”
Hanging up was the right thing to do.
Reporting the conversation was another right thing to do.
But according to his track record, doing the right thing wasn’t his usual modus operandi, at least according to Boss Man.
Camden never thought he was doing wrong, necessarily.
He just wasn’t falling in line.
“Camden, you’re the only person who talks to me for more than two seconds. Even if you’re trying to get me to hang up first.”
He laughed quietly but kept listening.
“And you’re the only person who isn’t actively trying to make me forget what I think I saw.”
“Yes, I am.” But that was interesting.
He wondered what the spooks in badges were trying to convince her had happened.
He bit his tongue to keep from asking.
She was giving him all the more proof that he needed to hang up the phone.
“Take care of yourself. Okay, Amelia?”
She didn’t answer.
Camden needed a second to realize she’d hung up on him.
Well, she probably threw her phone across the room.
He didn’t blame her.
“That was interesting.” Amanda perched on the edge of the table in the center of the operations center.
“First, you stay on the phone long past when you should.”
“Second,” Shah continued, “you talk to her…” He gestured as if there were more to the story.
“Because, why?”
“She needed someone to talk to.” Camden scanned the room for the football and found it nestled in a chair on the far side.
“Not to mention”—Amanda crossed her arms—“how many times did she have to call to get routed here?”
“No telling.” Camden retrieved the football and tossed it to himself, not very high but enough that he had something to do with his hands.
“She’s having a hard time finding information.”
“Of which you have any?”
“No,” he confirmed.
“But her brother-in-law is dead, and her sister is missing. She’s looking for answers.” Camden tossed and caught the football.
“You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t walk through hell to find information about your family.” He already knew Amanda had lived through a wild ride of her own more than once and had done a few things that some might see as illogical.
But she’d had her reasons.
Camden wasn’t sure about Shah but would bet he would do the same.
He dropped into a swivel chair.
“I don’t blame her.”
The three of them sat with their thoughts.
The only sound that broke the silence was the hum of the technology that surrounded them and the repetitive clap of Camden toying with the football.
“She had no idea?” Shah asked.
“Of her family’s involvement in the CIA?” He scoffed.
“Didn’t sound like it.”
“That’s one hell of a way to find out.”
Camden clapped the football between his hands.
“I want to know more about what happened in Arlington.”
Amanda moved to a computer terminal adjacent to Shah.
“We could poke around and see what there is to see.”
“I already tried,” Camden admitted.
Both Shah and Amanda grinned like his effort was adorable but Camden shouldn’t question the experts at work.
“I don’t want to get you guys in trouble.”
“It’s just research,” Amanda said.
“And here I thought I was the impulsive one.”
“This isn’t your impulsivity.” Amanda’s fingers flew across the keyboard.
“It’s scratching a professional itch.”
Shah scooted to his computer.
“I’m curious too. Let’s see what there is to see.”
Camden’s curiosity was multiplying to a level beyond what he would admit.
He rolled his chair behind Shah.
The man looked back over his shoulder and said, “Give me room to work.”
Amanda leaned back from her keyboard.
“There’s something about the Dumonts’ handler that’s been redacted. There’s another point of contact, but I’m not sure how long they’ve been connected.”
“Do you recognize the name?” Shah asked.
“No.” She clicked her mouse a few times and typed again.
“Nothing but a profile of an up-and-coming socialite who—” Amanda scrolled.
“Get this. Beth Tourne seems to love ritzy, glitzy parties and expensive things.” She turned toward them.
“Like art.”
Camden’s eyebrows inched up.
“ Seems like that would be a good connection for an art history professor and her auction-house husband to know.”
“Seems like,” Amanda agreed.
As the door opened, Jared Westin strode in, trailed by his bulldog.
Their boss didn’t look pleased.
Then again, he never did.
“Thelma, sit.” Thelma plopped at his boots.
“What are you three getting into?”
“We got a call yesterday—”
“Yeah. I know. What are you getting into now?”
There was a good chance that Boss Man already knew exactly what they were doing, not because he listened in on their conversations or spied on their devices but because he had a scarily uncanny ability to know everything all the time.
It never worked out in Camden’s favor.
“Snooping around,” Shah explained with a casualness that Camden wished would disappear.
At the very least, Shah could have made their snooping sound like research.
Boss Man snorted.
“Do you know Beth Tourne?” Amanda asked.
His molars ground. Camden wished both she and Shah would shut their traps.
“Why?”
She clucked.
“That wasn’t an answer, Boss Man.”
Jared’s scowl softened the slightest degree.
He wasn’t that much older than they were, but he managed to have an old-soul air about him.
He also managed to look pissed off most of the time, which made it hard to decipher when he was really irritated.
As far as Camden could guess, Jared was actually that irritated all the time.
But he didn’t like to be around to find out.
“Beth Tourne?” Jared’s square jaw ticked.
“CIA?”
Amanda nodded.
“What do you know?” Jared asked.
“Why are you asking?”
Camden noted that he hadn’t given an answer as to whether he knew Beth Tourne.
Anyone could have guessed they were speaking of someone on the CIA’s payroll.
“She hasn’t been with them long,” Amanda shared.
“Likely establishing a cover.”
“A cover as what?”
“Something froufrou with DC movers and shakers.”
Jared grimaced.
“Yeah, no. We haven’t crossed paths.” He turned his attention to Camden, who readied himself for a lecture in which the moral of the story would tell him to focus on work and ignore anything else shouting for his attention.
Instead, Jared narrowed his eyes.
“If the lady calls again, don’t hang up on her on my account.”
With that, Jared left.
The group waited a minute after the door shut behind him before anyone spoke.
“He knows more than he’s letting on,” Shah said.
“Always does,” Amanda agreed.
Maybe that was true, but that wasn’t what was making energy gather in Camden’s chest. She might call again.
His phone buzzed with a notification from Parker Black.
Camden swiped the message open and read.
His jaw fell open.
“What?” Shah inched closer.
“Your face says about a hundred things, and I’m too nosy to wait for you to share.”
He lifted his screen.
“Parker sent Amelia Stone’s contact information.”