Exposé

3. Nate

3

Nate

M y feet hit the ground with hard beats as I picked up the pace and sprinted behind the abandoned warehouse in the rundown Sweet Water district. Sweat trickled down my spine and temples, the scent of piss and rotten food wafting up my flared nostrils.

The man in a black hoodie darted through the large, cracked open doors, his backpack filled with a NOC list, a ticket out of country, and enough money to get him there—at least, that's what I overheard before I disobeyed orders and chased after him.

I skidded as I made a sudden direction change, my hand scraping against the loose gravel and asphalt. "Son of a bitch." Fire licked up my palm as I righted myself and dipped into the rusted warehouse, the pigeons fluttering in the rafters.

Silence greeted me, with dust speckling the beam of light streaking through.

"I know you're in here, Manuel."

Shuffling sparked from the left as I drew my weapon; the suppressor twisted on tight. "There's nowhere to go. Just give it up."

Boom.

I raised my pistol, my heart skipping a beat before leveling out.

"Come in with me now, and the consequences won't be as severe." My upper lip twitched. "But if I have to continue chasing you—"

A black object rushed through the shadows, and I moved, my feet carrying me towards him with lightning speed.

I'm going to ruin your miserable life.

The man huffed and wheezed as he booked it through the dusty warehouse.

Manuel, somewhere in his early forties, towered with the build of a professional athlete—broad shoulders, lean muscle, and the kind of effortless power that came from years of discipline. However, there was one area where he fell short, a deficiency where I surpassed him with little effort—stamina.

Grabbing a broom leaning against a metal column, he swung it in my direction and let go, causing me to jerk to the side as it blew past my face.

I tucked my pistol back into my holster at my back and jumped over debris left over from the workers a few decades ago.

Ka-boom.

Manuel sent a large metal barrel rolling my way, its rusted exterior matching the liquid contents pouring onto the concrete with a stench of decay and hint of oil.

I jumped over it with ease, causing his stagnant features to wilt. He spun around and ran to the opposite side of the warehouse towards an exit door, its once-illuminated sign above, now broken into fragments below.

If he makes it back outside...

I picked up my pace, but my stride couldn't match his.

Fifty feet.

Thirty feet.

I stopped, plucked out my pistol, and aimed.

His hands reached out for the door, and I fired, sending him ass over end into the wall.

"Ahhhh."

His cries sent the birds soaring through the air in a scared black cloud as I inched towards him, my pistol aimed at his forehead. "Stay down. Or I'll put you down for good."

Manuel clutched his leg, the bullet skimming his flesh enough to fell him like timber.

Thank you, live target training.

"You're an idiot. You know that?"

He groaned and rocked on the ground, his black hoodie tainted in chalky dust. "I wasn't going to do anything with it. I just wanted assurances." He hissed through his teeth, his face scrunched in pain. " Ahhh ."

"Stop crying like a baby. I barely nicked you." I stood over him, my hands firm around the pistol grip. "Assurances for what?"

"It burns, man." He glanced down at the wound, his hand tinged red.

How many orders did I violate?

Laughing, I tucked my pistol back into my holster, then kneeled beside him. "I've been shot worse and I didn't cry as much as you. Come on. Get up."

"I don't think I can walk."

I scraped a hand down my sweaty face. "Manuel, if I have to fireman carry you to my car, I'll put you in the trunk."

"What if I die back there? I could bleed out."

"God, you're as dramatic as a teenage girl." I stood, bent over, and hoisted him up by the straps of his backpack, his cries booming across the empty warehouse.

"What assurances were you hoping to gain by carrying around the list, Manuel?"

"Leverage." He hobbled as I shoved him through the exit door. "I want to be left alone."

"You thought carrying that dossier capable of burning every field agent in the vicinity would be your safeguard?" I chuckled, my fist tight against his shoulder as I relieved him of the backpack. "You really are a moron."

Dropping his backpack, I grabbed his wrist and wrenched it behind his back, securing him with thick plastic ties.

"I didn't know what else to do."

"How about not stealing classified information and feeding it to foreign dignitaries?"

"I thought she loved me."

I picked his backpack up and pushed him forward, keeping an eye on the deserted streets as we walked towards my vehicle. "That's what they all say." Manuel hobbled, his backpack flung over my shoulder, my hand gripping his thumbs—the easiest way to control a man. "News flash…they never do."

He groaned. "Speaking from personal experience?"

"Your IQ keeps dropping the more you speak." As if I'd give him personal information. "You have no filter. How did you get a clearance, anyway?"

"It wasn't hard."

"I can see that."

We walked through the alleyway leading out to my sedan, and I popped the trunk.

"Hey, man. You said if you had to carry me." He backed away from the trunk, my fingers digging into his arm, jerking him back to stand beside me.

"Relax. It's for the bag." I tossed his backpack in and slammed the trunk, then opened the passenger door and tossed him inside. "Do anything stupid, and you'll require a lengthy hospital stay and a team of doctors…"

I slammed the door and took a deep breath through my nose as I rounded the front of the car. Plopping inside, I blasted the air conditioner, drying away the sweat soaking into my gray t-shirt with the local school logo printed on the chest.

"Don't take me back there. They'll give me life in prison."

"Should have thought about that before."

He twisted in his seat and maneuvered around, reaching for the door handle as I pulled onto the street.

"Manuel." I reached over and twisted his ear between my forefinger and thumb, causing him to freeze like a kitten grabbed by the scruff. "Think long and hard about the next move you make."

"I won't survive in prison."

"You won't survive out here. Did you know they planned on dumping you in the river behind the district when you handed over the list?"

"How…how do you know that?"

I released his ear as I turned left on Bronco Boulevard. "I've been watching you and studying everything you've done for the last five months."

"But I never…"

I shrugged and sped onto the freeway. "You made it easy, what with you blabbing to your sister Cheryl how you were going to run away with Emily and the list." I rolled my eyes and took my exit.

"Cheryl told on me?"

"No, Manuel. You talked about it at the bistro, where anyone could hear you. What did you think would happen?"

"She was busy at work, and I wanted her to know before we left, so we had lunch—"

"I know. I heard and saw it all. How are we supposed to stay under the public's radar when there are people like you blasting our secrets outside of a SCIF?"

"That wasn't my intention." He shook his head as I pulled into the unmarked underground parking garage, scanned my badge, and waited for the bar to lift.

"Well, you'll answer to the director for it."

The bar lifted, and I found a space closest to the double gated door with two armed men in black, long sleeve shirts and tactical pants standing beside it.

Opening my door, I tipped my chin at the men. "Chip. Give me a hand here, would you?"

The eager twenty-something stepped forward with his military-styled haircut and black boots. "Sure thing. What do you need?"

"Take Manuel here up to holding. I need to debrief Director Brentwood." I tossed him my keys. "And leave the keys on the wheel well when you're done, would ya?"

"I'm on it."

Popping the trunk, I grabbed the black bag next to my hyperbolic microphone and tossed it over my shoulder.

"Better luck in prison, Manuel."

I slammed the trunk shut and walked towards the double doors, slipping my ID out and showing Trey.

"Busy day?"

Sighing, I slipped my ID back into my pocket. "No more than usual." Our code phrase triggered a buzzing on the door, disconnecting the lock and allowing me to slip into the secondary holding space.

Leaning in, I opened my eyes wide and posed for the retinal scanner until the beep. Another buzz sounded, unlocking the door leading toward the elevator.

I hit the button and stepped inside as the doors slid sideways, and punched the second-floor button with my thumb.

How was I going to break the news to Keith?

The elevator lifted and stopped, the doors slid open, allowing me to step out onto the expansive floor.

"Jesus Christ. As I live and breathe." Callie, our senior analyst, stood from her chair and pushed her glasses up her nose, giving her that sexy-as-sin librarian look. "I didn't expect to see you back for a few weeks."

A slight grin grew on my lips. "Change of plans. Is Keith in?"

"When is he not?" She turned towards his corner office without a view. "Careful though, he's got something brewing, and it's got him in a fit."

Great.

I leaned into her. "So it's not a good time to tell him I shot my mark."

Her eyes widened, showing the whites all around, her brows lifting high. "You shot Manuel? Please tell me he's still alive."

I gave a contemptuous smile. "He'll need a Band-Aid, but other than that, he's fine."

She let out a breath with puffed cheeks. "I'm so relieved."

Keith's door opened, and I skirted around her. "I've gotta go. We'll talk later."

"Yeah, right. Of course."

She slunk back into her chair as I made my way towards his open office door, another analyst slipping out as though he were escaping.

My heart rate ramped up as I rapt my knuckles on the wooden door, the analyst wiping sweat from his rosy red cheeks, the papers in his arms facing all directions as he hurried away in a fluster.

"Sir."

Keith stood at his desk, his high and tight salt-and-pepper hair parted to the side with a pristine line. His trimmed beard mirrored the shaved edges.

He glanced up from the folder sitting on his desk and flipped the cover over, hiding whatever details laid inside. "Nate. You're back early."

I winced. "Yeah—"

"Okay." He gestured towards the chair at his desk. "Have a seat. I want a quick debrief."

Shit.

Keith sat down, his blue checkered tie snug against his throat. His white button-up shirt remained crisp and unwrinkled, matching his meticulous attention to detail and stiff personality.

My thigh muscles ached as I moved, my palm stinging from the asphalt. "Not much to tell." I rubbed the back of my neck as I sat down. "He had the NOC list, so I engaged and shot him."

Director Brentwood coughed into his hand. "You what?"

I scrunched my upper lip. "He was getting ready to take off and leave with the list. I had to do something." I spread my legs wide and braced my elbows on the arms of the chair. "I engaged him, he ran, I couldn't stop him, I shot him in the leg." I shrugged. "It's just a little graze. He'll be fine."

"This is the second time you've deliberately disobeyed a direct order." He placed his clenched fist on the desk.

"Yes, sir." I nodded. "But to be fair, Monica didn't really count, seeing as she was about to drive off a cliff and leave us empty-handed."

"We would have found another way."

"Yeah, but it would have taken more time." My chest constricted as her name brought up our short tumble down the cliff side, leaving me in the hospital with two broken legs and a fractured occipital bone. "Because of that, I was able to stop an attack on US soil, possibly preventing another Timothy McVeigh."

"Well, be that as it may, you are creating a track record…and it's not a good one."

"Next time, I'll let him drive away and burn everyone in the continental US then."

His eyes flared. "Sarcasm doesn't look good on you, Nate." He rubbed the space between his eyes as he sighed. "You've got great potential, which is why I took a chance on you."

"And I appreciate that, Keith. I'm doing my best to keep us all from waking up the next morning without our shit plastered across the evening news."

"I get that, which is why I think you coming in might be perfect timing. This next assignment is right up your alley."

I laughed. "You're giving me whiplash here." My head moved in a subtle shake. "I'm getting a new mark? I thought you were benching me?"

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Nate, you're too talented to waste away as a desk jockey." He adjusted his tie. "So, in order to keep you from wasting your talent, I'm putting you on this." Tossing me the manila folder, it slid across his desk. "Besides, I didn't know who else to put on it."

I raised an eyebrow as I caught it and opened the flap. "And what is it?" My eyes narrowed at the picture of a woman with pin-straight chestnut hair, green eyes, and full lips fixed into a small, determined smile.

"Ava Thatcher. Twenty-five years old, graduated with a bachelor’s degree at Columbia." He paused as I flipped the page, following along. "She majored in Investigative Journalism and minored in Political Science. From there, she went to UC Berkeley to finish out her degree in Digital Journalism and Ethics."

"Okay, so she's a smart cookie…"

"Not just any." He clicked on his mouse and turned his swiveling computer screen towards me. "SIGINT came through yesterday on Acadia, the watcher program we have sifting through the internet, and it picked up key phrases coming from Riverfield Chronicles, the newspaper she works for."

"Alright..." My brows bunched as I glanced up at him. "And what was she looking for?"

"NeuraZene."

The new drug case?

"How did she hear about that?"

"She's been poking around in places she shouldn’t be."

"And what do you want me to do? It's not like being nosy is illegal." I glanced back at her photo, my dick stirring.

"Recon. Get close. I want to know everything she does. I want to know her angle and why she requested a FOIA two days ago."

"Journalists make Freedom of Information requests all the time. Besides, shouldn't the ATF or some other three-letter agency handle this one?"

My gaze flicked over a small beauty mark nestled in the smile line on her right cheek, her dark silky hair blowing across her face as she walked down the street, and the bangles around her wrist glinting in the sun.

She's stunning.

He ran his hand down his trimmed beard. "Not quite. I want the best and brightest on this one."

So your ass is on the line...

"Alright, so you want me to get to know her? What's my cover story?"

He pushed a button on his phone. "Judy, send Callie in with her files." His finger fell off the button as he glanced at me. "We're giving you an established profile. She—"

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

The door cracked open, and Callie stepped inside, her outspoken demeanor shifting to meek as she hugged the files in her arms. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Have a seat. We're going over the Thatcher case."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, okay." She sat beside me, her toned legs crossing my way, her skirt riding up a fraction too short.

"Nate's taking it over. We're giving him the 'exclusive,' and—"

"You're letting him handle the case?" Her mouth dropped. "Don't get me wrong, you're good…" She glanced my way, her arms tightening over the files. "But this is—"

"It's been decided, Callie. Hand him the files so he can get started."

"But, sir…"

"Callie." I leaned over with a gentle, lopsided smile and placed my hand on her bouncing knee. "I can handle it." My thumb traced a small path over the patch of sensitive flesh behind her knee. "Give me a chance with your baby. I won't let you down."

Her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, and she bit into the soft pillow. "You think you can do it?" Her breath left her mouth in soft, short huffs, her quickening heart rate thumping the vein in her throat.

I lifted my lips in a seductive smirk. "It works on you." Withdrawing back into my seat, I settled my hands into my lap, her lust-filled eyes narrowing at me.

"You're an asshole, Nate." She swallowed hard and slapped the files against my chest.

"No, Callie." I let a slow grin spread across my face. "I'm just really good at my job."