Chapter Seven #2
“We have one objective—get Berta the resources she needs to complete her mission. Once we have her and her convoy safe and secure, we’re mission complete.
The CIA catches wind, decides they don’t want those bodies moved out of Honduras, they tip off the authorities, the authorities alert the gangs where we’re headed and what routes we’re using, we’re screwed . . . as in dead.”
A strange tightness coiled in my stomach. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. An instinct I’d spent my adult life honing and perfecting, one that had saved my life many times, alerted.
Something wasn’t adding up.
And worse, I had a bad feeling I was being used as a pawn.
“Why wouldn’t the CIA want Berta to escape the country with her convoy, whom I presume are women and children?”
Mason exchanged a look with Fallon before he refocused on me.
“What message are you delivering?” Mason shot back.
It wasn’t annoyance I was feeling. It was panic when I begged, “Please, Mason, no games, no chess moves. Why wouldn’t the CIA want her to leave?”
Mason’s attention turned acute. “Berta’s taking the president’s wife, Maria Sanchez, and, at her request, their children, out of the country.
If the CIA deemed it would be in their best interest, they could use this information to make nice with the president, and of course lord the good turn over his head for future use. ”
I needed to think.
The puzzle wasn’t making sense.
Was I overreacting?
Jack’s hand wrapped around my bicep and swung me to face him.
“What’s going on?”
“I need a minute.”
“To do what?”
“To think. Something’s not right. It never is, but pretense and duplicity are to be expected when dealing with the CIA.
This isn’t my first time working with them.
So contrary to Mason’s assessment, I’m well aware of all the ways the Agency can screw you over.
Tom would likely sell his grandmother out, then claim it was for the greater good.
However, that’s not what’s bothering me.
It goes deeper than that, and now that I have more information, it’s nagging at my gut.
I feel it. I just can’t figure out what it is. ”
Jack didn’t let go, but he did tilt his head to the side to study me.
“Talk it out,” he demanded.
“Jack—”
“No game. No intel-gathering expedition. Just talk through the problem.”
I glanced around the room. Mason and Fallon were both alert, watching closely, but I didn’t get the read from either of them they were playing me.
This wasn’t an elaborate setup to get me to tell them something I was closely guarding.
I didn’t have to look at Jack to know he wouldn’t do something underhanded to get me to talk—get angry, yes.
Yell at me, yes. Threaten wild and crazy warnings he had no intentions of inflicting, also yes. Play me dirty, no way.
“I have a subcutaneous tracking device in my hip,” I announced.
“Motherfucker,” Mason growled and got to his feet.
Jack gave me a little shake when my attention went to Mason. “Go on.”
I sucked in a breath and braced for Jack’s ire.
“That’s why I felt safe-ish offering myself up.
That, and I researched the gangs in the area.
I had a plan. I knew which territory I needed to be in when it happened.
My location would be monitored. The CIA would get new intel on where the newer gangs were conducting business, and my location would be leaked in hopes Berta would be lured out of hiding.
If not, an extraction team would be sent in to get me. ”
Jack’s jaw was clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek jumping.
He wasn’t pissed, he was murderous.
“Go on,” he gritted through his fury.
“The urgency of the intel never made sense.”
“Stop,” Fallon said. “You’re boxed in, focused on the intel, instead of looking at the whole picture. Start at the beginning. That’s where the problem starts.”
Damn. He was right.
But I needed to move to think.
I glanced back at Jack and asked, “Honey, can you let me go? I need to move to think.”
My slip-up didn’t compute until Jack’s face went soft, his eyes gentled, and he gave my arm a soft squeeze before he let me go.
Damn, I wanted to kiss him. Or grab him and drag him back upstairs. Or maybe hug him.
“Cat?” Mason called.
“Right. Okay.” I clawed my hands through my hair. “I left the Marshals Service after Vegas. I needed a change. I was approached by a woman named Jasmin Parker—”
“Nightstalker approached you?” Fallon asked, followed by a low whistle. “And you turned down working for Z Corps?”
I didn’t bother asking Fallon how he knew Jasmin or Z Corps. I figured everyone in the private security sector knew who Zane Lewis was, and his teams. Further, I didn’t need to ask how he knew I’d turned down the job; Zane’s dislike of the CIA was legendary.
Instead, I told him, “Yes. I decided I didn’t want to be tied down to a team.
I wanted to be free to take the jobs I wanted to take and not ones assigned to me.
I’ve spent my professional life on the receiving end of orders.
I needed a change, but I have valuable skills I didn’t want to go to waste.
I hadn’t yet decided exactly what I was going to do, when an old CIA contact from my Army days reached out and asked if I would be interested in a solo mission. ”
“How did this person know you were a free agent?” Mason interjected.
Good question.
“I’ve known Tom for years. He was the case officer on a terrorist threat in London I helped with.
Over the years, I’ve consulted on other cases for him.
I was never fully read into the situation, but given enough information to give my opinion.
All of that to say, I know Tom, he takes spy games to the extreme, so when I asked how he knew I’d left the SOIB, and his answer was he had his ways, I didn’t push because I knew it would get me nowhere.
I actually assumed Jasmin’s approach tipped Tom off. ”
I wasn’t positive the CIA watched Z Corps that closely. It wasn’t like Zane Lewis was a criminal, but he sure as hell had his hand in everything worth knowing. Surely they kept an eye.
Mason dipped his chin, so I went on.
“I met Tom at a strip mall in Virginia. Typical CIA off-site location. Nothing out of the ordinary. I already had all the proper clearances from the Marshals Service. I didn’t need a higher level of clearance since my mission isn’t a matter of national security, more a friendly gesture to an ally. That was how it was presented.”
I turned on my heel and started pacing.
Where’s the problem? Why isn’t it coming to me?
“Berta had asked the CIA to find a man for her. She wanted his location. Well, they found him and have been trying to reach out to her for six months. Tom said it was urgent Berta get this man’s location.
But why? Why now, when it wasn’t urgent six months ago?
We’ve had months to send in an operations officer to get this intel to her.
” I stopped pacing, looked at Jack, and asked again, “Why now?”
“Without knowing who, I can’t answer that. Maybe this man is now in danger. Maybe she gave them a time frame for this intel to be delivered and they’re running out of time? There could be a plausible explanation.”
“Derek Nicolson,” I blurted out.
“Come again?” Mason grunted.
“I have Derek’s location.”
“No, you don’t,” Mason denied.
Something sinister crowded the room, and it was emanating from Mason.
So dark and ominous, it had me taking a step away from him.
That’s when I noticed Pete was leaning against the archway leading to the kitchen.
Even though his arms were crossed over his chest, his manner looked casual.
However, upon further inspection, some of the menacing vibrations were also rolling off him.
I was missing something huge.
“Who’s Derek Nicolson?”
“He was a piece-of-shit trafficker who favored children,” Mason spat.
“Was? But isn’t anymore?”
“Not unless he’s doing that shit in hell. Though I’d like to believe not even the devil would find that shit acceptable and Nicolson is spending an eternity on the receiving end of the misery he inflicted.”
My gaze flicked to Pete.
“Where’d they tell you he was?”
“Barcelona.”
Pete shook his head. “Not even close.”
“You took him out,” I surmised.
“Yup, after Mase had his fun.”
Well, that explained the dark and ominous.
“Now we work the problem,” Fallon announced. “But first you need to get rid of that tracking device, and we need to move.”
He wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t felt great going in, and I’d been given a local to prevent the pain. I was pretty sure the guys didn’t carry around lidocaine, so coming out, it was probably going to hurt like a bitch.
“Will you do it?” I asked Jack.
“Fallon has more medical training than I do.”
I didn’t want Fallon taking it out. I wanted Jack.
With a sigh, Jack changed his mind. “Fallon, grab your kit and meet us upstairs.”
“Sucker,” Fallon mumbled under his breath.
Jack flipped him off, then turned his hand and offered it to me. “C’mere, Cat.”
I went.
When I was within reaching distance, he tugged me the rest of the way. My hand came up and planted on his hard chest to break my fall. Once Jack had me where he wanted, his forehead gently hit mine.
“We’ll figure this out.”
I pinched my lips. Part of me embarrassed I’d been screwed over like an amateur, the other, bigger part pissed that someone I had trusted did the screwing.
Fifteen minutes later, I had tears in my eyes, the bloody tracker was in the sink, and Jack was cleaning the tiny incision he’d made.
“Took that like a champ,” Fallon lied.
I’d actually bitten down on a belt, something I thought was an old-timer antidote. The nylon material only stifled my grunts, groans, and curses.
“Slap a Band-Aid on the scratch and let’s roll,” Mason said from the doorway of the bathroom.
Fallon looked over Jack’s shoulder to check the incision. My jeans were around my ankles, a towel draped over my behind. I was turned in such a way Fallon couldn’t see anything he shouldn’t, and besides, I didn’t think he was the kind of man who would look even if I was exposed.
“It’s fine to glue,” Fallon told Jack. “Sorry, Kitty, but the glue’s gonna burn like a bitch. You might want the belt back.”
Oh, I wanted the belt back. I wanted to keep it so when I found Tom, I could beat him with it.
“Just do it.”
“Cat—”
“Do it, Jack.”
There was a string of expletives, followed by a few grunts, but finally Jack got to work gluing.
Burn didn’t cover the blistering pain.
“Goddamn motherfucking liar. My skin is melting,” I groaned and closed my eyes. “Holy God. Fucking hell. Someone blow on it.”
Jack leaned away from me.
“If you blow on that, you’ll need to start over,” Fallon warned.
“Oh my God, just blow, would you? I don’t care about germs.”
“Kinky,” Mason muttered.
I blew out a breath trying to quell the pain.
“Breathe through it.”
“I am breathing, Fallon,” I spat. “I’m breathing fire.”
“Baby,” Jack cooed next to my face. “It’s done. Just take a few deep breaths. It’ll stop in a few seconds.”
I did as Jack instructed. Slowly—so very slowly—the burn faded.
“The glue was worse than the cut,” I said on an exhale.
“Sorry, baby.” Jack pressed a kiss to my temple and pulled away from me. “Everyone out so she can get dressed.”
“You’ve got a scary foul mouth when you’re in pain, woman,” Mason jibed.
“Fuck off.”
“Yeah, you’re gonna fit right in, Kitty Cat Keys.”
“I’m gonna fit your balls in your throat if you ever call me that again.”
“Spicy and kinky, you lucky son of a bitch.”
I assumed Mason’s parting shot was for Jack.
And for some reason, that made me smile.