Chapter 14
Austin
“How’d it go?” Gibson asked after making himself at home in my hotel room.
My look said it all.
“That well, huh?”
“We got interrupted before I got anywhere.” My irritation oozed out in a most uncharacteristic way. That was happening a lot during this case—me acting out of character.
“Do tell.”
I explained Dirk’s interruption and made the mistake of mentioning my desire to find out his full name and ruin his life.
I left out lying about a date, and the brief look of disappointment that flickered across Nina’s eyes before she plastered a fake smile on her face and said she never thought it was real.
I’d noticed that customer-service smile more than once in the short time I’d known her. It usually appeared after she received upsetting news. She’d take a deep breath and close her eyes; when she opened them again, she’d have that smile on her face. The one that didn’t reach her eyes.
A small part of me almost wished the date could be real, so I could see her eyes light up when she smiled for real.
I bitch-slapped that part of me. There was no room for romance when lives were at stake.
And she’s twelve years younger than you.
G jumped on it. “Do I need to worry?”
I played dumb. “About what?” I’d already beaten myself up over my reaction to Nina and my overreaction to the situation. I didn’t need to hear it from him.
He raised an eyebrow. Yeah, I don’t believe me either.
“It’s not what you’re thinking. I just didn’t like how small she shrank around him.”
G’s eyebrow arched higher. “Since when do you give a shit?”
We didn’t talk often, but that didn’t mean Gibson didn’t know me well enough to call me on my bullshit.
Bryce’s words came back to haunt me. Can you not act like a robot?
The nickname he’d given me fit a little too well, and I hoped to un-earn it in the near future. But not here, not now. Not when it could put my case in jeopardy.
“Because it’s personal,” I answered, sounding pissed despite my attempts to stay emotionless.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Not like that,” I said, denying my attraction. “She works for my aunt, so I want to look out for her.”
“Dude, do you hear yourself right now?”
I did, and that was half the problem.
“Don’t worry about it.” I needed to change the subject. “You said you found something?”
His snicker grated on my nerves, but it was easier to ignore him than go another round with someone who saw through my bullshit.
Not many could, and I usually appreciated his ability.
I took the thick folder he handed me, opening it as he explained.
“I dug through the evidence box and found those.”
“You took these from the evidence box?” Fuck. Not only had he left a paper trail, he’d broken the chain of evidence.
“Relax, I fudged the sign-in log and everything’s still sealed in its original bag.”
“Christ.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Gibson was a great field officer, but didn’t always play by the rules. Probably why he has such an impressive track record. “Even if you used a fake name,” I choked on the words.
I don’t break the rules. I don’t even bend them. Even working off the record made my eye twitch and my skin crawl.
“The evidence locker has cameras.”
He laughed, reminding me of a Bond villain. “There was a conveniently timed glitch.”
“Dude, you can’t pull shit like this if we want to build an airtight case.”
“Hate to break it to you, Steel,” I never should’ve told him Nina called me that. “But this won’t end in a trial.”
“Excuse me?”
“Our bad guys are definitely CIA, and I think they killed the Singers. They won’t go down quietly or without a fight.”
I stopped scanning the worn photo of Travis and Melissa Singer holding a baby, and slid it back into the manilla pocket folder.
“Evidence?” I asked, now giving him my full attention.
“Gut feeling. ”
“Your gut won’t hold up in court.”
“No, but we’ll get the evidence we need on the DL.”
Working on the down low was already part of the plan, no matter how much I hated it, since we’d suspected crooked officers all along. The problem was that there were too many fingers in the cookie jar, and we couldn’t narrow down our suspect pool. Unless…
“Did you ID them?”
“No, but I narrowed down the list.” His dramatic pause put me on edge.
“And?” I barked.
“And it goes up the food chain. We need to keep our heads down on this one.”
I appreciated the ‘we’ he kept using, because there was no way in hell I’d be able to solve this on my own. Not without putting a big ass target on my back. And putting my family in danger.
“We have to be careful.” I said, more to myself than to him, but he answered anyway.
“Yeah, and we may need help if the water gets too hot.”
I nodded, though I didn’t know who we could trust. Other than each other. “But who?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got an outside guy I’d trust with my life.” The white scars on his pale brown hand stood out as he ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “In fact, I have.”
I considered asking about the circumstances, but instead I asked, “Do I want to know who?”
“No, my Type A, rule-following friend, you do not.”
Shit. I dumped the contents of the folder onto the bed I wasn’t sleeping in and started analyzing.
I held up the picture. “You think this is Nina?”
“I know it is. Check out the birth certificate.”
I did. Good thing I can read German. Nina Marie was born in a small German village to Travis and Melissa Singer, on the thirteenth of May. Two months earlier than the date listed on her American birth certificate.
Thinking aloud, I asked, “How’d they get her here?”
They flew from Germany to the U.S. with a baby, so there should’ve been a paper trail, but we hadn’t found anything.
And what the hell happened during the three years between her birth and the fire that left her a Jane Doe orphan?
“That’s still a mystery, but they were CIA, so they could’ve easily arranged off-the-books transportation.”
We all knew how to fly, figuratively and literally, under the radar.
“What the hell did they find?”
“I think they identified the corrupt officers, at least some of them. If I had to guess,” I glared at him, “I know we don’t guess, but hear me out.”
Owing him that much, I nodded.
“My guess, they didn’t have enough evidence to form a solid case and the bad guys killed them to stop the investigation.”
“Did you find more in their case files?”
“I did. I spent hours combing through their cases. The file I needed was mislabeled, had a fuckton of third party notes, and it was marked closed. Someone redacted the names listed as suspects.”
“Let me guess, the notes discredited the Singer’s evidence.”
“Winner winner, chicken dinner. Hey, let’s order room service.”
Knowing we’d be working late into the night, we ordered enough food for a small army.
Ignoring my second-hand guilt, we sorted through the evidence linking my current case with the Singer’s missing persons case and the case they were working on when they disappeared.
I now had three cases to solve.
Looking closer at the picture of the Singers and their baby, I noticed the pattern on the blanket.
“Holy shit!”
Gibson’s head snapped up. “What?”
How did I miss it? “Cherries.” I held the picture up so he could see it.
“So?” He smiled as it sunk in. “Cherries.”
“She’s obsessed with them, but she doesn’t eat them.”
He squinted at the picture, understanding what I wasn’t saying.
“We need to talk to her.”
“I know, but there’s no plausible reason for me to go back.”
“Let me go in undercover.”
“Dude, no way. You’re as subtle as a Mack truck.”
I didn’t want him to upset her.
“So? It gets the job done.” He shrugged.
“She’s innocent.”
“She probably knows more than she realizes.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want you upsetting her.”
Fuck. I’m in too deep.
“Austin the Robot Winchester, did you catch feelings for our person of interest?”
“No.” Maybe, but I didn’t want them so I shoved them back where they belonged.
He raised both eyebrows this time.
“I told you this case would be complicated the minute I realized my family was involved.”
“Let me talk to her.”
I hesitated to agree.
“One, they don’t know who I am, so it’ll uncomplicate things, and two, you’re too fucking close to this case in more ways than one.”
His logic was sound, but I still couldn’t make myself agree.
“And three, I promise to handle her with kid gloves.”
Ryan Gibson interrogated the worst of the worst, and he was damn good at it. His definition of kid gloves varied from mine.
“She’s not a criminal mastermind or a terrorist.”
“I know.”
“She’s an innocent kid trying to survive.”
“I know.”
The image of G’s tall, caramel colored, heavily tattooed, zero-body-fat body leaning over Nina’s short, pale, curvy body while he pointed a scarred finger at her face demanding answers refused to leave my mind.
When I mentioned it, he said, “Fucking hell, Winchester, I’m not a monster.”
Wednesday morning, Gibson and I drove back to Weatherford. I stayed in the surveillance van while he went to Grannie’s.
“Miss Novak, I’m Tim Jones from Conner, Ingram and Associates, and I’d like to speak to you.”
G’s invisible comms and camera were transmitting perfectly.
Nina looked like a squirrel in the middle of the road, debating between standing still and running away.
“Can I see your business card?”
“Sure thing, Beth,” Ryan said, laying on the charm.
Through the camera attached to his tie, I saw him hand her the card and watched her read it.
“Tone it down, G.”
Beth’s shoulders tightened as she squinted her eyes and pursed her lips.
Fuck, that reaction had me on my feet, my breath stuck in my throat as I watched.
“Mr. Jones, can you wait here a minute?”
“Cooperate,” I ordered him over comms.
“Of course, can I get a coffee while I wait?”
Soft country music and other sounds of the coffee shop filtered over the comms as Beth ushered Nina to the back.
I didn’t think Beth was stupid, but that was some ninja level perception if she picked apart G’s cover story from his business card.
A coffee cup moved across my line of sight before I heard G whisper, “Something’s up.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” I threw his words back at him, sarcasm and all.
His chuckle echoed in his cup.
“Wait it out.”
We didn’t wait long before John and Jay approached the front door.
“Play dumb and be nice. I’m on my way.” I slammed my laptop shut, shoved it into my black canvas messenger bag, and jumped out of the black surveillance van.
“Mr. Jones, I’m John Sheppard and this is Jaden Sheppard.”
I didn’t need to see the video feed to know John and Jay were sizing Ryan up.
Christ, we barely got through the front door before his cover was under suspicion.
His cover would hold for the average citizen—except Beth, apparently—but the Sheppards would see right through it.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
From across the street, I saw them shaking hands thanks to Grannie’s floor to ceiling windows lining the front of the shop.
I should warn her those windows are a safety issue.
Who was I kidding? John probably had bulletproof windows installed.
“What’s your business with Miss Novak?”
Gibson handed them each a card. “I’m here to discuss a personal matter.” He sounded perfectly polite and professional.
“Bullshit.” Jay coughed into his hand just as I walked into the shop.
“Hey John, Jay,” I greeted my uncle and cousin.
“Austin.” John’s greeting was more question than welcoming invitation.
“Is he with you?” Jay used his head to indicate Gibson.
Blowing our cover wasn’t in the game plan, but there wasn’t much else I could do.
Playing down my role as a CIA field officer, I said, “He’s helping me. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“I’ll ask if we can use Mary’s office. Wait here.”
“Do insurance agents always wear comms?” Jay asked after his father was out of earshot. “And work with government logistics personnel?”
Of course he’d noticed.
“It’s complicated,” I answered.
“Uncomplicate it.”
I appreciated Jay’s straightforward approach, but it wasn’t that easy.
“In time.”
“Now is a time.”
“Let it go,” G said, adding a little bark to his bite.
When I said “Stand down, G,” Jay made a production out of reading the card aloud, annunciating every syllable carefully.
“Timothy Jones. Not a G in sight.”
“Sheppard,” I growled.
My warning meant less than nothing to Jay.
“Winchester.”
His meant as much to me.
“Mary said we can use the break room,” John called from the counter.
“Can we talk to Nina?”
“Not until I get answers.”
“Who put him in charge?” Gibson whispered as we followed John.
“Your idiot friend did when he showed up the other day,” Jay answered.
Gibson and I shared a look. What the fuck is he talking about?