Aegis Security 03 - Extreme Measures (23 page)

Zane’s voice echoed in her ears and slowly trickled through the fog clouding her brain.
Hold it together . . . Hold it together . . .

Five hundred
thousand
dollars.

Anger and disbelief coiled beneath her skin and threatened to explode. She closed her eyes and leaned back into Zane.
Don’t lose it.

Zane’s broad hands massaged her upper arms. “Who strong-armed the Agency into awarding that defense contract to Aegis for Humbolt’s life?”

“How the hell would I know that?” Carter asked. “That shit’s decided by committee.”

“Was it Roberts?”

Eve stilled against Zane’s chest.

“ADD Roberts,” Carter said in a monotone voice. “In counterintelligence. You think he was involved in your failed raid in Guatemala?”

“I’ve heard . . . whispers,” Zane said.

His familiar voice echoed in his chest and vibrated into Eve’s body. But it was Carter’s silence that set her on edge.

“Christ,” Carter finally whispered. “Not here. Let’s get further down the path.”

Eve opened her eyes and pulled away from Zane, but before she turned, she caught the look on his resolute face. The one that said,
Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you
. The one that sent ripples of awareness all through her body.

They moved down the path and into the trees, and when Carter felt they were far enough so that no one could hear him, he stopped and turned their way. “I could get into serious hot water for this, but fuck it. You two are already in so much hot water it’s boiling. Roberts is gunning for the deputy director position within the Company. He’s got sway within the Agency. Big sway. Whether he had a hand in Aegis’s appointment to that op, I have no idea. But I will tell you this. He’s got no love for your boss Ryder. If you’re asking me on the record if he set Aegis up to take the fall in Guatemala, I’d say that’s bullshit. Everyone in the Company wanted Humbolt back alive. Off the record, though, I’d say most of us thought it was a suicide mission. No black ops team has ever infiltrated that cartel’s stronghold without major casualties.”

Eve’s gaze slowly slid Zane’s way.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at her. His intense gaze was locked solidly on Carter. “Did Roberts know Eve had been tipped off that the op had been compromised?”

“I don’t know.” Carter frowned. “It’s possible, I guess. He might have known.”

So all of this—the Agency coming down on her—she was being punished because of Zane’s connection to Aegis? No. That was too . . . fucking simple.

She looked up at Carter. “Humbolt is the key to all of this. What was he working on?”

“I—”

“Eve.” Zane’s hand against her arm drew Eve around, and she looked down the path, toward a redheaded woman wearing slacks and a white blouse rolled up to her elbows, heading their direction.

“That’s Natalie,” she breathed.

Natalie tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears and eyed their group. When she caught Eve’s gaze, she nodded, then sat on the bench. But her eagle eyes were watching every move Zane and Carter made, and Eve knew she was surprised to find the players had multiplied.

Eve didn’t know the woman well. Natalie was in her midthirties and had been in the business a little longer than Eve, but her agency had always been more than willing to cooperate when Eve needed help, and over the years she’d been a solid contact Eve could count on.

They headed her direction. Sitting next to Natalie on the bench, Eve nodded toward the two men. “This is Carter and Sawyer.”

Natalie’s dark gaze locked on Zane. “I recognize you.”

“Don’t believe everything you see or read,” he said with a wink. “It’s never true.”

A wry smile curled her lips. “I never do.” Her humor faded as she focused on Eve. “People within your organization are asking questions. My agency’s been able to head them off so far, but it won’t be long before they discover we met.”

“I appreciate that. Natalie, I need to know about the file Tyrone Smith was supposed to sell to me. It’s at the root of all of this. It wasn’t a list of compromised agents like you led me to believe.”

Natalie’s wary gaze drifted to Zane, then Carter.

“It’s okay,” Eve assured her. “They’re safe.”

Natalie was silent a moment, looking them both over again, and Eve’s adrenaline surged over the possibility the woman might not tell what she knew.

Finally, Natalie’s gaze settled on Eve once more. “No. It wasn’t. I—”

“That was my doing,” Carter cut in.

Eve’s gaze snapped his way. “What?”

He glanced toward Natalie and then focused on Eve. “CSIS has been in contact with the Agency about this since before Humbolt was killed. When we realized Smith was the middleman Humbolt was using, we needed someone to get close to the file. ADD Roberts suggested you. He thinks quite highly of you, Juliet. Or at least, he did.”

Eve’s brow lowered. “What does Humbolt have to do with all of this?”

“A few years ago,” Natalie said, “a research team at the State University of New York chemically synthesized an artificial polio virus from scratch. You might have heard about it in the news. They started with the genetic sequence, which they found online, then created small DNA strands, which they combined to reconstruct the viral genome. They then added a chemical cocktail that brought the entire pathogenic virus to life. Polio, as you know, is an ineffective biological weapon, but Humbolt was applying their research techniques to other viruses.”

“What kind of viruses?” Zane asked. “Ebola, Marburg, Venezuelan equine encephalitis . . . all of those have been considered as biological weapons but ruled out because of a lack of efficient delivery method.”

“Correct,” Natalie said, looking up at him. “But Humbolt wasn’t concerned with those viruses.”

“What was he concerned with?” Eve asked.

Natalie focused on her again. “Our intel says one particularly nasty virus that was eradicated more than twenty years ago. One that’s officially only stored at two high-security laboratories in the world. One of which is in Russia. And the other—”

Shit.
“The United States,” Eve breathed.

“Bingo,” Natalie answered.

“Smallpox,” Zane said, his gaze growing more serious. “You’re telling us Humbolt was working on the production of an artificially produced smallpox virus.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Eve asked. “Why waste his time creating something for the government they already have access to?”

“Because he wasn’t working for the US government, Juliet,” Natalie said. “Adam Humbolt was a French citizen. Our intel says he was preparing to shop what he had to the highest bidder for a large sum of cash.”

“Holy shit,” Zane muttered.

Holy shit
didn’t even begin to cover it. Slowly, Eve’s gaze slid back to Zane. He’d been right. The US government had set Aegis up. They’d needed that op in Guatemala to fail. They’d wanted Humbolt dead. And Zane had been caught in the crosshairs.

Her throat grew thick. She had to focus on the here and now. She faced Natalie again. “So the file—”

“We think it contained Humbolt’s research notes,” Carter answered. When she glanced his way again, he said, “We knew Smith was feeling out the competition and that Humbolt was ready to sell what he had to the highest bidder. The smallpox genome has over two hundred thousand base pairs, so creating an artificial virus is still years away, but his research would cut that time in half with the right scientists working on what he’d already found. The Agency was concerned and sent you in to get it back.”

“Without my knowing.”

“Let’s just say there were . . . questions”—he glanced toward Zane—“about where your loyalties rested. After the incident in Guatemala, Roberts wanted to make sure you were still committed to the Company. And then all this happened with the Chechens and Sawyer and you—”

Eve’s temper shot up. “I’m not in league with any Chechen terrorists.”

“I know that,” he said on a sigh. “But someone’s setting you up to make it look like you are. The big question is why.”

Eve’s pulse shot up. If anything, this little meeting had created more questions than answers.

That file was going to save her life, though. If she wanted to clear her name—clear Zane’s name—she needed to find it and prove her loyalty to the United States. She looked at Carter. “So where is the file now?”

“That, we don’t know.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Smith was supposed to make the drop with you. The fact that he didn’t leads us to believe someone got to him before we did. Your disappearance from the scene of the bombing led to questions. Originally the Agency just wanted to pick you up to find out what had gone wrong. But after that cash was dumped into your account, and with the file still missing, well . . . let’s just say your involvement in all of this has jumped a few notches.”

A shriek echoed from the direction of the playground. Zane turned to look. From where he was standing, he had a better view through the trees than Eve did on the bench, but when he muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath, she knew a child hadn’t simply fallen off a swing or been hit by a Frisbee.

“What’s going on?” Eve asked, slowly pushing to her feet.

Zane pulled the Beretta from the holster at his lower back. “We’re about to have company.”

“Who?” Eve asked, reaching for her weapon. From the corner of her eye she saw Carter and Natalie do the same.

Zane shot her a
we’re
fucked
look over his shoulder. “Your friends from the warehouse.”

L
andon stared at the small, well-kept two-story home on a quiet street in the Fremont district of Seattle. The lawn was neatly mowed, the fence was freshly painted, and the iron chairs on the wide front porch were decked out with new seat cushions.

Not your typical safe house. Then again, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right place. Every curtain was closed tight, blocking the inside from view, and the fence was taller than your standard six-foot fare, reminding him of that house in Cleveland where those three women had been held captive by a monster for years on end.

His stomach tightened as he sat in the shade of an oak tree and watched the house. When not a single person came or went in an hour, he decided to take a closer look.

His mind drifted to Olivia Wolfe as he crossed the street, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. What she was feeling. Fear and trauma weren’t things that could be measured in time. Whether it was a day, a week, or ten years, a person’s life could be changed forever by one single moment. He knew that better than most because usually he was the cause.

He shifted the backpack hanging off one shoulder, climbed the front porch, pulled back the screen, and knocked. It was ballsy, but he wanted to know what he was up against before he went in, guns blazing.

Seconds ticked by, and no one answered. He knocked again. Waited. When still no one answered, he stepped back off the porch and looked up at the second story.

That fucker in Cleveland had left those women chained in their rooms when he’d gone out. Landon tugged the backpack over his other shoulder, glanced toward the fence, and then made his way around the side of the house.

The possibility that there could be guard dogs flickered through his mind, but he pushed the thought aside and quickly scaled the ten-foot metal fence. Dropping to his feet, he eyed the elaborate combination locking mechanism on the inside, then pulled the SIG from his lower back. Someone definitely wanted to keep something or someone inside this place.

He moved quietly through the backyard. Trees rimmed the lawn, blocking the view from other houses. A patio void of furniture led to three small steps and a back door. One look at the wires in the corner of the window told him there was a security system in place.

Landon glanced toward the upstairs windows, looking for any crack or opening. All the windows looked closed, but that didn’t mean there was no point of entry.

Choosing the closest tree, he climbed until he could access the roof of the garage. Balancing on the steep grade, he made his way across the roof toward the upstairs window he’d targeted below.

Like the door downstairs, there was a magnetic sensor, but it would be triggered only when the window was opened, not broken. Landon tugged on a pair of gloves from the backpack, then pulled out a folded piece of tinfoil he’d brought for this very reason. Using his elbow, he broke the window in the top right corner.

Pain echoed down his arm, but the long-sleeved Henley protected him from the broken glass. After unfolding the tinfoil, he carefully slid it inside the window and down between the magnetic sensors. Confident it was in place, he reached through the hole in the window and flipped the window lock on the top of the pane.

Moment of truth
. He pushed the window up and climbed inside.

The small bedroom was empty except for a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a chair. Gun held steady in both hands, he scanned the room and listened. No alarms rang. No footsteps echoed. Moving quickly through the upstairs and finding it quiet, he eased down the stairs and into the kitchen. A glance at the alarm panel by the back door confirmed the system hadn’t been tripped. He turned a slow circle, took in the silent family room and the empty kitchen, and then moved down the hall toward the front of the house.

The place was like a ghost town. No sound, no movement, nothing that indicated anyone had been here in days.

Making a circle through the downstairs rooms, he stopped when he spotted the door beneath the staircase.

He reached out, turned the handle. Found it locked.

Suspicion sent tiny arcs of electricity all down his spine. He holstered his weapon and pulled out his lock pick kit. Minutes later, he pulled the door open and stood staring down a dark, silent staircase.

His adrenaline inched up. He reached back for his weapon again and slowly moved down the first few steps. Wood creaked under his feet. A musty smell hit his nose. The only light came from behind him, spilling down the basement stairs into a pitch-black cavern.

He reached the cement floor. Squinted through the darkness, looking for a light, a switch, anything. Shuffling echoed to his right before he could reach back in his bag and find his flashlight. Heart pounding, he swiveled in that direction and lifted his gun. “Move and you’re dead.”

Something hard slammed into the side of his head.

The shriek burst past Olivia’s lips before she could stop it.

The wooden leg she’d broken off a small table slid against her sweaty palms, but she pulled back, ready to nail the fucker in the head again.

“Son of a bitch.” The man yanked the weapon out of her hand. It clattered against the floor across the room. “Don’t fucking hit me again.”

Olivia scooted as far away from him as the chain would let her go. Bright light burned her eyes, making it hard to see. Her muscles ached, her stomach hurt, and her entire body vibrated with both fear and exhaustion. She couldn’t see the other table legs she’d ripped off that small piece of furniture. Wondered how far away they were and if she could reach them before he came at her. She knew she shouldn’t do anything more to antagonize the men holding her, but she was losing control. Playing scared wasn’t working. It was time to fight back or die.

Kill me. Just do it. Get it over with.

She wanted to scream the words but couldn’t seem to make her lips work. All that came out was another pathetic screech.

“Son of a bitch. No. Don’t. Shit. Shh . . .”

Fabric rustled. The man standing in the spray of light moved closer. Olivia’s terror shot to all new levels. She scrambled for the corner of the room. The chain around her ankle rattled. She looked around for her weapons. All she needed was one. Something . . .

Stay back. Don’t touch me . . .

Do it! Just get it over with and kill me!

Conflicting thoughts battled in her mind. She was losing her slight grasp on sanity. The shadow grew larger, closer. Her hand curled into a tight fist, and she shook her head, searching for that elusive place where they couldn’t touch her, where they couldn’t hurt her, where no matter what they did, they wouldn’t win.

“Olivia, shh . . . I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

She tugged her legs up to her chest. Tightened her other fist. Pain ricocheted all through her body. She’d heard those words before. Had fallen for them one too many times. The screams from the man she’d been talking to through the wall in that other house when they’d dragged him away echoed through her mind.

“Olivia, stop. I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Landon Miller. I work for a company called Aegis Security. Your sister Eve sent me to find you.”

One word got through. One thought.

Eve.

“That’s right,” he said in a gentler voice. “You know Eve. You remember her. She’s worried about you. She can’t be here right now, but she sent me to get you.”

Olivia stilled, squinted, and tried to see his face. With the light at his back, all she could make out was the silhouette of his body, kneeling close to her.

Trust him. Don’t trust him
. It could be a trap. Her frantic mind searched for something solid to latch on to. Eve could have sent him, or he could be another psycho, this one eager to torment her in new, more sadistic ways.

“Look,” he said softly. “All I want to do is get you out of this house and away from these people. But first you have to trust me. Do you think you can trust me, Olivia?”

No. Yes.
Olivia wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that as bad as her captivity had been so far, at the hands of someone else it could be a thousand times worse.

She was still debating her options when the floorboards creaked above.

“Shit.” The man tilted his head toward the ceiling. Footsteps echoed, and a door somewhere above slammed shut.

Olivia’s heart rate shot up.

“Stay here.” He pushed to his feet and quickly disappeared.

Confused, Olivia drew away from the wall and looked for him, unsure what he was doing. Seconds later he was back, kneeling in front of her again. “We need to get moving.”

He shifted around, tugged something from his back. Olivia tensed. Then he flicked a switch, and a beam of light spread over her dirty, bare feet.

A flashlight. He was holding a flashlight.

“Hold still.” He put the end of the small flashlight in his mouth and tugged something else from his back. Light shone over
her butterfly tattoo and
the metal cuff around her ankle. A click echoed, and she looked down and watched in surprise as he used a long metal object to pick the lock.

The cuff sprang free. He tucked the lock pick back in his pack and pushed to his feet. He was tall. Really tall. Taller than the others who’d come down here. He held out a hand. “Can you stand?”

Olivia’s heart raced. Indecision warred. She was free. Free for the first time in days. With a complete stranger who might or might not be another psychopath.

“Cellar doors lead to freedom, Olivia. You’re either with me or you’re not. It’ll only be seconds before they find that door upstairs open.”

Freedom.
The word sounded elusive. A fable. A fantasy. She looked down at his wide palm, dimly lit from the light near the stairs, and made her choice.

Her hand slid over his. Warmth rushed into her skin. His fingers quickly closed over hers and t
ightened, holding her in a fierce grip, tugging her to her feet and closer to his broad body.

His chest was huge. His arms thick and muscled beneath the long-sleeved top. And his legs . . . dear God, they were like tree trunks. Panic consumed her. His other hand landed at her waist and slid around her back. The spicy scent of leather and musk filled her nostrils. The air grew thicker the closer she drew to his body, and her heart rate picked up speed.

She’d made the wrong choice. He was one of them. He was going to hurt her. He was going to—

Shouts echoed from above. His head swiveled toward the stairs, and he muttered, “Fucking A.”

Light from the stairs spilled over his profile, and she caught her first glimpse of his face. A nose slightly crooked as if it had been broken once or twice, full lips, a strong chin and sculpted jaw. She couldn’t tell what color his hair was, but his skin was shades lighter than the men who’d been holding her in this prison, and even in the dim light, there was something solid, reassuring, hopeful about him.

His gaze snapped back to her, and she found herself wondering what color his eyes were. “I have to let go of you. Don’t fall.”

She didn’t have time to answer. He released her waist and hand and reached back for his pack. Weak, Olivia swayed on her bare feet, but her adrenaline kept her upright. Footsteps pounded above. Running. Growing louder. Growing closer. Her gaze darted toward the stairs.

The man—Miller? Had he said his name was Miller? Or had she imagined that?—pulled something from his pack. His fingers moved quickly in the dark, and then he grasped her at the wrist and pulled. “Come on.”

They were heading toward the stairs. Sweat burst all over her skin. He couldn’t possibly mean to—

They reached the base of the stairs. A body stepped into the light at the top. One she recognized. The man who’d hit her relentlessly. She tensed. Tried to pull back out of the grip at her wrist. The man yelled in that same foreign language she didn’t understand. Miller threw whatever was in his hand up the stairs.