Breach of Trust (13 page)

Unless Yvonne was in on it.

“What have you done?” Tate's voice was low, the kind of menacing she'd heard when he was in the midst of an interrogation with the hardest of the bad guys they'd tracked over the years.

Meghan looked up. Was he talking to her? “What?”

“What's the truth, Meghan? The whole truth?” He pointed at the phone, his arm an unwavering line ending in a point of accusation. “What have you done?” He ground out the question like gravel. “What's the whole truth?”

A whole new kind of fire blew through Meghan, anger so hot she half feared her skin might melt. She turned in the seat and went toe-to-toe with the man she knew she loved, but the man who had clearly lost his foolish mind. “It sounds a whole lot as if you're accusing me of something. And if you are, you'd better have one very, very good reason for it.”

Tate dropped his arm, scanning her face; then he turned to watch the road, a deep anguish written in the lines carved around his eyes, the circles dark underneath.

Meghan's wrath died. “Tell me what's going on.”

“The team's located evidence to indicate...” The streetlights played across his face, shadows deepening and retreating. “That you're a traitor.”

“Traitor?” The word hammered into Meghan's chest in a blow that drove her backward. “
Traitor
holds a seriously heavy accusation. Where is this coming from?”

“Where did you get the program you sent Ashley? The one you planted on the school's computer to track Phoenix?”

“I wrote it.”

“No one worked with you?”

“No one.”

Tate's face fell, the harsh lines of his countenance collapsing into something a lot less like anger and a lot more like despair. “Help me out here, Meg. Give me something...anything to say you're not involved in this.”

Oh, he'd crossed a line. A great big line. “For starters, you know me, and I'd never—”

“I never thought you'd be an identity thief, either.”

He might as well have thrown knives. If she tipped her chin, she was pretty sure she'd see blood pouring out of her chest. “Yesterday you said the past was forgivable.” He didn't get to do this, to kiss her and make her love him, then turn on her. She leaned as close as the seat belt would let her, regaining the ground she'd given him. “Who called you, and what did they tell you?”

For a moment, he acted as though he wasn't going to speak. He'd merged onto the highway headed east before he said anything. “Ethan. Your program is the exact same one Phoenix used to trace us in Kentucky.”

Meghan felt the blood drain from her face and pool in her stomach, rocking her equilibrium. “No.”
Come on, God. You weren't supposed to test the trust issue this fast.
If she lost Tate, she really did have nowhere else to go but God.

“Tell me it's not you.”

“How could it be me?” She touched his arm, trying to force him to look at her. He had to see she wasn't the enemy. “Why would I find out you're alive and then risk your life by having someone fire potshots at you?” She held his phone between them. “Nothing they're saying is me. The program... I wrote it. Alone. I can't explain it, but...” She wasn't making her case well. The more she talked, the more it sounded as if she were guilty. “It wasn't me.” Slumping into the seat, Meghan stared out the front window, the world spinning around her.

“You don't know how badly I want to believe you.” He dug his fingers into the back of his neck. “We were compromised at the hotel.”

It took Meghan a second to shift gears with the change of subject. “Where are we going?”

He pulled his attention from the road long enough to read her face, then turned away. “Ethan's sending a helicopter.”

For a split second, Meghan considered bailing out of the truck the next time it slowed, but running would make her appear guiltier.

But it couldn't make things worse. Tate was turning her over to his team, her former team...the team who now believed she was a terrorist.

THIRTEEN

T
ate paced the small dining room at the safe house the team was currently using as a headquarters and stopped at the window. Outside, the small lawn ended abruptly in a stand of trees, the river peeking through their branches, the serenity of the scene a stark contrast to the tension indoors.

With the unit still ferreting out Craig Mitchum's treachery, their headquarters building wasn't considered fully operational, so Ethan had moved a skeleton office to a small house in the woods near the Shenandoah River.

Bracing his hands on either side of the window, Tate stared out at the green and blue of a northern Virginia summer. What he wouldn't give to be outside now, hiking off his frustrations.

But he wasn't about to leave Meghan to face his team's accusations alone, not when his heart and soul said she was innocent.

And not when he could be close by to fight for her if she needed him.

Fight for her. He sure had failed at that one. The short helicopter flight to Virginia had been a crackle of tense silence. Meghan had refused to speak to anyone once Ethan arrived to take her into custody.

Tate had had no desire to speak to anyone on his team, no longer sure what was true or who to trust. Either his team had missed the trail or Meghan had.

He was their secret weapon. The one who came in and solved the difficult problems. And this one had him stumped. Who was he if he couldn't save his team or his partner? If he couldn't protect the woman he'd fallen in love with?

His heart wanted to believe Meghan, but he'd seen too many people lie. The whole team had trusted Craig Mitchum, and it still burned how the man had betrayed and nearly killed them all. Meghan had trusted Yvonne Craft, and now the woman was smearing her name all over the press. Tate itched to investigate the principal, to see if she was part of the problem...or if she was telling the truth.

The battle tore at his insides. If Meghan was guilty, it would destroy him and—far worse than when Stephanie left—it would tilt the entire world as he knew it.
God, help me.
He needed wisdom now the way he'd never needed it before. He'd worked alongside Meghan, watched her wear herself into exhaustion on mission after mission fighting for her country. He knew her hopes and her dreams, her heart and her mind. While she'd kept her past shielded, she had never once lied to him.

Despite what Ethan Kincaid or anyone else on the team thought, Meghan was no terrorist.

As much as the evidence pointed differently, he knew Meghan was the victim here. Although if she ever heard him use such a word in her direction, she'd probably clock him again, harder than the last time.

He dropped his forehead to the glass and stared at the river glistening between the trees, the ache of doubt replaced by a raging pulse of shame. He should have gone with his instincts. He should never have let Ethan take the reins. He should have grabbed Meghan and run.

Which would have made them both fugitives.

He balled his fists and pressed them into the wall. He'd failed
. Lord, make her forgive me. Make her see I had no choice. And help me figure out what's real and what's not. Please.
Tate had to save Meghan, because nobody else could.

He shoved off the wall to go find where Ethan was questioning her. He'd march in and...

Do what? Challenge his own team? Argue she was innocent based on the fact he loved her? He balled his fists and stared at the door, more helpless than he'd ever been. He literally had no fight.

The doorknob twisted and Ethan stepped in, shutting the door behind him and standing on the other side of the scratched dining room table that served as a meeting place, feet apart and arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes were grim and he looked more tired than Tate felt.

For the first time since Ethan had told him he was coming to bring Meghan in, Tate felt sympathy for the other man. “You hate this as much as I do.”

“You know I do, Walker. She's one of us.” Ethan pulled out a chair and dropped into it, the stress of their mission making him seem ten years older than the last time Tate saw him. “We have to check every angle, though, and with Phoenix, we can't take a chance.”

“It could have been handled differently. There didn't have to be the drama of a helicopter in the middle of the night. You could have let me bring her in.”

“You'd been compromised. Someone found you and tried to take her already.” The ghost of a smile flickered on Ethan's face. “And you wouldn't have brought her in.” He held up a hand to stave off the coming protest, amusement flickering out. “You wouldn't have done it any more than I'd have brought in Ashley. I did all I could to protect her when Sam Mina came after her, and that included making myself scarce when I knew orders were coming to do otherwise. Don't think I don't know you told Sean Turner to ditch his phone when the colonel was about to order him to stand down and let someone else rescue Jessica Dylan, either. No, Tate.” Ethan shook his head. “You'd have vanished with her first. I'm half surprised you didn't.”

“I couldn't protect her in the wild.” Tate dragged a chair out and sank into it, planting his elbows on his knees. He couldn't protect her in custody, either. “What now?”

“She's insisting she's innocent and that she never gave the program to anyone and never used it until yesterday. Ashley's combing Meghan's laptop now, searching for evidence to clear her.”

“I should be the one clearing her.”

“You're not her savior, Tate.”

“Pretty sure I'm the only one she's got.” And he'd abandoned her.

“You're kidding me, Walker.” Ethan laughed, the sound out of place in the whole situation.

Tate had the urge to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. “Right now wouldn't be the time for me to make jokes.”

“And it's also not the time to lose your faith.” Ethan sat forward, bracing his forearms on the scuffed table. “You're the rock to this team, always the one with the wise answers and the rock-solid plan. You know who Meghan's savior is, and you know it's not you.” He sat back, crossing his arms. “Only time a guy gets this kind of God complex is when he's protecting the woman he loves and he forgets to let her go so God can do His job.”

Tate could feel his hackles rising. He knew his job. And he knew His God. Who was Ethan Kincaid to—

“Tate, you know I love you, man, but you've always had one big problem. You're cocky. Somewhere along the line, you started to think you had all the answers. Now might be the time to figure out you don't.” Ethan rapped his knuckles on the table and stood, all traces of amusement gone. “You'd better give Meghan to God and leave her there. And you'd better let Ashley do her job. We're doing all we can to prove Meghan's innocence. This is one time you might have to sit on the sidelines because you can't be the one to come in with guns blazing to make everything right.”

* * *

Meghan propped her elbow on the arm of the small wooden chair and dropped her forehead against her palm, staring at the deep blue carpet of the bedroom Ethan was using as an office. At least they hadn't locked her in some makeshift interrogation room. Somebody here still believed in professional courtesy, not that it mattered. She hadn't missed the fact there wasn't a single piece of tech in the room. Trust only went so far.

Kneading her temples, Meghan closed her eyes against the room's light. She had a headache that pounded with jackhammer intensity. High winds had made for a rough landing, a sensation that still lingered and fought with her tension. What she wouldn't give for an aspirin or two.

Painkillers wouldn't help her heart, though.

The whole flight to headquarters, she'd kept silent, alternating between raging anger and shocked grief. Tate ought to know better than to ask her those questions, and he ought to know better than to think she could ever do something so heinous. He never should have called in the cavalry. He should have believed in her.

She laid her hand flat across her eyes. Problem was, in his shoes, Meghan would probably have asked the same questions.

The bigger problem was, even her truthful answers made her appear guilty. Every time she'd answered Ethan's questions, the implications of her guilt grew. She'd written the program alone, kept the laptop secured and never uploaded the data anywhere until yesterday. If she wasn't in her own shoes, she'd wonder about herself, too.

All of this could only mean she'd been set up. But who would hate her enough to want to destroy her this way?

She smirked. The list was long. As many enemies as she and Tate had made over the course of their work together, it could be impossible to track the truth.

The door to the room eased open, and someone drew the chair beside her closer, but she didn't open her eyes. Really, what new could she say? She could keep maintaining her innocence, but until evidence proved otherwise, it wouldn't do any good.

“Meg.”

She stiffened. She was either immensely relieved to hear Tate's voice or furiously angry he'd abandoned her in the first place. “What do you want?” She mumbled the question, refusing to look at him, fully aware she was acting like the worst version of her two-year-old self.

“I'm sorry.”

An apology was the last thing she'd expected. Meghan turned away and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, the tears now pricking her throat. She hadn't cried since Ethan had called to tell her Tate was dead. Now she'd been fighting tears ever since he stepped into her life. It shouldn't be that way.

His sigh was loud. “I know it's not an excuse and I should have warned you, but neither Ethan nor I had a choice. The colonel told him to bring you in. Ethan gave me the chance to question you first, but with Phoenix's latest round of thugs surprising us, there was no way to ease into it.” He leaned in, but he didn't touch her. “I'm sorry I couldn't stop it from happening.”

More than she wanted to stay angry at him, she wanted him to close the space between them, to tell her he believed in her and he'd get her out of this.

But the job fell to someone higher than either one of them, the same someone she'd been petitioning since Ethan Kincaid wordlessly grabbed her bicep and led her onto a helicopter in the most humiliating moment of her life. At least he hadn't handcuffed her.

“No, it's not your job.” Meghan pushed out of the chair and walked around the small desk to stare at a picture she'd studied from a distance all morning. It was the sole decoration in the room. Taken shortly before Meghan left the unit, after a successful mission on the other side of the world, the shot captured a moment in the life of their small military family: Meghan and Tate, Ethan and Jacob, covered in several layers of sweat and desert sand but laughing.

Ethan seemed as if his joy was incomplete, his eyes not quite matching his smile. Meghan ran a finger along the photo, stopping to grieve Jacob, then looked to Ethan's image. “He's...different now.”

“He's not haunted by his choices anymore.” Tate's voice was close at her shoulder. She hadn't even realized he'd gotten out of his chair. “He loved Ashley, but he left her thinking he was doing what was best for her. It was killing both of them. He was busy playing God and thinking he knew what was best...” His voice trailed off, as though he was thinking of something else. He reached over her shoulder to tap the left side of the picture, where her own face smiled. “You and Ethan look like you've got the same dog hounding you.”

“Maybe I was guilty of the same thing.” She turned to face him for the first time since he walked in the room. It was a couple of days after the photo when she'd confided in Ethan and he'd laid out the dangers inherent in letting emotions run free.

“Falling in love with your partner?” His voice was husky in the quiet of the office, his question loaded, but he didn't reach for her.

She looked to the side, unable to handle the way his voice fluttered inside her, skittering across her stomach and into her chest, taking the desires she'd buried for so long and magnifying them into something so strong it almost physically hurt. If he kept this up, she'd cave and tell him everything, would speak truths she could never unspeak. She'd sink into the kiss she could hear in the way he breathed, could sense easing in his posture. She could lose herself to Tate Walker and forget pain ever existed.

“You should have told me.” Tate curled his finger under her chin and lifted her face, his eyes skimming her lips before rising to lock in on hers. “There was—”

A knock on the door forced them apart, and Meghan's skin grew cold. She couldn't afford to forget where she was and why she was here. Until this was over, she couldn't offer Tate anything except an uncertain future.

A woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, her wavy dark hair flowing to her shoulders, stepped into the room holding Meghan's laptop.

She glanced between the two of them and hesitated, as though the electricity in the room had jolted her, then crossed the room and swept aside the mess on Ethan's desk, settling the laptop on the polished wood. She lasered in on Meghan. “I'm guessing you're Meghan McGuire?”

Meghan nodded and stepped around the desk, itching to dig through her computer to find something, some way to show she hadn't done anything illegal. Seeing her hard work—work she'd fought to protect—in a stranger's hands crawled all over her like spiders she couldn't brush away.

The woman smiled. “I'm Ashley Kincaid. And I think I found the first step to proving you're innocent.”