Breach of Trust (15 page)

Meghan's eyes drifted closed, then opened again. This could not be easy for her. It was the second worst news she could get, next to continued proof of her own guilt. Probably she felt the same way he had when Ethan had laid out the evidence against Meghan to him. Betrayed. Hurt. Cut through the chest with an agony that eclipsed the pain of a literal knife.

He wanted to pull her close, but he was stuck in the middle of two worlds just as surely as he stood in the center of this room. This was his team, and she was still a suspect. No proof of her innocence had technically been found, although the team acted as though it existed.

He was also the outsider, the ghost who didn't officially live, who stood on the fringes and was called in when needed. A civilian, in the strict sense, playing at this military world. A civilian who could go to Meghan if he wanted.

And he wanted. Badly.

“Got it.” Ashley punched a key with defiant force, and her laptop's display appeared on a large monitor on the far wall. She stood and jabbed a finger at the screen.

A list of numbers and letters that were nothing but gibberish to Tate filled the screen. Here and there, he recognized an IP address or MAC address, but those were the extent of his knowledge.

But Meghan...she straightened and walked closer, pointing to a line near the bottom of the list. “You tracked the address of the computer that stole my file to an email address?”

Ashley nodded. “For a Robert Morgan. Know him?”

Ashley was in her element. The girl loved the thrill of the cyberhunt, even if she hated the guns that came with the other side of their unit's equation. If he'd taken a bullet the way she had when she was a military police officer, he'd probably be right there with her. He understood. The sight of a knife might not incapacitate him, but it sure did have a way of making him think twice.

Meghan's face tightened in a way Tate had seen. “Robert Morgan Snyder is Phoebe's brother. The one who was killed.” She made the explanation to the room, though she continued to face the screen. Her eyebrows drew together in a deep V. “Find the date and the place.”

“On it.” Ashley went to work and within a few seconds had a news article on the screen.

The entire room fell silent.

Tate knew they were seeing exactly what he saw. The signature Phoenix had been using for years. The month, the initials of the town where Robert Snyder had been killed and the day.

Meghan turned to Tate. He knew exactly what she was thinking. How had she missed it? “You had no reason to look.” He mouthed the reassurance to her, but it wouldn't make a difference. She'd beat herself with her perceived failure the same way he would.

“There's more to it.” Ashley drew her lower lip between her teeth, watching her husband. “There have been email exchanges with someone at Leavenworth.”

Fort Leavenworth. Where the army sent its worst criminals, including Ethan's former partner, Craig Mitchum, whose treachery had nearly killed them all at one point or another in this investigation.

The lines around Sean's mouth deepened as Ethan shoved away from the table and walked to the window, pounding the frame. “How? He's not supposed to have access to the outside.”

“There are ways...” Ashley's voice tapered off.

Ethan reached for Ashley's, then looked at Sean. “We need to get someone at Leavenworth. Now.”

Sean's voice cut into air mixed with triumph and anger. “I've got more first.”

The back of Tate's neck tingled. Sean was either about to exonerate Meghan or put the final nail in her coffin.

Ethan asked the question none of them wanted to vocalize. “What else?”

“The Snyder Foundation doesn't exist.”

“What?” Meghan sagged against the wall, her voice weak. “The house? The renovations?”
The kids?
She didn't say it, but the question hung there, punching Tate in the stomach with her confusion and her pain.

Sean wouldn't even look at them, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “No tax records, no mention in minutes from board meetings for the Snyders' corporation, no nothing.”

“But I was paid...” Meghan's jaw went slack. “I was paid by direct deposit.” Her shoulders drooped, and she stared at the ceiling. “Bank transfers to my account from Phoebe. Great. She thought this all the way through. Those transfers make me seem ten times guiltier.”

Tate couldn't take anymore. Forget protocol and appearances. She needed him. He crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her in his arms.

She let him, sinking against his chest in a way uncharacteristic for her. In a way that spoke more about her anguish than anything else could. “There was no plan to help kids, was there?” Her voice was muffled into his shirt, and Tate doubted anyone else heard it. “I didn't even check her background. Me. The one who should have known better.”

“She was your friend.” He spoke against the wildness of her short dark hair. “You trust your friends.”

“And look where that got me.” She sniffed and pulled away, pressing her palms against her temples. “Who bought the house, Sean?”

He glanced at Ethan. “Robert Morgan.”

“She stole her own brother's identity.” Ethan released Ashley to stare at the big screen, even though Tate knew Ethan, like him, could understand about half of the information floating there.

“No.” Meghan stepped away from Tate and ran her hands through her hair, standing it on end in a funky, punk-chick style. “This has always been about her brother. She didn't steal his identity. She's making a statement. She's avenging his death. She blames the military since it was friendly fire, even though it was an accident, a glitch with the computer system targeting the rocket that hit his platoon.”

“Why come after us?” Ashley headed for her laptop, digging for more.

“Because we stopped her.” Ethan strode to the window, back stiff. “She was aiding other terror cells, probably making exorbitant amounts of money to use when she decided how to turn on the military. She started years ago, exploited Meghan in college to make her first buck. She never used those identities because she didn't need them. She needed Meghan in her pocket, needed someone with her experience. The more she could pin on Meghan, the more she had to blackmail her with later. Meghan joining the military probably fueled Phoebe's fire, but it probably protected her from Phoebe coming at her sooner, too.”

“How did she know I was hacking in high school?” Meghan moved around the table closer to Ethan and gripped the back of a chair.

“She ever meet any of your high school buddies?” Sean chimed in as he continued to comb databases.

“Once.” Meghan winced. “Not long before I was blackmailed. It was right after her brother died and she started running wild. Had a...a fling with a guy I ran with in high school. He came to the college for a technology geek fest. He probably taught her a few computer tricks, too. He may even be the one who gave her the idea. He was shady, always trying to find a way to hack a big score.”

Ashley sat poised over the keyboard. “Name?”

“Kenneth Schmidt.”

Ashley started typing, tossing a comment to Sean. “You take private data—I'll take public.”

Both dived into their work as Meghan tapped the table, clearly itching to take part.

Tate knew exactly how she felt.

“Guys?” Ashley stopped typing and punched a key, pointing to the screen where a driver's license photo appeared.

“That's Kenneth,” Meghan said.

“That's Craig Mitchum.” Ethan walked to the screen and stared at it. “Hair's different, nose is different, but that's him.” He balled his fist as though he might put it through the screen. “He's smarter than he acted. I'm going to go out on a limb and say he's been behind this all along.”

“And he's using Phoebe as his puppet.” Ashley drummed her keyboard, staring at the screen, her face paling.

Tate was pretty sure she'd never wanted to see Mitchum's face again.

“Or Phoebe's using him.” Ethan slid a piece of paper closer and started writing, plotting out their theories. “We know Mitchum wasn't hacking the military's computers for Sam Mina, so it had to be Phoebe behind him getting Mina more money than his contracts were worth, funding cell overseas.”

“Mitchum was already locked away when we started working the op in Kentucky.” Sean stopped typing. “It had to be Phoebe who talked Mina into going after us. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to guess stealing soldiers' identities to put sleeper cells in place wasn't Mina's son's idea. He wasn't bright enough.”

“The idea was all Phoenix.” Ethan knocked his knuckles on the table. “Phoebe was tracking our every move then, drawing us in to try to take us out at the same time. She got more vengeful then.”

“Because we put Mitchum away.” Tate didn't have to search far to figure that one out. He'd been ready to scrap his reputation for Meghan. If Mitchum and Phoebe were working together, anything could happen.

“But she failed.” Sean went to his work, his mouth a grim line.

“Then what's her plan now?” Meghan paced to the window, staring out at the wind-whipped trees, the late afternoon sun highlighting her anguish.

“It's no good, whatever it is.” Ashley swiped the touch pad on her laptop, and the wall display changed to a news story. “Phoebe Snyder's vanished.”

FIFTEEN

T
he heat of summer dampened in the woods as Meghan stepped over a root on the narrow path leading to the river, Tate following close behind. The wind blew high, rustling the leaves on the trees and drowning out the rush of the water nearby.

She'd had to get out of the room, to get into clear air filled with the earthy scent of fresh leaves and river mud. Nothing else would clear the sewage churning in her mind. Phoebe was in league with their bad guy, and now she'd vanished. Her car had been abandoned near the farmhouse. The police now combed the scene. It wouldn't be long before Meghan and Tate were the lead story on the six o'clock news.

Meghan swiped a branch from her face and kept moving. Maybe physical exertion would clear her mind. The future didn't matter if they couldn't figure out what was going on in the present. Either Phoebe was Phoenix and this was getting worse by the second, or Phoebe was another pawn, like Isaac and his gang, easily annihilated when her usefulness was tapped.

If the trail was wider, Meghan would've run. Run until she passed out, forgetting everything for a few blessed black moments.

Planting her feet in the middle of the trail, Meghan inhaled damp air and let the distant rush of water wash over her as the leaves rattled above. For half a second, she'd choose the lie of denial. For half a second, she'd block out reality and believe everything would be fine when she opened her eyes again. She'd let herself get lost in the if-onlys she never allowed herself to explore, the ones that could have made all of this go away.

If only she'd told Tate her feelings instead of running away. If only he'd felt the same way. If only...

So many variables had led them to this path. If things had been different, this could have been any given summer afternoon, the two of them hiking through the woods on a lazy afternoon getaway.

Except it wasn't any given afternoon. And Tate's presence with her now was muddy. Was he here because he wanted to be? Or, despite what they said, because nobody trusted her to be out of sight?

“That was a huge sigh.” Tate stepped beside her on the narrow trail, so close his arm brushed hers.

She wanted to grab him and hold on tight, but no matter what he said or did, she wasn't totally certain her heart would ever trust anyone again. Ethan had gone against his own counsel after derailing her shot at happiness. Tate had been dead to her while he was really alive. And Phoebe...

There it was again, the peace she couldn't define, the reminder of the way she'd promised to give everything to the only one who couldn't break His promise never to leave her.

Okay, Lord. I can do this. But You have to help me.
As damaged as she was right now, there was no way she could have faith on her own.

Meghan swallowed the pain knifing her in the throat, hoping for the kind of peace she'd felt earlier. “You've got moxie bringing me out here, you know.” She winced at her choked voice, wishing it had more force, more levity.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You've seen me in action. You know what I'm capable of. For all you know, I'll bolt into the woods and you'll never find me.” If it wouldn't make her look like a sure suspect, she'd consider it. It wouldn't be hard to find a new life far away from hackers and suspicion and friends who played at betrayal in the worst of ways.

Tate wrapped his fingers around hers and stepped in front of her, drawing her closer. “You'd never do it.”

Lifting her chin, Meghan found him looking right at her, once again searching for something she couldn't even begin to imagine.

It was a comfort she couldn't let herself fall into. Not when she had questions digging claws into every thought. “What if we let Phoebe walk into a trap?”

“I know this is hard, but you're grasping at straws.” Tate cupped her face, his touch warm against her skin, and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Phoebe's not innocent. If she walked into anything at the house, it was something of her own doing.
Think, Meg.
She breezed in yesterday morning, saw I was still there and gave herself time to get away before the shooting started.”

“I don't want any of it to be true. If it's true, then she's a liar and I'm an idiot. I'm a stupid, easily manipulated idiot.” Resentment charged her pulse, and she stared at the gray T-shirt stretching over Tate's chest. How had he moved past Stephanie's betrayal of their marriage vows and reached the place where he could pray for her, could have concern for her soul after what she did?

How could Tate have reached a place where he could kiss Meghan the way he had last night, pouring everything into her in a way that said he wasn't crushed and broken?

Meghan laid her hand over his heart. It really did still beat. After physical brutality and emotional destruction, it still thumped a steady rhythm in his chest. Such a feat had to be impossible.

But Meghan knew there was one explanation. “God.”

“What?” Tate's low question rumbled against her touch.

Meghan swallowed, wishing she'd not let her deepest thoughts slip but unable to turn back now, not without answers. “You trust God. He helped you survive.”

“He did.” Tate let his hands drift across her shoulders to her back, capturing her hand between them, his heart still beating against her palm.

She slipped her arms around him, desperate for his peace to flow through her. “I realized this morning you're right. When I go back over my life, I can see where I've been wrong, where God's been there all along but, boy... He didn't wait to test my faith, did He?”

Tate's arms tightened around her, and he laid a kiss above her ear, murmuring something into her hair that had to be a prayer, washing over her in a way that made her feel safer than she ever had.

Which was dangerous if they were going to end the threat to their lives.

Meghan held him close, then stepped away, breaking the connection between them but hanging on to the peace she'd found in his prayers and in his arms.

He seemed reluctant to let her go, his caress trailing across her back and down her arms before disconnecting when he reached her fingertips.

If Meghan didn't get some distance soon, she'd suggest they keep walking until they vanished into the woods and no one ever found them. Both of them had disappeared before. It wouldn't be hard.

“If Phoebe really is Phoenix or a minion, then why come after me? Why waste so much time and effort coaxing me into being her friend?” The hurt lingered, pinching her soul, even as peace coated her spirit.

Tate acted as though he'd rather do anything other than dive into this discussion, but he put some space between them, watching the trees for a long beat before his face hardened. “Did she know about me? Did she know I was your partner?”

“To an extent. I told her the guy I... I told her a guy I worked with and was close to was killed.”

“You told her my name?”

“Yes.”

Tate pivoted on one heel and walked to the edge of the path. “The op in Kentucky, when we put a hurt on Mina's son and stopped those sleeper cells... I was all over the place. I was on post after they detonated Sean's car. I was on the insertion team when we went in to take Mina out and rescued Jessica Dylan. I was at her house the whole time we were working. Wouldn't take much to find out who I was, especially the way Phoenix was listening in the whole time.”

“If she's taking care of her loose ends, it might make sense to come after me since she drew me in when she first started, but that can't be it. She could have taken me out anytime she wanted. There has to be something more. She used me as bait to draw you in and kept you in when Isaac came after me.” Meghan closed the gap and turned Tate toward her, trying to communicate the urgency of her next question. If she was right...“Is there anybody on the team who isn't here?”

“Nobody.” His expression hardened with realization. “She's got all of us together, in one place.” Tate pulled his phone from his pocket and turned toward the house. “I think we figured out her endgame.”

* * *

“Come on.” Tate pressed Send and, once again, the text to Ethan failed to go through. He'd already tried to call twice, but the calls had tanked, as well.

Meghan leaned closer to the screen, then turned toward the sky. “It's windy, but there's no reason for your sat phone to be out.”

Typically, Ashley let them know ahead of time if sunspot activity or satellite issues were going to be a problem, but she'd said nothing lately. No, something else was on.

Something a whole lot worse.

“Your signal's jammed.” Meghan turned toward the house. “Either Phoebe's here or someone doing her dirty work is.”

There was no other explanation. She'd herded them together and her final move started now. No chance to plan, no chance to warn the team, no idea what they were pitted against.

They pushed along the narrow path, a branch thwacking back to catch Tate on the cheek. He swiped at the spot, blood smearing across his fingers, but he kept going, determined to stay a step ahead of Meghan. No way was she going in ahead of him, unarmed and alone.

At the edge of the safe house's small yard, they stopped, dropping into the thick foliage at low ground. The afternoon sun glared against the windows, making it impossible to detect movement in the dining room where they'd left the team. The house sat on stilts, lifting it high to give it ample views of the trees and river and to guard against potential flooding. Right now, the view straight through gave Tate a clear line of sight to the other side of the house. Nothing moved in the yard or the woods anywhere around them.

“Think we might have been wrong?” Meghan leaned close, her voice low and backed by the rush of the wind through the trees.

“No.” There was no way his satellite phone had coincidentally stuttered at the penultimate moment in their investigation. Tate didn't believe in coincidence, and neither did Meghan. Instinct had kept them both alive in odd moments around the globe when the endings should have been different. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Outside of the wind in the trees, nothing was moving, and that wasn't right. “I don't think we were wrong.”

“Oh, you were right.”

Tate whipped toward the voice as Meghan turned with him. Reaching for the gun concealed at his hip, Tate found himself eye-to-barrel with another pistol about six feet away. He steeled himself from recoiling, refusing to let anyone see him back away an inch. In one quick glance, he took in the young blonde woman with a firm aim at his head. They had numbers on their side, but he wasn't quite ready to chance going for his gun, not unless Phoebe's aim wavered. If he kept still, she may not realize he had it. He could wait her out for a bit, unless she decided to pull the trigger.

“Phoebe.” Meghan's choked utterance carried toward the house with the wind that had covered Phoebe's approach. “What are you doing?”

Meghan's voice sounded helpless, but Tate knew better. The innocence she'd played so many times came edged into the forefront. His partner wasn't going down without trying her level best to find out all she could on the way.

Tate gauged the distance between Phoebe and himself, almost certain he could neutralize her before she could fire. But a motion in the foliage behind Phoebe to the left stopped him, and a man stepped out, holding an AR-15 rifle low.

The numbers tilted to balance, but now they were outgunned and Tate felt the rush of adrenaline from knowing the fight was on. He was pretty sure Phoebe didn't realize he had the weapon on him, or she'd have disarmed him already. If she wavered and he drew fast enough, he could handle her and get a shot off at her partner before the rifle could lift and sight. He edged sideways slowly, maneuvering for the best position.

“I'd stay still if I were you.” Phoebe took a calculated step back, keeping herself out of arm's reach as the man behind her raised his rifle. “It's killing you how you can't play hero right now, I'm sure.” She smiled. “From what I've seen, swooping in to save the day is what you do best.” Her smile widened, hard and colder than the eyes of the man who'd slaughtered Isaac's gang. “I almost feel sorry for you, because today's not going to be your day.” She shifted her attention to Meghan. “And you. I've seen your service record, and you are nowhere near the innocent you like to pretend to be.”

“You can't bring Robert back.” Meghan didn't drop the facade. “Why do all of this?”

Phoebe's nostrils flared slightly. “My brother is off the table for discussion, and you don't get to ask the questions. This isn't a movie, and you won't get me dialoguing.” She dipped the gun and aimed squarely at Tate's chest, a more stable target than his head.

A little bit of Tate's confidence dipped. Someone had schooled her in aiming for center mass. She knew what she was doing.

Phoebe tipped her head toward the house. “Both of you stand and start walking. If one of you gets brave, I kill the other one. I know how you feel about Tate Walker, Meghan. I wouldn't push me on this one. As quiet as you are, that night over dinner was one time you talked entirely too much for your own good.” She jerked her chin toward the clearing. “Let's go.”

There was nothing to do for the moment but to obey. Tate hoped for even a brief moment of eye contact with Meghan and a chance to form a plan before the situation deteriorated further. From the shoot-out at the house, they already knew Phoebe had at least two men in her hip pocket, and there was no telling what had happened to her muscle from last night. There was a high likelihood that, somewhere on the property, at least one more adversary lurked.

Having no intel made Tate's stomach tighten. Without knowledge, he couldn't wrestle back control.

Keeping a wary gaze on Phoebe, Tate jerked a thumb at the house. “You know the minute we step out of the woods we're in full view of everybody inside.”