Breach of Trust (16 page)

“Your team won't matter in a minute.”

A jolt of adrenaline shot pain through Tate. If he hadn't been trained to hide his thoughts, he'd have doubled over. With sudden clarity, he knew where Phoebe's second lackey was.

And there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. His team, the next best thing he had to family, was in danger and had no idea the hit was coming, that Phoebe had a second man with them in his sights. His muscles ached to run, to shout, but he'd never get far enough and they'd never hear him from this distance.

They were going to die...and he couldn't stop it.

“You're going to kill us all?” He fought to sound strong, to maintain a front and cover the rage and fear simmering inside him. He'd stop this. There had to be a way. He'd always managed to stop it before and this time could be no different.

“No.” Phoebe's blue eyes pierced his. “Unless Meghan does something stupid, you get to live. As long as you're alive but in danger, Meghan has the motivation to do whatever I ask. The rest of your team? They die. And Meghan comes with me, because you've all made it complicated to communicate with my partner in prison. The only way you die is if Meghan doesn't cooperate.” She flicked a glance at the house and pinned Tate again. “I'd much prefer you live knowing you couldn't save them and you couldn't save her.”

Across the lawn, a volley of gunfire exploded; windows in the house shattered and cascaded outward. There were two more shots, then a third before the voice of the wind reigned once again.

SIXTEEN

F
or all of Meghan's training—after all she'd seen in the field—nothing had prepared her for hearing the team slaughtered. She'd barely grasped Phoebe's intent when the shots rang out, a one-two punch to her gut.

She jumped at the shots and the showering glass, whirling toward the house with the instinct to run toward the family who needed her.

Her shoulder collided with Tate's, knocking them both sideways, her wrist crashing into the pistol at his hip. For the briefest instant, his eyes caught hers.

And she gave her tight-lipped agreement.

Phoebe had proven herself to be the coldhearted killer Meghan hadn't wanted to admit she was. The weight of accumulated grief—for the death of trust, the pain of deceit and the murder of friends new and old—knotted in resolve. She turned a hard gaze on the woman who'd betrayed her. “You want me to come with you?”

Phoebe nodded. “Exactly. Because of your former teammates, Kenneth's no longer easily accessible...” Her voice dropped and something similar to grief clouded her vision before she refocused on Meghan. “His absence is your fault. Both of your faults. So you get to be my new partner.” She held the gun with an unwavering aim at Tate. “And you get to suffer.”

“You ought to know I'll never help you.” Meghan edged a half inch closer to Tate, until she was within arm's length of him.

“You don't come with me, I shoot him in front of you.” Phoebe steadied the pistol. “We're in the middle of our own little operation and—”

“Shutting the power off to the whole country isn't an op. It's insanity,” Tate said. He was trying to keep Phoebe talking long enough for Meghan to get into position. “Where do you think you're going to run? You'll cascade a—”

“Not every country in the world needs ours, Tate. I've got plenty of places to take refuge. And, Meghan, if you come on board and prove useful, you get to go free. But if you get smart and come with me now, then try to refuse later? Well, I think you already know I can track Tate anywhere he runs. I've already turned your own program against you and found you here. Finding him will be easy. And I'll make sure to give you a front-row seat to the aftermath.” She waved, signaling her silent partner. “Disarm him.” She kept her attention on Tate. “And if you go for his gun, Meghan, every single deal is off the table and Tate dies now.”

Beside her, Tate tensed, a clear indication of what was coming.

Meghan readied herself to move when he did.

When Phoebe's henchman stepped into range, Tate charged, catching the other man in the stomach and driving him backward. The pair slammed against a tree as the rifle fired, throwing dirt and dust between Phoebe and Meghan.

In the instant Phoebe's attention turned, Meghan leaped forward, catching Phoebe in the chest and shoving her to the ground, the gun flying into the woods behind her. Meghan scrambled, throwing her arm across Phoebe's neck and driving her chin up, pinning her head at an awkward position into the ground, cutting off the other woman's air as she fought to pin Phoebe's arms with her knees.

Hard metal drove into her side, lodging against her ribs.

Phoebe glared and rasped out, “I will...pull...the trigger.”

Breathing hard, Meghan dug her arm in deeper to Phoebe's neck, but the pressure against her ribs increased, as well, the threat clear in Phoebe's expression.

Meghan dropped her hold, falling to a crouch as Phoebe stood. Waiting for an opportunity to seize the small pistol Phoebe had concealed, Meghan tried to take in everything around her at once. From her awkward position with her back to Tate and the other shooter, there was no way to gain the advantage.

“Tate.” Phoebe's voice rang off the trees. “I can find another Meghan if you force me to do away with this one.”

The sounds of struggle stopped.

“No more talk.” Phoebe spoke to the men behind Meghan. “Take Walker to the house and make sure he can't deny his guilt in the murder of his team. Drop the evidence from Saginaw in there, as well, so he can take the rap for Isaac, too.” She gestured for Meghan to make a wide circle and start walking toward the house. “I'm out of patience. Either of you tries to get out of this again, and I give up on you both.”

They marched onto the lawn, Tate walking a few feet from her on the right. She didn't dare look at him. If she did, she'd crumble. Everything Ethan had said was true. She'd sacrifice herself right now if she thought it would save him. Every scenario she considered was overshadowed by the truth he could die if she failed. Her judgment was clouded, her mind racing, and she had about a hundred feet before they'd be separated and she'd have no idea of his fate. For all she knew, he'd be dead as soon as he was out of her sight, a ghost Phoebe could hold over her forever.

She put all her focus on the grass before her, trying to set her mind to a plan. Phoebe had to be taking her to a vehicle. There was at least one other shooter they had yet to see. Meghan would bide her time, wait for an opening when Tate was no longer close, and she could take out Phoebe without fearing Tate would get caught in the cross fire.

The same as the rest of the team. Meghan lifted her face toward the shattered windows at the rear of the small house. How had it come to this? No matter what she gained in an escape, the carnage was already heinous, a weight she'd carry to the grave.

At the closest window, something flashed, then vanished.

Meghan's foot hesitated. What was...?

A force caught her from the side, driving her into the ground as shots blasted over the howl of the wind in the trees. She hit the ground with a crash that forced the air from her lungs, body tensed against the thud of a bullet as the back of her head smacked the sun-warmed grass, ringing her ears and shooting stars across her vision.

“Meg.” The voice came from far away, and Meghan fought darkness to grab onto it. Shaking her head against the pain in the back of her neck, she forced her eyes open.

Tate leaned over her, running his hands over her face, her shoulders. “You're okay?”

She was okay if he was. “Did you have to tackle me like a linebacker?”

His grin arched half of his mouth upward. “I had to tackle you if you wanted to be out of the way of Sean and Ethan's sharpshooting.”

They were alive? Meghan struggled to sit up, but Tate's gentle pressure on her shoulders wouldn't let her. “Everybody's good?”

The grim ache in Tate's eyes shifted as running feet drew closer. “Our team is. They signaled from the window and got the high sign from me before they fired. Phoebe was cocky enough to think her guy had finished the job. She paid for that assumption.” He eased Meghan into a sitting position, placing himself in front of her to block her view of what lay beyond him. “She won't be giving us any answers.” He planted a kiss to her forehead and pulled her close. “I'm sorry, Meg.”

The shaking started from somewhere inside and radiated outward until Tate had to be able to feel it. The Phoebe she thought she'd known had never existed. And the Phoebe who held the answers to all of her questions lay dead a few feet away. Despite the fact the woman had tried to kill her, had manipulated the most important dream in her life, Meghan couldn't stop the wave of sadness at a life and death so horribly twisted and destroyed.

Tate didn't try to make anything better, didn't try to explain the grief away. He simply held her to him, doing that thing he did where his touch was bigger than his words, his presence more than enough to soothe the broken places.

Sean approached, weapon drawn and aimed at their fallen suspects. “You guys okay?”

Meghan would have to grieve later. Right now, she had too many unanswered questions. “What happened?” Meghan pulled away from Tate, but kept a hand on him, her anchor in a world spinning from her impact with the ground. “We heard—”

“Ashley's smarter than the average bear.” Sean crouched beside Tate, favoring his right knee. “She has cameras on the driveway, so we were ready when Phoebe's friend came in. It was you guys we were worried about.”

Ethan approached, his silhouette blocking the sun as he stood over them. “We didn't want to risk an on-ground firefight. That would have leveled the playing field and put you two in the cross fire. We had to wait for you to get clear before we could take a shot. Thought it would never happen.”

“It's over?” From the ringing in her ears, Meghan wasn't sure which of the men asked the question.

It was Tate who answered. “Once we make sure Mitchum's communication is cut off.”

“Already on it,” Sean said. He stood slowly and held a hand out to Meghan, pulling her to her feet before turning to Tate and offering him a hand up, as well. “I need to talk to you, Walker.” He aimed a finger toward the house. “Without ears.”

Tate cast Meghan a look that reeked of regret before he stepped away, leaving her alone with Ethan.

She refused to look at Phoebe's fallen body, turning to face the house instead. “Now what?”

“Now we finish clearing your name. It's preliminary, but after you walked out, Ashley and Sean both agreed they couldn't find a trace of anything linking you to Phoenix other than the program and the bank transfers, which might be complicated but can be explained.” Ethan walked around to stand between Phoebe and the house, forcing her to pay attention to him. “Listen, I need to say something to you. Higher's on the way and they'll separate us for debrief, so I might not get another chance.”

“You really—”

“No, I do.” Ethan tapped his fingers on his chest. “I kept you in the dark about Tate. Yeah, it was operational and need to know, but still...and before that. Meghan, I steered you wrong, let my own experience get in the way of what you needed to hear. Everybody's different, and I warned you away from Tate, thinking I was doing you a favor.” He glanced at Tate and Sean, talking on the other side of the yard. “I'm sorry.”

“You were right.” She couldn't let him take the heat for her choices. “You gave me advice, and I didn't have to follow it. I chose to run because I was scared, and that's not your fault. You were the excuse.”

“Now what?” Ethan echoed her earlier question.

“Good question.” One Meghan didn't have an answer to. She watched Tate as he talked, his posture saying he was in this game until the end, whenever that may be. And after that? He'd probably be in the wind again on an op, as unreachable as ever. She'd never ask him to deny the life he loved to settle down with her. So, now what?

She had no idea.

* * *

Her cup of coffee long cold, Meghan sat on the front steps of the farmhouse where her dreams had once lived and studied the dark driveway, where a rogue piece of yellow police tape fluttered from a tree. She'd spent the late afternoon and evening boarding up the front windows and fighting off a restless sadness that refused to be shaken.

A tactical team had swept the area around the Virginia safe house and discovered an SUV containing Phoebe's laptops and servers, which Ashley had started combing as soon as she could get them. After a once-over by the paramedics, the team had been separated and driven to Washington for debriefing.

Meghan had been questioned for hours then detained for two days until Ashley was able to prove Meghan hadn't been working with the enemy. Cell phone records and computer hard drives had yielded a gold mine against Phoebe and Craig Mitchum. There had also been enough to send several Special Forces teams in to put a stop to the cells who'd aligned with Phoenix to destroy the power grid.

When no evidence implicating Meghan was found, she'd flown alone to Michigan, arriving at the farmhouse early in the afternoon, wanting to say goodbye before she returned to Flint to pack her apartment and went...where?

She'd battled within herself, spent hours in a small room with a cot and a TV at headquarters praying. For herself, for Tate...for the hurt to go away and to be able to forgive. For God to help her do whatever came next. And to let go of the love she was pretty sure would never diminish for Tate Walker.

But they'd have to. Since he'd been separated from her at the house, there hadn't been a word. Her cell phone lying on the steps beside her had been silent, save a call from Yvonne with an apology as big as the other woman's heart. Phoebe's blackmail was horrific, the threat to Yvonne's family terrifying. She'd issued an invitation for Meghan to return to the school, but Meghan's heart wasn't with the school.

It was still here. In this house, with kids who needed her. But even though her savings account was large, it wasn't large enough to fund the start-up of a home like this one.

Staying here was impossible, anyway. Despite the fact that he'd only spent a single day on the farm, the property leaked memories of Tate. Because at some point along the way, he'd become part of the dream. Maybe had been all along.

Thinking was getting her nowhere. Meghan drained her cold coffee and stood, determined to sleep tonight, unlike the previous night or the night before.

Headlights cut through the trees. Setting her cup on the rail, Meghan waited, tense, still not quite convinced life was safe again.

A Jeep pulled closer and stopped at the edge of the clearing. The headlights flickered three times, paused, then flashed twice more.

Tate.

Not sure whether to cry or laugh, Meghan froze on the top step. Her heart beat harder, shooting electricity to her toes. Just when she'd decided it was finished...

He climbed out of the Jeep, his silhouette dark against the trees, and crossed the yard without the hesitation he'd harbored a few nights ago. He looked the exact same yet...different, as though the past week had changed him.

“'Bout time you got here.” Meghan winced when the words choked on emotion she wasn't ready to reveal.