Breach of Trust (3 page)

Tate pinched his lips together, the action radiating pain into his jaw. If he wasn't careful, she might throw a punch of her own volition. He focused on the woods behind her, trying to distance himself. She wasn't his partner. She was an asset. A woman with a secret he needed to uncover if he wanted to apprehend a hacker who had twice come close to causing mass chaos. Working this op meant keeping Meghan at a distance, no matter how much it hurt. “I need my phone. And my gun.”

She flinched, the action so quick only someone who knew her would notice. Pulling the phone from her pocket, Meghan slid it across the hood with a little too much force, then pivoted on one heel and stalked up the porch steps, shaking the entire structure with the force of her anger.

Tate watched her go, thoughts too spun around to do much else. Captain Meghan McGuire. He'd been dead certain he'd never see his former partner again. When he'd hauled her to her feet today and caught sight of those brown eyes the color of Turkish coffee, he'd nearly dropped his cover story in shock.

For four long years, he'd let her believe the story the army had told her. That he was dead, killed in the attack that actually had nearly put him in the grave. Playing dead allowed him to do his job, working in the shadows for an elite military unit tasked with shutting down cyberthreats to the United States and its allies. Still, somewhere in the intervening years, he'd lost count of the number of times he'd wanted to reconnect with her, to find the easy camaraderie that had gotten him through many hard times in the past.

She didn't know he'd missed her, and if what he knew of Meghan's less-than-carefree childhood was any indication, she probably viewed his faked death and years of silence as the ultimate betrayal. If she'd done the same to him, he'd be the one demanding answers and working to douse anger. He owed her the real story. Soon. But not until he figured out why she was in danger.

Tate stretched his neck and unlocked his phone, forcing his thoughts into the game. He'd lost ground today, “letting” Meghan get away.

The growing bruise spreading across his cheek had bought him some sympathy...and some nasty ribbing from a bunch of punks who couldn't believe he'd let a girl get the best of him. At least they'd bought it.

Isaac had been red-faced, screaming furious when he'd discovered Meghan had eluded them, but after a phone call to report Tate's failure to “the boss,” he'd given the group a knowing look and said it wasn't his place to deal with the problem.

Which meant it was going over Isaac's head. Whoever this hacker was, he wanted Meghan, and Tate had lost her. If he was angry enough to deal with Tate himself, then they would finally see face-to-face one of the most dangerous cyberterrorists in the world. It was possible his “mistake” would bring an end to the chase they'd been on for two years and an op that had forced Tate undercover, infiltrating the small band of street thugs who did the dirty work of the mysterious hacker in this area of the country. It was easier to get into Isaac's good graces as muscle-for-hire in his low-level gang than to go straight for an audience with the king.

He could almost taste the end of a reign of terror for the unnamed criminal who had stolen lives, financed terror attacks and infiltrated the US military. Bringing him to justice would be a pleasure.

Isaac and his crew thought Tate was off somewhere licking his wounds, that he was doing things even his imagination refused to think. He'd make his way to Isaac's in the morning, probably to find a drug-fueled party in full swing.

He could worry about Isaac later. Right now, he had to call in and report. And, if he could convince his team leader, perhaps he'd get permission to fill Meghan in on the op. Maybe together they could find out why she was targeted and why an international terrorist had hacked something as low level as a Christian school in central Michigan. Tapping into the school's unsecured network had been the mistake that had allowed Tate's team to zero in on him. It could all be another elaborate trap, like their last mission. Or it could be a fatal mistake on their target's part.

He dialed Captain Ethan Kincaid's number, and the team leader answered on the first ring. “You safe? From our end, it seemed your phone took a joyride.”

“I am, but we've got a wrinkle.”

“Not a big one, I hope.” Ethan was never going to be patient with anything that held them back. The hacker they were chasing had nearly killed Ethan's now-wife and his best friend, Sean Turner. This was personal for Tate's team leader.

“Meghan McGuire.”

The silence from Ethan's end of the phone was telling. It was long seconds before he said anything. “Captain Meghan McGuire? Your partner?”

“The same.”

“How did you come across her?”

Tate thumbed his cheek, where a dull ache persisted in the spot Meghan's fist had met. He needed sleep. Soon. But it probably wasn't coming. “I wish I knew. Our hacker sent word two days ago for us to grab an asset. No name, just a description and a location to be determined. We were to sit on go until he knew there was an opportunity. This afternoon we got a location and a time. When we went in, it was her.”

“Our hacker wants her bad enough to pull her right off the street? Why?”

“No idea.” Tate gave a quick rundown of the events leading to Meghan's staged escape. “But I want Ashley to dig into everything Meghan's done since she left the army.” The request made his muscles tighten. Checking on his former partner was a necessary precaution, though not an easy one. At least Ashley could handle it, and it wouldn't have to go through any channels that might raise red flags elsewhere.

Ethan's wife, Ashley, ran Colson Solutions, a high-level technology consultant firm that also employed former team member Sean Turner. Ashley and Sean could do nearly anything with tech, stuff Tate would never understand. They'd been outmatched once, by the very hacker they were currently pursuing. The hacker Ashley had nicknamed Phoenix, like the mythological bird. Every time they thought they'd destroyed him, he showed up again.

And he was somehow always watching, always two steps ahead of them.

“You don't think she's working for Phoenix?” Ethan's voice held skepticism. Back in the day, they'd all worked together in one form or another; the bond formed by their small unit was a strong one.

Tate prayed hard Meghan was still the woman he'd once known, prayed she hadn't somehow flipped to the dark side. After all, she'd been his partner, the person he'd trusted with his life, the woman who he'd once counted as his best friend. “It's been over four years since I last saw her but...no.”

“Probably we both need to step back and let a third party evaluate this one.” Ethan's unspoken suspicions came through loud and clear.

“I'm not too close to her.” Tate could hear the fight in his own voice. “Unless Ashley unearths something shocking, I'm not going to treat Meghan as though she's a suspect. If I got tangled in something, you'd come to me before you sent in the hounds, and I'm doing the same for her. I need permission to fill her in so we can get some answers.”

Ethan blew out a loud breath. He knew he'd lost this round to Tate and to all of their shared histories. “Fine, but use your judgment. Four years is a long time and people change. You should know better than anybody.”

THREE

H
ow dare he speak to her as if he had some kind of authority? It was her life in danger, her past popping up all over the place. Meghan stopped at the window by the front door, holding Tate's pistol tightly. She struggled to grab on to sanity, because it was rapidly slipping, muddying reality with dreams and nightmares.

She couldn't lose her grip now. She had to face reality. Tate couldn't tell her anything because she was nobody. It was true. When she'd walked away, she had relinquished the right to know. Having him stand before her and stonewall her hurt more than she cared to admit.

Meghan lifted the edge of the blinds and peeked through, needing another minute, but Tate wasn't standing where she'd left him. She clenched her jaw, the tension in her head throbbing. It shouldn't have been this way. Finding out he was alive should have been joyful, the promise of a new chance, not conflicting and angry and confusing.

Meghan dropped the blinds with a clatter and squared her shoulders.
Confusing
was the key word. Nothing about this day made sense, and the one person who could answer her questions stood somewhere in the shadows, where he'd apparently been living for years.

Putting on her game face, Meghan stepped onto the porch, determined to get the information she wanted.

Tate stood at the edge of the wood line, barely visible in the moonlight. His voice drifted to Meghan, words indistinguishable, although it sounded as if he was arguing with someone on the other end of a phone call. After a moment, he pulled the phone from his ear. The screen illuminated the hard set of his jaw as he stared at the device; then he shoved it in his pocket as she drew closer.

He took the offered gun, studied it, then held it out to her. “Trade me for yours.”

Without a word, Meghan unclipped her holster from her belt. He was right. If he appeared with the weapon she'd supposedly stolen from him, Isaac would know in an instant something was off.

She held the gun low and behind her, out of his reach. “Information first.” From the little bit she'd been able to figure out from watching his posture, it was clear the phone call had been to someone above his pay grade, likely determining what he could safely say to the outsider.

Tate didn't hesitate. He'd surely been anticipating her move. “A couple of years ago, we set on a terror cell using a legitimate government contractor as a front. Their hacker would gain access to the network, tweak the payout amount and collect several times what was due. We put the brakes on the physical side of the cell and took the contractor into custody, thinking we'd managed to cut off the entire operation, but a few months later, the hacker surfaced again. We've been calling him Phoenix.”

“Because he keeps coming back.” She should know.

“Worse every time. He aided another cell, one murdering young soldiers without close relatives to ask any questions, then stealing their identities in order to set terrorists into their places. They planned random attacks within the ranks, making it seem as though soldiers were behind them. The kind of fear and distrust those plants would breed could rip our entire military apart.”

Meghan gasped as the depth of her former blackmailer's treachery came into focus. Phoenix had targeted soldiers like her, young men and women with nowhere else to turn. She'd been in college when he'd had her hop to his bidding, had blackmailed her into stealing personal data from high-dollar donors. Anger at the terrorists caught a backdraft and engulfed any hostility she'd felt toward Tate. “Tell me you stopped whoever was behind it.”

“We did.” There was pride in Tate's voice, but it didn't last. “Problem is, Phoenix was still out there. He has a distinct signature, and he's fond of taunting us. That last little operation was led by the son of the contractor we took out of commission in the first op. The kid was out for vengeance, and he targeted our team, drew us in and led us right by the nose. When we caught him, he tried to convince us he was the hacker, but it became evident pretty quickly he didn't have the skills. Phoenix watched us the entire time we were working the mission. He was always a step ahead, as though he had an ear to our plans, and, in the end, the cell nearly took out a soldier and one of our men in Kentucky. He went underground for a few months, then popped up in a hack at your school about a year ago.”

“Wait.” Surely she'd heard him wrong. She'd had no idea the system was hacked until two days ago. How long had her past been biting her heels? “A year ago? You're sure?” How hadn't she spotted him? She was the best. If he was poking around in the system she'd built and strengthened herself, then he was better. Pride, fear and anger spun in a combustible mix.

“He'd been snooping in your system for months before we found him. We'd been scouring networks, and one of our trackers pinged him about six months ago. We traced him to some planted files on your network and had another operative dig into it. He didn't find anything suspicious on your end. The guys we sent in to do a cursory search never knew you, and you don't show up on any of the school's public sites.”

“I stay out of the limelight.” It was necessary with the work she'd once done. Plenty of terrorists would love nothing more than to take out a member of their unit. For four years, she'd done her job as tech director and teacher, trying to keep her past where it belonged.

“Naturally. Problem is, it seems as if our hacker found you and has been gathering intel on you, waiting for his moment. You're the only one who can tell me why.”

Meghan stepped closer and pressed her palms against the worn metal of the truck hood. How long had he been watching, waiting to strike? “Why not let us know we were hacked?”

“We didn't want you to do something to tip him off.” Tate didn't appear to notice her discomfort. “Intel from some other sources point to an impending attack on the power grid, and one of the few hackers in play who can handle such a play right now is Phoenix. We have to take him out now, while we have an in, or we could be facing a serious disaster.”

The weight of the situation tore Meghan's focus from herself. This was what she'd fought against when she was beside Tate in the military. “How's the operation?”

“At the moment, slow. We were able to figure out who's doing his grunt work. It's a small street gang, the kind that will do anything to prove themselves. Isaac Koffman has insecurity issues, and he'll do whatever it takes to bolster his street cred. He wants to move his crew into the big time, be a national syndicate, but he hasn't got the brains to pull off the types of crimes he'd need to do in order to make a name. He's got delusions of grandeur and no way to propel himself into the big time. Isaac's prime material for manipulation, willing to drag his crew into things others wouldn't touch for fear of getting caught. Made it easy for our hacker to use him and easy for me to get inside.”

Always go for the weakest link.
When they couldn't hit the big guys directly, they'd go for the contractors. Security was lax there. She'd run the same scheme with Tate before, and it tended to work.

But guys like Isaac were also the ones with the itchiest trigger fingers, desperate to assert and to keep their authority. Tate was fortunate Isaac hadn't punished him for Meghan's escape today, especially with the kind of hacker Phoenix had proved to be. But she'd been around enough punks like him to understand the wannabe mobster's thought process. “Isaac thinks as long as you're around, you'll catch the flack for my getaway. Phoenix is why he didn't cut you loose or kill you himself.”

“Exactly. If things go our way, the big guy may be angry enough to deal with me personally.”

“Which could get you killed.” For real this time. Meghan backed away from the truck and paced toward the house. The thought dug at her still-bruised heart, and she didn't need him to read it on her face. She wasn't ready to lose him twice, especially when she still didn't know where he'd gone the first time. If she had to grieve for him all over again, the pain might be the one foe that could destroy her.

“Here's hoping it doesn't go that far.” Tate glanced at his watch, a chunky black monster, the same kind he'd worn for as long as she'd known him. “I have to go. It's a pretty good drive to Saginaw from here. I'm hoping Phoenix has already heard Isaac's report and decided he needs a face-to-face with me.”

It was a long shot with the kind of shadowy hacker they were targeting, but it was probably their best shot. Still, Meghan didn't like him walking straight into danger without someone guarding his back. “I'm going with you.”

“Oh, no, you're not.” He held up a hand to stem her building argument. “Think. They catch sight of you anywhere near me and we're done. You're captured and I'm dead. Like it or not—and I know you're not a fan of the idea—I have to go this one alone.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. No, she wasn't a fan. Not one bit. But he was right. And the truth made it an even harder pill to swallow. “Fine. But if I don't hear from you in the next twelve hours, I'm coming after you. And if it goes south...”

“Fair enough.” He looked up from his watch, searching her face in a way that skipped electricity across her skin. “You're a valuable asset.”

The jolt fizzled. There it was again. She was nothing but a means to an end.

Tate stilled, the sudden lack of movement ushering silence between them. “But I also need...” His voice deepened. “Despite what you think, I trust you.” A flash Meghan couldn't read slipped across his features, then vanished. He turned toward the house. “You're sure you're safe here?”

Whatever the flash was, it must have been a trick of the moonlight, because he was all business. It didn't stop Meghan from wanting to rewind the moment and make him say whatever she imagined he'd thought. “Safer here than anywhere else.” Then again, safety was probably a thin thread. If Phoenix was the hacker who had blackmailed her years ago, then she was in bigger trouble than she'd thought. Still, she couldn't ask for help. Not yet. When it came to Tate and her former team, full disclosure meant risking everything. She'd been blackmailed in college, had been young and scared, but none of that would matter. She'd hacked personal data for an unknown entity who could turn out to be a terrorist, and the truth was enough to send her to jail for a long time if her team found the truth.

No, she couldn't tell Tate about anything yet. Not until she was certain she really could trust the man who'd let her believe he was dead, who could be up to anything now. No, she needed answers first.

“Stay low. I'll be in touch.” He stepped closer, then stopped and almost smiled. “It's good to see you, McGuire. Really good.” He held her gaze for a moment, then turned and walked away.

* * *

Dawn was creeping over the edges of the horizon when Tate rattled the truck to a stop in front of the small house on a back street near Saginaw. With peeling white paint, faded wood and a sagging front porch, the place was a testament to Isaac's failures. The man's life goal was to be the leader of a crime ring capable of driving fear into the heart of the nation. The saving grace was Isaac lacked the mental acuity to build such an empire.

Tate had lost count of the times he'd had to hold back his fist to keep from knocking Isaac's arrogance down a few pegs. He'd love to take the guy down for something as petty as the meth lab in the shed, but it wouldn't do the mission any good, and it would scatter Isaac's pack of yes-men to new haunts.

Killing the engine, Tate surveyed the house. Light shone from the window in the front living room, but the rest stood a dark vigil over the street.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised. Something was going on. On Fridays at sundown, Isaac ran a party that raged until Monday morning. Those parties required some of Tate's best acting skills. He'd avoided more pills, pipes and bottles than he cared to consider. And he'd dodged just as many scantily clad hangers-on who believed him to be the strong, silent type who needed taming. His heart broke for a couple of the girls he'd managed to talk to without having to fight them off. But rescuing them would mean jeopardizing the mission, losing his target and probably sacrificing his life. It was hard to sleep, knowing he could help, but the mission wouldn't allow him to yield his cover. It was doubly hard to sleep knowing some of the men and women who walked through Isaac's front doors craved this lifestyle and viewed help as a weakness.

Yeah. Weekends were the worst on this op. Tate was fortunate the whole lot of them in the house were usually too wasted to realize he wasn't.

But now, as the world tinged a deep pink, no drunken revelry filtered out to the street. The place was quieter than he'd ever seen it. In the four months Tate had been hovering around this crew, they'd never missed a weekend, never taken the party anywhere else. Isaac was too jealous of his territory to risk someone out-partying him.

To the left of the house, on the short parallel tracks of concrete that passed for a driveway, Isaac's little souped-up Honda sat close by the side door. Five more tricked-out coupes lined the lawn, chrome dull in the faded morning light. The gang was all here, but the house was silent.

Tate brushed the grip of Meghan's gun, his teeth working his lower lip. He was about to walk into the unknown with a weapon he'd never fired. He slipped the revolver from the small holster and flicked it open, checking the cylinder. Five .357 rounds, so at least they had some heft. His Glock held fifteen rounds in the magazine. Meghan's revolver gave him a third of what he'd normally carry. If things turned ugly, he'd have to be extra careful of his aim. And pray. A lot.

The curtain in the front window shifted. Was someone watching for him? Maybe Phoenix had told Isaac to clear the house and do the dirty work.