Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (144 page)

"No. Our man left the bay door unlocked, so I pulled inside tonight. Come on. I've got those lists you asked for."

Dennis swung around and turned on his own flashlight, leading Frank the last few steps to the office. Dennis snapped open a briefcase lying on the table in the small, walled-off work space and handed Frank some computer printouts.

Frank scanned the headings and rows of data. "So you got lists for all of them?"

"That's right. Our guy in the phone company pulled up the data for the past six months. You've got the numbers and names associated with each, just like you asked. I've given you a full list of addresses and company names, where appropriate, to go along with them. If you need any more, let me know."

Frank nodded. He sat down and flipped through a few pages of the printout. He suspected that one of these companies was used as a front to make payoffs to the informant. If he could get a look at Vendetti's files, he might find the account number used and somehow link it back to Hal. Or Angel.

But he knew it couldn't be Angel. Just because she wouldn't give up her cover to be with Frank didn't make her a traitor. He'd seen her relive the horror of her parents death. No one could act that well.

Could they?

If anyone could, it would be a woman capable of living under cover for ten years. A woman capable of turning the man she claimed to love over to ruthless killers without a second thought—and making him believe she wasn't affected in the least. And then later making him believe she was.

Was there anything about Angel he could really believe?

Yes. He believed she wasn't the informant. Despite the anger that gnawed at his gut at her refusal to give up her cover. Maybe she couldn't leave her past behind, maybe she'd thrown away their chance at a future together, but an informant? He wouldn't believe it.

"And, Frank?"

Dennis' tone made Frank glance up sharply.

"I checked for call-forwarding on the numbers as you suggested. Take a look." Dennis handed Frank another sheet of paper with a list of phone numbers cross-referenced. Frank knew that if a number was call-forwarded to a second number in the same calling area, only the first number would show up on their regular lists.

He glanced at the list. Two lines had been highlighted with a blazing neon green. One frequent number called by Vendetti was call-forwarded to 555-6792 and one on the list of calls from Angel's home was call-forwarded to the same number.

"It looks like our girl might just be the one."

Frank's stomach clenched at the damning evidence in front of him. There had to be an explanation. "That doesn't make any sense, Dennis. If Angel were the informant—"

"Which is looking more and more likely."

"—then why would she need to call some number to leave the information? She could just give it to Vendetti in the office."

"I have a hunch that Vendetti doesn't know who the informant is, that all the information is passed on via a phone message system and payments made indirectly. It would make a lot of sense in her case. She was a clean agent for a long time, I'm pretty sure of that. So she's not going to waltz up to Vendetti and let him in on the fact that she's been working undercover for the FBI for years and now wants to sell him information. She'd be at the bottom of the Hudson River by now if she tried a stupid trick like that."

Dennis sat down in the wooden swivel chair, clasping his hands on the armrests, eyes narrowed as he watched Frank. "So how's it going with you and the little woman?"

Uneasiness prickled through him under Dennis' watchful eye.

"We're managing." Dennis was his closest friend, but Frank didn't want to tell him he'd fallen in love with his undercover wife. Not yet.

Frank stood up. "Dennis, it isn't Angel."

It couldn't be. Dennis could show him a file full of evidence, but he just wouldn't believe it.

Dennis stood up too and planted his palm on Frank's shoulder. "Are you sure of that, Frank? Could you be a little biased?"

Frank jerked back, knocking over the chair behind him. "It's not her!"

"Damn it, Frank. If you've lost your objectivity, I should pull you out."

"It's too late for that and you know it. We've come too far." He paced across the small office space then glared at Dennis. "I'll find a way to prove it."

Dennis leaned against the desk placing his hands on his knees, staring intently at Frank. "Just make sure that while you're trying to prove her innocence, you don't miss the proof of her guilt."

"Dennis, I'm a professional."

"I know, but lust can do strange things to a man. Look, I've got one more thing." He lifted the top of his briefcase again and pulled out a small tape recorder. "It's a safe bet she won't leave any incriminating messages while you're around. She usually makes her calls to that number while you're here. Right after her report to Hal. After I found out about this," he pointed at the list of call-forwarded numbers, "I put a tap on the line."

"I thought you weren't going to touch Angel's line." Dennis had vetoed the idea of tapping Angel's line right from the start, suggesting it could endanger Angel's cover. A tap might be discovered by someone else in the Bureau and questions would be asked.

"I didn't. I mean the destination number. I didn't expect to get anything until this evening, but I checked before coming here and this came in yesterday."

Pressing the 'Play' button, he watched Frank's expression. The caller's voice was disguised electronically.

"Beware. One of the latest additions to your staff is a Fed. Be careful what you say and to whom. Will provide identity with regular report."

"Christ. There goes my cover."

Dennis snapped the 'Off' button. "She's going to finger you, Frank. Think about that when your hormones get in the way."

"Dennis, there's no way you can know it was Angel."

"The call traces back to her phone. Face it, Frank. Your girl made this call."

"She's not that stupid. If she turns me over to them, she endangers herself. I'd tell them all about her."

"If you got the chance. They might shoot you before asking questions. And even if you were able to talk, it would be your word against hers."

Frank stared grimly at Dennis, his mouth compressed into a thin line. Frank knew Angel wasn't the informant.
He knew it
. And he'd find a way to prove it. He'd find evidence to clear her.

But what if your evidence proves she is the one?
a tiny voice asked.
What will you do then?

Frank glanced at his watch. If Dennis was right, based on the message he'd just heard, Angel should be making the call to betray him—again—in about an hour.

In Too Deep: Chapter Ten

Frank had left about three hours ago, muttering something about not waiting up for him. Not that she would. She'd rather be asleep when he came in rather than face the uncomfortable silence that fell around them every time they were alone in the same room.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine o'clock. Time to make her weekly status report to Hal. She would dial the long distance number and after two rings would hear the cheery female voice recorded on the answering machine telling her brightly that Susan Jelenik wasn't available right now but to leave a message after the beep.

Frank had been curious how she kept in touch with Hal without calling FBI headquarters and thus endangering her cover. She told him about the special phone number they had set up as a cover, supposedly a friend of hers who lived in North Carolina, but which was really a phone line connected to a voice messaging system. Angel called once a week, on Sunday evening around nine. Anyone checking her phone bill would assume she picked the same time each week because rates were low.

From the top drawer of her writing desk, she grabbed a small, black box that looked like a Dictaphone. Three weeks ago, Hal had explained his concern that the informant, knowing of Angel's existence, might find a way to tap into their information exchange. Disguising her voice would give one more level of protection. Not that Angel thought it would make any difference. If the informant got that far, he'd be able to trace the call back to her phone number. But Hal had insisted she use it.

As she picked up the receiver and started dialing, the front door opened. Frank's voice jolted her.

"Hang up the phone, Angel."

She glanced at him and the grim expression on his face made her obey his command instantly.

"Finished your report?" Frank asked, his voice flat.

"No, I was just making the call."

"Really?" He strolled toward her. A stiffness in his gait tipped her off that he wasn't as relaxed as he otherwise appeared.

He took the box from her nerveless fingers, examining it with mild interest. His gaze darted from the device to her. "You use this when you make your report?" His raised eyebrows told her he was as dubious about the effectiveness of such a maneuver as she was. But there was something else in his expression, too. Something that chilled her.

"Hal insisted on it. Says it'll help protect me from the informant."

"Really?" He shoved it back into her hand, his expression frankly disbelieving. "What were you going to report this week?"

Her fingers clenched around the plastic casing. "Not much. We're playing a waiting game at this point, aren't we?"

"You could say that."

He stepped towards her. She nearly recoiled from his dark expression, barely able to maintain her composure. The air virtually crackled between them. His frigid gaze captured hers, holding her prisoner, unable to move, unable to breath. She felt his essence slide into her soul, searching, drawing out her deepest secrets. Her pulse accelerated. Uncertainty flooded through her, surging into a torrent of turbulent emotions. Painful, unpleasant emotions.

Suddenly, he released her from his penetrating stare. She grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself.

"Maybe tonight our wait will be over."

Something was terribly wrong. "Why? What's happened, Frank?"

"I've got a lead, but I need more information. I want you to go into Vendetti's office and grab some files." He stepped away and air came more easily into her lungs. "I'll give you a list."

A lead? That was great, but it didn't explain the fierce tension emanating from him. "Okay. He's got a meeting tomorrow morning so I should be able to photocopy what you need then."

"No." Their gazes connected again. "I need you to get it tonight. Now."

"But Frank, I can't just go into his office. It's locked and—"

He pulled open the closet door and grabbed her coat. "I'm sure a locked door won't stop you. If you haven't managed to snag a key, I'd be surprised."

"I do have one but—it should only be used in emergencies. If I'm caught in there—"

"This is an emergency." He held her coat open, ready to help her slip it on.

"I see. I'll make my call to Hal first."

She reached for the phone and started to pick up the receiver but Frank grabbed her hand. His fingers, cold and hard over hers, sent a shiver of apprehension through her.

"That can wait." He held her coat up again and she shoved her arms in.

"Are you going to let me in on this clue?" she demanded.

"Not until I have more information."

She flung her hair over the collar and fastened the buttons. "Frank, if I'm going to risk—"

"Angel," he grated between clenched teeth. "Do as you're told. I'm the senior agent and I don't have to explain every detail to you."

She felt her face drain of colour. "Yes, sir."

Clearly, there was no point arguing. The fact that he'd pulled rank on her, that he didn't trust her enough—or respect her enough—to share the information, hurt. He tugged a list out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

"I want files on all of those." He watched intently as she scanned the list of six company names, as though waiting for some reaction.

"All right. I should be back in about two hours." She turned and marched to the front entrance.

"I'm going to drive you."

"I can go myself, Frank. I don't need—"

His fingers clenched around her wrist. "I said I'm going to drive you."

* * *

As soon as Frank stepped into the house and saw Angel with the voice scrambler, he knew he'd been wrong to trust her.

His wife, the woman he loved, had been about to betray him. Again.

He had to make sure he kept her away from a phone until he could figure out what to do with her. At least, a phone she'd be willing to use to make her traitorous call. The idea of taking her to Vendetti's building seemed the ideal solution. He would get the files he needed to continue working on the case and he knew she wouldn't chance making her call from any of the phones there because the chances were too high that Vendetti had them monitored. She wouldn't chance giving herself away to Vendetti.

As he drove the dark city streets, ignoring Angel sitting less than a foot away, he wondered what he'd do with her afterward. If he took her back to FBI headquarters, which seemed the only solution, there'd be some difficult issues to work out. They'd have to find a good explanation for Angel's disappearance. Dennis wouldn't pull him out of Vendetti's operation until they'd proved in court that Angel was the informant. Once charges were laid against her, they'd have to find a way of stopping information about her cover from spreading through the Bureau like a grass fire, because if Angel wasn't the one—which seemed pretty unlikely—the real informant would find out about Frank's cover and he be would be in grave danger.

He glanced at her, sitting stiffly beside him. Headlights from a passing car illuminated her hair, setting it ablaze like a halo, lighting up her face. The light faded and her angelic features returned to darkness—but the image was emblazoned in his mind.

His heart compacted against the wall of his chest. How could he have been so wrong about her? The first time, he hadn't really known her. She'd taken him completely by surprise. But this time he'd walked into the situation with his eyes wide open. How had she managed to deceive him again?