Wanted (FBI Heat Book 3)

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“Someone knows.”

The icy tone, more than the words, sent a shiver down his spine. To camouflage his fear, he feigned annoyance. “You’re not supposed to call me on this cell phone. It’s not secure.”

The answering silence felt even colder—and deadlier—than the spoken words.

He gulped. He had no idea how many of them were listening to the conversation. Antagonizing them might not be the smartest move. “Relax. I don’t think there’s a problem.”

“Think again.”

He shuddered. “Who do you suspect?”

“The woman.”

“She’s under control,” he said tightly, his jaw clenching.

“Is she?”

The caller’s two-word sentences grated on his nerves. But he remained focused on his ultimate goal and resisted the urge to put the patronizing prick in his place. He knew who was really in charge. He smiled at the reminder that he was using them, not vice versa. The fools had no idea what he had planned or what a high price they’d pay for underestimating him. So he could play along, let them feel superior, because in the end he would get what he wanted. They would get…His smile morphed into a sneer. “She won’t be a problem. Things have happened that will discredit her,” he said to reassure them.

“Like what?”

“Bad job-performance reviews.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve hacked into her personnel file and seen them.”

“That could backfire. If she disputes those complaints, it would draw attention to her…and her suspicions. We can’t allow that,” his contact said emphatically.

His eyes narrowed. How dare they question his ability to handle the situation? He had devised the whole complex plan and only let them think they were pulling the strings. They were stupid not to realize
they
were the puppets. He stifled a snicker.

Damn, he resented them. Their perfectly spoken English without a hint of an accent to reveal their nationality. Their bottomless finances. Their technological resources. Their military might. They didn’t deserve any of it after what they’d done decades ago and continued to do today.

“I’m not worried,” he said, hiding his bitterness.

“You should be,” the caller admonished. “But don’t even think of reneging on our profitable deal.” The voice remained quiet and calm, but the unspoken threat came through loud and clear.

He gulped again as fear outweighed resentment. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

“After all, this is what
you
wanted. Is that not true?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Good. Now explain how the woman could have discovered us.”

“She works the night shift in the control room and noticed some discrepancies in the data readings. The differences are definitely the result of—”

“Tell me about her.”

“She’s relatively new to the company, but she was an operator at the Avila Canyon plant until a couple years ago when she left suddenly. She’s been a real pain in the ass since she got here,” he said.

“Is there anything besides the poor performance reviews that can diminish her credibility?”

“When I realized she was the snooping, goody-goody type, I got into her file and posted reprimands for failing to follow proper safety procedures. No one but the personnel department knows about them, although they think the issues have already been discussed with her,” he explained.

“She must be stopped before she tells others of her discovery.”

“All the criticism in her file will prevent anyone from taking her concerns seriously.”

“That’s not enough,” the man said, his frustration evident in his clipped speech.

He grinned with the realization of what they were suggesting. “What do you mean?” he asked, hoping to sound naïve.

“She may need to have an accident…like Stevens. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.”

Dillon O’Malley’s running shoes pounded the wet sand, stride after stride, mile after mile. His sleeveless, white T-shirt clung to his sweaty body. His black Nike shorts flapped against his thighs. Blissfully blocking out all other thoughts, his mind focused only on continuing to move. Farther. Faster.

He loved running before dawn. The solitude. The lack of distractions. And just maybe because he didn’t want spectators watching or judging his rigorous routine. Others might think his regimen was grueling, but he knew the punishing workout was necessary to release his pent-up emotions, to control his inner demons. Even after two years, he often felt like a pressure cooker about to explode.

He turned and raced full speed back down the beach, reveling in the saltwater splashing on his legs and cooling his heated skin. He inhaled deeply, loving the smell of the sea. This stretch of sand near his home in Carlsbad had become one of his favorites since transferring to the San Diego FBI office.

Unbidden and unwanted, the memory of his move from San Francisco crept to the edge of his mind.
Damn.
He shoved the disturbing thought away because it also carried a reminder of the person who was the reason for his relocation. Those memories were never a good way to start any day, especially a Monday.

With the sky just beginning to lighten in the east, he bounded through the beach parking lot and across the highway. With his apartment complex only a few blocks away, he slowed to a jog to begin cooling down and to postpone the letdown he experienced at the end of every run. As he rounded the last corner, he spotted a woman leaning against the wall next to the entrance. When he came closer, she straightened away from the building and scowled at him.

“You were supposed to come get me before you ran,” she said, bracing her hands on her shapely hips so her large breasts lifted and her tank top pulled tighter across her protruding nipples.

His eyes narrowed while his brain scrambled to remember her name.
Who the hell is she?

Shaking her brightly polished index finger at him, she continued, “Last week, you said I could run the Carlsbad beach route with you today.”

He analyzed her appearance. Her short blond hair was perfectly styled, and her heavy makeup had been applied with precision. Her skintight, athletic outfit and spotless shoes looked brand new. She also wore dangling earrings, a choker necklace, an expensive watch, and a silver bracelet. The woman had probably never been running in her life, especially on the beach. And since he rarely ran with anyone—only a few of his FBI buddies—Dillon knew he hadn’t agreed to take her with him. Hell, he didn’t even recognize her.

He frowned.
What’s her game?
“You didn’t answer your door at four thirty,” he said flatly.

Her pretty brown eyes widened. “Four thirty? Seriously?”

“Yeah. If I said you could join me, I would’ve told you the usual time.”

“I d-don’t remember that,” she sputtered, red creeping up her cheeks, bright enough to be visible through her makeup.

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back, and gave her a don’t-fuck-with-me glare.

She huffed. “All right, all right. You never said I could run with you.” She glanced down at his sand-splattered legs and grimaced with disgust. “It doesn’t look like much fun anyway. I just couldn’t figure out how else to get your attention.”

Well, shit.
When had he grown totally oblivious to a woman wanting his attention? Not a good sign—even for him. He’d never been a jerk, and he sure didn’t want to become one. “I have to get cleaned up first, but do you want to grab a quick Starbucks before I head to work?”

Her face lit up with a lovely smile, but it faded quickly. “You don’t even know my name, do you?”

Busted.
He shook his head and had to brush aside the sweaty shock of hair that fell onto his forehead.

She sighed. “Thanks for the coffee offer, but I’d probably choke on my embarrassment.” She stood on her tiptoes and pecked a kiss on his unshaven cheek. “You seem like a great guy, Dillon, but you need to lose the tension and lighten up. I promise I won’t bother you again. Good-bye.”

She spun away, but he was quicker. Catching her arm, he gently pulled her back around. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

She stared at him a moment with her mouth gaping and then glanced down at her pristine outfit. “I guess this is okay to wear just for coffee. So…sure. I’ll just wait here.”

She surprised him with another kiss when they said good-bye again an hour later at Starbucks. Dillon had tried to ease her embarrassment and also convince her that he wasn’t interested in dating. Maybe they could be friends, but then again, maybe not. She probably wouldn’t want to waste her time on a guy who had no interest in a serious relationship. Fine by him because anything more than friendship would violate his rule: Don’t date or sleep with women who live in the same apartment complex; it makes avoiding each other after the breakup difficult.

As he strolled into the San Diego FBI office, he contemplated her comments. He disagreed not only with her impromptu evaluation but also with her offhand solution. How was an agent who worked almost 24/7 supposed to “lighten up”? He chuckled at the idea.

While he waited for the elevator, his iPhone rang. He scowled at the unfamiliar number.
Damn telemarketers.
Stepping into the empty elevator, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, O’Malley, hold it for me.”

Instantly, he stuck his hand between the closing doors.

His friend and fellow agent Ben Alfren trotted into view. “You know there’s a button for that, right?”

“My hand’s more reliable,” he said with his usual pragmatism.

“Just kidding, man. Lighten up.”

Damn. There’s that phrase again.
He cringed inwardly.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked.

“Nothing.” He shook off his annoyance. Always best to turn the conversation away from himself, so he asked about Ben’s girlfriend. “How’s Amber?”

Ben sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know which upset her more: the thing with her ex or the terrorists.”

“Our careers are tough on significant others,” he said, speaking as the voice of experience. Sometimes he still wondered if his job had been what made her…He buried the thought as quickly as it had arisen.

“Agreed. Amber’s strong, though. We’ll work it out.”

“Good.”

They nodded to each other as they exited the elevator and headed for their desks. He switched on his computer and left to get a cup of coffee. In the break room, he ran into Conrad Regis, another buddy.

After the normal greetings, Conrad angled his head to the side and grinned broadly. Then he swiped his index finger across his own cheek several times.

Dillon watched him, puzzled. “What the hell are you doing?”

Conrad rolled his eyes. “You have…something there.” He pointed to Dillon’s cheek.

He rubbed his hand across the spot and then glared at the neon-pink lipstick smeared on his palm. “Shit,” he mumbled. Why hadn’t Ben told him about the brand on his cheek? He owed his friend one now, and he’d make sure payback was a bitch.

“Guess someone got lucky this morning,” Conrad joked.

“Shut up.”

His friend frowned. “Lighten up, man. When was the last time you got—”

“None of your damn business.” Dillon grabbed his mug and stomped out of the room.

He dropped into the chair at his desk and drew a deep breath. Why was everyone telling him to “lighten up” this morning? He wasn’t tense; he was intense.
There’s a difference, damn it.

He was still stewing over the comments when his iPhone rang again. Peering at the same unidentified number on the screen, he considered answering just to get the persistent salesperson off his back, but then his boss marched by.

“Dillon, my office,” Supervisory Special Agent Rex Kelley said as he passed.

He slid the phone into his pocket and followed the man of few words who had been a great mentor since Dillon arrived. Rex demanded respect but wielded his authority fairly. All the agents busted their butts to do a good job for him.

“Close the door,” Rex said and motioned to the small table near the windows. He looked particularly serious this morning, but then everyone had been dealing with the aftershocks of losing one of their own in a recent shoot-out.

“What’s up, Boss?”

“Since we stopped the recent terrorist attack here in San Diego, Headquarters has decided to beef up our Counterterrorism personnel. They’re adding six positions. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Alan Carter has asked me to transfer over to head up the new squad. He also wants my recommendations on five others. Are you interested?”

Dillon shook his head. “I wasn’t involved in the dirty bomb case.”

“I know. Neither was I.”

“What about training?”

“You’ll be given whatever additional training you need. They’re looking for a few outstanding agents. I think you qualify.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Who else is making the switch?”

Rex stroked his chin. “I can only tell you the one who’s already committed: Ben Alfren. The others are still weighing their options so I don’t want to mention their names.”

No big surprise that Ben had opted for the change. Despite not being in Counterterrorism, he had participated heavily in the operation to bring down the terrorists. Washington had run the covert op, and they’d mostly used members of the San Diego Joint Terrorism Task Force. But somehow, Ben had gotten involved.

Dillon massaged the back of his neck. Did he want to work in Counterterrorism?

“It’s a big decision,” Rex said. “Take some time to think about it. But not too long. Who knows when those assholes will strike again?”

Katriona MacKenzie’s hand trembled as she dropped her phone into her purse. What in the world had come over her to possibly think calling Dillon O’Malley was a good idea? And not just once, but twice.
Crap, I’m an idiot.

“You okay, Kat?” Charlie Lee, a member of the night-shift security detail, asked as he passed her in the parking lot.

She managed a smile. Charlie had been one of the first people to befriend her after she started working at the Diablo Beach Nuclear Power Plant, or DBNPP as it was sometimes called. He made a habit of stopping by several times during her shift to share a cup of coffee or just to chat. At first she’d worried that he might be planning to hit on her, but he’d never made a move beyond simple friendship. “I’m fine, Charlie. Have a good one.”

He nodded and headed toward his car.

A few minutes later, she steered her Honda Civic onto Interstate 5 south toward San Diego. Driving on autopilot, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from returning to Dillon.

They hadn’t spoken in two years, but she couldn’t say that was why he hadn’t answered. He didn’t know it was Kat calling since she had a new phone number, and her identity was blocked. That should’ve made her feel better, but it didn’t. Mostly, she was annoyed with herself for being a coward and not leaving a message. But it didn’t really matter. Dillon wouldn’t give a damn about her after what she’d done to him.

Who else could she ask for help? Sure, she remembered some of his fellow FBI agents in the San Francisco office. Would they remember her? If they did, they would also blame her for what had happened to her and Dillon. End of story. No, not one of them would be willing to get involved in…

In…what? She didn’t know
what
. She sighed. Definitely part of the problem. But even though she couldn’t define or explain the problem, her instincts were screaming that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

But her boss, Asad Farook, had ignored—and worse, ridiculed—her concerns. And she just couldn’t bring herself to go over his head. Yet. She hadn’t been at this plant long, and she sure couldn’t risk getting fired for being a whistleblower.

She frowned.
Whistleblower? Is that what I am?
Well, she might be if she could figure out what the hell was going on. So far, the anomalies she’d discovered didn’t point to negligence or incompetence. They could simply be…errors. Mechanical? Computer? Human? Until she determined what was causing them, she wouldn’t know if they were accidental—or intentional.

Kat gave a vehement shake of her head even though there was no one else in the car to witness it. She couldn’t believe the problems were intentional. The idea was simply too preposterous. Who in his right mind would try to cause a meltdown at a nuclear power plant?

She parked the Civic at the curb in front of her parents’ modest, single-story house. Sighing, she rested her forehead against the steering wheel. She needed a few moments to gather her wits before going inside.

“Katie, dear, why aren’t you comin’ in? Is somethin’ wrong?” her mother called from the front stoop in her strong Scottish accent. “Someone’s eager to see you.”

So much for gathering her wits. But the thought of that “someone” brought a genuine smile to Kat’s face. She deserved a kick in the butt for letting this work stuff interfere with her personal life.

When she climbed out of the car, she noticed a large black Mercedes sedan parked down the street. Not a big deal elsewhere, but fancy, expensive cars were rare in this middle-class neighborhood of Oceanside in northern San Diego County. And this one had especially dark tinted windows. She hesitated a moment when she caught a flash or reflection from the interior. Was someone inside? Her question was answered when the Benz started, pulled a U-turn, and disappeared down the street in the opposite direction. An uneasy feeling made her shudder.
Please don’t let drug dealers be moving into this family-oriented neighborhood.

When she heard someone calling her from the house, she shook off her concern and scurried across the lawn to dart inside.

“Mama, Mama.”

Kat scooped up the toddler. “How’s my baby girl?”