Traitor Games Read online

  Maybe he’d underestimated the watchdog. “Talk.”

  Lillian paced the room. “What do you think you know?”

  “Rand and Andy got you involved with this SICA group, and now you’re a target.”

  She paused to stare at him. “And? Anything else?”

  “I’ve kept my distance.” When pressed he’d told them it was because his plate was full. In truth, he didn’t believe he was good enough to join their justice team.

  “When’s the last time you heard from them?”

  “Rand and Andy?” Noah frowned. “Well, I saw Rand last when the Coast Guards arrested us. Andy, when I left the airplane. I’m guessing you know what plane I’m talking about?”

  “I do. That’s really the last you saw or heard from any of them?”

  “In person, yeah. I’ve heard from Andy a few times, but like I told him, this isn’t my problem.”

  “But now it is?”

  “What can I say? You’re awfully motivating.”

  Lillian scowled at him. “Be serious.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Because Noah couldn’t tell her the truth, that ever since he’d locked eyes with her she’d haunted his dreams. Not that they were terrifying. Much the opposite.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “The truth. Why not kill me and get it over with already?”

  “I don’t want to.” When he looked at her, killing was the last thing on his mind. She made him think of warm, rumpled sheets. A crackling fireplace. A quiet place to rest. And he didn’t deserve that.

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s all the reason I’ve ever needed.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat and rolled her eyes. “That might have worked a year ago, but I need more now, Noah.”

  “That’s for you to decide. I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep or tell you what you want to hear.” He stared into her troubled eyes and part of him wanted to pull her close, hold her, protect her. Yeah, his mind was made up. He wasn’t going to kill her. He was going to save her, kicking and screaming if he had to. “What’s it going to be?”

  Lillian smoothed a hand over her hair and down her ponytail, eyes shut. He could feel the tension rolling off her. He was asking her for trust he didn’t deserve. Hadn’t earned.

  “Fine.” Her eyes popped open and she stared at him. “Rand and Sarah, Andy and Carol, Mitch and Irene—they’re not in hiding. They’re on specific fact-finding missions working with a joint task force of international intel agencies trying to figure out how deeply SICA is entrenched in the CIA.”

  Noah nodded. “I assumed they weren’t lounging on a beach doing nothing. How do you fit into this?”

  “They have to answer to someone. I’m the operator on the line.”

  “You’re their handler?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Is this a CIA thing?”

  “No.”

  Shit.

  What went higher than the CIA?

  “Who do you answer to then?” He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.

  “I can’t tell you that. Or…I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you that.”

  Noah grimaced. “Fuck. You don’t have to say it now.”

  No wonder President Fowler hadn’t come out and condemned his bastard son, Mitch, for the attack on a government building despite the video evidence. If that grainy, doctored video could even be called proof.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said evenly. “You’re running an off-the-books intel op with six of the CIA’s most wanted rogue agents and you only answer to one person?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.” It was a stupid, crazy death wish, and the adrenaline junky part of him wanted in.

  Lillian licked her lips. “The person who gave you this assignment, did they say anything about the baby?”

  “Baby? What the hell kind of code name is that?”

  “No. I mean, a real baby.”

  He frowned. “No…”

  “Okay. Good.” Lillian rubbed her forehead. “That’s good.”

  “Who got knocked up?” He wanted to stuff that question back in his mouth the moment it was out.

  “Sarah. She’s due any day now.”

  Noah groaned. “Fuck.”

  A baby, any kind of hospital stay, would make the couple a target and thereby a risk to everyone they were working with.

  Lillian pivoted. “What about a journalist?”

  “No. No one mentioned a journalist. I’ll show you exactly what Hector gave me.” Noah dug into his pocket.

  “Hector?” she parroted back, her skin going pale.

  “Yeah.” Noah was worried about that connection. “He was completely unaware you and I had ever met. I’m guessing that’s intentional?”

  “Irene and Mitch said Hector began pulling back, distancing himself from them when Carol went underground. That sounds awfully familiar. Who do I know that did something similar?” Lillian cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “This is different. Take it. Look.”

  She took the envelope from him and flipped through the pictures. She didn’t seem shocked or surprised in the least. “These are all recent. Last week at most. They must have just identified me.”

  Noah had to tell her something, but the truth wasn’t an option. She’d never believe him. “I backed off because I had to, for my op. I couldn’t tell anyone what was going on.”

  “And now?”

  “Let’s just say there are some people in this world blissfully unaware they were supposed to die in a targeted attack made to look like a horrific accident.” It was the truth, but it hadn’t eaten up all of Noah’s time.

  “I’ll sleep on it. I might trust you in the morning.”

  “Okay.” He’d take even a little win right now with her. This whole operation was so much deeper and murkier than he’d thought. “I hate to ask, but—journalist?”

  “Irene and Mitch are looking into an investigative journalist in Europe. Some guy who’s a big name.”

  “You want to go public?”

  Lillian shook her head and paced away from him. “No. Going public would be terrible. It would expose the US, endanger people across the world, the ramifications would be…disastrous. But, we need to keep our options open.”

  “Going public with a shadow organization is the worst thing you could do. Haven’t you seen Alias? The Black List? Any Jason Bourne movie?”

  “That’s fiction.” She whirled to face him. “This is real life. I am aware. We have to be prepared.”

  Noah closed the distance between them. “This is big stuff. It’ll eat you up, spit you out, and keep churning through people. You’ve got family, a life, a career. Think about that.”

  “I am.” She pressed the envelope to his chest. “Last year I worked a case for one of the research and development companies the DoD contract. There was a break-in and their whole lab team was killed. The deaths were blamed on a mistake in the system calibration. A week later, the weapon they were working on showed up in a Middle Eastern town. It killed dozens of people. Some sort of gas. My job? Fix it. Make it go away.”

  “That’s heartbreaking, but those people are dead and you’re alive.”

  “I’m not finished.” She stared at him. “With Carol’s help, I have identified half a dozen of my cases I can trace back to SICA. People died. I had to fix that. Dress it all up for the public. These people, the ones behind SICA, they’re killing people, Noah. This is what they do. They want something, so they eliminate everyone and everything in their way. And I helped them get away with it.”

  “No, you did your job helping the companies they victimized.”

  “But because of me there were no investigations. We were able to tie it all up, make it go away. I helped them spin the story.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Lillian might play the role of a hard-ass during the day, but the woman had a heart so big it
scared Noah.

  His voice came out husky and rough. “Terrible people do terrible things all the time.”

  Her eyes searched his face. “And you can live with that?”

  A retort was on the tip of his tongue. He was used to giving blithe answers, being a dick, but he couldn’t pretend she didn’t affect him.

  “I should say that it gets easier with time.” He turned away. “But it doesn’t. You just get really good at surviving.”

  “Is that what you want to do? Survive?”

  He shrugged. “At the end of the day, yeah.”

  “I want more.”

  “I used to say that, too.”

  Noah felt the unfamiliar bite of guilt. He’d become immune to it over the years, but she made him remember what it was like to be human. To believe in something.

  One of the phones in his pocket vibrated.

  He pulled it out and grimaced. His day job. Awesome. He’d known skipping lunch to meet with Hector was a bad idea.

  “I have to take this.” No part of him wanted to.

  “I should call Camie before it gets too late.” Lillian sighed and her shoulders slumped, the weariness showing through her professional mask.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Stark raving mad?”

  “Tell me more in a minute.” He flicked his finger across the answer button. “Hey.”

  “Where were you yesterday?” his boss said on the other end of the line.

  “Something came up. Anything important happen?”

  Noah glanced across the basement at Lillian. She’d perched on the pull-out sofa, her head in her hand and phone to her ear.

  She was just another woman. That was the lie he’d told himself after meeting her for the first time. But she wasn’t. Lillian Matthews had gotten under his skin. She made him remember what it was like to be human. To want something. He couldn’t let her die.

  …

  Saturday. Capital Building Parking Structure, Washington, D.C.

  Hector kept his eyes straight ahead. He didn’t look at the man in the back of the car or pretend he had any idea who the agent sitting next to him was. Those were the rules of this game.

  “Talk,” the man behind him said. The gravelly voice didn’t go that far in disguising who he was. Maybe these tricks worked on agents and operatives who didn’t spend much time in the office, but Hector knew who this man was.

  “Noah took the job,” Hector replied. “If he follows his standard operating procedure, something should happen in the next few days. If it doesn’t, we’ll know he’s part of this rogue group.”

  He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. If Noah didn’t come through, it could incriminate Hector. Just because he’d proven himself by turning on Irene and Mitch didn’t mean the powers that be would accept him into the SICA fold.

  “Also, I got a possible hit on Rand and Sarah.” Hector handed an envelope back. “If my source is right, there were complications with the birth. They visited a hospital to save both the mother and child. I suspect they won’t stay long, but they’re there now.”

  “Good. Any leads on if they were connected to the Hong Kong deal going south?”

  Hector grimaced. Ever since Rand had killed one of the Chinese agents in a rogue mission to save his now wife, things had been tense. SICA had been poised to profit, and would have, but the intel they’d delivered was corrupted and now the Chinese suspected that SICA had sought to play them from the beginning. “Those were her stomping grounds. It’s a good assumption.”

  “I’ll send a team. See what we find.”

  “Anything else?” Hector asked.

  “No. I’ll be in touch.”

  Hector got out of the car. He didn’t exactly scramble, but he was glad to be free of the confined space.

  He began walking toward the stairs and freedom.

  The car pulled off the solid yellow line and headed out of the garage.

  This was a ridiculous cat and mouse game. He was here, a part of this, because he wanted to protect himself, but he didn’t trust these people. The way he saw it, the CIA was overrun with these bastards and they were firmly into if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em territory. Irene, Mitch, and the others wanted to make a stand. For what? The CIA, that killed its own as soon as they became a problem? For a country that wanted to take away their rights? Fuck that. Hector had given decades of his life in a misguided sense of loyalty and service.

  From now on, the only person he was concerned about was himself.

  …

  Sunday. Munich, Germany.

  Irene Drummond stared at the blinking light, all those ones and zeros transmitting beautifully. If she moved, even the slightest, the signal would be gone and they’d have to find a different spot.

  Mitch loitered at the entrance to the alley, watching the pedestrians go by.

  The months since they’d parted with the team and fled to Europe had worn on Irene. She’d been at the CIA game for too many decades. By all rights she should be too old for this, but here they were. Playing spy one more time.

  “How much longer?” Mitch turned his head. In an attempt to hide his identity he’d grown a massive, busy beard that made him look like a homeless, blond Viking. Really, they couldn’t look more different.

  She didn’t respond.

  These things couldn’t be rushed.

  Mitch Fowler had never been a field operative. His work was done from behind a desk, but he was catching on fast. His patience, though, still left a lot to be desired.

  The light stopped blinking.

  “Got it.” She pocketed the device and strode to Mitch’s side.

  “It’s clear,” he said.

  She walked past him, merging with the foot traffic outside the hotel. Despite the darkness of night she didn’t remove her hat or sunglasses. By the time she reached the low-budget room they’d rented blocks away, she was sweating and ready to be done for the night. She hadn’t slept since before their unplanned trip to Berlin. They’d thought they were being tailed, that SICA might be following them or aware of the journalist they were looking into. So they’d run and no one had followed, a good sign.

  Irene took the interior stairs up to the room. She could hear Mitch’s argument in her head, that going into the flat first should be his job. But his shoulder was still healing from a tussle with one of their contacts’ bodyguards. Until that healed he’d have to let her take the lead.

  The hall was devoid of people. The other temporary tenants were likely out at this hour. She pulled her handgun from under her coat and unlocked the apartment door, swinging it open.

  Everything was just as they’d left it hours ago, down to Mitch’s half-eaten meal.

  Irene crept toward the coat closet. She swallowed down the pinprick of nerves and reached for the knob. This part never got routine. It was why she’d never pursued true fieldwork. Her nerves got the best of her.

  She jerked the closet door open and sidestepped, but the space was empty.

  Irene blew out a breath and proceeded to check over the rest of the small space without incident. All in all it was a nice, one-room loft apartment with a private bathroom. Better than some of the places they’d stayed.

  Satisfied there was no immediate danger, she opened the window. Below, Mitch scaled the fire escape, the metal vibrating under his weight.

  By all appearances, the drive to Berlin and back was for nothing. They hadn’t been accosted. No one had followed them. The apartment was undisturbed. And their mark was as unaware of them now as he had been before. These were all things that should make her breathe easier, but didn’t.

  She took an old MP3 player outfitted with a radio receiver out of her pocket and put one earbud in. She slowly scanned the channels until she found a decent amount of static and walked the room. If a listening device had been planted in here while they were away the radio waves would pick it up as a wicked-sounding squeal. Cheap man’s bug detector.

  Mitch had to bend in half
to slide through the small window. He was a big man, taking after his father in both height and the width of his shoulders.

  Irene’s skin prickled and she hated how aware of him she was. How each day her focus tipped from “what’s good for our country?” to “what’s good for Mitch?”

  They should have never gotten romantically involved. Between their job, the constant close confines, and the stress, she was falling for him. And that couldn’t be allowed.

  “We’re good.” Mitch deposited his bag on the floor and sat on the sofa. “Do you want to go over the stuff, or should I?”

  “You.” Irene handed him the transmitter.

  “Oh, so you’re answering me now, huh?” He grinned and despite the beard she knew how his face crinkled and his eyes lit up.

  She grit her teeth and headed toward the bathroom. It was the only barrier she could put between them.

  “You can’t keep not talking to me. I’m not going away. We have to at least put up with each other.”

  Irene stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Safe inside these four walls, she wrapped her arms around herself and bent over the sink.

  Her heart was too fragile to trust to another man, and there was too much on the line. Falling for Mitch was a landmine that would blow up in her face. She wanted to believe they’d fix this, they’d win the day, but it was far more likely SICA would find them and kill them.

  It would be easier if she’d never let him sweet-talk her into that hotel room over a year ago. She liked to think that without that moment of weakness, wanting a human connection, they would still be in their neat boxes labeled Mitch and Irene. Instead, the line between them was blurred and fading more every time she gave in to him.

  She splashed her face with cool water.

  “Hey?” Mitch tapped on the door. “There’s a message from your sister.”

  Her sister.

  Anna.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  She was why Irene was doing this. For the Annas of the world. The people who lived their cozy lives unaware of the horrors lurking in the shadows. What Irene wouldn’t give for a life like that. But then she wouldn’t have Mitch, and what kind of a life would that be?

  …

  Saturday. Washington, D.C.