Delta Force Defender
Carol Ericson
Her reluctant bodyguard. Fiery, independent Cam Sutton will go to any length to prove his Delta Force mentor isn’t a terrorist. But by-the-book CIA translator Martha Drake already knows the evidence is fishy. Soon the strong, capable soldier is her protector…and inciting a passion neither can deny.
A beautiful target.
Her reluctant bodyguard.
Fiery, independent Cam Sutton will go to any length to prove his Delta Force mentor isn’t a terrorist—even bully the CIA into giving him the damning emails. But by-the-book CIA translator Martha Drake already knows the evidence is fishy, and it’s somehow connected to the recent attempts on her life. Soon the strong, capable soldier is her protector...and inciting a passion neither can deny. But will Cam still want to be her teammate once the real traitors are brought to justice?
Red, White and Built: Pumped Up
CAROL ERICSON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com (http://www.carolericson.com), “where romance flirts with danger.”
Also by Carol Ericson (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
Locked, Loaded and SEALed
Alpha Bravo SEAL
Bullseye: SEAL
Point Blank SEAL
Secured by the SEAL
Bulletproof SEAL
Single Father Sheriff
Sudden Second Chance
Army Ranger Redemption
In the Arms of the Enemy
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Delta Force Defender
Carol Ericson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07947-1
DELTA FORCE DEFENDER
© 2018 Carol Ericson
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#u7d9a6dc0-9aaa-53d4-91a7-d6d0613a89c2)
Back Cover Text (#ud77e4826-3eab-5b7c-a1ee-0966cacef4f3)
About the Author (#u71802ce9-5010-5a11-8ed0-c8ff4d3d453b)
Booklist (#u8d5ed80c-60c2-54c0-be85-9e76df826b09)
Title Page (#uf031fc95-5521-5877-b8fc-6ae0e965d2b1)
Copyright (#uda2a31d9-c2ac-5f3a-8269-9bada66f7518)
Prologue (#u57bca583-38fd-5aa3-86c1-25440a8780ac)
Chapter One (#uc1ab1344-f68c-5425-806b-4eb2c1480321)
Chapter Two (#u20ce72c0-3bbe-570e-83ba-ef43d4fa98e6)
Chapter Three (#ubde98c73-45f0-5a3b-8b34-d062b9425ef3)
Chapter Four (#u6ecc21de-c8e3-5522-9788-1ad9e0164663)
Chapter Five (#u7581994c-62d3-584b-bae5-b316a56295c8)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
A bug scuttled across his face, but Major Rex Denver didn’t move one coiled, aching muscle. Twenty feet below him at the bottom of the hill, an army ranger team thrashed through the bushes, their voices loud and penetrating in the dead of the Afghan night.
Rex clenched his jaw as if willing the rangers to do the same. Didn’t they realize this mountainous area was crawling with the enemy?
His eye twitched. To those rangers, Major Rex Denver was the enemy.
He didn’t blame those boys for being out here searching for him. Hell, he’d be out here hunting down a traitor to his country, too.
He resettled his rifle and rested his finger on the trigger, not that he’d ever use it against any branch of the US Military. If the rangers found him, he’d go peacefully—but they’d never find him.
He’d started as a ranger himself, and after twenty years in Delta Force, leading his own team, he’d honed his skills at subterfuge and escape to perfection. They wouldn’t catch him, but he’d die before he allowed the enemy that roamed these hills to catch those rangers.
One of the rangers yelled out. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Rex rolled his eyes. If that soldier was on his team, the wrath of hell would come down on him for that behavior. Rex had to bring the hammer down on Cam Sutton, one of the younger Delta team members, more than a few times for reckless behavior.
Someone issued a whispered reprimand from out of the darkness.
The young soldier answered back. “I don’t care, sir, this is wrong. Major Denver’s no traitor.”
Rex believed he had the loyalty of most of the soldiers who knew his reputation, but the evidence against him was overwhelming. Why him? He and his Delta Force team must’ve stumbled on something big for someone to take them out of the picture. And he hoped to have a long time to figure it out.
A twig cracked to his right, and Rex’s gaze darted toward the sound. Something glinted in the thick foliage. He flipped his night-vision goggles over his eyes and picked out the man crouched in the shadows, his focus on the team of rangers below.
Adrenaline flooded his body, and his heart hammered in his chest. Were there more? He scanned the area beyond the stealthy intruder. If this interloper wasn’t solo, his companions weren’t within striking distance of the rangers...at least not yet and not before the rangers could respond with their own firepower.
If Rex took out the enemy, he couldn’t do it quietly. And once he made his position known, the rangers would swarm the mountainside and capture him.
He cranked his head around slowly, eyeing the steep drop-off behind him. He’d seen worse.
Rex popped up from his hiding place, and in the same motion he took the shot. It took just one. The enemy combatant pitched forward, his gun shooting impotently into the sky above him.
The rangers came to life as they fanned out and charged the hill.
Rex clutched his weapon to his chest, and rolled off the edge of the cliff into the dark unknown.
Chapter One (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
Martha’s head pounded, and her hand trembled as she clicked open her email. Holding her breath, she scrolled past all the new emails that had come in since she’d taken lunch.
When she came to the end of the batch, she let out that breath and slumped in her chair.
The most sinister email that had come through was a reminder to submit her time sheet. She picked up her coffee cup and had to set it down as the steaming liquid sloshed over the rim onto her unsteady hand.
“Hey, Martha. Did you have a good lunch?”
Martha twisted her head around and smiled at her coworker Farah. “Errands, you?”
“Hot lunch date with the mystery man.”
“I hope he’s not married like the previous one.”
“The previous one is still in the picture. A girl has to keep her options open.” Farah winked and pushed away from Martha’s cubicle almost bumping into Sebastian.
He held up his hand in an awkward wave. “Everything working okay with your computer after I dialed back that program to the previous version?”
“It’s back up to speed. Thanks, Sebastian.” Martha made a half turn in her chair back to her desktop, hoping he’d take the hint. They’d dated once or twice, but she wanted a relationship with some flying sparks for a change.
Sebastian took a step back, tapping the side of her cube. “Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Yeah, sparks.
Martha swung around to fully face her computer and jumped when another email came through. When would this fear go away? Those emails had started trickling into her inbox four months ago. She’d turned them over to the appropriate authorities and washed her hands of them—or tried to.
She chewed on her bottom lip. She hadn’t forgotten about those emails. How could she, when they’d resulted in a huge investigation of some hotshot Delta Force commander, who’d then gone AWOL? How could she, when ever since she’d clicked on those emails, someone had been spying on her, following her?
She glanced over her shoulder at her coworkers in the CIA’s translation department. Why had she been chosen for the honor of receiving those anonymous emails accusing Major Rex Denver of treason and colluding with the enemy?
What would’ve happened if she’d deleted those emails and never told a soul? Would she be the nervous wreck she was today?
She tapped her fingernail against her coffee cup. She couldn’t have ignored those emails any more than she could jump up on her desk right now and scream in the middle of a CIA office that she had a bomb under her desk.
Maybe if she’d gotten rid of the emails like she was supposed to do, the people who’d sent them would leave her alone. But why would that matter? The senders had gotten their desired response. She reported the emails, which prompted the investigation of Denver, which then led to the discovery of his traitorous activities. The man had gone rogue. How much more guilty could you get?
But some gut instinct had compelled her to hang on to the emails. When she first received them, she’d copied them to a flash drive, which she wasn’t even supposed to insert in her computer, and taken them home. She’d told everyone, including her slimy boss, Gage, that she’d deleted them. Then the IT department had come in and wiped her deleted items off the face of the earth.
She had her own suspicions about how those messages had gotten through to her email address at the Agency. It had the fingerprints of Dreadworm, a hacking group, all over it, but not even Dreadworm had claimed responsibility for forwarding those emails.
Martha had wanted to take a more careful look at the messages because of the phrasing. She spoke several languages, and she’d told Gage that the emails sounded like a foreigner had composed them.
He’d brushed her off like he always did, but she’d gotten her revenge by keeping those emails for herself.
Now she had someone stalking her.
Sighing, Martha straightened in her chair and shoved in her earbuds. She double-clicked on the file she’d been working on before lunch and began typing in the English words for the Russian ones that poured into her ears from one of the radio broadcasts the CIA monitored and recorded. After about an hour of translating, Martha plucked out the earbuds and stretched her arms over her head.
She swirled the coffee in the bottom of her cup and made a face. Then she slid open a desk drawer and grabbed a plastic bag with a toothbrush and toothpaste.
When she returned to her desk ten minutes later with a minty taste in her mouth and a bottle of water, she plopped in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ears, ready to tackle the remainder of the afternoon.
She glanced at the bottom of her computer screen, noticing a little yellow envelope on her email icon, indicating a new message. She double-clicked on it and froze. Her blood pounded in her ears as she stared at the skull and crossbones grinning at her from the computer screen, its teeth chattering.
Hunching forward, she resized the window and scrolled from the top to the bottom of it. No text accompanied the image. She scrutinized the unfamiliar email from a fake email account at the top of the window.
She glanced over her shoulder, and in a split second she forwarded the email to her home address. She deleted it and then wiped it clean from her deleted items. She knew it still existed somewhere in cyberspace, but not unless someone was looking for it. And why would anybody be checking her emails? She’d been the good little soldier she always was and turned over the others. The people up the chain of command had no reason to suspect her, and Gage thought she was a lifeless drone, so she didn’t need to worry about him.
If Gage cornered her right now and asked her why she didn’t tell anyone about the skull and crossbones, she wouldn’t have an answer for him. Maybe because she’d been dismissed so thoroughly after turning over the first batch. Not that this message had anything to do with the others—did it?
Of course it did. The same people had just sent her a warning, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything about those emails or what they meant—but she was determined to find out.
The rest of the afternoon passed by from one jumpy incident to the next. Her scattered focus had been worthless in her attempts to translate the recorded broadcast.
Fifteen minutes away from quitting time, Farah hung on the corner of Martha’s cubicle, her dark eyes shining. “I’m meeting my guy for a drink after work tonight. Do you want to come along?”
Martha crossed her arms. “And be a third wheel? No, thanks.”
“He might have a friend.” Farah made her voice go all singsongy on the last word as if to heighten the temptation.
“That’s even worse than being a tagalong. A blind date?”
“Oh my God, Martha. Get used to it. It’s the way of the world now.”
“Seems to me all online dating has gotten you is a couple of sneaky married men.”
Farah pouted. “It’s fun. Not every date has to be a lifetime commitment.”
“Go then and have fun for me.” Martha waved her hand.
Not that she’d have accepted Farah’s invitation under any circumstances, but after the day Martha had just had, she’d rather be home with a good book—and those emails.
She wrapped up her work and logged out of the computer, removing her access card and slipping it into her badge holder.
Waving to the security guard at the front desk, Martha pushed out the front doors and snuggled into her jacket. Winter in DC could be mild, but this November weather was already putting a chill in her bones.
She caught the next plain-wrap CIA van that shuttled employees from Langley to Rosslyn. When the van finally lurched to a stop, Martha stashed her book in her bag, rubbed her eyes and readjusted her glasses. She stepped out of the van and into the cold night, making her way to the Metro stop on the corner.
Descending into the bowels of the city with the rest of the worker bees, she welcomed the warmth from the pressing crowd as she turned the corner for her train. She jostled for position among the crush of people, gritting her teeth against the screech of the train’s wheels slowing its progress.
As the lights approached from the tunnel, a man crowded her from behind. Martha tried to take a step back, but found herself pitching forward instead as someone’s elbow drove into her back.
The train screeched once more, and Martha felt herself teetering on the edge of the platform. She thrust her arms in front of her as if to break a fall...but the only thing breaking this fall was that train barreling toward her.
Chapter Two (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
Cam curled his arm around the waist of the woman floundering on the precipice of the platform and pulled her back against his chest. He jerked his head to the side, but the man who had been crowding Martha Drake from behind had wormed his way through the crowd, the black beanie on his head lost in a sea of commuters.
Martha’s back stiffened and she tried to turn in his arms, but he tightened his hold on her until the train came to a stop in front of them.
The doors whisked open, and Cam nudged her forward, whispering in her ear. “Go on.”
She squeezed into the train with a mass of other people, grabbed a pole and spun around, her eyebrows snapping over her nose. “Take your hand off me.”
Cam’s jaw dropped open and a rush of heat claimed his chest. He’d just saved the woman’s life, and this was the thanks he got?
He wrapped his fingers around the pole above her hand and twisted his lips. “You’re welcome.”
“I—I...” She shoved some wispy brown bangs out of her eyes, which blinked at him from behind a pair of glasses. “Yes, you’re the one who pulled me back. Thank you. But...”
Lifting his eyebrows, he asked, “Yes?”
“How do I know you’re not the one who was crowding me from behind in the first place?”
“I wasn’t. That guy took off.”
Martha’s eyes, a lighter brown than her hair, widened and her Adam’s apple bobbed in her delicate throat.
His statement had scared but not surprised her, and he dipped his head to study her face for his next question. “Any reason for somebody to push you into the path of an oncoming train?”
“No.” She pressed her lips together. “It was crowded. Everyone was moving forward. I don’t think that was an intentional push.”
“It’s always crowded. Commuters don’t generally fall onto the tracks.”
She shifted away from him, and the odor from the sweaty guy behind him immediately replaced the fresh scent that had clung to Martha, which had been the only thing making this tight squeeze bearable.
“Well, thank you.” She tilted her chin up, along with her nose, and dismissed him.
Looked like she’d perfected the art of dismissing obnoxious men, but Cam had a date with Miss Prissy-pants here, even if she didn’t know it.
He left her in peace for the remainder of the ride, although her sidelong glances at him didn’t go unnoticed, and the knuckles of her hand gripping the pole had turned a decided shade of white. He’d planted a seed of suspicion in fertile ground.
When the train jerked to a stop, forward and then backward, Martha peeled her hand from the pole, hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and scooted out of the car, with a brief nod in Cam’s direction.
He exited the train and followed Martha up the stairs and out into the night air, its frigidity no match for Ms. Drake’s.
Three blocks down from the station, she stopped in front of a crowded Georgetown bar, clutching her bag to her chest, and turned to face him.
He sauntered toward her, then wedged his shoulder against the corner of the building, crossing his arms.
“Why are you following me? I’m going to call the police.” She waved her cell phone at him.
“We need to talk, Martha Drake.”
She choked and pressed the phone to her heart. “Who are you? Are you the one who sent the skull and crossbones?”
Skull and crossbones? That was a new one. He filed it away for future reference.
He shrugged off the wall and straightened his spine. “I’m Sergeant Cam Sutton, US Army Delta Force, and you discovered some bogus emails that compromised my team leader, Major Rex Denver.”
Martha’s expressive face went through several gyrations, and then she settled on suspicion, which seemed to be one of her favorites. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
He pulled his wallet from his pocket and slipped out his military ID. He held it out to her between two fingers.
She wasted no time snatching it from him and holding it close to her face, peering at it through her glasses. After perusing it for at least a minute, she handed it back to him. “Bogus emails?”
“Major Denver never did any of those things in those emails—” he jabbed the corner of his ID card in the general direction of her nose “—and if you hadn’t turned them over to the Agency, Denver wouldn’t be in the trouble he is now.”
“If I hadn’t...” She stamped one booted foot. “What did you expect me to do with them?”
“We can’t keep talking out here. Let’s go inside.” He jerked his thumb toward the bar.
Her gaze bounced to the large picture window of the bar over his shoulder and back to his face. The crowd inside must’ve reassured her because she dipped her head once.
Cam circled around Martha and opened the door, holding it wide for her to pass through. As she did, he got another whiff of her fresh scent, which seemed to cling to her.
DC office workers, unwinding at the end of the workweek, packed every inch of the horseshoe bar. They seemed more interested in socializing and watching the football game on the TVs over the bar than quiet conversation, leaving a few open tables toward the back of the room, near the restrooms.
Cam placed his hand on the small of Martha’s back and steered her toward one of those tables. She’d twitched under his touch but didn’t shrug him off. He’d take that as a good sign.
When he pulled out her chair, her eyes beneath her arched eyebrows jumped to his face, and she mumbled, “Thank you.”
After he took his own seat across from her, he folded his arms and hunched over the table. “Why weren’t you surprised that somebody tried to push you onto the subway tracks?”
Her nostrils flared, and then she pursed her lips. “I told you. I thought it was an accident. I still think so.”
“Really?” He reached across the table so quickly she didn’t have time to pull back, and smoothed his thumb over the single line between her eyebrows. “Then why are you jumpier than a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”
Martha’s mouth hung open, and Cam didn’t know if it was because he’d presumed to touch her petal-soft skin, or because he’d laid on a thick Southern accent. That slack jaw made most people look stupid, but Martha couldn’t look stupid if she tried. It made her look—adorable.
“Cat?” Her soft voice trailed off.
“You know—long tails, rocking chairs going back and forth.” He hit the table with his flat hand, and she jumped. “Nervous, jittery. Don’t deny it.”
A cocktail waitress dipped next to their table and tossed a couple of napkins in front of them. “What can I get you?”
Cam plucked a plastic drink menu from a holder at the side of the table and tapped a picture of one of the featured bottles of beer. “I’ll have a bottle of this.”
“I can’t just point at a picture.” Martha snatched the menu from his hand and flipped it over, studied it for what seemed like ten minutes and then asked about twenty questions about the chardonnays. When she finally tucked the menu back in its holder, she said, “I’ll have a glass of the house chardonnay.”
When the waitress dived back into the crowd, Cam drummed his fingers on the table. He needed to start at the beginning with Martha. She clearly liked to take things in order.
He took a deep breath and started again. “Can you tell me about those emails? Where they came from? What they said, exactly, or close to it?”
“I should report you.” She flicked her fingers at him. “What are you doing in DC? Why aren’t you on duty?”
Cam narrowed his eyes. She didn’t want to report him. Her voice had quavered, and she’d broken eye contact with him. If she’d turned those emails over so quickly, there shouldn’t be anything stopping her from turning him over—but she didn’t want to go there.
“I’m on leave. I’m not here on any official business, just my own.” He crumpled the cocktail napkin in his fist. “Look, I know Major Rex Denver, and I know he’s innocent of these charges.”
“He went AWOL.” She sniffed. “Running indicates guilt.”
“Not always.” He smoothed out the napkin and traced the creases with the tip of his finger. “Not if you think there’s a conspiracy against you and you’re going to be railroaded.”
“A conspiracy?” Her eyes widened and seemed to sparkle in the low light from the candle on the table.
“Here you go.” The waitress set down their drinks and spun away before Cam could tell her to close out the tab and that he didn’t need a mug.
He watched Martha over the bottle, as he tipped the beer down his throat. Maybe this night would be longer than he expected.
“We think someone is framing Denver, and it started with those emails.”
“We?”
“The Delta Force team that Major Denver commanded. We were all—” he put down the bottle harder than he’d planned “—dragged in for interrogation. Do you know what that’s like? You’re doing your job, doing the right thing, and bam. They’re lookin’ at you like you’re vermin.”
She nodded and took a big gulp from her wineglass. “I do know what that’s like. I turned over those emails and all of a sudden, I’m suspect. They’re checking out my communications, my files.”
Cam’s pulse ticked faster. That’s why Martha was none too anxious to report him. They’d grilled her, too.
“Exactly.” He touched the neck of his bottle to her glass and the pale liquid within shimmered and reflected in Martha’s eyes. Whiskey. Her eyes were the color of whiskey. And right now he was a little drunk just looking into them.
Cam cleared his throat and rubbed his chin. “I don’t trust them, any of them. All I know is Denver is not guilty of those crimes, and I’m gonna prove it.”
Martha took another sip of wine from her half-empty glass, her cheeks flushed like a rose stain on porcelain. “I’ll start at the beginning with the emails.”
“Did the CIA determine where they came from?” He scooted forward in his seat.
“I didn’t get all the details because why would they tell me anything? I’m just the one who discovered them and turned them over.” She cupped her glass in her two hands and rolled it between her palms. “They were looking at Dreadworm though, you know that hacking group?”
He nodded, not wanting to interrupt her flow. This stuff had been bothering her for a while, and he just became her receptacle—a very willing one.
“But I don’t know if they ever determined how my email inbox became the target, or at least they never told me. Dreadworm was just the messenger, anyway. The conduit for the message, if you will—and that message was that Major Rex Denver had been working with a terrorist group plotting against the United States.”
Cam slammed his fist on the table, the tips of his ears burning.
Martha held up her index finger. “But I noticed something strange about those emails.”
“Yeah, they were filled with lies.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but it didn’t seem as if the person who composed the emails was a native English speaker.”
Cam blinked his eyes and took another swig of beer. “Go on.”
“If it were a foreign entity who sent those messages, why? Why would they care to warn US Intelligence about an American serviceman?”
“Our allies would care.”
“Why wouldn’t our allies just use regular channels to communicate with our military or even the CIA? But an unfriendly entity might have every reason to plant those stories about Denver.”
“You’ve been thinking about this.”
“It’s more than just the emails.” Martha waved her hand at the passing waitress. “Another round, please.”
Cam cocked his head and took in Martha’s empty wineglass and flushed cheeks. She’d downed that pretty fast. Although even in low heels she stood taller than most men, she was as slim as a reed, and the booze seemed to have loosened her tongue and her attitude toward him. He’d take it.
“More than emails?” He wrapped both hands around his bottle.
She looked both ways in the crowded bar and hunched forward, wedging her chin in the palm of her hand. “I’m being followed.”
“The guy on the subway platform.”
“I don’t know.” She drew back from him...and her earlier pronouncement, and tucked a lock of silky hair behind her ear. “Nobody has ever made physical contact with me before. That push could’ve killed me.”
The fear in her whiskey eyes plunged a knife in his gut. “Maybe it was just a warning, maybe a coincidence after all.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“How do you know you’re being followed?”
“I can feel it, sense it.”
He rolled his shoulders and thanked the waitress as she brought them their drinks. Maybe Martha was just paranoid. She’d been dwelling on those emails, and he didn’t blame her. They’d started a firestorm.
“And then there’s the skull and crossbones.”
He coughed and his beer fizzed in his nose. “You mentioned that before. Someone put a skull and crossbones on the emails?”
“Not the original messages. Someone sent me an email, just this afternoon, with one of those animated gifs of a skull and crossbones—blinking eyes and chattering teeth.” She took a gulp from her new wineglass, and Cam placed his hand over her icy cold one.
“Why is someone sending you threats? You obviously took the intended and hoped-for action. You turned over the emails and got Denver in a heap of trouble. Why the harassment?”
“I—I do have an idea.”
“I’m all ears.” He curled his fingers around her hand in encouragement. Why would anyone threaten Martha Drake, a by-the-book CIA translator worker bee who’d reacted exactly as the sender thought she would?
“It might be because I copied all of the emails from my work computer to a flash drive, and now I have them at home.”
Chapter Three (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
Cam Sutton’s warm hand tightened around her fingers for a second. “Whoa. I bet the emailer wasn’t expecting you to do that. Why did you do that?”
How could she explain it? She’d never done anything against the rules in her life. “I don’t know exactly. There was something about those emails that didn’t sit right with me.”
“You said before that they might’ve been written by a foreigner.” Cam tapped his temple. “You’re a smart woman.”
“I think it was the sentence structure and the word choice. Too formal or... I don’t know what.” She squared her shoulders and slipped her hand from Cam’s. “When I first reported the emails, I tried to tell my supervisor about my suspicions, but he brushed me off.”
“I take it nobody at the CIA knows what you did with those emails?”
“N-no.” She pulled her bottom teeth between her lips and traced the stem of her wineglass. Farah didn’t count, did she?
“You seem unsure. Did you tell anyone you forwarded the messages to yourself at home?”
“I didn’t tell anyone anything.”
“If someone’s been following you and sending you poison-pen emails, somebody knows. Otherwise, they would’ve left you alone after verifying you’d turned over the messages.”
“I don’t see how someone could know I have the emails.”
He hunched forward, and his energy came off him in waves and engulfed her, sweeping her up in his world. “You seemed hesitant before. Do you think your supervisor might suspect you?”
She snorted and took another swig of wine. “No way. If he did, he would’ve just reported me to security and gotten me fired...or worse. He wouldn’t be hiring people to shove me onto the train tracks.”
“You’ve got a point.” He rubbed his hands together. “It has to be the party who sent the emails, the people who wanted to bring down Denver.”
Her gaze dropped to his fingers drumming on the tabletop. “You’re glad someone’s after me.”
“Wait. What?” He smacked his chest with the palm of his hand. “That’s dumb. I don’t want to see anyone hurt over this.”
“No, but you tracked me down because I’m the one who initiated the fall of Major Denver, and you probably expected some CIA drone that you could bully and instead you’ve discovered a chink in the story, a new twist you weren’t expecting.”
He cocked his head, and a lock of hair curled over his temple. He shoved it out of the way like a man accustomed to a military cut and whistled. “Are you sure you’re just a translator and not an analyst?”
“Just a translator? I know four languages in addition to English.” She ticked off her fingers. “Russian, German, French and Spanish.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “You also have a big chip on your shoulder.”
“I do not.” She crossed her arms, covering her shoulders with her hands. “I’m just sick of being underestimated.”
“Clearly.” He leveled a finger at her. “And that’s why you stole those emails.”
“Are you sure you’re just a Delta Force grunt and not military intelligence?” She held her breath.
He opened his mouth, snapped it shut and hit the table with his fist. Then he laughed, and what a laugh he had. A few heads turned at the loud guffaw.
“Shush.” She kicked his foot under the table.
“Did those spies pick the wrong CIA drone to mess with or what?” He shook his head. “Why do you think they targeted you?”
“Honestly? I think they picked me because I have a reputation for following the rules. Everyone at work knows that.”
“That’s kinda scary.”
“What? Following rules? You’re in the military. You must do a lot of that.”
“Not the rule-following, but the fact that the people who sent the emails knew that about you.” He rubbed his knuckles across the sandy-blond stubble on his chin. “Inside job? Some kind of bug?”
“A few minutes ago you called them spies. Do you think this is some foreign entity or worse, a foreign country?”
“I don’t know.” He tapped her wineglass. “Are you done? I want to see those emails.”
“You mean, at my place?” Her heart fluttered. It was one thing talking to this hunky military guy in public, but bring him back to her town house?
“You still don’t trust me?” He slumped in his seat and finished off his beer. “What can I do to remedy that?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you...exactly. I’m just not comfortable bringing strangers to my place.”
He rattled off her address and winked. “I already know where you live, Martha.”
“This is all really creepy. How long have you been following me around DC? Maybe my feeling of being tailed was coming from you.”
“I swear, I just started following you from the Langley bus stop today.”
“How do you even know about the Langley bus stop?”
“I have friends in high places.”
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously not if you’re dogging a lowly translator.”
“I mean it.” He grabbed her hands. “I want to see those emails. I know Denver. I’d be able to detect any falsehoods in those messages. I mean it’s all false, but I might be able to see something in the emails, some clue.”
An edge of desperation had entered his voice, and the easygoing frat boy had morphed into this earnest man with the serious blue eyes, desperate to clear his commanding officer’s name.
Despite herself, she felt a twinge of pity and then steeled herself against the emotion. Her father had always employed the same tone when trying to wheedle compassion from her.
She blinked as Cam tugged on a lock of her hair. “C’mon, Martha. I saved you from an oncoming train. If you don’t want me in your personal space, you can bring your computer out to someplace neutral, if you have a laptop.”
She inhaled the fresh, outdoorsy scent coming off him and counted the freckles on his nose. Cam already was in her personal space, and she didn’t mind one bit.
“All right. I’ll take you back to my town house.”
Cam waved at the waitress for the bill, and as soon as she plucked it from her apron, he snatched it from her fingers. “I’ll get this.”
Martha didn’t even hesitate as she pulled a five and a ten from her wallet and flicked them onto the table. “That’s too much like paying for information. I’ll get my own wine.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cam raising his eyebrows at her, but she ignored him and stashed her wallet back in her purse. “Is it all there?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tucked his bills and hers beneath the candle on the table, along with the check. “Walking distance?”
“You know my address.” She folded her arms, regretting her decision already.
“I know your address, not the area, but I figured you were close if you got off at the Metro stop.” He pushed back from his chair and stepped to the side to let her go first.
As she shuffled past him, she noted his height again. At five foot ten, she hit eye level with most men, but her nose practically brushed the chin of this one.
When they reached the sidewalk, Cam hunched into his jacket and flipped up the collar against the wind. “It’s not gonna snow, is it?”
“I hope not.” She peered at the light gray sky and pulled on her gloves. “That would be pretty unusual for November.”
They walked along the busy Georgetown sidewalk, occasionally bumping shoulders, which oddly reassured her, although she couldn’t figure out why. Cam had the type of solid build that screamed strength and fitness. Physically, he could have his way with anyone, even a tall woman like her.
She hunched her shoulders and stuffed an errant strand of hair back under her hat. Dream on, Martha. Cam was the type of guy who’d wheedled homework assignments out of her. Just like in college, she had something he wanted—just not her body.
She stopped in front of the town house she owned but shared with a roommate, and grabbed the iron handrail. “I’m right here.”
“Door right onto the street.”
“Yeah? So what?” She fished her key from the side pocket of her purse, and for the first time in a while hoped her roommate, Casey, was on the other side of that door.
“Not that safe.”
“If you haven’t noticed, this is a nice area.”
He looked up and down the street. “Lots of foot traffic though.”
She looked up from turning the key in the lock. “I’m a very careful person.”
“And yet, here I am.”
She opened the door and blocked it with her body. “Are you telling me not to trust you? Because I can change my mind right here and now.”
Casey yelled from the inside. “Close the door. You’re letting in the cold air.”
“My roommate. Protection.” Martha jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
“Good thinking.” He rubbed his gloved hands together. “Now can we go in? It is cold out here.”
Martha pushed into the room, and Cam followed on her heels.
“I was just on my way...” Casey tripped to a stop in her high heels when she swung around and almost collided with Cam. “Well, hello there.”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Casey, Cam. Cam, Casey, my roommate.”
Casey stuck out her hand and wiggled her fingers, her long painted nails catching the light and glinting like she was casting a spell. “Nice to meet you. You’re the first guy Martha’s ever brought home.”
The heat washed up Martha’s face, and she ground her teeth together. “It’s not like that. He’s not a guy.”
Casey fluttered her long—fake—eyelashes as she gave Cam the once-over. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“I think what Martha means—” he hooked his arm around Martha’s neck in a total buddy move and pulled her close “—is we’re just friends.”
“Of course you are.” Casey turned toward the kitchen, giving Cam a view of her derriere in her tight dress. “Do you want a beer?”
“I thought you were going out?” Martha ducked out of Cam’s hold and shed her coat.
“Just showing a little hospitality.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s my guest. I can get him a beer if he wants one.”
“I’m good.” Cam held out one hand as if refereeing an MMA fight. “We don’t want to hold you up, Casey. Nice meeting you.”
Her roommate’s pretty face fell, and Martha couldn’t help the little spark of satisfaction that flared in her belly. “Have fun, Casey.”
“Nice meeting you, Cam.” She swept up her coat from the back of a chair. “Hope to see you again sometime.”
The door slammed behind Casey in a gust of perfume and hairspray.
Cam cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not a good friend, I take it?”
“Not a friend at all, and she’s a horrible roommate—messy, noisy, brings guys back here all the time.”
“And you mean guys.”
“Yeah. She’s a real pain.”
“Move.”
“It’s my place.”
Cam’s gaze flicked around the town house, still sporting the expensive furnishings Mom had favored and she couldn’t afford to replace. “Government’s paying some solid wages.”
“Anyway, I can’t just move.” She had no intention of getting into her personal finances—or her notorious background—with Cam.
“Kick her out.”
“She signed a lease.”
“How long?”
“Four more months. I think she’s gearing up to move out anyway.”
“I’m sure you’re counting the days.” He clapped his hands once and she jumped. “The emails?”
“Do you want a beer? Or something else?”
“Just some water.” He tipped his head at the door. “She doesn’t know about the messages, does she?”
“Casey?” Martha snorted. “No. She wouldn’t care, anyway. She’s in DC to sleep around and maybe snag a book deal, and she has a good start on both.”
“Who knew the capital was such a cesspool.”
“I hope you’re kidding.” She strode into the kitchen and reached for a glass. As ice dispensed from the fridge, Cam joined her in the kitchen, making the space feel claustrophobic.
“I am kidding, and I’m convinced someone, somewhere in this cesspool has it out for Major Denver.” He took the glass from her hand, his fingers brushing hers and giving her a jolt.
Leaning her hip against the kitchen counter, she tucked the hand behind her back. “Why would they have it out for him? Why frame him? By all accounts, he’s a good soldier.”
“The best and maybe that’s why.” He gulped down the water. “Maybe he stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have.”
“Again, that could point to a foreign entity.”
“I agree, especially after what you told me about the emails, which are...”
“On my laptop.” She brushed past him. “In my bedroom”
Leaving him in the kitchen, she jogged upstairs and pulled the door closed on Casey’s messy room. She ducked into her own room, swept her laptop from the desk and tucked it under her arm. By the time she got downstairs, Cam had settled on the sofa in the living room, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
She sat next to him and opened her computer. “I put them in a folder on my hard drive.”
“Where’s the flash drive? You copied them to a flash drive when you stole them, right?”
She tapped the keyboard harder than she intended. “I didn’t steal them. They were addressed to me.”
“Addressed to your CIA address, but I’m not judging. Hey, I’m glad you did steal...take them, but where’s the original flash drive?”
“It’s in a safe in the office.”
Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Cam asked, “This place has an office, too?”
“Yes.” She zipped her lip and double-clicked on the folder holding the emails. “Is that secure enough for you?”
“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to have the messages in two places. You’re doubling the opportunity for someone to take them.”
“Why would anyone else want them? The CIA already has them.” She pointed to her screen. “This is the first of the three emails I received.”
Cam moved in closer and his warm breath bathed her cheek as he read the email aloud, slowly. “‘Look at Major Rex Denver, Army Delta Force, and track his actions and communications. You will understand his behavior as treason. He has many contacts in region.’”
“Sounds stilted, doesn’t it?”
“Wow.” Cam slumped back and kicked one foot on top of her coffee table. “That’s enough to raise suspicion and get you investigated? Good thing nobody ever sent the CIA information about my activities.”
“There are two more emails with more details.” Her hand hovered over the keyboard. “Your activities?”
“Not treasonous. I’m just saying stuff happens in the field, and it’s better for everyone if it stays in the field.” His hand dropped to her head, and he messed up her hair with his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’m not doing anything to compromise national security—and neither was Major Denver.”
She jerked away from him with a scowl, smoothing her wavy hair back into place. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry. I have a younger sister, and I’m accustomed to teasing her.” He tapped the keyboard. “Next email.”
She huffed out a breath as she opened the second email. Great. The hottest guy she’d run into in months thought of her as a little sister. Typical.
Tipping the display toward him, she drew back and watched his profile as he digested the next message, his lips moving silently as he read it, his finger following the words. He must’ve read it a few times, as it took him a while to peel his eyes from the display. When he did, his jaw hardened and his eye twitched.
For all his carefree, easygoing ways, Cam really did care about Denver, and a strong desire to help him clear his commanding officer washed over her. She hated seeing anyone unfairly accused, and she’d had a feeling about these bogus emails ever since they landed in her inbox.
“Worse, huh?” She reached across him and opened the final email.
Cam took his time reading this one, as well, and when he finished, he punched the pillow next to him. “This is such garbage. All the CIA had to do was ask anyone who’s ever served with the major. Even now nobody in the field believes Denver was conspiring with terrorists.”
“Why’d he take off? Why didn’t he just face the music and prove his innocence?”
“It’s not supposed to work that way, is it? As a suspect, you don’t have to prove anything. It’s up to the prosecution to come up with the evidence to convict you. I’m guessing Denver recognized a setup when he saw one and figured the fix was in. There’s no fighting against that when evidence is fabricated.”
“He should’ve trusted the system.” She jutted her chin.
“Really?” He bumped her knee with his own. “Like you did? C’mon, even someone like you knows there are times when the system breaks down and you have to take matters into your own hands.”
“Even someone like me.” She drummed her fingers on the edge of the laptop.
He cleared his throat. “You know, someone who likes to follow the rules...which is usually a good idea. I’m not knocking it.”
“No offense taken. I have my reasons.” She shoved the computer from her lap to the coffee table. “I’m just wondering how someone knew to target me.”
“The CIA must’ve investigated the source of the emails. Let me guess. Fake IP address?”
“Yes, which they wrote off as coming from Dreadworm.”
“So the sender got a bunch of CIA email addresses from Dreadworm, picked one at random and sent out these lies about Denver? I don’t believe that for a minute, do you?”
“No, I think I was specifically targeted, but I don’t know why I’m being harassed now. I did what the sender expected and wanted me to do.” She shoved at her laptop with the toe of her boot.
“Because somehow they know you still have the emails, and they don’t like that.” He sat forward and dragged the computer to the edge of the coffee table. “You’re not quite the good little soldier they anticipated.”
“Serves them right.” She grabbed Cam’s water glass. “Do you want more water or something else?”
He held up one finger. “Does this LED light on your laptop monitor blink like this all the time?”
She squinted at the blue light at the tip of his finger. “I don’t know. I guess so. Doesn’t that just mean it’s on?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He pulled the computer onto his legs and started clicking around.
“What are you doing?” She wrapped her hands around the glass. “Are you some kind of computer whiz, too?”
“No, but...” He dragged an icon from a system folder onto her desktop and turned toward her, his face tight. “This is a Trojan, and someone’s watching you...us, right now through your computer’s camera.”
Chapter Four (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
Martha swallowed. Her gaze darted from Cam’s blue eyes to the blue eye on her laptop. She snapped shut the computer. “How do you know that?”
“Shutting it solves the problem right this second, but that Trojan’s gonna have to be removed from your computer as soon as possible. It’s not just computer keystrokes and actions. The person on the other side can see you as long as your laptop is open and powered on.”
“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. “I wonder how long this has been going on.”
“A tech can probably tell you that by looking at the program. It’ll have a date on it.”
“But how did you know? How did you know where to look?” The veil of her preconceived notions about Cam Sutton lifted—and she liked what she saw even more. Brawn and brains.
“About a year ago, my sister was being stalked.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It became apparent that her stalker was watching her in her private moments. One of her friends, a real computer geek, came over to inspect her computer. First she watched for the blinking LED, and then she did a search for a common Trojan used to infect the computer and allowing an outside source to gain control of it. I looked for and found that same virus on your laptop.”
Martha’s mind raced and reeled over the times she’d had her laptop open in her bedroom, not bothering to shut it down. She hugged herself, digging her fingers into her upper arms. “Get it off. Can you get it off?”
“I can delete it. Hell, you can delete it, but I don’t know if that removes it from everywhere. It’s probably best if you take the laptop in or call someone to do it.” Cam tapped his chin with his index finger. “I wonder if they could hear us, too.”
“At least we were spared that. The microphone on my laptop doesn’t work. No sound in. No sound out.”
“That’s an unexpected bonus.” He hunched forward, digging his elbows into his knees. “Whoever was watching you saw me, but at least that person won’t know who I am and how I’m connected to Denver.”
She handed him the glass and pushed at his solid shoulder. “Put that in the sink or get yourself more. I’m going to open this up and delete that program. Then I’ll take my computer in and get the virus removed from everywhere else.”
Glass in hand, Cam pushed up from the sofa while Martha flipped open the laptop, keeping her thumb over the camera lens. She gasped and nearly drove her finger through her computer as a parade of skulls and crossbones marched across her display, the word busted floating between the grinning teeth.
Cam clinked the glass on the countertop. “What’s wrong?”
“Come and look at this. He knows I...you discovered the commandeered camera. He’s admitting he’s busted.”
“Son of a gun.” Cam hovered over her shoulder. “Cheeky bastard.”
“I wish I could just communicate with him and ask him what he wants. Oh.” Martha put her fingers to her lips as her email icon blinked, indicating a new message. “Maybe I can.”
“If you open that email, don’t click on any links. That’s how your computer gets infected. He might be trying to load something even more insidious on your laptop.”
“More insidious than a program to take over my camera to spy on me? That would be hard.”
“Hold on.” He backtracked to the kitchen. “Do you have any masking tape in here?”
“Post-its in the drawer to the right of the dishwasher.”
He returned with two pink Post-it notes stuck to his fingertips. He slid a finger beneath the pad of her thumb, covering the eye of the camera with one Post-it and stuck the other on the edge of the first one to hold it in place.
“Go for it.”
She opened the email and licked her dry lips.
“‘Do you want to...play?’” Cam read the message out loud, which took off its sinister edge and made it sound almost sexy.
Of course, Cam could make anything sound, or look, sexy.
Dragging in a breath, she put her fingers on the keys.
“Wait.” He cinched her wrist with his fingers. “What are you going to write back?”
“I’m going to write ‘Hell, yes.’ What do you think?”
“Shouldn’t you ask him what he means? Ask him what he wants? That’s what he’d expect out of you. If you agree too quickly, he’s going to wonder if he picked the right person for the job.”
His thumb pressed against her pulse. Could he feel it throbbing with excitement? She couldn’t tell if the buzz claiming her body was coming from the email or Cam’s warm touch. Did it matter? The two had mingled in her scattered brain.
Rotating her wrist out of his grasp, she said, “You’re right. I’ll take it slowly.”
She voiced the words as she replied to the email. “‘Play what? What do you want? Who are you?’”
She clicked Send and held her breath.
Her heart stuttered when the quick reply came through. She clicked on the email and read it aloud to Cam. “‘I’m a patriot.’”
Cam snorted and she continued. “‘I’m a patriot. That’s all you need to know. You did the right thing. Leave it alone, or you might not like the game.’”
She whipped her head around to face Cam. “He’s threatening me.”
This time her hands trembled as she held them poised over the keyboard.
Lacing his fingers through hers, Cam pulled her hand away from the computer. “Ask this patriot why he’s so nervous if the information he revealed in the emails about Major Denver is true.”
“Shouldn’t I ask him about his threats? If he’s the one who pushed me at the Metro?” She untwined her fingers from his.
“He’s not going to give you a direct answer or admit that he tried to harm you, but I’m interested to see his lies about why he wants you to stop digging.”
“I haven’t even started digging.” She puffed at a strand of hair that had floated across her face, and Cam caught it and tucked it behind her ear.
“He knows you saved the emails and shared them with me.” He flicked his finger at the Post-its. “And he knows you’re on to him.”
“If you say so.” As long as he kept finding excuses to touch her, she’d do just about anything he asked. She cleared her throat and her mind, and then typed in Cam’s question.
They both jumped when a message showed up in her inbox, but it was an ad for ink cartridges.
“Come on, patriot.” She flexed her fingers over the keys. “I think we scared him off.”
“Or he’s thinking up a good story.” Cam stretched his arms over his head before standing up. “I’m going to get more water. Do you want something from the kitchen?”
“No, thanks.” She wedged the toes of her boots against the coffee table. “We lost him.”
“Do you think my question was too direct?” He called back at her over the running water from the kitchen faucet. “We must’ve hit a nerve. He wants you to stop because he doesn’t want the truth revealed—that the claims in those emails were all bogus.”
Instead of an answer, grinning skulls danced across her screen, giving her the chills. “Ugh. He really is just playing games.”
Cam returned to the living room and hung over the back of the sofa. “Idiot. I don’t think he plans to tell you anything. He does want you to stop snooping though, and he’s trying to scare you off.”
“All the more reason to continue.” She rolled her shoulders in an effort to release the tension bunching her muscles. “Maybe I should turn all this stuff over to the CIA.”
“Martha, you committed a crime by making a copy of those emails. Even if you’re not prosecuted, you’ll lose your job.” He reached past her and closed the lid of her laptop on the skulls. “It’s not worth it. Do you want to wind up in federal prison?”
“No!” She dumped her computer from her lap to the sofa cushion. “You’re right. I’m not telling the CIA a thing.”
He drew back at the violence of her exclamation, but she didn’t have to explain herself as the key turned in the door.
“Casey’s home early.” Her eyes wide, Martha watched the door handle turn and released a sigh when Casey crept into the room on tiptoes.
“Oh, you’re still up...and you’re still here.”
The reason for Casey’s dismay followed her into the room wearing an expensive suit and a sheepish grin. “Sorry to intrude.”
“Join the party.” Cam spread out his arms and then dropped them to his sides as his invitation was met with silence. “Just kidding. We were just wrapping up.”
“Take your time.” Casey circled one finger in the air. “Bob and I will be upstairs. Bob, this is my roommate Martha and her friend Cam.”
They all managed awkward hellos and goodbyes as Casey led Bob up the stairs of the town house.
When she heard the door click above, Martha made a face. “She usually doesn’t bring them home this early. I never have to meet them.”
Cam whistled. “I can see why she doesn’t.”
“Why?”
Jerking his thumb at the ceiling, Cam whispered. “Old Bob up there is Congressman Robert Wentworth from some district down in Florida.”
“What? Are you serious? How do you know that?”
“He’s on the House Intelligence Committee—and he’s married, as far as I remember.”
“That makes it doubly worse that they’re up there...” She waved a hand toward the staircase and heated up to the roots of her hair. “Why do women go for these married men?”
Martha flicked a glance at Cam’s bare left ring finger and let out a little breath. Of course, lots of men didn’t wear wedding rings.
“Imprudent of him at the very least.” Cam leaned forward and lifted the laptop lid. “Still no communication from the patriot, so I’m going to head back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay?”
“I will be once I power down my computer and stick it in the office tonight.”
“How many rooms does this place have?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“Just three bedrooms. I could sublet the other room, but I’d probably go crazy with another roommate.” She tucked the laptop under her arm. “Should I...should I call you tomorrow or something?”
“I’ll go with you to cleanse your computer. Is that okay?”
More than okay. “Sure.”
Cam strode to the kitchen and ripped a Post-it from the pad. He scribbled something on the pink square and then stuck it to the edge of the counter. “My number. Call me when you’re ready to roll.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and hunched into it. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to lock your door.”
“Nope. I’ve got that one down. Besides, I have a US congressman upstairs for protection.”
“All right, then.” Cam stood in the entryway and thrust his hand forward for a shake. “Take care and thanks for trusting me.”
She tucked her laptop against her side and took his hand in a firm grip—no nonsense. “Thanks for...rescuing me on the platform and discovering I’d been hacked.”
They both released at the same time, and Cam saluted. “All right, then. See ya later.”
Martha shut the door behind him and then rested her back against it, hugging her computer to her chest. Had Cam been nervous? Maybe he thought she’d expected a hug or a kiss or something. Did she appear that desperate?
She spun around and threw the locks into place and then launched herself up the stairs. Cam probably hadn’t given her much thought at all.
Martha crept past Casey’s bedroom door and the low voices murmuring within, and slipped into her own room. At least her master bedroom had a bathroom attached.
Tripping to a stop, she glanced at the laptop in her hands. She didn’t want to go into the hallway again, so she made an abrupt turn and stuffed the computer on the floor of her closet under some folded clothes.
She got ready for bed. Several minutes later as she slipped between the covers, her mind was still racing with the day’s events.
Casey squealed from somewhere beyond the walls, and Martha burrowed beneath the covers. Her roommate and her lovers always made a lot of noise.
Martha reached into the top drawer of her nightstand for her earplugs and cupped them in her hand as the congressman let out a growl.
Shutting her eyes, Martha closed her fingers around the earplugs. What would Cam sound like in the throes of passion?
Casey yelped, and Martha stuffed the earplugs into her ears as she buried her face in the pillow. One thing she did know is that she wouldn’t be squeaking and squealing like Casey if she ever did get a chance with Cam.
And with that delicious thought making her shiver, Martha closed her eyes.
What seemed like moments later, Casey’s scream punctured Martha’s dream state...and her earplugs. She groaned and rolled onto her side.
Didn’t the woman have any shame—or self-control?
Casey screamed again, and Martha pulled the pillow over her head, gritting her teeth.
“Martha! Martha!”
The bedroom door burst open, and Martha sat up, the pillow falling from her face. She blinked her eyes at Casey standing in the doorway, a filmy nightgown clutched to her chest. Was she dreaming?
“Martha, wake up. We’re in terrible trouble.”
“What?” Martha flicked on the light above her bed, and Casey’s face looked whiter than it had in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“Oh, Martha.” Casey stumbled across the room and tottered before she dropped to the edge of Martha’s bed. “Bob, Congressman Wentworth, is dead in my bed...in your town house.”
Chapter Five (#ub3889647-a804-55e8-b26c-97fde8918936)
Cam glanced at his phone for about the hundredth time that morning. Maybe Martha had decided to get her computer wiped on her own. It’s not like she needed him to do it. He didn’t know that much about technical stuff, and she probably figured that out about him in a hot minute. She seemed like the self-sufficient type, anyway.
In fact, Martha Drake had a surprising rebellious streak. He never would’ve guessed she’d be the type to sneak out those emails. The woman had gone rogue—and he was glad she’d decided to do so.
And maybe she was going rogue again by handling the patriot herself. Cam wouldn’t put it past her, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. What if she’d fallen in front of that train last night? She needed a right-hand man, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
He tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him and snatched up the remote. Propping one bare foot on the table in front of him, he clicked over to one of the cable news shows.
He studied the reporters and news vans with a crease forming between his eyebrows. Someone had died, and the street where the buzzing media had gathered looked familiar with all those rows of town houses with shutters and arched windows.
When the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, Cam choked and his foot slipped from the table. His thumb drilled into the remote to increase the sound.
The reporter breathlessly gushed into the mic. “All we know so far, Carrie, is that Congressman Robert Wentworth, from the Second Congressional District in Florida, died in this town house behind me sometime last night or this morning. There was a 911 call and the DC Metro Police responded. The body has not yet been removed.”
Carrie put on a concerned face, but Cam could see the speculative light in her eyes. “Have the police said whether they’re looking at foul play here, Stacie?”
“They haven’t released any statement yet or talked to reporters.”
Cam curled his fingers around the remote and hardly noticed the edges digging into his flesh. The reporter hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone else being hurt...or arrested. What the hell had gone down in that town house after he’d left last night?
Cam muted the TV and reached for his phone. Damn that Casey for dragging Martha into her messy life. He stopped, his thumb hovering over the screen. Or was it the other way around?
Could this really be just a coincidence after what Martha had gone through yesterday? What possible connection could Wentworth have to Martha and the emails?
Cam dropped his phone when it hit him that he didn’t even have Martha’s number. He’d given her his number with the understanding that she’d call him to go with her to fix the laptop. Some understanding. Seemed like he didn’t know Martha at all.
He paced the room, juggling his phone from hand to hand, occasionally turning up the TV for more news on the congressman’s death. The stiff muscles across his shoulders began to unwind when he didn’t see anything about any other injuries or anyone getting taken in for questioning, and then seized up again as Martha had been identified as the owner of the town house.
More than an agonizing hour later, Cam’s phone buzzed with a DC number. “Hello?”
“Cam, it’s Martha... Martha Drake.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re kind of famous right now, or at least your town house is. What the hell happened over there?”
“My name’s out there, isn’t it?”
“Are you worried about your job?”
“I’m worried about a lot of things right now.” She sighed. “It looks like the congressman had a heart attack. Casey didn’t even realize it until this morning. His body was slumped halfway out of the bed when she woke up.”
“A heart attack? Of course, they’re gonna do an autopsy before they rule on the cause of death.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “How are you holding up? How’s Casey?”
“Casey is hysterical. I’m...nervous.”
“Why, Martha?”
“Why do you think?”
“Are you linking this to the emails?”
“Aren’t you?” Her voice rose, and for a second she sounded close to hysteria herself.
“Crossed my mind, but I can’t see how this can be related to the emails or how it affects you.” He wedged a shoulder against the window and watched one bare branch from a tree scrape against the edge of the balcony. “Heart attack, right?”
“Right.” She cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”
“And clean that computer.”
“Don’t come anywhere near here. It’s a madhouse. I’ll slip out the back and head over to your hotel. The police are still questioning Casey, poor girl.”
He gave her the name of the hotel and the address before turning up the volume on the TV again. Several reporters were still camped out in front of Martha’s town house, and the speculation had begun. Since Martha owned the town house, the reporters had her name on their lips.
It wouldn’t be long before they dug up the fact that Martha worked for the CIA, and he hoped it wouldn’t be long before they discovered she hadn’t been the one who’d invited Congressman Wentworth to an after-hours meeting.
His blood percolated as he listened to the innuendo linking Martha to Wentworth, but he still couldn’t figure out how this had anything to do with the threats from the patriot.
With the TV still droning in the background, Cam straightened his hotel room, stuffing clothes back into his suitcase and shoving toiletries into the plastic bag hanging from a hook on the bathroom door. He hadn’t needed to see Martha’s place last night to figure she’d be a neat freak, and for some reason he wanted to assure her he wasn’t a slob.
He went a few steps further and got a couple cans of soda from the vending machine down the hall and stuck them in the mini-fridge. The woman must’ve had a rough morning.
By the time Martha tapped on his door, Cam had rendered the room acceptable to the neatest of neat freaks.
He opened the door and she barreled past him without even a hello, striding to the sliding door to the balcony.
She turned to face him, twisting her fingers in front of her. “This is bad.”
“Tell me what happened.” He gestured toward the sofa facing the TV. “Not many details on the news, except that you own the town house where Wentworth croaked.”
She perched on the edge of the sofa. “Casey’s name will come out. The police are still talking to her.”
“At least you won’t be portrayed as the other woman for much longer.” He yanked the chair back from the desk and straddled it, resting his arms across the back. “Give me all the details.”
“After you left, I went to bed and I could hear those two...whooping it up.” Two bright spots of red formed on her cheeks. “I have earplugs for just those occasions, and I was able to fall asleep.”
“Damn, you need earplugs?” Noticing Martha’s pursed lips, he wiped the grin off his face. “Go on. You fell asleep during noisy sex.”
“I...” She ran her fingers through her messy hair, dragging it back from her face. “Yes, I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew Casey was in my room hysterical and crying, saying Bob had died sometime during the night.”
“What time did she discover him?”
“About six. I ran into her room and felt his neck for a pulse. He seemed dead to me, but I have no experience in medicine. I called 911 right away.”
“The news said possible heart attack, so I’m assuming no blood or visible injuries.”
“No.” Martha crossed her arms, cupping her elbows. “He was half out of the bed, as if he’d tried to get up but didn’t make it.”
“Did Casey have anything to say?”
“Not much to me, but the cops were grilling her. They’d met for a drink at a quiet place. Bob wasn’t feeling great, and they decided to head back here.”
“You’d never met him before? It didn’t seem like you had last night.”
“No. I’m not saying she’s never brought him back to our place, but I usually make myself scarce when she brings guys home, so I’d never met him before.”
Cam tugged on his earlobe. “I don’t understand why you think some congressman’s heart attack is related to you and the emails.”
“Who says it’s a heart attack?” She jumped up from the sofa and twitched back the drapes at the sliding door, peeked out the window and yanked the drapes back together.
“It could be something else. Poison. He didn’t feel well. Or there are drugs out there that mimic heart attacks. Nobody would know the difference and poof—” she tried snapping her fingers, failed miserably and flicked them in the air instead “—you’re gone.”
Cam flattened the smile from his lips and drew his brows together to look concerned instead. He couldn’t help it. Even when he listened to Martha talking about murder, he found her irresistibly cute.
“Wait, wait.” He held up his hands. “How does that impact you, unless the patriot plans to frame you for Wentworth’s so-called murder...and that’s a long shot. How exactly does Casey’s illicit affair with a politician affect you and your investigation of the emails?”
“It brings everything back up. It tarnishes me and anything I might have to say about these emails. It’s a warning that he can get to me if he wants to.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Yeah, okay. It shows he’s powerful, although this is a risky way to do that. But—” he frowned for real this time “—what do you mean by bringing everything back up? Finding the emails?”
Her gaze darted to the TV, still humming in the background, and she took two steps toward the coffee table, picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV.
The reporter mentioned Martha’s name, and Cam jerked his head toward the TV. A picture of a young Martha with thick glasses and braces stared back at him next to a picture of a gray-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. He tuned into the reporter’s words.
“In a bizarre twist to this story, the owner of the town house is none other than the daughter of convicted stock trader Steven ‘Skip’ Brockridge, who’s currently serving twenty-five years in federal prison for his role in a Ponzi scheme that bilked investors out of millions.”
He twisted his head back toward Martha, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. She raised one hand. “That’s me, Martha Brockridge, daughter of a convicted felon.”
Cam swallowed. “That’s your father, not you. Obviously the CIA already knows about your background. A name change isn’t going to throw off the Agency.”
“I never tried to throw them off. I was up front about my father. They knew. I think they even believed that my father’s criminal behavior had influenced me to follow the straight and narrow path, and they were right...until now.”
Her voice broke at the end, and he jumped up from the chair and took her by the shoulders. He dug his fingers into her tight muscles. “This situation is completely different.”
“Maybe, but do you think anyone’s going to believe me about the emails now? A convicted felon’s daughter?” She shook her head, and the ends of her hair tickled the backs of his hands.
“I doubt the patriot went through all this trouble to discredit or warn you, and the CIA already knows about your father. It didn’t stop them from believing you the first time you turned over those emails.”
“I don’t know what to think. It’s hard for me to believe there’s no connection between my online conversation with the patriot and the death of Congressman Wentworth.”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t believe that, either. I don’t believe in coincidences, but I can’t wrap my mind around his motives.”
“You think there might be another reason?”
He smoothed his hands down her arms and released her, stepping back. “How long has Casey been living with you?”
Martha blinked her long lashes. “About eight months.”
“You received the emails four months ago, right?”
“You’re not implying Casey is involved? That ditz?”
“It could’ve all been an act. The people who sent you the emails needed someone on the inside, and it would’ve been too hard to get one of your coworkers to cooperate. How’d that virus get on your laptop? I’m sure the CIA must drill computer security measures into your head and you didn’t just click on some random link in an email. Who does that anymore?”
Martha chewed on the edge of her thumb. “I thought maybe he’d used Dreadworm again to get to me.”
“How’d you meet Casey?”
“Through one of those roommate finders. She had the money up front—first, last and insisted on a larger security deposit than I’d asked for.” She smacked her knee. “I should’ve trusted my instincts. I thought she was a little too eager.”
“Something else about her choice in boyfriends.” He straddled the desk chair again just to keep from touching Martha. It felt...manipulative to use her distress to get close to her. She didn’t need any more distractions in her life right now, and neither did he.
“Congressman Wentworth?”
“Remember I told you last night I knew him from the House Intelligence Committee? He must have a lot of information on Denver.”
She lowered herself to the bed as if in slow motion. “So, this is a twofer for Casey. She moves in to keep an eye on me, and she dates Wentworth to keep an eye on him and Major Denver.”
“It makes sense that a lot of that stuff about Denver came from an inside source.” Cam’s anger at the injustice of Denver’s situation burned in his gut. He crouched to grab the sodas from the fridge, cracked one open and took a long swig from the can. He held the other out to Martha, and she shook her head.
Tucking one leg beneath her on the bed, she said, “We’re just guessing. How are we going to prove any of this?”
“Let’s start with Casey. Where was she when you left?”
“She was still with the police.”
“She’d admitted to the affair?”
“Of course. What other explanation could she give?”
“It’s odd.” Cam smoothed a hand across his freshly shaved jaw. “Why risk such public exposure? If Wentworth had served his purpose and they wanted to get rid of him, and maybe scare you in the process, why do it so publicly? They could’ve killed him without dragging Casey into the picture.”
“You’re asking me?” She jabbed a finger at her chest. “I still don’t even know what the patriot wants of me, and I hate calling him that since he’s clearly not one.”
“I think he wants you to stop thinking about those emails for one thing and delete them. He wants you to drop your investigation.”
“It’s hardly an investigation, but I’m not dropping anything. People can’t just get away with things.” She pointed to her laptop case propped up against the wall by the door. “I called a computer repair place, and the guy told me to bring the laptop in today.”
“You know this tech guy?” Cam stood up and stretched.
He didn’t know how much longer he could be cooped up with Martha in this small room, anyway. He always had these instant attractions to women, and those never ended well, although Martha wasn’t his usual type so maybe he’d learned a few lessons.
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