Dead Drift

  “No. Never. Despite what Lauren attempted to make you think, we only worked together.”

  Kate appraised him, her expression suspicious.

  He swallowed. “She came on to me one night. I turned her down. She didn’t take it well.”

  Kate nodded. “You two must have spent a good amount of time together for her to make an advance.”

  “There’s nothing there, Katie. Never was.”

  “Then why is she here?”

  “Malcolm brought her in.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure I stay in the fold—that I don’t get distracted.”

  “Oh.” She shifted, looking at Lauren’s car still several car lengths behind them. “And if you do?”

  He gripped the wheel. Malcolm would never harm Katie or order anything of the sort, but he would order Lauren to play interference. And Lauren would, no doubt, love nothing better than to bring harm to him or, even more so, someone he loved.

  “Lauren’s a wet work asset,” he said.

  “Wet work asset? As in . . . assassin?”

  Luke nodded.

  “Okay, but she can’t legally hurt me. CIA operatives have no jurisdiction on U.S. soil, and I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “True, but Lauren doesn’t play by the rules.”

  “If that’s the case, why would the CIA keep her on?”

  “Nothing’s been proven, and she does the work they require with startling speed and accuracy.”

  Luke banked onto the off-ramp and then onto the back-road maze he was about to take Lauren through.

  “But if she’s in the Agency, like you, surely she can’t—”

  “She’s in the Agency, but she’s nothing like me.” Or at least he prayed deep in his soul he was nothing like Lauren, or Margaret, or any of the legends she’d gone by.

  He shifted gears and pressed the gas pedal, practically flying around the sharp bend. Orange and yellow leaf-blanketed trees followed the curved lines of the road.

  “You really think she’d try to kill me?”

  “Without hesitation.” He hated to upset Kate, but better she knew what she was facing than get blindsided. Lauren took lives as casually as one flicked lint from a sweater—without a second thought. And now she likely had her sights set on Kate. “Lauren possesses a certain skill set.”

  “Seducing men?”

  He choked at Kate’s quick wit. “She does that with some. Not me. But I was referring to her unique methods of accomplishing her assassinations.”

  “Such as?”

  “Let’s just say Lauren takes great pleasure in putting other people through pain, even if it’s only momentary.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  He loved the sound of we, though Lauren was the last person he wanted Katie involved with.

  “Two more turns and she’s gone.”

  “And then what?”

  “I talk to Malcolm.”

  16

  Luke grabbed his cell phone while still driving like a NASCAR racer, but driving fast and skillfully seemed to be second nature to him. Kate imagined defensive driving had been a part of his Agency training, but she was curious who he was taking the time to call. Perhaps Malcolm?

  “Hey,” he said into the phone. “I’m bringing Kate to you.”

  “Bringing me to who?” she said, stiffening.

  “Hang on,” he said to her. “Please.”

  She swallowed and waited, not happy she was being discussed as if she were an asset.

  “Lauren showed up in the store with Kate. Where are you? Okay. See you there in twenty.” He hung up.

  “See who? When?” She wasn’t a child to just be dropped off.

  “My local handler, Mack. He’ll keep you safe while I pay Malcolm a visit.”

  “Mack? . . . As in Declan’s friend Mack?”

  “Yeah, turns out they became friends over the years with Mack being Declan’s contact at the Agency.”

  “No offense, but if Lauren, or whatever her name is, was Malcolm’s doing—the Agency’s doing—do you really think leaving me with your handler is the wisest option?”

  “I trust Mack. He’s safe.”

  “Aren’t you the one who just told me not to trust anyone new who enters my life?”

  “Because I know Mack. He’s been my private contact and source of information since I left town.”

  Her eyes narrowed “What kind of information?”

  He glanced over, his expression conveying a world of hesitation. “About you and the gang. And family.”

  “You had him spying on us?”

  “No. I had him checking in on you. He let me know you were safe and gave me updates.”

  “What kinds of updates?”

  “Like when you left the Bureau and started your private investigation firm.”

  “He’s been keeping tabs on me?”

  “On all of you.”

  “And you don’t find that . . . what’s the word I’m searching for? Intrusive?”

  “No more so than the PI you had watching me.”

  “That was to see if you were alive, not find out details of your life.”

  He looked at her with a knowing tilt of his head.

  Okay, so she had been curious about his life beyond her contact simply finding him. Perhaps he was making a decent point after all, and she liked that he’d been concerned for her and cared about her enough to keep tabs on her. She just wished he’d loved her enough not to leave in the first place.

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled down a long gravel drive and finally stopped in front of a house with a man she assumed to be Mack standing on the porch. He was about Luke’s height—a little over six feet and built—muscular and toned but not bulky. He had similar brown hair, but unlike Luke’s vibrant blue eyes, Mack’s were a honey brown.

  “Mack, this is Kate.”

  He smiled. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “Yeah, Luke was just telling me you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

  Mack’s cheeks flushed.

  “Okay,” Luke said. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He moved for the car.

  She bounced her right leg, anxiety tracking through her. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she called after him. Despite her unusual unease, she could take care of herself—had for over seven years.

  Luke turned and strode back to her as Mack stepped to the edge of the gravel driveway, offering them a smidgen of privacy. “I know,” Luke said. “But I’ll feel a whole lot better knowing you’re with Mack.”

  She shoved her hands into her weathered jean pockets. “And how do you think I feel?”

  “Protected?” he offered with a charming smile.

  She rolled her eyes. He was such a smart aleck. “More like a child who needs watching.”

  “I know you can handle yourself, but Lauren . . . You have no idea how dangerous she is. Please just hang with Mack for an hour.”

  “Seeing as I have no car, it doesn’t look like I have much say in the matter.”

  “Mack’s great. You’ll like him, I promise. He’s a Caps fan.”

  At least the man had good taste in hockey teams. With a bracing exhale, she turned to glance in Mack’s direction and heard Luke pulling away before she could turn back around.

  “Come inside,” Mack said, indicating the cabin-style home perched on a hill overlooking a portion of the reservoir.

  “No offense, but if Lauren knows Luke, she probably knows your connection to him, which means she knows or can discover where you live.”

  Mack smiled. “You catch on quick, but don’t worry, this isn’t my house.”

  “Then what is this place?” she asked as she followed him inside.

  The cabin was cozy and welcoming, but she had a strong feeling it wasn’t often used for cozy and warm purposes.

  “It’s a safe house I use occasionally. One of several.”

  “Does Malcolm know about it?”

  “Not this one,” he said, exuding
an air of steadfast confidence.

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is my own.”

  She arched a brow, curiosity creeping through her. “You have your own safe house?”

  “A couple.” He set a black case on the entryway table and took off his coat, draping it over the coatrack. “I may no longer be in the field, but how you function in the field, your training and tactical skills, never leave you, or at least that’s been my experience.”

  She wondered if that’d be true of Luke if he left the Agency.

  “How come you’re no longer in the field?” she asked, scanning the books on the corner case. Gram had a similar corner cabinet—though hers was white and this was pine, like the rest of the wood furniture and flooring in the room.

  “Injury,” he said.

  “Oh.” She hadn’t expected that.

  “No worries. I’ve adapted.”

  She was curious, but it’d be extremely inconsiderate to ask.

  “My hearing was compromised in an explosion,” he said, clearly sensing the question forming in her mind.

  “I’m sorry.” That sucked.

  “It’s okay. I still hear fine for most situations, but in the field, compromised hearing can get you killed. Here, I’m able to make adaptations.” He pulled a small hearing aid out of his right ear and then popped it back in place. “I used to be able to hear long range. Now, not so much, so I take other measures. I have triggers in place to alert me if anyone comes near my property. Like I said, operative training never leaves you. Once an operative, always an operative.”

  She got that. She could never quell the curiosity and observational skills she used as a private investigator. She spotted inaccuracies in conversations, observed illicit liaisons before they fully occurred, and had a knack for sizing people up. Though she’d apparently completely blown it with Lauren.

  “So how long were you in before your injury?” Might as well ask since he’d brought it up.

  “I went in nearly eight years ago. Luke and I went through training together and then were sent into the field. Our second op in, there was an explosion. Thanks to Luke, I only lost some hearing.”

  “What?”

  “He saw it coming before I did and raced toward me, signaling me to get back. It wasn’t quite enough to preserve my ears, but Luke flat-out saved my life.”

  “What about Luke? No injury?”

  “He was still far enough back that he came through with just some gashes and flash burns.”

  Flash burns? She wasn’t even going to ask what had caused that explosion because there was no way Mack would be able to tell her.

  A thought occurred to her. She felt terrible even pondering it, but she wondered how things might have been different if it were Luke who’d gotten sent back home and Mack who’d stayed in the field. Of course she wouldn’t have wanted Luke to suffer hearing loss, but she’d rather have had him home with his hearing slightly impaired than not have had him home at all.

  So that’s why Luke trusted Mack so much. He’d saved Mack’s life.

  “You know,” Mack said, taking a seat on the tan microfiber sofa, “Luke loves you. He doesn’t say it outright, but I see the hope in his eyes when he looks at you.”

  “Hope?”

  “For a different life. One at your side.”

  Kate exhaled.

  “He checks in just to know you all and his family are safe, and I update him on anything I notice.”

  “Such as?”

  “I check in monthly or whenever I’m in the Fell’s Point area with Declan. I observe things, like that your investigation firm is doing well, or when Griffin married Finley. . . .”

  “Dude, you’ve got to admit that’s kind of shifty.”

  “How is it any different from the people you’re hired to observe?”

  “That’s different.”

  He lifted his chin. “How?”

  “Because I’m doing my job.”

  “So am I. I’m doing my job for a colleague who saved my life.”

  When he put it that way . . .

  “I know it feels like an invasion of privacy”—at her smirk, he had the decency to look a bit sheepish—“and it is. I apologize for that, but I can’t say no to Luke. He is fiercely protective of the people who are important to him—of you, in particular.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “It’s because he loves you so much. I heard the fear in his voice when he said Lauren was with you, and I’ve never heard that kind of fear in his voice before.”

  “So she’s pretty awful?”

  “She makes Black Widow look like a saint.”

  And she was coming after her. Lovely.

  Luke banged on Malcolm’s locked office door, knowing he was inside. He’d spotted him through the window as he stood over the couch. Was he talking with someone?

  He banged harder.

  Malcolm opened the door, and Luke rushed in, closing the door behind him.

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked, getting straight to the reason for his visit.

  Malcolm frowned. “Do what?”

  “Have Lauren introduce herself, or rather Margaret Anderson, to Kate.”

  Malcolm’s eyes flickered. His “tell” said he had no idea. “What are you talking about?”

  Luke exhaled, now wishing Malcolm had ordered her to make contact. It was the less dangerous option.

  “I didn’t order her to meet Kate.”

  Luke raked a hand over his head. “Whether you ordered it or not, tell her to keep her distance. Better yet, pull her out. She’s not needed.”

  “I’ll determine who is and who is not needed on this op.”

  “You only called her in to cause trouble.”

  No flicker. Unfortunately, Luke was right on that one because she was already causing trouble, but he feared with someone as unstable as Lauren, matters could escalate from trouble to downright danger in the blink of an eye.

  Lauren stepped out of the bathroom as Luke shut the office door on his way out. “Well, seems my visit definitely got under his skin.” She glanced at her red French manicure, checking for any chips or imperfections. She hated imperfections. “He must actually love her.” Why, she had no idea. The woman, while beautiful, was nothing special. Yet Luke had dismissed her advances as if she were a pesky fly and was protecting this Kate person as if she were a precious princess. It was revolting.

  Malcolm tilted his head. “What were you thinking? I told you to keep an eye on Luke. I said nothing about engaging Kate.”

  “Oh please. I was just scoping out the situation. If you want to make sure Luke stays in the fold, I’m going to have to keep the two of them apart, or at least have Kate questioning Luke’s and my history.”

  Malcolm swallowed. “Under no circumstances is Kate to be harmed.”

  Not him too. What was up with the protected princess? Exhaling, she grabbed her bag. “I know how to do my job, so let me do it.”

  “No harm is to come to Kate Maxwell.”

  Or what? Did the old man really believe he held any sway over her?

  17

  Griffin and Finley rounded the corner and located their room—403. At the end of the hall, right next to the exit stairwell, just as Griffin had requested. Always good to be next to an exit route.

  He swiped the key card over the lock and it flashed green. He opened the door for Finley and stepped in behind her.

  The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Perhaps they’d received turn-down service, but typically a light was left on.

  Fumbling her fingers along the wall, Finley found the light switch. Flipping it on, she gasped. “What on earth?”

  There in the center of their bed, atop the fluffy white duvet, lay a pair of handcuffs and a printed-out note attached with a satin red ribbon.

  Looking at each other, they stepped closer and bent to read the small font.

  Go home before your wife becomes my next victim.

  The crime-scene invest
igator’s camera flashed as he processed the scene.

  “Again, I am profusely sorry, Detective McCray,” the hotel manager on duty, Bryson James, said. “I have no idea how anyone gained access to your room, but I do have the camera footage of the hall ready for you to watch.”

  “Great,” Agent Thornton said.

  This most definitely tied to their common case, unless it was just a horrid prank. Griff prayed that was the case, but his gut said otherwise.

  But how had the killer known? Known they’d be in town? Known they’d be staying at this hotel, in this room? Did he have someone inside the Bureau or one of the police precincts they’d visited?

  Agent?

  Griffin swallowed. Was it possible the killer was a federal agent? Could he be Agent Thornton? Was that why Burke had kept his key words hidden, or why Agent Thornton was on the gruff side when it came to their questions, or why he’d shut down Chelsea Miller’s case within such a short time of “looking back into it”?

  He prayed the video footage would give them an answer.

  Griffin kept his hand securely on the hollow of Finley’s back as they made their way down to the security office where two armed guards sat.

  “I’ve got your footage right here, sir,” the guard informed Mr. James.

  The hotel manager nodded, and the guard let the footage roll. “I started checking the footage at the time you called the front desk to report the incident, and then scrolled back from there. About a half hour before you arrived, there was a man. . . . There he is.” He pointed.

  The man was wearing a hooded sweatshirt pulled tight and low over a baseball cap. He never looked up. He knew where the cameras were and how to avoid them, unfortunately. He wore long sleeves, black pants, and black leather gloves, but he was tall—six feet three, at least—and slender. Not the build of anyone they’d spoken with today.

  The man came straight from the stairwell door at the opposite end of the hall, striding quickly down the corridor toward Griffin and Finley’s room. He swiped a key card in front of the lock, which gave them all pause. He let himself in, and after a minute and twenty seconds—Griffin timed it—he exited.

  “Any other footage?” Bryson asked the guard.