Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ana
The elevator creaks like an old lady’s bones, moaning and groaning as if the FBI can’t afford a decent building. I’ve always felt like a secondhand citizen here, shoved down the elevator shaft, just below the floor where promotions thrive. From the day I walked into the building, I was Kurt’s stepdaughter to my boss and everyone here. You’d think that would indicate I have skills and I know how to use them. Instead, it had stirred a competitive urge in those around me, including my boss.
“You get no special treatment because your stepfather trained half of our men,” Mike had said to me, and done so in the first five minutes I’d been in the building. Over time, I’d earned everyone’s respect, though the relationship I share with Mike retained a pretentious quality at best.
The elevator dings and the doors open. Olivia’s warning is once again in my head.
My heart does this thrumming thing in my chest, which I’ve come to know as nerves when I’m in denial of those nerves. Nothing is as it seems is a broad warning, and one that I must apply to my workplace considering the closest person to a partner I’ve ever had is now dead, and proven to be dirty.
Mike does as Mike does, which translates to him being difficult, but could he be dirty, too? I just don’t know.
I step onto the second floor of the building to the glow of lights already illuminating the offices. Mike is here somewhere. If I’m fast and cautious, the plan is to get in and get out before he even knows I’m here. I cut right and walk down a short hallway before turning left. My office sits directly across from Darius’s office and I step into his doorway and freeze as I find Mike on a scavenger hunt inside Darius’s desk.
He grumbles incoherently, straightens, scrubs a hand through his salt and pepper beard, and then turns to face me. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, his fifty-something body still fit and athletic, while his decision-making skills equate to a wet noodle mentality. To his credit though, he’s cool as a cucumber, a man who rarely registers much of a reaction, unless he believes no one is watching, of course.
His green eyes darken with awareness. “Agent Banks,” he greets. “I see you remain safely sheltered from that hitlist, though might I suggest, you not present yourself in obvious places where you might be targeted?”
“That would be my preference, however Darius and I set-up a way to communicate. He missed our check-in. I’m worried. I came to dig around and see if there is anything at all on his desk that tells where to look for him or what the heck is going on.”
“He missed his check-in with me, too. I’ve got a couple of agents coming in to help me track him down.”
And there it is. The confirmation that whoever killed Darius took his body. Which tells me they know just how much heat killing a federal agent gets them and they’re buying time.
“Okay, then. That’s not good news.”
“No. No, I do not think it’s good news. Sounds like you still don’t know what this is about.”
“I don’t, but obviously, there’s a connection to me and Darius.”
“You knew there was a hitlist. Do you know who’s on it?”
“I don’t.” It’s a lie or mostly a lie, but it’s also the survival of the fittest. Don’t sing to those you do not trust, thank you, Kurt.
“Then how do you know there’s a hitlist?” he presses.
“Jake called and told me right before he was murdered.” Mike knows Jake from a few training sessions our team did at The Ranch years back.
He arches a brow. “Jake is dead?”
I don’t offer more than a simple, “Yes.”
“What does he have to do with Darius?”
“I have no idea. It makes no sense. I was hoping you might know.”
“It’s not my job to know. It’s yours.” He motions to the desk. “Look around, then come to my office and let’s talk about what the hell is going on.”
He moves toward me and I step aside, placing space between me and him, and turning to watch him exit. Only he doesn’t immediately exit. He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me. “Just to be clear, agent. I know you’re not telling me everything there is to tell. We’ll be remedying that before you leave the building.” He smirks slightly and then turns and walks out of the room.
I dart toward the door, shut it, and do so with zero intention of talking to him before I leave. At the very least, I do not trust Mike’s judgment. That’s enough to worry me. I sit down at Darius’s desk, hunt through his files, take photos, and come up dry, at least at first glance. I stand up, look around, and eye the picture on the wall of him with his late Irish Setter, Ricky. If there was any place he’d keep something special, it would be with Ricky. I walk to the photo, feel around it, and come up dry. As a last shot, I remove it from the wall and open the frame. Bingo. There’s something taped on the cardboard. I pull it free and find a fishhook, a laugh falling from my lips.
It's a clue meant for me.
That man and his fishing spots. If I find the right one, I’ll find his insurance and my answers. Hope fills me that answers might be nearby. I replace the frame’s setting and hang it on the wall. Now it’s time to get the hell out of here. I crack open the door, find my path clear, and quickly head down the hallway. Seconds later, I am rounding the corner, but stop dead in my tracks when I find Agent Murphy and my boss huddled up in conversation at the elevator.
I flatten on the wall, and hear, “She’s here?” Murphy asks urgently. “What are you going to do?”
Mike’s reply is not a good one. “It’s being handled,” he states.
Now, all of this could be innocent, but I have to assume it’s anything but. I slip back down the hallway toward the emergency stairwell, and by the time I’ve gently shut the door, I’m texting Luke. I’m coming down the stairs. Meet me at the doorway. I don’t wait for his reply.
I run downward and when I’m at the door, I reach under my pants, pull my weapon and turn the knob. When the door is open, the coast is clear, but I don’t know for how long. I jog toward the main walkway, look left and right, and then left again toward the exit. Agent Ryker, who is a few months new to our team, a transfer from New York, is just entering the doorway, and immediately turns to talk to someone. Ryker is thirty-something, cocky, nosy, and a womanizer. He insulted me one moment and asked me out the next. If I’m sizing up the crowd here today, he is not one of the good guys.
I slide my gun into the back of my pants, where it’s readily accessible, but easily hidden, as whoever Ryker is chatting with joins him. That’s when I realize that person is Luke, and he’s holding two coffees. “Hi, baby,” Luke greets. “Sorry it took so long. The coffee shop messed your coffee order up two times. Ryker was going to walk me to your office.”
Some people think flowers and chocolate are romantic. For me, the way he calls me “baby” and stands there beside Ryker, ready to kill him, is about as romantic as it gets in my book.
As for the coffee, I’ll laugh about this little ploy to get to me later, but right now, I simply join both men and greedily accept the cup. “I need this like I need my next breath.” I sip the cold coffee and greet Ryker.
“I’m surprised to see you here, chill and drinking Starbucks,” he says. “I thought you were hiding out.”
“I am, but the boss wanted to see me.”
His brows dip. “He called you in?”
“He did. Almost as if he wants me dead, right?” I laugh, short and choppy. “I better go get lost before I get dead.”
His eyes sharpen and he smirks. “Yes. Get lost before you get dead.”
Luke’s eyes sharpen and he says, “We’d better go. We have a plane waiting.” He opens the door. I walk past Ryker and exit the building with Luke on my heels. His vehicle is right up front again and we both walk toward it. Once we’re inside, Luke says nothing. He starts the car, backs us up, and drives. The minute we’re out of the driveway, I rotate to realize that Agent Murphy is already in his car and backing up. A moment later, a tall man, wearing a baseball hat backward, skateboards into the center of the driveway and starts doing stunts. Adam, I think. Master of Disguise. Thank God for him.
I face forward again and hold on tightly as Luke cuts right and punches the accelerator, a harsh reality crashing into me. We’re on the run again, and allies are now enemies. Nothing is as it seems.