Bridal Armor (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Johara woke to the savory scent of bacon wafting through the air. Stretching under the warm quilt, she indulged in the momentary fantasy that this was just a relaxing weekend away from the politics and dangers of the real world.

Sunlight streamed through the windows and the view of the snow-covered trees sparkled like diamonds. Her stomach rumbled, interrupting the peaceful moment, and a deep chuckle echoed behind her.

She dragged her gaze from the window to take in the even better view of Thomas holding out a mug of steaming coffee.

“Thought you could use the boost.”

“Thanks.” She sipped carefully and then wrapped both hands around the thick ceramic mug. “Good morning.”

“Definitely,” he answered, though she hadn’t posed it as a question. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

She set the mug aside as she got to her feet and folded the quilt. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“If you’re quick about it.”

She darted down the hallway to the bathroom and rushed through an abbreviated version of her morning routine, trying to figure out why he was so chipper.

He was a morning person, a fact she overlooked as a side effect of his career. She, as he’d clearly recalled, preferred caffeine to dull the sharp edge of early hours.

In fresh clothes, her damp hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, she joined him in the kitchen. He was thoughtful enough not to ask her questions or chatter at her until the caffeine had a chance to kick in. Savoring the bacon and eggs, she felt almost human by the end of her second cup of coffee.

“No one has ever fixed breakfast for me,” she said as she cleared the dishes.

“No one?”

“Not since I left home.” She washed the dishes and set them in the dish drainer, refusing to let him dry this time. “Aside from the improved weather, why are you so happy this morning?”

“We haven’t been found.”

She topped off her coffee, did the same for him. “Fair point.”

“You could smile about it.”

“I could.” She raised her mug to her lips to hide that she wanted to do just that. “Are we reconnected to the world yet?”

“Yes.” He tapped the edge of the tablet sitting right where she’d left it last night.

He looked so pleased with himself it worried her. “You checked up on me.”

“Well, yes. It’s habit. But I also found a lead.”

That news brought her back to the table in a hurry. “How?”

“One of the bullets hit the luggage rack. I dug it out and took a couple of pictures with your tablet.”

The man had been up for a while and quite busy, it seemed. Her stomach clenched and she thought breakfast might make an unwelcome return appearance. “What did you do?” She set the coffee aside.

He frowned at her. “Nothing that would jeopardize our safety.” He turned the tablet so she could see the enlarged picture of the bullet on the screen. “There were no prints, but I’d bet my life that this bullet will match at least one other bullet in the system.”

She glanced up. “Are you telling me you’ve memorized a striation pattern?”

“Even if I had, it would never stand up as real evidence.” He held up a small disposable container and slid it across the table. “The bullet. Open it, and take a look for yourself.”

She sank into the chair and popped open the container. A plain look wasn’t hard evidence, but she dutifully studied the .38 slug, comparing it to the picture on the tablet. “You’ve taken a fine picture, Director.”

“Don’t patronize me, Jo. That particular picture is from a different case.”

She swiped the screen and barely stifled an oath. “You accessed the database with my login?” Tension turned to panic at the thought of either of their departments finding them before she could clear his name.

“No. And before you explain why that sends you into a panic, I’ll tell you I downloaded that photo from my personal archive that I keep on a cloud server.”

The swell of panic drained away. “Good,” she whispered.

“Why?” He leaned across the table, his hand warm over hers. “You’ve expressed concerns about your office. What’s really going on?”

She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “In a minute,” she managed to say. “Tell me more about the bullets.”

“You know as well as I do that only a small percentage of criminals in the world bother to make their own ammunition. This particular .38 ammunition has a powder blend as special as the designer. Smell it.”

She held the open container to her nose and caught a scent like burnt oranges.

“This bullet is made by the same man who prefers big, showy displays of destruction like we saw yesterday.”

“Whelan was shooting at us?”

“Yes. Well, at least his ammunition was. The scent doesn’t last long obviously, so without the gun, we’ll never tie these bullets together or wrap up the related cases.”

“When did you tick him off?”

Thomas leaned back and laughed, with more than a little pride mixed in. “Germany was a productive trip.”

“When?”

“You know when.” His smile faded and his gaze slid away from hers. “Five years ago. I cost him a lot of money when I took down the Isely family.”

Jo paced away from the table. “Did he ever have access to the virus?”

“Not that I know of.”

“It just feels like this elaborate setup is a bit out of his league. From the little I’ve heard about him, he’s a loner.”

“He is, but he has plenty of connections around the world and I have plenty of enemies who might have hired him.”

She knew that was true, it had been one more reason to take the investigation. Picking up the tablet, she took a closer look at the bullet. “Tell me more.” Maybe it would help her put the scattered pieces in order.

“Whelan adds that distinct orange fragrance to his explosives. I caught the scent just before the rental car blew up. He likes his victims to know who did them in.”

“A signature like that is easy to imitate.” He arched an eyebrow, clearly annoyed, and she held up her hands. “Hey, I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.”

“You know I looked through your files, Jo.” He dipped his chin at the tablet. “I saw the report that he entered the country with an unnamed U.S. escort.”

“I wasn’t the one who let him in,” she said. “I didn’t even know until long after it was done.”

“But you know who was there and why they’re working with him.”

“No. I really don’t know who it was or even which agency. I’ve told you everything, shared everything that’s available to me. They cooperated with Whelan because he claims he can identify your next buyer.”

“There is no buyer.” Getting to his feet, Thomas snatched the container back and covered it. “I don’t even have the virus.”

“But someone does.” She stared down at the tablet, her hands cold as she read a new email message. “I’ve been told the sale is set for two o’clock Saturday afternoon in Glenstone.” The small village at the base of the mountain below the lodge where Casey Manning was to get married. This was not good for so very many reasons.

“What?” He didn’t shout, but she winced anyway. “There’s no way I’d do that. I haven’t done that.” He swore, using a few choice words that were new even to her.

“Read it for yourself,” she said, turning the tablet toward him. “I have to say, looking at the way you operate this is exactly what someone who had studied your file would believe you’d do. Whoever this is, he knows you, Thomas.”

He looked up from the email, jaw slack. “How can you say that? I’d never jeopardize family.”

“It’s not me saying it,” she said gently. “It’s a third party looking to set you up. This is very specific, Thomas.”

“Too specific. Whelan’s a piece of work, but I can’t believe he’d be able to hack agency email systems or put all these accusations in place.”

“With a U.S. agency vouching for him, an inside job is the only logical conclusion.” She watched Thomas pace the length of the cabin as he wrestled with the implications. It was obvious he wanted to deny the betrayal of someone within Mission Recovery—and he might very well be right. But someone was using a vengeful and motivated bomber to take him out. Someone who knew his methods, likely based on previous missions.

“Please sit down.”

He slumped into a chair. “It has to be CIA. Someone he bargained with to avoid prosecution for another crime. Has to be,” he muttered.

“How would Whelan know about the wedding location?”

“An agent fed him the information and then trickled it to you. Hell, the agent might even have caused the outbreak to increase the urgency to reel me in.” Thomas’s blue eyes blazed with fury. “I’m here to give the bride away. That’s all. I doubt I would have had time to leave the resort with all the things Casey and my sister had planned. Even if I had the damned virus, I wouldn’t sell it. And if the CIA wants my buyer—I assume that’s the bill of goods they sold the committee—”

She nodded.

“Why let him kill me?”

“He slipped the leash? Maybe they don’t know Whelan’s lying about you, the virus and the buyer. If this was his gig from the beginning maybe that’s his end game.”

Thomas grunted and pushed a hand through his short hair. “That’s the only plausible part of this whole situation. Whelan has every reason to want me dead.” He stalked over to the window, turning the container over and over in his hands.

“Thomas.” When he didn’t reply, she got up and went to him. “Thomas, I came here to protect you. You have to believe that.”

“I do.” But the grief in his eyes when he looked at her ripped open a heart she’d never managed to keep closed against him.

She could no more deny him than stop her heart from beating. “I’d planned to discuss everything in a quiet, civilized manner
after
the wedding.” And hopefully laugh about the ridiculous nature of the accusation. If everything had gone smoothly on a professional level, she’d intended to seduce him, hopefully reclaiming some of the magic they’d shared five years ago. “Then word came down that you were making ‘another sale’ possibly at the wedding itself.” She put the phrase in air quotes to emphasize her low opinion of the rumor. “I was told to observe, but not intervene with the exchange.”

“Nothing ominous about that,” he grumbled sarcastically.

“Exactly my thought,” she said. “In light of that development, it seemed best to intercept you before you reached Glenstone.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Thanks. Tell me why Whelan’s so intent on harming you that he’d lie to the CIA in order to get his shot at you and we can figure this out. Together. It has to be about more than money.”

He was silent for so long, she knew he was turning over the options. She moved to the window and looked outside, wondering what miracle a snowplow could muster against the thick layer of white blanketing the landscape. Deep snow hid the SUV’s tires and part of the front bumper. But the car’s roof was swept clear from Thomas’s early morning examination. The path Thomas had created when he’d checked the car and found the bullet looked like a narrow canyon. He’d never forgive her if he missed the wedding. For that matter, when Casey and Cecilia found out Jo was the problem, she was likely to find her name on an unofficial CIA hit list.

“We should try and clear the car,” she said just to break the unbearable silence. Apparently there were things he didn’t want her to know...still.

“It can wait a few more minutes.” He came up behind her. “Does the committee know you intercepted me already?”

“If they do, they didn’t hear it from me. And they won’t.”

“Meaning?”

“We have carte blanche in our investigations. As long as I have the report in on time, no one tells me how to do my job.”

“So they didn’t know
how
you intended to tail me.”

“Correct.”

“Which means they don’t know which of your aliases or disguises to look for and yet they found us at the airport parking lot.”

She pointed a finger at him. “They’re looking for
you.
And for whoever Whelan says is the buyer.” Boy, he’d taken her off the track of why Whelan wanted him so badly.

“What if we get to Glenstone and Whelan says you’re the buyer?”

That suggestion landed as effectively as a punch in the gut. She didn’t protest, because it could very well be true. “If so, why tell me the location of the meeting?”

“Because he won’t give up his quest or the perks involved until tomorrow at two o’clock. He can say whatever he wants in the meantime, point to anyone at the time of the meet. We both know the buyer is just a fairy tale.”

He was right. “It’s not looking much like a happy ending is in store for either one of us.”

He gazed at her with such intensity it stole her breath. “I gave up on my happy ending years ago,” he confessed.

How many years ago?
Her entire being from her heart to the depths of her soul longed to ask the question. But she just couldn’t do it. She rubbed her arms and yanked the conversation back to business.

“Thomas, how do you want to proceed?”

“Do I have enemies on the Initiative committee?”

“Everyone does,” she replied candidly. “But to answer your real question, no, I don’t believe this witch hunt started at my office. We’re being fed some clever and damaging details from an anonymous source. Your CIA theory fits.”

She could practically see the gears turning as he reviewed all she’d said.

“Why are you being so honest with me?”

“You’ve never given me a reason to lie to you.”

He seemed to add that to the rest of the processing going on inside his head.

“So your superiors don’t know your intention is to help me beat these bogus charges.”

“Nope. They only know the files I pulled while I was still at the office as I prepared my investigation. How I proceed in the field is my business.”

“Nice gig.”

“Your own Specialists have it much the same, don’t they?”

“Not exactly.” He pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. It was a move he made when he’d reached a conclusion.

She wondered when he’d tell her about it, wondered if she’d like it. “Now who’s fibbing?” She smiled as she shook her head. “You know autonomy can be dangerous. My boss isn’t obligated to tell me the sources that lead to my investigations. It’s my job to go out and try to confirm or deny various infractions or problems.”