Cooper Security 06 - Secret Intentions (9 page)

He looked up from his phone, his eyes narrowing at the sound of alarm in her voice. “Did you find something?”

“Ever heard of Morris Gamble?”

Jesse nodded. “Secretary of Energy. Why?”

“Because I think he may be a member of the Espera Group.”

* * *

A
T THE SOUND
of Maddox Heller’s sleepy voice, Jesse checked his watch and saw, with dismay, that it was after midnight. “Sorry about the late hour,” he said, “but I need your help.”

As he outlined the events of the past two days to his silent partner at Cooper Security, he couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering across the room to Evie, who lay on the other bed, watching him with a solemn expression.

“We’ve discovered a possible connection between the Espera Group and Secretary of Energy Morris Gamble. It’s nebulous at the moment, but we’ve been suspicious all along that the SSU had connections high in the government. What if it’s Gamble? What if he’s a true believer in what the Espera Group is peddling, and he’s not afraid to spend a little cash to manipulate people and situations to get what they want?”

“Gamble would be closer to the president in terms of influence than Barton Reid was, for sure,” Heller agreed in his still-sleepy Southern drawl, referring to the former State Department official who had paid the SSU to be his own private army as he manipulated political situations in several countries to his own benefit. “We’ve thought for a while that Reid was acting more as the general, directing the troops in the field while someone higher-up was calling all the shots, right?”

“Yes, but we were leaning toward someone in the CIA, based on the threats against Amanda.” Earlier that year, a group of SSU agents had made an attempt on the life of a beautiful former CIA agent his brother Rick had fallen in love with years earlier. Turning up in the right place at the wrong time, Rick had helped Amanda escape, and while on the run together, they’d rekindled their former relationship.

They’d also figured out that the SSU assassins must have had at least some help from someone in the CIA, because her whereabouts were known by only a handful of people in the agency where she’d formerly worked. Amanda’s former CIA handler, Alexander Quinn, had as much as said there was someone at the CIA pulling a few strings for Barton Reid and the SSU.

Jesse sat up straighter. “Heller, where’s Alexander Quinn these days? You have any idea?”

“I know he’s stateside. I can get in touch with him if you need me to. What do you have in mind?”

“If Gamble is connected to the Espera Group, would Quinn know?”

“I’d bet he might already have a few suspicions at least.”

“Can you put me in touch with him? You can give him this phone number. It’s untraceable to me.”

“Sure, but do you really want to deal with Quinn? You know he has his own agenda for everything. I can’t promise you he won’t run you straight into a big ol’ mess.”

Jesse smiled at Heller’s understatement. “Big ol’ mess” didn’t come close to describing the sort of trouble Alexander Quinn could get a person into, but the wily spy might be Jesse’s only chance to find out who was pulling the strings in Washington.

He slanted another look at Evie, his wry amusement quickly fading. Dealing with Quinn might be a chance he was willing to take for himself, but could he risk putting Evie into even more danger?

“Let me call you back in the morning,” Jesse said. “I need to discuss it with Evie first.”

“I’ll try to track down Quinn first thing in the a.m. What time will you call back?”

“Let’s say eight. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow and I’d like to get things settled early.”

“Talk to you then.”

Jesse hung up and met Evie’s curious gaze. “Alexander Quinn?” she asked.

“CIA agent.”

“I know who he is. You can’t work at Cooper Security for two weeks, much less two months, without hearing how he threw Rick and Amanda together last spring. But why do we want to talk to him?”

“Quinn is working stateside these days. Probably in D.C., although Heller didn’t say that specifically.”

“Heller? You’re not talking about Maddox Heller, are you?”

Jesse realized Evie didn’t know about Heller’s involvement in Cooper Security. Few outside of his own family did. “Heller’s my silent partner at Cooper Security. He owns over half the company.”

Evie’s eyes widened. “I thought it belonged to you and your family.”

“We’re buying it back with the profits,” Jesse said. “Maddox had the seed money and the idea for the company, and he tapped me to run it and be its front man.”

“And he couldn’t be the face of the company because of his reputation,” Evie guessed. “Who’d put their trust in a guy whose claim to fame is letting a woman die in front of him without lifting a finger?”

Jesse could tell from Evie’s tone that she’d bought into the official story. “It’s not that simple,” he said flatly. “Heller was protecting a group of U.S. Embassy employees during the rebel siege in Kaziristan.” Several years earlier, al Adar rebels had taken control of the U.S. Embassy in the central Asian country of Kaziristan, killing as many embassy personnel as they could find. “He and the others were trying to escape the rebels without being seen. If Heller had done anything to save that interpreter, he’d have risked the lives of a dozen other people.”

Evie looked surprised. “But he was dishonorably discharged. His name has practically become synonymous with cowardice in uniform.”

“Barton Reid made sure of that. He scapegoated Heller to make sure nobody looked too closely at his behavior during the siege.” Jesse tamped down a sudden flood of indignant rage at the thought of how thoroughly Reid and a handful of gullible State Department investigators had discredited a good Marine. “But it’s too late to clear Heller’s name now. He’s made peace with it. He has a good life, a pretty wife and a cute kid. And Cooper Security’s making a little extra money for him.”

“Still, if what you say is true—”

“It’s true,” Jesse said flatly.

“Then his name should be cleared. I can’t imagine anything worse for a Marine than to be thought dishonorable and cowardly.” The outrage blazing from Evie’s blue eyes echoed Jesse’s own anger at the terrible miscarriage of justice against his friend.

“I’ve tried to talk him into making a bigger stink about it, but I don’t think he wants to be in the public eye that way again.” Jesse sat on the edge of his own bed, facing her. “Back to Quinn—Heller can put me in contact with him if that’s what I want.”

“You think he may know more about the Espera Group and maybe even Morris Gamble than he’s let anyone know so far?”

“Even if he doesn’t have any proof to offer, he may have suspicions. And suspicions can lead to proof eventually, right?”

She nodded, although he could tell from the shuttered look on her face that she had doubts. “Quinn’s ruthless. I’ve heard horror stories from Amanda.”

“Ruthless, yes. But he’s a patriot. And even though I’m not a big fan of his methods, I know he’ll do whatever he thinks is necessary to protect this country. That’s what I want, too. I’m willing to risk it.”

“You’re using ‘I’ a lot.” Her chin lifted and her gaze locked with his. “Planning to ditch me?”

“I think you should consider going into witness protection.” Even as he said the words, a part of him rebelled against the thought of letting her out of his sight. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep her safe, he realized. It wasn’t arrogance on his part that made him feel that way; he knew he was as prone to making mistakes as anyone.

But he cared enough about her to risk anything to keep her safe. It was personal to him in a way it wouldn’t be to other bodyguards he might assign to keep her out of harm’s way.

“No,” she said firmly. “No way.”

He wasn’t surprised. She’d survived two kidnapping attempts, seen a man killed right before her eyes, and she wanted justice. He might wish she weren’t the sort of woman who’d want to help deliver that justice herself, but he had to admire her for her raw courage and determination. “It’s going to get a lot more dangerous before it’s over.”

“I owe it to my family.” Evie twisted her hands in her lap, looking terrified but resolute. “And to Alan Wilson’s wife and kids. I don’t know if they’ll ever find a body to bury, all because somebody was after me and my family. The least I can do is be part of proving why it happened and maybe, just maybe, bringing the perpetrators to justice.”

“You’re an accountant, Evie. This kind of work requires skills.”

“So you teach me everything you know.”

“Between now and the time we get to D.C.?”

“Do the best you can, hotshot.” She managed a cheeky grin that faded all too quickly into worry.

A daunting task, he thought, to try to prepare her over the course of a few hours for what they might find when they arrived at the capital. But there were a few lessons he could teach her, ways to put her into the mind-set, at least, to handle the unexpected.

He just hoped it would be enough to keep them both alive.

Chapter Seven

Farragut Square Park was busy at midday on a Tuesday, workers from nearby buildings mingling with tourists who had their noses buried deep in D.C. maps. Jesse had memorized the D.C. map while Evie drove, determined not to look like a tourist. And he had Evie, whose memories of Washington hadn’t faded much over the intervening years.

She’d loved living in Washington, flaws and all. She’d enjoyed the hectic pace, the silly self-importance of its political class, the awe-inspiring sense of history to be found in its alabaster monuments and majestic landmarks. Even though she had no pressing desire to return there to live again, now that she’d settled into the slower pace of life in Chickasaw County, Alabama, she was grateful for the experience of living in the nation’s capital for most of her childhood and youth.

“Where did Quinn tell you he’d meet us?” she asked as they walked down the sidewalk outside the park. Ahead to the right, inside the chains delineating the park, the statue of Admiral David Farragut rose on his white stone pedestal, drawing the attention of camera-snapping tourists who ringed the statue to get a quick shot of the Civil War Navy hero.

“He said to look for the Army and Navy Club Building on 17th Street.”

She pointed toward a tall, brown brick building with black iron minibalconies under some of the tall, rectangular windows. “That’s it.” Her father had been a member. He’d taken her and Rita to eat lunch in the main dining room at the club a few times when they were old enough to behave politely. He’d also treated Evie to dinner at the club when she learned she’d earned a full-ride scholarship to Vanderbilt University.

“He said we should go to a bench across from the Army and Navy Club Building.” He pointed toward four black iron benches flanking the narrow concrete path leading into the park. Only one was occupied at the moment, by a homeless man in ragged clothing who slouched against the bench back, sporadically reaching into a paper sack beside him and tossing its contents—birdseed, Evie discerned—to the crowd of pigeons fluttering around his feet.

The man looked up suddenly, his gaze connecting with hers. The intensity of his stare made her breath catch.

She closed her fingers around Jesse’s wrist. “Jesse.”

He followed her gaze. “That’s Quinn.”

“Are you sure?” She gave the homeless man another quick look. He had a day’s growth of beard, a gaunt look of hunger, as if he hadn’t eaten a solid meal in days. His clothes were worn and dirty, and the shoes on his feet were riddled with holes and stains.

“He’s a CIA agent. He’s good with the disguises.” Jesse twined his fingers with hers and crossed to the bench. “Mind if we sit?” he asked.

Quinn looked down at the pigeons. “Don’t scare away the birds.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jesse murmured. He put Evie on the outside of the bench and settled between her and Quinn. “Nice getup.”

“Worked hours for this look,” Quinn murmured. “Heller says you suspect Morris Gamble is involved with the Espera Group.”

“I do.”

“He’s not influential enough to help them push the treaty,” Quinn said, his tone dismissive.

“Are you suggesting we pack up and go back home?” Jesse’s tone was low but fierce.

“I’m saying you need to look a little deeper than Secretary Gamble.” Quinn held out the bag to Jesse. “Seeds for the birds?”

“I’m not a big fan of your cryptic hogwash.” Jesse reached into the bag. His hand went still a moment, then came back out, curled into a fist. He opened his palm halfway and Evie saw, in the middle of a small mound of birdseed, a slip of paper with a phone number written on it.

She looked up at Quinn. He met her gaze, a slight smile curving his lips. “Lots of parties go on here in D.C. Ever been to one?”

“A few,” she said carefully.

“Lucky you.” Quinn tossed birdseed to the birds at his feet. Four pigeons grappled for the morsels, wings flapping.

“Call the number tonight after six. You’ll find out what to do next.” Quinn stood up, handing the bag of seeds to Evie. “Be sure to feed them all the grain.” He staggered away, favoring one leg and looking for all the world like a homeless man, drunk and down on his luck.

She reached into the bag and found there was only a handful of birdseed left. As she scooped it into her palm to toss to the pigeons, she felt something cold and metal against her fingertips.

She glanced at Jesse.

“What?” he asked.

She withdrew her hand, the birdseed still nestled in the closed palm. She tossed the seeds to the pigeons and handed Jesse the bag. “Looks like it’s all gone. Can you check and see?”

He gave her an odd look but opened the bag and looked inside. His only reaction was a slight lift of his dark eyebrows. “You hungry?” He nodded toward the street, where a food truck had pulled up to the curb. Pedestrians had already detoured from the sidewalk and the park to line up in front of the service window.

She hadn’t eaten at a food truck in a long time. “It’s a gamble,” she warned him. “Very hit-or-miss.”

“I’m not afraid to take a risk.” He folded the paper bag into a neat square and stuck it in the front pocket of his jeans. “Let’s go before the line gets too long.”