Dark Control (DARC Ops Book 4) Page 14

“Is he?”

  “Yes.”

  Laurel pushed the drink way and leaned her head on the table.

  “I didn’t want to say anything,” Caitlyn said. “And I mean, I’m not positive. But that’s the rumor. And he just seems like such a narc. Doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Laurel said into her arm, which cushioned her head. Her eyes had been closed and squeezed hard.

  “Like the way he looks and everything?”

  “Kinda like a cop, yeah.”

  “I don’t know if he’s a cop or an agent or what,” Caitlyn said. “But he’s lookin’ at you. On Mr. Geffen’s request. That’s just the rumor, anyhow.”

  Laurel raised her head off the table. “There’s no rumor about anyone else being looked at?”

  “Not that I know of. But I’m sure there are others. Maybe even me. But I just don’t know about it.”

  “You haven’t felt spied on?”

  “No.”

  “Does anyone talk about why I’m being spied on?”

  “They think someone might have leaked some code about the tracking system, for the FBI and H&L Houston. You really didn’t know that? Girl, we should’ve been goin’ out for drinks long before this.”

  They had never been very close, but perhaps she was the closest friend Laurel had there—which said a lot about how little she socialized at work. Maybe now she’d realize the importance of at least keeping some people around. Insider information, or rumors, would stay as such as long she never went beyond books or solo coffee breaks.

  “So, what you’re saying, is that they think I did the leak?”

  “Maybe,” Caitlyn said. “Yeah.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, I’m glad I could give you a heads-up. I mean, you should probably be working on a defense.”

  “A defense?”

  “Build up an alibi. Maybe talk to a lawyer.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Laurel said. “You know, I really don’t wanna do that. It’s the kind of stuff criminals do, that guilty people do.”

  Caitlyn shrugged.

  “I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

  “I believe you.” She smiled.

  “God, I can’t handle this.” Laurel buried her head into her hands. She sucked back tears. She would not cry in the goddamn bar!

  “It’ll blow over,” Caitlyn said. “If you didn’t do anything, then they won’t find anything. And then you’ll be fine and everything will be forgotten about.”

  Laurel finally lifted her head up. A guy that had been staring for the past few minutes was still doing it. She glared back at him, and, to her horror, he smiled.

  “Trust me, there’s always some new rumor or scandal waiting in the wings ready to go.”

  The guy started walking toward her.

  “Just weather this storm and you’ll be alright,” Caitlyn said. “I promise.”

  Maybe he had misinterpreted her glare, but there he was, standing foolishly at their table.

  “Can I help you?” Caitlyn asked him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice that you two—”

  “What?” Caitlyn said with a wince. “Huh? Sorry you’ll have to speak up.”

  “Oh, uh . . .” His face contorted a little bit, him getting knocked off his game. “My friend and I were wondering if we could, uh, you know . . .”

  Caitlin smiled. “No thanks, Dear.”

  “. . . if we could buy you a round of—”

  “No,” Caitlyn said. “Thank you.”

  He stared at their table for a moment, his eyes glazed over, his expression dumbfounded. He was a nice-enough-looking guy, too. But Caitlyn obviously had no time for it. And neither did Laurel. No time or desire for that sort of attention. Just the thought of it, and even the thought of the lying Matt, no Matthias, made her skin crawl.

  “Well,” he said, still babbling. “Okay, I wasn’t trying to, like—”

  “Hey,” said Laurel. “Can you just get the fuck away from our table, please?”

  Caitlyn shot her a smile as the guy almost tripped over his feet in his flight from their table.

  “Sorry,” Laurel said.

  “No, I loved that.” Caitlyn laughed and grabbed her drink. “Never thought you had it in you. You’re always so quiet at work.”

  “Well, I guess now I’ve got yet another reason to dislike—or distrust—men.”

  “I assume you’re talking about Matthias,” Caitlyn said, doing that thing with his name again. “Don’t hold it against him, Hon. I’m sure it’s not personal.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s just doing his job. And he’s pretty hot, too.”

  “So what? Being hot doesn’t give him a free pass to be a snake.”

  “My, oh my, I can tell you’re a little fired up about Matthias.”

  “Stop saying it like that.”

  “My, oh my . . .” Caitlyn rolled her eyes and kept them pointing away from the table.

  “Anyway,” Laurel said, sighing heavily. “Believe it or not, this actually isn’t what I was hoping to talk to you about.”

  “Oh.” Caitlin turned back to face her.

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh-oh . . .”

  Laurel sighed.

  “Well, go on.”

  “Okay,” said Laurel, “And, considering what you just told me, it’s probably an even better idea that I tell someone about this.”

  “Well, come on, what is it?”

  “So I did the AIDA hack, right?”

  “You got in?”

  “I hacked in there and . . .” Laurel looked around to make sure she was alone. She began to feel like Ol’ Pat—except for being absolutely hammered.

  “And what, Laurel?”

  “And I found some stuff . . . I dunno. Some sketchy-lookin’ documents.”

  “Well, what the hell does that mean?”

  “I think I’ve, like, uncovered something.”

  Caitlin put her straw in her mouth, chewed on it. “I dunno.”

  “What don’t you know?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about AIDA, employees of the state, involved in some crazy money-laundering scheme. At least that’s what I think I’m talking about.”

  “Why, though?”

  “Huh?” said Laurel.

  “Why are you talking about it?”

  “I think I should report it to somebody. Like, the authorities.”

  Caitlyn smirked. “You’re in hot water as it is.”

  “I don’t care about that. I’m innocent. But this is like, some serious corruption going on here.”

  “Yeah,” Caitlyn said quietly, sounding not too particularly concerned. “You know this goes well beyond your job description. I mean, you really don’t have to do this.”

  “I probably should say something before someone tries to pin it on me.”

  “Or you could just lay low and forget you even saw anything,” Caitlyn said. “Forget this conversation, too. I know I will.”

  Laurel didn’t expect her to be so apprehensive about the corruption info. It was not what she needed right now, especially with Matt probably not being who he said he was. Matt the mole, the tattle-tale. She might not be able to tell him anything at all anymore, let alone the uncovering of some major scandal.

  “I respect that you’re doing the right thing and all,” Caitlyn said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I’m just lookin’ out for you, Laurel.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m being realistic. You don’t want to get yourself wrapped up in something like that.”

  Laurel stared at her drink and nodded.

  “Especially when you’ve already got, you know, so much attention on you. People prowlin’ around and so forth.”

  Was it really worth causing a big fuss over? Abe Hudson had passed away, and with that, so did his request for information. And whatever secrets he had, what he was so worried
about in his final days, would perhaps only come to the surface if Laurel did anything. And what would she even do, if she wanted to?

  “Laurel?” Caitlin had been starting at her. “Who would you tell, anyways? Mr. Geffen?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then who?”

  “The police?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “If this thing is as big as you say it is, then you can bet for sure that they’re involved, too. You need to go higher than that.”

  “How high?”

  “High enough that it clears whatever corruption ring. The last thing you want to do, if you actually go ahead and decide to do this, is go run and tell the same people you’re telling on. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, I won’t go talk to AIDA.”

  “Hell no. But beyond that, you need to go way up to save yourself. I’m thinking Walter Smedley.”

  “And he is . . . who?”

  “He’s the Attorney General.”

  “Like I’m supposed to know that?”

  “I’ve got some connection with him. He’s a friend of friend. I can set you guys up. But you should head to his office tomorrow either way.”

  “Why tomorrow?”

  “He’s in town. I can send an email tonight to set everything up. That is, if you really want to go through with this. I still think you shouldn’t, but whatever, that’s just me.”

  “I think I need to. I don’t care about that other stuff.”

  “Okay, but I warned you.”

  22

  Matthias

  Matthias cut the engine on his bike and just sat there, straddling it in the visitor’s parking stall of Laurel’s condo. The wind was whipping hard, kicking around the tree branches near her darkened windows. His eyes focused on the black, empty spaces, portals to a world he thought he once knew.

  He stepped off the bike and walked around the building. All Laurel’s lights were off. He thought back to the blackness of it, her empty apartment, her bedroom lit only by a nearby streetlight. Was she inside, maybe sleeping? Or maybe entertaining some new guest in the dark.

  He tried not to think about that.

  He tried not to get too crazy.

  Dr. Smyth would probably view Laurel as a hindrance to his recovery. Too much too soon, he’d say. He was ready for challenges, but those of his own. The challenges that came from women, and romantic relationships with them—especially getting so serious so fast—were a whole other can of worms. A whole other IED minefield. It was proving a challenge tougher than the fear and pressure of battle.

  Yes, he was returning to work. He was even hoping to accompany Ernesto on some actual, physically dangerous, and fun missions. He could think about that, about how he’d aim his gun without shaky hands. But how he felt now . . .

  Starting up at her darkened window and trying not to succumb too hard to his insecurities—and his paranoia—might just be the hardest challenge yet.

  He wasn’t ready.

  He could barely get a handle on himself, let alone be enough of a man for a woman like Laurel. She deserved nothing less than him at his top form. He had no doubt that he could regain that form. But right then?

  No, not ready.

  Looking back, had he even been ready for their one night stand? No, it didn’t matter. It happened.

  And now he had work to do.

  Matthias walked back to his bike. He was weak—nothing like the solider, or even man, he once was. He would allow himself tonight, just one night, to feel this way. To accept it, and perhaps wallow in its pitiful depths. And then he would rebound and refocus for himself. Himself first, fixing and rehabilitating his mind, his psyche. His soul. And then, only then, could he focus on her.

  If she would still let him.

  At some point he might even focus back on his DARC Ops mission.

  He was back on the bike now, riding away and feeling a little silly for coming all this way just to stare at her windows like some creep. Silly, too, that it took him so long to realize what he’d have to do. He’d have to give her some space while he figured out his shit. But somewhere through that, he still had to work with her, professionally. They were, after all, “coworkers.”

  It would be like trying to stuff the worms back into the can, but he owed it to his work, and to her. Laurel might be in a shit load of trouble, and it might fall on her head soon. The mounting suspicions against her, the apparent sabotage job. Keeping her out of jail was more urgent and important than whatever was going on with their relationship. Keeping her out of jail, also, so that when he recovered, he just might have a chance with her.

  Matthias pulled over to the side of the road. His cell had vibrated his pocket with an incoming phone call. His heart stuttered, his mind racing to thoughts of Laurel. Immediately everything changed. Fuck waiting. Fuck being responsible. Fuck all that. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to see her, maybe even tonight. He wanted to lay it all out on the table—his worrying findings about the sabotage, her boss’s suspicions, how much he liked and wanted her in his life in some real way.

  He pulled the phone out, hoping to see her name on the screen.

  It was Jackson.

  Matthias cut the engine and answered it with decidedly less enthusiasm.

  “Got some news for you,” Jackson said. “Something just came up here. We’ve had Tansy do a little digging around and it looks like our leaker is at Sentry after all.”

  “Who?” said Matthias, his mouth drying up.

  “Laurel Patterson.”

  “Wait, Jackson—”

  “Tansy hacked into H&L Houston and couldn’t find anything there, so then he looked over to Sentry.”

  “Hey, Jackson.”

  “What?”

  “I’m confused,” said Matthias. “Why bother send me all the way down here if you’re just having Tansy hack it remotely?”

  “Because we need someone physically there. Boots on the ground.”

  Matthias sighed. “I think he’s wrong, Jackson. It’s not Laurel. I’ve been working with her closely. I’ve been watching her, and—”

  “And you’ve been dancing.”

  “What?”

  “Ernesto told me about that.”

  “About what?” Just how much had Ernie told Jackson about their wild night? He gritted his teeth an anticipation for Jackson’s response.

  “Is that the reason you don’t think it’s her?” Jackson asked. “Because she’s your dance partner?”

  “She was set up,” Matthias said.

  “Set up?” There was a brief pause, and then, “I’m listening.”

  “I thought it was her, too,” Matthias said. “Everyone at Sentry does. So I looked into her activity logs and found the same thing that Tansy must have read.”

  “He also found some troubling stuff on the other side, where she sent the docs to.”

  “Where?”

  “She sent them to—”

  “No, she didn’t send them anywhere.”

  “Alright, alright. They were sent to a green energy company in Gainesville, Georgia. Wind turbines.”

  That was a new twist. Wind turbines?

  “Alright,” said Matthias. “What the hell do wind turbines have to do with this?”

  “We’re working on that. But for now, it seems pretty clear that Laurel is working for someone else, releasing sensitive information that’s, intentionally or not, placing FBI agents’ lives at risk. Unless you came up with something better.”

  “I did,” Matthias said. “I went deeper with the forensics and compared use patterns from the time the documents were sent, for that session, with patterns of the rest of Sentry System’s employee roster.”

  “You know that can’t prove anything either way, right?”

  “I know that it can point me in the right direction.”

  “And what direction is that?”

  “An employee named Caitlyn Morris. She’s got her fingerprints all over the session when the documents were sent. She could have
hacked Laurel’s password and signed in as her, and then made the transfer so it could trace back to Laurel.”

  “Or Laurel could have imported Caitlyn’s use pattern during the session, thereby setting up a red herring that could throw you off track. That, and the dancing. She really got to you, huh?”

  “No. That’s not it.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like she got in your head.”

  Mathias hung his helmet onto his handlebar. “Listen, Jackson, I’m gonna need some help from Tansy. Vehicle tracking.”

  “Whose vehicle?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “He can only track government vehicles, and only certain ones at that. Law enforcement, mainly.”

  “Can you send him down here?”

  “I’ll have him call you,” Jackson said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey Matt . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a loud sigh on the other end. “Don’t let her get in your head.”

  Laurel had definitely gotten into his head. Her and a dozen other pressing issues that made sleep tonight not only improbable, but, eventually, impossible. There was no way he was going to catch a wink of sleep after his latest phone chat with Jackson. He’d called again from D.C. at 3 a.m., just when Matthias had finally begun to feel drowsy and heavy with the hope of sleep’s approach. If the ringing of his cell hadn’t been jarring enough, it was the sound of Jackson’s voice that made Matthias bolt up out of bed, rushing through the hotel room in a cold sweat, fumbling with his clothes, shoes, newly arrived gear, and then almost tumbling down the steps on his way to the parking lot to his bike.

  The news was vague, but grim. Trouble with Ernesto. That was all Jackson could really say, that something had gone awry with his mission and Matthias had better get there as soon as fucking possible. Jackson gave him directions, a location outside the city, an abandoned airstrip. Had he known the location earlier, perhaps he’d have gone out there sooner. And then perhaps whatever trouble Ernesto was in wouldn’t have happened at all.

  But there was no time for that. He was too busy looking for cops as his bike sped out of Atlanta in the hot, muggy night.

  Something had gone wrong.

  Had anything gone right?