Cold Light of Day (5 page)

T
o all intents
and purposes, the top-secret Tactical Operations Center—or “the Center” as agents in the know usually called it—looked like a light industrial manufacturing facility. It was situated off the grounds of the Marine Corps base in Quantico for purposes of safety and secrecy.

Jon Regan held up some sort of wand. Not the magic kind.

Matt raised his arms and kept his mouth shut until the man finished running the thing over his body.
Great
. Another guy examined the limo. What the hell was going on?

“Okay, come with me.” Jon strode away.

Matt followed him through one door and then another, into a windowless room within a room. On one of the big screens, Sarah LeMay was displayed in glorious Technicolor as she flicked on a light switch. On another screen was a live-feed of the same room.

“Play the video,” Regan ordered, standing with hands on hips, watching the screens. “The team monitoring the surveillance feeds gave us the heads up as soon as they spotted her in there. We patched into the feed after that.”

The tech pressed a button and Sarah sprang to life. She entered the fancy office, looked around for a moment, and headed toward the desk. She hitched up her skirts, revealing a pair of shapely legs in those spiky heels. He could just make out the edge of black lace. The atmosphere in the enclosed space got hot and tense as she dipped her fingers into those panties. He could only see lingerie, but it didn’t stop his imagination taking it a step further. Sweat burst out from his skin.

He’d never suspected a thing.

She’d been taking the lamp apart with deft dexterity while he’d been wondering if he should ask her out. He’d been played. The expression on her face when she saw the other bug was priceless, as was the realization as she glanced nervously around the room, that there might be a camera hidden somewhere. It made him feel a little better.

“Shit. Here we go.” The tech pointed to the live screen. Four men entered the room and started picking up objects and examining them in detail.

“It was only a matter of time,” Regan said with his arms crossed. He sounded pissed.

In her video, Sarah reassembled everything, but Matt noticed something small catch the light as it dropped to the floor. “She lost her earring?”

“That is why we don’t wear jewelry on an op.” Regan nodded. “They already found it.”

This explained the henchmen taking the place apart.

Matt watched the woman tuck the small plastic bag into her bodice with a lot more discretion this time. He hadn’t noticed her missing earring when he’d seen her afterward—too busy looking deep into her eyes.
Asshole
.

There was a knock on the door. Jon Regan went over and opened it. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lincoln Frazer walked in wearing a tailored tux. He must have left the White House shortly after Matt.

“I’m starting to feel under-dressed,” Regan said dryly. To the tech he said, “Play it again.”

This time when Matt watched the video, he kept an eye on her facial expression, on her body language. “She’s not acting like a pro.”

Frazer leaned back on his heels, considering her. “More like she’s being forced to do something she doesn’t want to do. Why were you bugging Dorokhov?” he asked the TacOps guy.

“That’s need to know,” Regan said apologetically.

“I need to know,” Frazer argued.

“Yeah.” Regan’s lips formed a smirk. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”

“The Russians have a camera set up in that corridor.” Matt pointed out. Even blinded by Sarah LeMay’s seemingly innocent charm, he’d spotted it in the dim recesses. “Is it active?”

Regan nodded. “When we went in, at night when the big wigs were elsewhere, we hacked into security and played a loop of the place in darkness. It was a piece of cake.”

Sarah LeMay had uncanny observational skills. The woman had spotted where he usually wore his Budweiser—the SEAL Trident he’d earned by passing Basic Underwater Demolition/ SEAL training. He’d removed it because he hadn’t felt comfortable announcing his special operations background when entering enemy territory. Pity she hadn’t noticed the surveillance camera watching the hall. A real operator would have. So, what was she, if she wasn’t an operator?

“She didn’t do any of that,” Frazer said quietly. “So it won’t be long before they figure out she was in there. Why would she want to bug Dorokhov?”

“Blackmail? Or maybe she works for another agency or another country?” Regan suggested with a shrug.

“Maybe it’s personal,” said Matt.

“What was your impression of her?” Regan asked him, “Besides the obvious.”

Matt slumped into an empty chair. “She seemed vulnerable. Shy. Uncomfortable.”

“You try walking in high heels with a screwdriver in your panties and you’d be uncomfortable,” the tech joked.

Matt laughed but inside he felt sick. Duped. “It wasn’t that.” Jeez, he was gonna sound like a pussy. “She seemed…fragile.” He shrugged. “Thinking about it, she seemed okay before she tried to plant the bug, but on the ride home she barely said a word except that she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Not surprised. She fucked up and she knew it.” Regan’s tone held no pity.

“She and her sister fought about something.” Probably her failed mission. That’s why they’d fled so fast, but Angel hadn’t wanted to leave…

“You think the sister was a distraction?” Frazer asked.

“Did you see those legs?” Regan snorted.

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know. The only person I saw the sister speak to was some asshole called Raminski.”

“We checked him out. He’s former military, probably GRU or SVR, acts as a PA to the ambassador and bodyguard if the occasion requires. He’s good at his job. Has a string of women he loves and leaves on a regular basis. Seems as kosher as any Russian in DC.” The assumption was that they all worked for Russian intelligence. It was simpler that way.

“What’s Congressman LeMay’s connection to Dorokhov?” asked Matt.

“We got nothing.” Regan threw up his arms.

“He was invited, so there’s something,” Matt insisted.

“Hey, Frazer was invited too.” Regan eyed the man in question. “What’s your connection?”

“I’m a popular guy?” Frazer’s expression switched from joking to serious. “Dorokhov sent out dozens of invitations this year. I got the impression he was trawling the waters, trying to make a good impression and some connections. I asked our consultant Alex Parker to see if he could find anything for us between the ambassador and the congressman.” Alex Parker was former CIA and co-owned a cyber-security firm in DC. The man was also engaged to the newest member of their team at BAU-4, Mallory Rooney, and from what Matt could see, Frazer was taking full advantage of his expertise and connections.

Whatever worked.

“I heard Parker was good.” Regan looked as if he wanted to steal him for TacOps, but was too smart to say anything in front of Frazer. He’d already tried to recruit Matt for his skill set as a former Navy SEAL. Matt liked the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and they kept better hours than TacOps. It was a different sort of job and right now, it suited his needs.

“Ah, shit.” The tech threw down his earpiece as the camera and bug both went dark.

Jon Regan swore and turned off his headset. “Whatever LeMay was up to, she just ruined six months of painstaking surveillance work and our chances of getting anything up and running again for at least the next six.”

Given the shit going on in the world right now, this wasn’t good news.

“Not even Santa will be able to get in that place without a cavity search,” the tech remarked.

“Can they track it back to us?” Matt asked, pointing at the video screens.

“Nah. But the Chinese are about to get a lot of pissed off diplomatic calls.”

Matt looked at the frozen image of Sarah LeMay, her skirt hitched high up her thigh. He had a feeling every guy in TacOps was going to get a look at that image by Christmas morning. The thought sent a shot of something dark and ugly through his bloodstream. Foolishness. Then he was struck by another thought, something much worse. “Not the Chinese.”
Fuck
. “If they found the earring, the first thing the Russians will do is check the surveillance footage from the hallway and go after that girl. And they know exactly where she lives…” His fatigue vanished and a sense of urgency had him on his feet and at the door. “We need to get back to DC ASAP.”

*     *     *

Gun in hand,
Raminski entered the house through the garden doors off the patio at the rear of the property. The TV bleated in the distance. He checked the area before walking swiftly through the utility room, then the spotless kitchen, to the arched doorway. On the right of the hallway, there was a glass-paned door into the family room. A movie played loudly inside. The congressman and his wife were curled up on the couch, backs to the door. Good. He took the darkened stairs, moving silently, hearing another TV upstairs.

On the top floor, there were two doors. One open, lights turned off. He went inside, noted the room was empty. The dress the woman had been wearing earlier hung on the back of the door. He checked the bathroom. No one there.

He went to the connecting door and eased it ajar. The hot blonde—Angel—lay across the bed on her front with her knees bent, feet waving in the air. She wore a short, silky nightgown and matching panties as she watched a movie. He ignored the effect she had on his body, and scanned the room. She was alone.

Where was the other one? It was the other one he needed.

No time to play games. He put his pistol in his holster and pulled the syringe out of his pocket, primed the needle. Two strides took him into the room. A knee across the shoulder blades pinned her down as he shoved her face into the mattress to muffle the screams while he jammed the needle into her ass and pressed the plunger home. He couldn’t afford for her to see his face. She struggled wildly, but it didn’t take long for the tranquilizer to work. Thirty seconds and she was out. He capped the needle and put the syringe back into his pocket. Searched the room but the woman was alone. He went to her drawers and dragged out yoga pants and a hoodie. Socks and a pair of sneakers. Dressed her, moving her limbs around like she was a rag doll. Found her cell phone and slipped it in his pocket. He hoisted her over his shoulder and retrieved his gun out of the holster as he headed back down the stairs. He paused on the second floor landing and stepped out of sight as someone flushed a toilet on the ground floor. He stayed still until the congressman returned to the family room. The guy didn’t close the door fully.

The girl dangled loosely from his shoulder. He eased silently down the stairs. Kept his ears open and eyes on the living room door. The parents never looked away from their movie. His mouth twisted as he recognized the film they were watching. The only Angel getting any wings tonight was their daughter as he spirited her away.

Out of the back door, along the garden path and through the garden gate in the wall that lined the street. The small sedan he’d stolen was still parked there. He opened the trunk and placed the girl carefully inside. He closed the trunk, climbed in the driver’s seat, and drove off.

She wasn’t the one he wanted, but she was leverage. It wouldn’t take long to find the other one.

*     *     *

Scarlett decided to
walk home rather than take a cab. This part of DC was generally safe and she needed some time and space to get her head together. A part of her knew it was foolish. Another part didn’t care. Tonight she’d tried to bug the Russian Ambassador. Everything else seemed irrelevant by comparison. The streets were quiet. Subdued. No one was paying her any attention. Everyone was gearing up for Christmas.

She sank her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, touched another one of the transmitters she’d designed and built. Her sneakers scuffed quietly on the concrete sidewalk. Her breath created a frosty cloud that matched her mood. The snow from a few weeks ago had melted, turning to damp cold that seeped through skin and into marrow. Her teeth chattered. Right now, she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.

She and her mother had decided to split their trips to the prison to maximize the number of visits her father received during his treatment. Plus, her parents deserved some alone time—if being under constant observation counted as alone time. Scarlett could only imagine the pain of watching the person you loved stolen away from you by the very people who were supposed to have his back. It was bad enough losing her father—but losing the love of your life?

Unbearable
.

A Christmas tree shone in someone’s living room window—multi-colored lights and a gold star on top. A deep, aching sadness washed through her.

On a cold winter’s day fourteen years ago, her father had gone to work as usual, and never returned home. That afternoon the feds had banged on the door and searched their small, brick house from rafters to crawlspace. They’d ripped everything apart—including her trust and innocence.

She’d been twelve.

The press had turned a horrendous time into pure torture. They’d camped out on the front lawn. Cameras pointed at every window. Reporters digging through the trash.

Going to school had proven impossible so her mother had home-schooled her. It had been the loneliest time of her life and she’d thrown herself into her studies. Most of their so-called friends had abandoned them. The only person to stand by her had been Angel. The two families had been close for years. Naturally, the congressman had distanced himself after her father’s arrest. Who could blame him? But Angel had always been there for her. Scarlett didn’t know what she’d have done without her.

There had never been any doubt in the FBI’s mind that they had the right guy. The only people who’d believed him innocent were her and her mother. The lawyer had persuaded him to plead guilty to avoid the death penalty, which Scarlett was grateful for in terms of her dad not being executed, but it made proving him innocent a damn sight trickier.

Her mom would have faded away years ago if it wasn’t for the fact Scarlett pushed her and prodded her to keep going, to not give up. It wasn’t easy, and if her father died, Scarlett didn’t think her mother would be far behind. Some days she already felt like an orphan.