Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: To Honor and To Protect\Cornered\Untraceable (40 page)

Chapter Four

Evan watched as Juliet shuffled some papers, made a flimsy excuse about needing to be somewhere, and all but fled out the door. She didn't make eye contact with him the entire time. Of course, she didn't have to, for him to know what she was thinking.

That there was no way she'd ever be a good agent again.

Evan walked out of Juliet's now empty office and down the hall to his own desk. There was no point going after her to convince her of his opinion, even if he knew he was right. Juliet still wasn't ready to hear or accept the truth—that she could still do this job if she'd just give herself a chance.

Not that Evan expected her to do it immediately. She wasn't ready to take those first steps back into active fieldwork, and that was fine. She should take all the time she needed to recover from what had happened to her.

He sat at his desk, pushing away the thoughts attempting to crowd into his mind. Images of Juliet lying bleeding on a warehouse floor, feebly trying to fend Evan off before she realized it was him and not the man who had attacked her.

In the middle of an undercover buy, the leader of a rival group, who didn't like that Bob and Lisa Sinclair were cutting in on his share of black-market profits, had forcefully taken Juliet in the middle of the night. Before Evan even knew what had happened, and could get to her, she had been horribly beaten and raped.

Every muscle in his body tensed. Even now, eighteen months later, Evan had a hard time just forming the words in his mind.

And that was part of the problem, wasn't it? They all—Evan, the Branson brothers, even Juliet herself—just tiptoed around it. Nobody ever really talked about it. He knew Juliet saw a shrink every once in a while, and was glad she did, but she never talked to anyone else about what had happened. Even though things didn't seem to be getting better for her, and maybe getting worse.

Evan sighed and leaned back in his chair. In order to make things easier for Juliet, they'd all agreed to her unspoken request not to talk about the attack. To give her time. But now, a year and a half later, they were doing the same thing: just agreeing and protecting and sheltering her. For example, supporting her in the choice to leave active field duty and embrace a desk job.

Honestly, that just made Evan mad, because he'd never known people less suited for a desk job than any member of the Branson family, Juliet included.

Juliet especially.

Evan had worked with her for years in the field and knew her instincts were unparalleled. She could read an undercover situation and formulate a plan—sometimes multiple plans—almost instantaneously. She could pinpoint the weakness of an organization or a person's individual psyche with frightening speed and accuracy.

More than once while undercover with her, Evan had been thankful she was a good guy, on his team, rather than vice versa. To say she was wasted as an analyst/handler wasn't exactly true; she was good at that, too. But she could be so much more.

Evan had no problem with Juliet taking the time she needed to heal from the physical and psychological wounds she had suffered last time she'd been undercover. As far as he was concerned she could take the rest of her life, if that's what she needed, and never set foot in the field again. He would be the first one to back her up in that decision. To hold her hand. To do more if she'd let him.

But what Evan couldn't stomach was that Juliet thought of herself as a
failure
as an undercover operative because of what had happened to her. That because she hadn't been able to escape her attacker, she'd failed.

Evan had tried multiple times to tell her what he had written in his official report of the incident. Even under the worst of possible circumstances, Juliet hadn't broken cover.

She'd saved multiple lives, his included, because of that. No one could've asked for more from her. Seasoned agents had broken under much less duress than Juliet had endured. But despite everything that happened to her even through the rape, Juliet hadn't told anyone she was law enforcement.

She was the furthest thing from a failure as an agent as possible. Evan wished he could make her understand that.

But Juliet no longer trusted herself. No longer considered becoming reinstated even a possibility. Because she believed she was—and always would be—a failure as an agent.

Evan knew he walked a fine line. He didn't want to push her for more than she was ready to take on, but knew that without some sort of push she might never move forward at all. Either way, it didn't matter. She wasn't ready right now, despite what he or anybody else said. Evan would just keep encouraging her, and hopefully, they'd find some way to ease her back in a few months from now.

Baby steps.

He needed to try to get Juliet to open up and talk about what was going on in her head, see if he could figure out a way to help her make some progress.

Of course, Evan couldn't throw stones too far while sitting in his glass house. He hadn't told anybody about the dreams that had been plaguing him for the past year and a half. Hadn't told anyone about how he sometimes sat in his car in front of Juliet's house at night, just to make sure she was safe.

In case she needed him to protect her. The way he hadn't been able to do on that last mission. The way that had haunted him ever since.

So maybe Juliet wasn't the only one who needed to make forward progress. Baby steps for him, too.

But right now he needed to get ready for his meeting with Vince Cady. He flipped through the files on his desk one more time.

Cady was a vicious bastard. Evan was delighted at the opportunity to slip inside his organization and wreak as much havoc as possible. He was a little mad that arresting Cady wasn't a priority for this operation, but understood why it wasn't. Omega always kept the big picture in mind.

A chair creaking at the desk across from his drew Evan's focus. Sawyer Branson winced a little as he took his arm out of the sling it had resided in for the past few weeks, and stretched it gently. “Ready for everything with Cady tomorrow?” he asked, rotating his shoulder.

Evan closed the files. “Yep. As much as I can be with this sort of thing. How's the arm?”

His friend grimaced. “Let's just say I don't recommend getting shot. Even a flesh wound hurts like hell and takes a long time to heal. But it could've been much worse.”

“And with pretty Dr. Megan now working right upstairs, I'll bet you're not even itching to get back out in the field.” Evan tried not to snicker as he said it, but wasn't entirely successful.

Sawyer got that goofy smile at the mention of Megan Fuller, the same smile his brother Cameron got at the mention of his fiancée, Sophia Reardon.

Branson men were falling like flies around here. Evan couldn't help but grin.

“I'm not rushing the healing process, let's just say that,” Sawyer said, stretching his arm out again. “Wouldn't want to have any permanent damage.”

“Well, don't worry. I'll handle all the heavy lifting out in the field while you and Cameron play lover boys to your respective ladies.”

Sawyer got serious. “You sure you feel all right about going in with Cady? Cam and I both feel we've left you on your own. Especially without Juliet available in this situation.”

“I'll be fine. I've been doing most ops on my own for the past year now.”

Neither of them mentioned why. Neither had to.

“Where are you meeting Cady tomorrow?” Sawyer asked after a moment's pause that held a novel's worth of unsaid words.

“Undetermined as of yet. I'm going to try to get him somewhere neutral. We'll see how it plays out.”

“All right.” Sawyer got up and put his arm back into the sling. “Keep us all posted.”

“Yeah, it will be good to have Juliet as team leader on this one. She sees things nobody else does, sometimes.”

Her brother nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, maybe. I hope so.”

“She'll be fine, Sawyer. Safe here at Omega, as always.”

Sawyer looked as if he might say something else, but didn't. He just nodded again, then began walking down the hall. “Hey, family barbecue next weekend. My mom says you better be there for this one or she's coming after you personally,” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, okay, tell her I'll be there unless this case dictates otherwise.” And the case would dictate otherwise; Evan would make sure of that. He loved the Branson family and their get-togethers. But until things were more comfortable between him and Juliet, he wouldn't be going. Juliet needed to know that her family was hers. Evan would never want to take that from her.

Evan read through the files one more time, familiarizing himself with every part of Vince Cady's operation. He would never let the drug lord know he had this sort of knowledge, of course. To Cady, Bob Sinclair would be a midlevel criminal: smart, but not too clever; industrious, but still a little lazy. Someone useful and nonthreatening.

Evan could admit it was easier when he'd had Juliet playing his wife. He'd just pretended to be in awe of her and head over heels in love. Nobody had ever had any difficulty buying that cover. Bob and Lisa Sinclair had made a good team. Everybody had accepted that Lisa was the brains of the couple and Bob was willing to do anything she asked. It made them seem appealing and adept, but not threatening.

Not threatening except to Robert Avilo, another midlevel criminal who didn't like how successful the Sinclairs had become in black-market buying and selling on what he considered to be his turf. In an attempt to get rid of the competition, to scare off the Sinclairs, Avilo had attacked Juliet.

Such a pity Avilo had died a few days after the attack while resisting arrest. An arrest made based on an “anonymous” tip. Evan wished he could've killed the bastard himself. But he still took a little comfort knowing the man was dead and that Juliet would never have to see his face again.

And though she never broke cover even when raped by Avilo, Evan and Juliet had completely pulled out of the case after the attack. Juliet had been in the hospital and Evan had refused to leave her side. He had no idea what the word was on the street about why the Sinclairs hadn't been around for the past year and a half. Their disappearance had been pretty abrupt. But Evan took comfort in knowing that rumors floating about the Sinclairs would not be whispers that they were law enforcement.

Juliet, in her bravery and her silence, had seen to that.

But DS-13, the crime syndicate group, hadn't had any problems with Bob Sinclair's sudden reappearance when they'd contacted him last month. Neither had Vince Cady. Evan just hoped it stayed that way tomorrow, but knew he'd have to be ready for some questions.

He dumped onto his desk the contents of a large envelope he'd gotten from his filing cabinet earlier today. It contained items that had belonged to Bob Sinclair, and would help reestablish Evan's cover. A driver's license, of course. It had to be a real one that linked back to Bob Sinclair. There were too many online sites that, for a reasonable fee, could let Cady know if an ID was fake. So Bob Sinclair's license was real, complete with links to several unpaid parking tickets, and even arrests, when Bob had been younger. If a local cop ran his license or social security number—and it wasn't unreasonable to think that someone of Vince Cady's criminal caliber would have at least one police officer on his payroll—it would look real.

So would the credit cards in Sinclair's name, another way a cover could be easily blown if an operative wasn't careful. In today's technologically savvy world, credit cards that had never been used, or a social security number that could be traced back only a couple of years, were easily found and red-flagged. Bob Sinclair's credit cards had purchases and statements dating back ten years. It was some analyst's job at Omega to make sure all these electronically trackable items looked as real as possible. Whoever that person was did a damn good job.

The other items from the envelope included business cards for exporting companies and banks around the Baltimore and DC area. Even Sinclair's library card, randomly placed in his wallet. Plus two photographs. The first was of Bob and Lisa's wedding day. Evan and Juliet had posed outside a church, in wedding garb, hand in hand and smiling. Rice showered them in the picture, the perfect way to make it look as if a large crowd of people surrounded them. In actuality it had just been a few other agents, who had enjoyed pelting them with rice from every angle.

Evan picked up the other picture and studied it longer. He remembered that day from two years ago with crystal clarity. The photo had been taken in front of the Cape Henry Lighthouse on Chesapeake Bay in Virginia, during the winter. He and Juliet had driven there for the express purpose of getting this memento from the Sinclairs' secluded “honeymoon” so they could both have a copy in their wallet. A couple who posed as being in love with each other as much as Bob and Lisa did would definitely have pictures of each other with them at all times. Plus, it gave them added history, a more firm timeline.

Details like that could be the difference between life and death in an undercover operation.

For the photo, Evan had scooped Juliet up and cradled her in his arms. They'd asked a stranger to take their picture with their little disposable camera, explaining they were on their honeymoon. The stranger had gladly obliged, but had insisted Evan and Juliet seal the moment with a kiss.

The kiss had started out brief, just a staged moment for a picture. But then Evan had found he hadn't wanted to stop kissing Juliet. And judging by the way she clung to him, she hadn't wanted to stop, either. Her soft lips and warm mouth had been so different from the cold air that had surrounded them.

They had both totally forgotten about the stranger taking their picture, who evidently at some point had just left the camera on a nearby step and walked away, giving the “newlyweds” their privacy. When Evan and Juliet had finally broken apart, they'd both been breathing heavily. And had been confused as hell about what had just happened between them—so unexpected, but so perfectly right at the same time.