Incriminating Evidence (43 page)

Erica took her hand, then she cocked her head and said, “Wait a minute. Oregon. Seven or eight years ago. Pipeline survey for a CRM company based out of California.”

Isabel searched her memory. Eight years ago, she’d dig-bummed all along the West Coast. She didn’t have a good memory for faces, but she did remember projects. “Was that the project with an Oregon Trail site on top of a prehistoric lithic scatter?”

Erica nodded. “Yep. The pipeline company had been caught trying to smooth out the wagon ruts so they could claim the historic site was gone and they could build a road. When the state discovered the damage, not only did they have to preserve the remainder of the ruts, but also they had to pay a buttload in fines
and
for our survey. I hear they went back and did a data recovery on the lithic scatter.”

“I was in grad school by then and missed it,” Isabel said.

“Me too.”

Suddenly, it clicked into place. Isabel had hung back, as was her way, even in the field, not engaging with the other field techs, but the last night of the project, she’d gone out for drinks with the crew and had discussed her grad school plans with another woman who’d been about to embark on underwater archaeology graduate school in Hawaii. She grinned at Erica. “I’m surprised I didn’t recognize your name before now.”

The woman shrugged. “It was a short project with a large crew. I didn’t remember you until I saw your hair.”

Isabel touched her curls, which were wilder than usual because she still didn’t have a ponytail holder. “Yeah. That’s usually the way it goes.”

Erica turned to Trina. “Yo. Treen. Come up for air and meet Isabel. I’m pretty sure Keith is going to live.”

Trina settled against Keith’s good side and extended a hand. “Hi. Just to be clear, I’m not an archaeologist, and I don’t like dirt. I like books and oral histories and electricity and plumbing. I’m not entirely sure why Mara and Erica are friends with me, except I make excellent chocolate martinis.”

Isabel laughed, a little relieved the woman wasn’t ready to lynch her for causing her boyfriend to get shot.

“Let’s head inside to the living quarters.” Alec gave both Keith and Isabel a stern stare. “You both were supposed to be resting up for the meeting.”

“The officials are already here,” Isabel said. “They’re waiting in the main conference room.”

He frowned and turned to the others. “Why don’t you guys take Trina and Erica to your quarters, then join the meeting?”

They nodded, and everyone entered the labyrinth. Isabel gripped Alec’s hand as they walked straight to the conference room.

The government officials included two men from the DIA, one from the CIA, FBI Agents Upton and Crews, and their boss, the Special Agent in Charge from the Anchorage office. Everyone who’d been involved in yesterday’s search was also present, and Doc Larson had returned to the compound because he’d treated Chase Johnston—who was recovering with a good prognosis in Fairbanks—and was monitoring both Isabel’s and Keith’s recuperations.

The rest of Alec’s employees—those who’d been shipped off when the compound closed—were still in Fairbanks. Isabel dropped into a seat next to Brad and nodded to Ethan, who sat across from her. Sean and Josh flanked the DIA officials. Doc Larson was chatting up Matt Upton.

When Lee and Keith arrived, one of the Defense Intelligence Agency officials stood. “Is this everyone?” he asked.

“Yes,” Alec said.

The man crossed to the double doors and pulled them shut. “Good. As you all know, we’ve been conferring with our colleagues”—he nodded to the guy from the CIA and the FBI SAC—“about the best way to handle the situation and the release of data about what happened here. It pains me and the entire DIA that our former officer, Paul Westover, appears to have been using what he learned when he was affiliated with us to conduct and test research into interrogation techniques and experimental weapons.”

The man paced the length of the room. “After reviewing the data found in the hidden laboratory and having examined the cave, we have determined that the best course of action is to classify the events of the last week at the highest top secret security level.”

Isabel stiffened, not quite sure what that meant.

“In other words, none of this ever happened. All the data will be destroyed. The remains in the cave have been removed. None of you are to reveal anything you know about Markwell, Godfrey, and Westover’s success in weaponizing infrasound waves. Put simply, it’s too dangerous. There are several rogue states that would quite literally kill to get their hands on this technology. We at the DIA and my counterparts at the CIA will make certain that never happens, while it’s the FBI’s job to put out a plausible story to satisfy the people’s need for justice.”

“What’s the story?” Alec asked, his jaw stiff with anger. The DIA was, after all, talking about a cover-up. They were just putting a nicer spin on it.

The DIA official sat down and nodded to the Anchorage SAC, who stood and addressed the room. “It’s simple, really, Mr. Ravissant. Paul Westover and Nicole Markwell abducted you with the intention of holding you for ransom. When Ms. Dawson was observed in the area, they panicked and left you. You were unconscious the entire time, which is why you have no memory of your abduction. Several days later, Markwell and Westover seized another opportunity and abducted Ms. Dawson, again for ransom. You and your employees, along with FBI Agent Upton, tracked down the kidnappers and rescued Ms. Dawson. In the ensuing fight, both Westover and Markwell were killed.”

Alec shook his head. “It won’t work. While this story is close to the truth, it doesn’t explain Vincent Dawson’s death. You can’t admit he was killed by Westover, Godfrey, and Markwell. There’s no justice for Vin. No vindication for Isabel.”

Isabel met Alec’s gaze as emotions flooded her. “But Alec, this scenario is
perfect
. With this story, you can still run for the senate. You could still
win
. You won’t have to admit to killing Godfrey. No one will speculate about what being tortured did to you. No one will wonder if you were involved in the infrasound experimentation.” She paused. “This story will save your campaign.”

“I won’t lie to save my candidacy.”

“You’ll be lying for national security,” the CIA official said.

That gave Alec pause, and Isabel pounced. “If we come forward with the truth, not only will you lose, but the Russians will know Westover
was
successful. They’ll attempt their own experiments with infrasound. Hell, every rogue state will be after the technology Westover developed.”

“I get that,” Alec said. “But no one will ever know Vin was murdered. We need a better story.”

She’d suspected she was in love with Alec, but that was the moment she was certain. “The people who matter know. We got justice for Vin. His murderers are dead and can’t hurt anyone ever again. I’m satisfied.”

It wasn’t lost on Isabel that she’d just consented to the cover-up of her brother’s murder.

All that was left was hashing out the details of the story, ensuring no one would slip. It was agreed that Alec would make an official statement upon his return to Maryland, adding that the ordeal was personal and he wouldn’t take further questions on the subject, and then resume campaigning. The FBI statement would quickly follow, assuring everyone that they were conducting a full investigation to be certain no other conspirators remained. And then they’d hope that the media would tire of the story as no more information was revealed.

Alec could recover his lead and win the election, but much of how it played out wouldn’t be in his control.

One thing that could be controlled, however, was not having a liability at his side. Isabel’s presence in the campaign would be a constant reminder of the story they couldn’t tell, not to mention the newspaper article that painted her as mentally unbalanced—which many people would always believe.

She had no doubt she would reduce his chances of winning.

He wanted to win, and she wanted it for him. The state of Maryland would be lucky to have him, and the US Senate would be a better place if he held a seat. She’d made her decision before she even shook hands with the officials and left the conference room.

At least she and Alec would have tonight for good-byes.

She expected him to remain in the conference room with his employees after the officials left, but instead, the meeting ended and everyone dispersed to their quarters. They all had earned a night off.

He draped an arm around her shoulder as they strode down the winding halls. The compound was quiet. They’d agreed to remain closed for another month, but then the trainings would resume, with Sean Logan as interim director, and she suspected eventually Brad would be named to the top spot.

She wanted to shut down the part of her brain that worried about logistics and cover stories, to set aside for the moment all that had been hashed out during the meeting. She just wanted tonight with Alec.

After they entered his quarters, he pressed her against the closed door and nuzzled her neck. “God, I missed you during the trip to Fairbanks.”

“I missed you too.” She pressed her lips to his. Tentative. They hadn’t done more than hold each other since the shooting yesterday. But she wanted more now. She wanted to forget everything she couldn’t remember.

Or, more accurately she wanted to forget there was something she didn’t want to remember.

But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted him, or even the most important. He made her feel warm, special, and alive. Plus she loved him.

His tongue slid between her lips, and she melted into him, thankful he was ready to move on from cautious touches and take this to the next level.

He pulled back. “Are you sure, Iz?”

She gripped his shirt and held him close. “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I’m not. I
need
you. Need this. But I don’t want soft or gentle. I want hot and fierce.”

“You want angry?”

“I’m a little angry. Okay, a lot. But not at you. Never at you.”

His mouth covered hers in a deep, hard kiss. His fingers threaded through her curls and twisted, holding her in a tight grip without causing pain.

Yes.

His lips left her mouth and trailed downward, hard, sucking kisses that would likely leave marks. She didn’t give a damn. She wanted to ride the edge of rough. She wanted the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body to override every sensation she’d experienced in the last days—even the ones she couldn’t remember.

This
would be the memory she took away from Alaska.

She began unbuttoning Alec’s shirt, but the process was too slow. She gripped the opening and pulled. Buttons popped off, and with satisfying speed, Alec’s chest was exposed.

He laughed and scooped her up, heading for the bedroom.

“No,” she said. “The marble sideboard.”

He changed direction, taking her straight to the named furniture. “It’ll be cold.”

“And you’ll be hot inside me.”

He set her feet on the floor and unbuttoned her jeans, then stopped. “Strip while I grab a condom.”

She obeyed and was fully naked by the time he returned. He still wore slacks and his torn shirt. Sexy and perfect, and she was about to fulfill the fantasy she’d had that first morning she was here. She opened his fly, and no sooner did she have his thick cock in her hand than he lifted her and set her on the cold marble counter. It was exactly the sensation she wanted—the juxtaposition of hard, unforgiving surface beneath and behind her, with him hot and hard between her thighs.

He slipped the condom on, and that fast, he was inside her. She stretched around him. His first thrust sent intense ripples of pleasure through her.

God, yes. This.

She locked her ankles together behind his ass, gripped the lapel of his open shirt as her head lolled back and bumped against the wall with each thrust. Pleasure radiated from her core, but not the kind that built toward orgasm. For that, she needed direct clitoral stimulation, and she was content to just feel him within her. To have this intimacy. To know her body gave him the intensity he needed.

He loved her.

She could see it in his eyes. In the ferocity of his gaze as he’d stepped into her cabin in the early morning hours and surrendered his gun the moment he recognized the threat to her. In the way he’d held her last night, as she tried to escape into the oblivion of sleep but couldn’t—not without a sleeping pill provided by Doc Larson.

And now, as he took her with the edge of roughness she’d asked for.

As if he could read her mind, he grabbed her wrists and held them together above her head, restraining her with one hand, while his other slipped between them and stroked her clit, quickly bringing her to the verge of orgasm. With her hands restrained, she couldn’t stop him, couldn’t hold back. She had to give in to what he demanded from her body, and she came apart. Her body rocked as the orgasm slammed into her. She came so hard, so abruptly, she cursed. His fingers stayed on her clit, giving no quarter as she bucked against him, trying to pull back, certain she was about to split in two.

His mouth found hers again, and his hard kiss was as inescapable as his fingers. As she rode the wave of what might be the hardest, longest orgasm of her life, she was grateful he made her take it. Midorgasm, the pleasure built even higher, when she would have withdrawn, causing it to end.

The rhythm of his thrusts changed. He groaned into her mouth, and she knew he was reaching his own climax. Impossibly, she crested again as he came with three deep strokes.

Spent, his grip on her wrists went slack, even as the fingers on her clit remained firm. She felt his chuckle—his chest quaking against hers as his lips slid from hers to her neck.

His weight shifted, and she again locked her ankles behind his butt, preventing him from pulling out of her. She felt like she could melt into the marble counter and didn’t want him to leave her body just yet.

Without a word, he lifted her and crossed to the couch, sitting down with her straddling him so she could lie across his chest while they both returned to earth.