Owned: An Alpha Anthology (48 page)

DEEP COVER: CASE 001
BY LILLIANA ANDERSON

007

I’m still standing in my kitchen when Gabby and Emery burst through the front door as if they own the place.

"Where is he?" Emery demands, and he stalks toward me while Gabby moves about the house, checking through each of the rooms and reporting via the radio that Drake isn’t here.

"Gone," I state, opening the kitchen junk drawer where I placed the thumb drive, and the vial, when Drake had gone. I remove the vial, but close it with the drive still in there for me to look at later.

"You just let him go again?" Emery asks, shaking his head in disbelief. "Of course you did."

"I didn’t ‘let’ him do anything. And how the hell am I, a woman of five foot-nine, supposed to subdue a man the size of Drake?"

"You could have figured out something, surely. He used to be your husband," he comments, giving me a look that tells me exactly what he thought I should have done.

"I’m not going to sleep with a man I haven’t seen for four years just to close your case for you, Agent Emery. And don’t ever insinuate something like that to me again or I’ll have you written up. Is that understood?"

"Fine," he states, glancing between me, and Gabby, who is also giving him an unimpressed look.

"I think you’ve said enough, Emery. I’ll take it from here," she says, before turning toward me. "Tell us what happened. Are you okay? Did he hurt you in any way?"

"No, he didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. He just said that he wanted Greer to know that he would still uphold his end of the bargain, and that this vial," I hold it up to show them, "is a peace offering of sorts. It’s the drug Le Doux is fencing. We can get the lab to look at it and work out exactly what’s in it."

Emery snatches it from my fingers and squints into the glass vial as he inspects it in the light. "And possibly work out where it’s coming from," he muses. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak when his voice wasn’t laced with disdain. He hands the vial to Gabby.

"Well, at least something decent has come out of this mess. I’m sure the commander will want a full report in the morning. But until then, Birdwood and I will get this to the lab. Good work, Samuels," he says, heading straight for the door, surprising me with his sudden praise.

"I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk properly," Gabby says, giving my arm a quick squeeze before she follows Emery out and assures me the agents outside my house are under strict orders that they aren’t to be called away for anything.

As soon as I hear them drive away, I go back to the drawer and pull out the drive, plugging it into my laptop and clicking on the video.

Immediately, CCTV footage, time stamped with the date and time, pops up on my screen. In it, I see two figures with Drake’s handler, Eric Blackwood. Their backs are to the camera, but you can see Blackwood on his knees between them, his hands tied behind his back as he shakes his head at something they’re saying. He looks petrified.

There is no sound, and the footage is stilted from the time lapse, but you see one of the figures move and stand beside Blackwood, their arm extended as they press a gun against his head.

Pausing, I zoom in the image, hoping to make out the facial features from their side profile, but it’s far too blurry without some specialist enhancement. I press play, knowing what is about to happen but feeling a sick need to watch anyway. A flash of light. The drop of the body. The rough kick that pushes the body into the water. And then, it ends. Poor Eric.

I stare at the static on my screen for an unnatural amount of time, wondering exactly who those people are who took out Agent Blackwood. There was no way either of them were Drake, their stature was far too small to be hulk of the man that is Drake Jefferson. And I feel as though I need some help on this to clear up the images and possibly be able to make out at least one of their faces, despite Drake telling me not to trust anyone with this.

Then, closing the video, I click on the other file, prepared to work on cracking the encryption. Now, more than ever, I want those names.

DEEP COVER: CASE 001
BY LILLIANA ANDERSON

008

My phone begins to sing out its morning alarm, signalling that it’s time to wake up and get ready for work. But I haven’t been back to bed. I’m running on only a couple of hours sleep as I try to get through this encryption to see the names on the payroll file. But it’s one of the hardest encryptions I’ve ever had to crack. Someone didn’t want anyone getting into this file.

Standing up, I run my hands over my face then around to the back of my neck, pressing my fingers into the stiff muscles as I roll my head back and hear an audible crack as my vertebrae attempt to return to their original position. I pick up my laptop and hide it in my wardrobe before grabbing some clothes and taking a quick shower to freshen up for work.

I make double strength coffee and drink down two cups, before grabbing a pop tart out of the packet and eating it without toasting it as I fill my travel mug with yet another coffee and head to my car.

When I make it to site seventeen and go through the usual security checks to get on site, I enter the meeting room and find Emery and Gabby surrounded by archive boxes and files. They’re everywhere.

"What the hell happened in here?" I ask, looking around at the mess.

"Commander Greer has a meeting with the commissioner as soon as the results of that vial are in. They’re considering working with Drake if he can provide real information on the Le Doux case. So we’re going over all the information on file to make sure we’re ready to go."

"Makes me glad I was there for the actual case," I tell them, taking a sip of coffee as I watch Emery reading a document as if his life depends on it. He still hasn’t acknowledged my presence. He’s just moving his head from side to side, as if he’s a typewriter moving from the end to the beginning of each sentence.

"He’s in the zone," Gabby explains. "I’m sure he’ll have a hell of a lot of questions for you when he’s done."

"Are they thinking of calling in Commander Haines at all? He’s the expert on all this."

She shrugs her shoulders. "I have no idea right now."

Taking off my jacket, I hang it over the back of a chair and pick up a folder, to look inside. It’s full of surveillance documents and photos that we collected on Le Doux himself. Just looking at them, reminds me of what life was like back then, working with the man I loved. Even the boredom of surveillance could be a good day.

Ignoring the tug at my heart, I close the folder and place it on the table, about to pick up another when Greer enters the room with some paperwork in his hands. The air around us suddenly fills with a tension that wasn’t there before and even Emery looks up to give Greer his full attention.

Greer looks pointedly at each of us, then holds the paper up in display before he speaks.

"Glucose," he states, his rage barely contained as he throws the report on the crowded table. "FUCKING SUGAR SYRUP!" he roars, his face turning red as his voice seems to catapult out of his chest and buzz angrily in our ears. "Explain yourselves!"

"I don’t know what to say," I start, feeling completely shocked and once again, betrayed by something my ex-husband has done. "Drake assured–"

"
Drake
is a fucking dead man. The next time I get my hands on him." He holds his hands in front of him and mines a neck squeezing motion.

"Emery, my office now. Birdwood, clean up this mess, and Samuels, you’re fired. Get out of here, now."

He spins on his heel and storms off, with Emery following closely behind him.

"I’ll bet he’s like a pig in shit right now. He never wanted me here anyway," I say through gritted teeth as I reach down and pick up my jacket and bag with a furious tug.

"I’m so sorry, Cait," Gabby offers.

I hold up my hand. "It’s fine. It’s fine. I didn’t want to do this anyway."

"But your job. If there’s anything I can do…"

I step toward her, knowing that I don’t have long before I’m escorted off the premises. "Actually, there is," I say quietly. "I have something. It’s actual evidence," I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is within earshot. "Evidence that proves Drake didn’t kill his handler. It’s one thing that bastard gave me that is actually legit. But I need someone to enhance the video so we can see who did it. Are any of your contacts capable of that?"

Gabby’s eyes are wide and her mouth is open as I reveal this information to her. If I didn’t trust her, I’d never to tell her as she is now well within her right to put me in a holding cell and go and search my house. But she doesn’t do that. She looks over my shoulder to double check we’re alone as well and then meets my eyes.

"Why didn’t you tell us this before?" she whispers.

"He said not to show anyone else. But after that drug fiasco, he can go and fuck himself."

"Ok. Send it to me in a locked file. I’ll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Gabby. I’ll see you around–probably when I’m court marshalled," I attempt to joke, although the possibility is quite real.

"Cait?" she calls out to me as I turn to make my way out the door. "Did he give you anything else?"

"An encrypted file. He said it was a payroll. Although I don’t know for sure because I can’t crack it. I’ll send it to you though."

"Thanks," she smiles, and I lift my hand to wave as my escort calls me from the door. This time I have to go through security checks to exit the building, leaving without a badge, a weapon, or an income. Was there anything else Drake could do to ruin my life?

DEEP COVER: CASE 001
BY LILLIANA ANDERSON

009

As I head out to my car, I check my phone and see a message from Gavin, asking how I’m feeling after a good night’s sleep. I chuckle bitterly to myself, thinking that if he only knew what really happened last night, he might not be feeling so nice toward me, and I really do dislike that I can’t tell him anything. Even though I’ve just been fired, I still can’t talk about any of my cases.

I type back that I’m fine as I don’t want to worry him with my current job status. I’ll tell him about it when I see him next. I head home, planning to send the files Drake gave me to Gabby so she can deal with him from now on. The man just made me look like a fool for the last time, and this time, he cost me my job. Drake Jefferson can rot in hell for all I care. That man has ruined me.

Glancing at the surveillance team outside my house, I make my way inside, and as I shut the door, I finally feel safe enough to let my upset wash over me.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I just lost the only job I’ve ever had. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t even put ‘special operative and hacker for the Federal Police’ on my resume. All I’ll have is ‘data analyst’ and ‘law enforcement officer’. What the hell am I going to do with that?

My body heats with my anger, and I walk straight to the kitchen and pull the bottle of wine out of the fridge, then I put it straight back in, deciding that wine isn’t strong enough in this situation. Instead, I pull the whiskey out of the cupboard. Drake’s four hundred dollar a bottle whiskey that I’ve kept as some sort of homage to him. Fuck that.

Using my teeth, I pull out the cork and spit it on the floor, tipping the bottle up and drinking more than a few standard shots straight from the neck. It burns as I gulp, and I grimace, forcing the liquid down my throat where it heats my belly and mixes with the three cups of coffee I’ve already consumed today.

After only eating a pop tart, the alcohol reacts with me almost instantly, and it only serves to make me feel even angrier with Drake. I look around the house, trying to find something that was his. I want to break something he cared about. I want to show him that he means nothing to me–that he’s ruined my life and that I’ll never forgive him.

Tipping the bottle back again, I gulp down more whiskey. It doesn’t burn as badly this time. But it doesn’t taste much better either, and as I drink, my eyes shift toward the fish tank. Drake’s fish tank. The fish I’ve taken painstaking care of for the last four years because I knew how much he loved them.

Without giving it a second thought, I slam the bottle down on the benchtop and walk straight toward the six-foot tank, picking up a dining room chair along the way.

With a strength I didn’t think I possessed, I swing the chair at the tank. "Fuck you!" I scream, crashing it into the glass and shattering the pane. I drop the chair and stumble back, watching as a torrent of water and fish spill out of the gaping hole. And I stand there, heaving, my eyes burning from unshed tears and my head spinning from too much alcohol too fast, and I watch the water spread as the fish flip, frantically on the floor.

"Oh god," I cry, the dam of my tears finally bursting as I feel horrible for what I’ve done. Rushing to the laundry, I grab a bucket and pull as much of the remaining water out of the tank as I can. Then I systematically, pick up every fish that is flapping on the floor and place it in the water to save it. "I’m so sorry," I whisper. "None of this is your fault."

"Are you all right, ma’am?" an officer asks from behind me as I continue to pick the fish up. I didn’t even hear them come in. "We heard a scream."

"I’m fine," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. "I just fell into the tank," I lie, now suddenly embarrassed by what I did. "You can go. I’m fine."

They do a check of the house and radio in their actions before leaving me alone again, in a drunken haze, trying to save the bloody fish.