Stolen (13 page)

“Maybe it’s off-book.”

“The FBI doesn’t operate like that.”

Sean gestured around him. “What’s this?”

“This is different.”

“Bullshit. You know damn well there are bad agents mixed with the good. What about the mole? Maybe this woman
is
the mole.”

“It’s possible. But not everyone disobeys protocols.”

Sean’s fist clenched. “I’m sick of your verbal jabs, Armstrong. You don’t like me, you don’t approve of me, I get that, but you’re the one who wanted me here, so just leave me the hell alone.”

Noah walked over to the computer. He pulled a printout from the printer and handed it to Sean. “Here’s the background on the seven PBM board members. I didn’t see anything that jumped out as connected to Paxton; maybe you will.”

“I’ll take it upstairs.” Sean grabbed the papers and left.

*   *   *

Sean picked through the information Noah had found on the PBM board members. There wasn’t a lot there. He would need to dig deeper to find a connection with Paxton.

Sean’s cell phone rang and he planned to ignore it. He glanced at the caller ID.

Duke.

“Don’t answer,” Sean told himself.

Dammit.

He picked up the phone. “Hello, Duke. I see you tracked down my new number.”

“I just had a call from the FBI. You’re wanted for questioning related to something involving Colton Thayer.”

Shit.
That woman yesterday—now it made sense. “Thanks for the heads-up,” Sean said. “I’ll talk to you—”

“It doesn’t work that way, little brother. You messed up big-time when you did that job for Thayer last month. Do you want to spend the next ten to twenty years in prison? I’m not going to be able to bail you out again. JT is officially disavowing you with the FBI. Please, whatever you’re doing, stop.”

“I’m not going to prison,” Sean said. “And I didn’t ask you to bail me out of anything.”

“If Deanna Brighton has her way, you’ll rot in jail.”

Brighton!
Everything became clear. She’d changed her hair, she’d gotten older, but now that he had her name he couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her yesterday.

“What did she say?”

“She said you were in New York. She wanted your address and number.”

Damn, Sean was going to have to lose this number. “And how did you get my number? Did you give it to her?”

“No, but maybe I should have. Give me something, Sean—something to help fix this mess.”

Sean didn’t want Duke digging around and possibly jeopardizing his undercover work. “Stay out of it, Duke. I have everything under control.”

“Like hell you do!”

“I’m not doing anything illegal.” At least, not without the okay of his FBI handler. After the fact.

“I don’t believe you.”

That stung. “You made it clear that if I was friends with Colton, I couldn’t work for RCK. I’m not your problem anymore, Duke.”

“You’re my brother. You’ll always be my problem.”

And that was the crux of their relationship. Sean had always been Duke’s “problem.” He’d been a minor when their parents were killed, and Duke had stepped in as his guardian. Not Kane, not Liam and Eden, who at nineteen moved to Europe, but Duke. Sean had both loved Duke and resented him at fourteen. When Sean moved to D.C., he thought Duke had finally realized he was an equal and not the problem child. He’d been wrong.

“No,” Sean said, his voice low. “I’m not your problem.” He hung up. His hand was shaking when he dialed Noah’s number. “I’m coming downstairs. I know the woman who followed me.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucy Kincaid was in the middle of physical training when her class supervisor, SSA Paula Dean, stepped into the gym. One look and Lucy knew she was being summoned. But she waited until Tom Harden, the PT trainer, motioned her over.

Paula was in her early forties, with a no-nonsense manner. She would have been attractive if she didn’t hide behind a stern expression and severe hairstyle. She supervised all three new agent classes at Quantico, the newest class having started last month. Lucy was just past the mid-point, starting her eleventh week. They’d had a battery of tests last week and Lucy was relieved she’d passed them all, but the coming weeks were going to be busy and stressful.

Lucy wrapped her towel around her neck and tried to smile, but her eyes went from Tom to Paula’s stern expressions. “You need me for something?”

“Grab your bag. I don’t think you’ll be back today.”

Lucy frowned but went to the locker room and picked up her gym bag before following Paula from the gym. “Agent Dean—”

Paula stopped and faced her. They’d had a few rough patches since Lucy had been on-campus.

Paula said, “I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but it’s about your boyfriend.”

Her stomach sank. “Is he okay?” Of course he was. She’d have heard something from family first if Sean had been hurt—except he’d only spoken to her and Patrick since his birthday. And even when he spoke to her, he didn’t sound himself. The split with his brother and RCK had torn Sean up, and she was stuck here, at the Academy, unable to help him get through it. She didn’t think he liked his new job. He’d told her it was temporary, but he’d been living in New York for nearly a month and he wasn’t talking about coming back to D.C.

The only thing getting her through the long days was her job. She was so busy studying and training that she only had time to miss him at night. And while they talked several times a week, it wasn’t enough.

“Two New York agents are here wanting to question you about Sean Rogan.”

Lucy immediately thought the worst. Sean often broke rules, but he’d always had the protection of RCK. Without them, had he grown more reckless? He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do it because of her. She hoped.

She followed Paula not to her office but to the administrative wing of the building. Paula said, “Sit here; you’ll be called in.” She gave Lucy an odd look—it might have been sympathy—then left the building.

Lucy remained standing and consciously forced herself to be still—to not pace or bite her thumbnail or her lip. She didn’t have her phone—it was in her dorm room—so she couldn’t text Sean and ask what was going on. She was worried. She’d spoken to Sean on Saturday night, but he’d been distracted. Why hadn’t she pushed him? Why hadn’t she trusted her instincts and taken the train to New York and surprised him?

It was several minutes before the assistant chief of the FBI Academy, Lynda O’Neal, opened her office door and said, “Agent Kincaid, we’re ready for you.”

Under most circumstances, Lynda O’Neal was a hard woman to read—next to the definition of “calm, cool, and collected” was a picture of the assistant chief. But right now, her composure was ruffled. She looked angry. Lucy bit back the urge to apologize, even though this wasn’t about her. She’d kept her head down and her class ranking in the top five, in spite of a few distractions. What could Sean have done that two FBI agents would need to talk to her?

She walked into Lynda’s office and the first thing she noticed was her file open on the desk. She’d seen it before; with the colored labels on the side she didn’t need to see her name on the front to know it was her personnel file.

Lucy didn’t recognize the two seated federal agents: a dark-haired man in his early thirties and a blond woman of about forty.

Lynda closed the door and took her seat behind her desk. “Agent Kincaid, please meet Special Agents Steve Gannon and Deanna Brighton from the New York field office. They have a few questions for you.” Her voice was tight and clipped.

“Questions? About what?” Lucy asked.

Deanna Brighton took the lead. “When was the last time you spoke to your boyfriend?” She stared at Lucy. “Sean Rogan.” As if she needed to make clear who they were talking about.

Lucy didn’t say anything. She looked at Lynda, but the assistant chief was looking down at the files and didn’t make eye contact.

Why had these agents come all the way to Quantico rather than sending a local agent? Something felt very wrong to Lucy.

“Sit down,” Brighton commanded.

Lucy purposefully took the chair immediately across from Lynda. With the agents on the couch, the position gave Lucy a psychological advantage in that they would be looking at Lynda—her supervisor—sitting behind her.

“Answer my question.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because I’m a federal agent and you’re a rookie agent and you’re required to answer any questions I have.”

Lynda said, “Agent Brighton, I’ve allowed this meeting even though it’s highly irregular. I expect you to talk to my agents with respect.”

“I’ll get to the point,” Brighton said. “We’re looking for Mr. Rogan, simply to question him, but he’s eluded us. We know he’s in New York City. We need his address.”

The FBI was looking for Sean. That had to be a mistake. Or a misunderstanding. Or
something
other than an investigation. How did the FBI know he was in New York?
Why
would they know? Why would they need to talk to him?

“Why are you looking for Sean?”

“Do I need to remind you
again
that you’re a federal employee and you’re required to answer all questions truthfully?”

“I asked—”

“We need his current address. His brother claimed not to know where he was living.”

“Claimed?” Did this agent think that Duke was lying? The accusation shifted Lucy from confused to the offensive.

Sean is in trouble.

Lucy said, “I don’t know Sean’s address, either.”

Agent Gannon said, “You’re still involved with Mr. Rogan, correct?” His voice was softer than his appearance.

“Yes.” Lucy tried to figure out what they wanted. They probably wouldn’t tell her, not if this was an active investigation, yet they were coming to her for information and would assume she’d talk to Sean about this conversation. Was that their purpose? For Lucy to call Sean and warn him? “What do you think Sean has done?”

“Why do you assume he’s done something illegal?” Brighton snapped.

“I don’t,” Lucy said calmly, recognizing the tactic to twist her words to make her flustered. Last year, it might have worked. But Lucy no longer spooked easily. She was no longer always on the defensive. She owed her confidence in part to her FBI training and her experience but mostly to Sean.

Agent Gannon, obviously the good cop in this scenario, said, “The way you can help your boyfriend is to tell us where he is so we can ask him some questions. It’s all pretty standard.”

“This isn’t standard,” Lucy said. “Two New York agents coming to Quantico to question a rookie about her boyfriend? Is there an active investigation?”

“We can’t discuss any pending investigation with you considering you are sleeping with Mr. Rogan,” Deanna said. “We need his address. He’s gone off the grid, and people don’t just go off the grid when they’re law-abiding citizens.”

Lucy ground her teeth together, biting back a retort that would have gotten her in trouble. “I told you,” she said clearly, “I don’t know where he’s staying.”

“You two must not be that close,” Brighton said.

“That’s none of your business.” Lucy realized she sounded defensive, and by the gleam in Deanna’s eyes she’d deliberately baited her. Damn, Lucy had walked right into it.

Brighton said, “If a federal agent is involved with a known criminal, it’s damn well my business.”

Lynda intervened. “Agent Brighton, Lucy said she doesn’t know where Mr. Rogan is staying in New York, and I’m not going to allow you to badger her unless you have proof that she’s lying.”

“I’m sorry, Chief O’Neal. I didn’t mean to badger anyone.”

Her tone said anything but.

“I suggest you call your boyfriend and have him turn himself in for questioning,” Brighton said. She gave Lucy her business card. “He can reach me at either of those numbers.”

Lucy took the card, barely resisting the urge to tear it in half.

“We just need to ask him questions,” Gannon said, shooting a veiled glance at Brighton. “He’s simply a person of interest. If he cooperates, he won’t be in any trouble.”

Something didn’t add up. Lucy said, “You have his phone number. Call him.”

Brighton snapped, “Don’t you think we’ve tried? I know how he operates. He thinks he’s above the law.
No one
is above the law.”

“I think you’re making vague accusations but have nothing substantive, and many law-abiding citizens get nervous when the FBI wants to talk to them about nothing specific,” Lucy said. “What
specifically
is going on?”

“And
that
is none of your business,
New
Agent Kincaid.”

Lynda stood. “We’re done.”