The Kill Order (7 page)

9

S
ydney had been holed up in Pearson’s office ever since she and Scotty left her apartment. He did allow her to make one stop, to her across-the-hall neighbor, Tina, so that she could explain that a couple of her coworkers were going to be doing some work at her place and not to be alarmed if she saw them removing any property. Once at HQ, Pearson explained their position, his concern being only for her safety—look what had happened to the young man in South San Francisco who’d found the numbers on the copy machine and been shot as a result.

That she understood. Even so, she paced the room, feeling like a criminal. Pearson eventually left, had been gone for a couple of hours, and Scotty had been assigned the job of babysitter. And for what? To make sure she didn’t run off? They undoubtedly had the list by now. So what the hell was taking them so long? she wondered, looking at the clock. It was almost five
P.M.

“This is utter bullshit,” she said, yet again. “Why are they searching my apartment? What are they expecting to find, when the list they want is—was—locked up in my desk drawer at Quantico?”

Scotty was seated in one of the chairs in front of Pearson’s desk. “You heard what he said. They’ve just got to be sure. Protocol and all.”

“What’s there to be sure of? I wouldn’t lie to him.”

Scotty got up out of his seat, looked through the partially open blinds out to the main floor, then turned back to her. Up until now, he’d been fairly quiet, not commenting on the case. Probably because he was worried about what they might find that could lead to him. Not that she was about to say anything. Not here. Not when she didn’t know if there were any listening devices.

“You made a copy when you
knew
it was a classified document,” he said, his look almost pleading with her to shut up. “That’s not exactly telling the truth.”

In this case, truth was subjective. The last thing she wanted to do was get Carillo in trouble over this, so she wasn’t about to mention that he’d made the copy, not her. “An oversight on my part. How was I supposed to know the thing was some national security document?”

“Because I told you so.”

“No, what you
told
me was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo about once those documents were recovered, the objective changed, and it was all about damage control. What the hell does that mean? You
knew
I thought those documents had something to do with my father’s murder. You also knew I thought they were offshore bank account numbers from BICTT,” she said, referring to the international CIA bank scandal that had also been connected to her father’s case. “Anyone who asked knew exactly what I thought, so thinking I
wouldn’t
make a copy was probably stupid on their part, don’t you think?”

Scotty threw her a dark look. “Are you serious? That’s your weak excuse?” He stalked back to his seat and dropped into it, clearly upset with her.

She didn’t care. Right now she had bigger issues, and, looking out the window, she saw one of them was about to hit. Pearson approached, carrying her old laptop.

Scotty happened to look up at the same time, saw it, then turned an accusing glance her way. “Please tell me he’s not going to find anything incriminating on there?”

When she didn’t answer, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then wiped all emotion from his face before Pearson walked in and deposited the laptop on his desk.

“Is this yours?” he asked Sydney.

“Yes.”

“The files on it?”

“What about them?”

“You put them on there?”

“I did. I don’t recall seeing any marks showing them as classified.”

“Except they all pertain to a classified investigation we’ve been running for years.”

“The only thing I was aware of was that they pertain to my father’s murder.”

“How did you acquire them?” Pearson asked.

She could feel Scotty’s gaze burning a hole in her back and she didn’t dare turn his direction. “Lots of digging over the years.”

“The files are dated a few months ago.”

Which was interesting, since she’d only downloaded them today. But then she remembered which computer she was dealing with. The date was probably set wrong, never mind the battery had been dead forever. Apparently he thought the laptop date was correct, not the flash drive date. So be it. “
If
you recall, a few months ago, I was actively pursuing my father’s case. These are the files I felt were somehow connected.”

“And what was the connection?”

“Honestly? I haven’t a clue. Which is why they’re still sitting there. It’s hours of research over the years that finally led me to believe that my father’s case was possibly tied into other cases, some of which are still going on today. That and the bits and pieces I was able to gather after talking with Robert Orozco down in Mexico,” she added, since she damned well knew he’d have a hard time checking into that. “But what does this have to do with the list of numbers you were looking for?”

He didn’t answer.

Not a good sign, she decided. “You did find it? In my desk drawer, where I said it was?”

“Yes.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Am I being investigated?”

“No. As I’m sure Scotty explained, this is about national security
and
your safety. The only reason we asked to search your apartment and office—which we thank you for your cooperation—is because of the last few missions you’ve worked. You’ve been exposed to things beyond your clearance level. Things that, when you started looking into them, you could never have realized the implications.”

She stood there a moment, trying to think of what to say, what might help her case, but nothing came to mind. “Can I go?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at Scotty. Normally she had no trouble reading him. He was mad, she knew that. She just wasn’t sure where that anger was directed. At the Bureau or at her? Probably her, she decided, and walked to the door, opened it.

“Fitzpatrick?”

She stopped, waiting for whatever it was Pearson was going to throw at her. She did not, however, turn around.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it right now. But I’m on your side.”

He was right. It didn’t seem like it. Not that she was foolish enough to say so out loud. “Thank you, sir.”

She left, and headed down the corridor, and it was everything she could do to keep calm. She jabbed the elevator button, then lost the effort, fuming as she waited.

Scotty ran up just as the doors opened, and they rode it down in silence. It wasn’t until they reached the parking garage that he said, “We need to talk.”

“Ya think?”

“Come back to my place.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Moral support? Company? Someone to vent to?”

“Thanks. But right now, I just need to be by myself. Think things through.”

He studied her face for a moment, as though making sure she really should be alone. “Call if you need anything.”

Both turned toward their respective cars, but after a few steps, Sydney stopped, called out to him. “That offer of taking the weekend at the B&B? Is that still on the table?”

“Of course. I can’t use it. And Amanda doesn’t want to go without me.”

“The prospect of sitting in the middle of the forest completely alone is suddenly very appealing, even if I do have to wait until next weekend.”

“It’s on my desk. We can go back up and get it.”

“If it’s all the same . . . ?” Running into Pearson was not high on her priority list right now.

“Back in a few.”

She waited at the elevator, glad for a moment to just regroup. She could deal with being under the microscope. Nothing new for her. The fact they’d found the files Scotty had given her on her laptop had shaken her, though. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize his career.

When he returned, handed her the envelope, she reached up, hugged him. “Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you,” he said quietly. “For not throwing me under the bus.”

She looked down at the envelope, fingered the edges. “I’d never do that. Not after . . . you know. I’m only sorry I dragged you into it as far as I did. I never meant—”

Scotty reached out, lifted her face so that she was looking right at him. “I’m not sure I would have done any different. If I were you, that is.” He smiled at her.

“But you’re glad you’re not me?”

“Pretty much.”

She smiled back, relieved that they had come to an easy truce after all this time. “I’ll call you.”

He nodded, then walked to his car, leaving her to hers. The moment she got in, slammed the door shut, she checked her cell phone, saw she had missed a call from Griffin and three from Carillo. She ignored Griffin’s call and phoned Carillo instead. “You’ll never guess who just searched my apartment and office. Pearson,” she said, before he could even get a word in edgewise. “They were after the numbers.”

“Tex was at my place earlier, so I figured it was a matter of time. Had you answered your phone, I would’ve mentioned it, right along with his request that I let
Griffin
tell you about his involvement.”

“Let’s just say I drew a logical conclusion.”

“Hard not to. I assume he’s back in D.C., since he wasn’t here with Tex last night. Have you talked to him yet?”

“No. But I can’t wait to hear his explanation for all this.”

“So what now?”

“Regroup. I’ll call you when I come up with a plan.”

“Stay safe.”

“Likewise.”

She left, navigated through commuter traffic, and eventually pulled onto the freeway, trying to decide what her next step should be. It was then she looked into her rearview mirror, noticing a dark-colored vehicle that twice changed lanes when she did.

Her phone vibrated in the cup holder, and she glanced down, saw it was Griffin.

Maybe she didn’t know his full involvement in all this. Plenty of time to find out later. Right now she had more important things to focus on. Like whether the black sedan trailing two cars behind was actually following her, or whether she was merely being paranoid.

10

S
ydney took the long way home, after several evasive maneuvers. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t being followed, but she wouldn’t put it past Pearson to assign a couple of agents to keep track of her whereabouts. What’d he think she was going to do? Materialize some nonexistent copies of this list and post them on the Internet?

She should have listened to her mother and become a kindergarten teacher. Right now, the thought of facing a room full of five-year-olds, their eyes filled with admiration while she taught them their ABCs, was eminently appealing. And by the time she pulled in her driveway, she’d almost convinced herself it was time to give up this job, go back to school, and get that teaching credential.

But then her phone rang. Griffin. Again.

After a deep, calming breath, she realized she was not ready to discuss this with him. She shut the thing off, tossed it into the center console, and stared out the window, feeling the weight of the world crushing down on her.

How had she been so blind? How could she not have known that he’d been involved that whole time?

A knock at her window startled her, and she looked over, saw her neighbor, Tina, with her black Labrador, Storm. The dog jumped up on the car door, whining, as though sensing the struggle she was going through at that moment.

“You okay?” Tina asked.

Sydney nodded, but didn’t move.

Neither did Tina, apparently not convinced. And when Storm pawed at the window, Sydney smiled, opened the door, and patted her lap. “Good boy.”

He pushed his nose into her, and she scratched him behind his ears.

Tina stood there, bundled against the cold, watching. They’d undoubtedly just come back from their evening outing at the dog park.

“How was the walk today, Storm?” Sydney asked, hoping Tina wouldn’t feel it necessary to delve into her personal life.

Like any true dog owner, Tina was happy to discuss her pet’s activities. “For him? He can chase a tennis ball for
ever.
For me? Nothing like spending an hour in near-freezing temperature to get that blood pumping. I can’t wait to get into a hot shower.”

Sydney attempted a smile. “Same here.” She got out, locked the car, and the two of them walked to the elevator together.

For a moment she was almost able to pretend that nothing was wrong. That feeling lasted until they reached their floor and Tina said, “Those guys from your work? They sure were around a long time. They even came back a couple hours ago.”

Sydney gave a sigh. “Glad they’re gone. I’m looking forward to a little downtime.”

Downtime was not what was waiting for her when she walked into her door and discovered the mess the agents had made during their search.

She stood there a moment, at first disbelieving what she saw, then, as it sank in, felt the blood rushing to her head in anger.

“Goddamned sons of . . .”

Cereal had been dumped into the sink. Every cupboard was open, every drawer. In her bedroom, her dresser had been completely emptied, the drawers out, turned upside-down. The closet was ravaged, the shelves emptied. Same in the spare bedroom, where the boxes she’d carefully dug through to find her computer were dumped on the floor.

Even the bathroom had been searched in similar fashion.

The entire place looked like narcotics officers had gone through it looking for drugs and evidence of dealing.

They’d treated her like a common criminal.

She grabbed her phone and called Scotty. “You goddamned bastards! How could you do this?”

“Syd. We discussed this. I thought—”

“No. What we discussed was that the list was in my office drawer. Not this.
This
is way over the top. You can tell Pearson that he can kiss my—”

“Syd! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wrong? Either Pearson sent a couple overzealous agents, or they were looking for evidence that doesn’t exist. What part of ‘it’s in my desk drawer’ did they not believe?”

He didn’t answer.

She looked around, walking from room to room, feeling like a tornado had swept through. “I don’t believe this. Pearson
said
he was on my side. You heard him. And
this
? What the hell?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The
goddamned mess in my apartment. That’s what.
”

“Calm down—”

“Calm down? Did you know about this? That they were going to toss my apartment like I’m some goddamned drug dealer?”

“Of course not.”

“Well. Glad we got
that
cleared up.” She disconnected, threw the phone on the counter, then stood there, feeling the urge to drop a match to everything and let it all burn. This was Griffin’s fault.

Everything was his fault.

Well screw him. And everyone who worked with him.

It took her several minutes before she could even think about what to do. She had two choices, she figured. Pack a suitcase and stay in a hotel, or start cleaning.

She was too mad to get behind the wheel, so she chose the latter, and began in the kitchen, scooping the dry cereal into the garbage, along with the empty boxes. Every dish they touched, she put in the dishwasher or stacked in the sink, feeling as though all of it was contaminated. By the time she had the kitchen nearly cleaned, the dishwasher running, there was a knock at the door.

She stalked over, looked out the peephole, saw it was Scotty, and opened it. “I can’t believe you even have the nerve to come over here.”

“Nerve? No one tossed your apartment, Syd. They simply went through your computer, making sure there was nothing on it. I swear.”

“Really?” She held the door wide, motioned him to enter. “See for yourself. Oh, and FYI? The kitchen didn’t look this good when I got here. I only just now finished cleaning it.”

He walked in, glanced over, then continued on into the living room, where there wasn’t much to mess up, other than couch cushions and pillows, and where the furniture clearly had been moved, as though someone had been looking beneath it.

“The bedrooms and bathroom,” she said, then stood there, waiting, while he looked.

He returned a moment later. “Sydney. I swear I didn’t know.”

“Yeah? Well that makes me feel a hell of a lot better.
Not
.”

He took out his phone, made a call. “It’s Ryan,” he said. “What the hell did you do at Sydney’s place . . . ? That right? It’s completely tossed. As in
every
room . . .”

And as she listened, she realized he was telling the truth. He had
not
been aware they were going to toss the place. In fact, the look on his face when he ended the call confirmed it. What he said next, however, completely unnerved her.

“They swear the only thing they did was a cursory search after they looked at your computers.”

“Then who did this?”

“That’s just it. They don’t know.”