Читать книгу Delta Force Defender - Carol Ericson - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Cam glanced at his phone for about the hundredth time that morning. Maybe Martha had decided to get her computer wiped on her own. It’s not like she needed him to do it. He didn’t know that much about technical stuff, and she probably figured that out about him in a hot minute. She seemed like the self-sufficient type, anyway.

In fact, Martha Drake had a surprising rebellious streak. He never would’ve guessed she’d be the type to sneak out those emails. The woman had gone rogue—and he was glad she’d decided to do so.

And maybe she was going rogue again by handling the patriot herself. Cam wouldn’t put it past her, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. What if she’d fallen in front of that train last night? She needed a right-hand man, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

He tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him and snatched up the remote. Propping one bare foot on the table in front of him, he clicked over to one of the cable news shows.

He studied the reporters and news vans with a crease forming between his eyebrows. Someone had died, and the street where the buzzing media had gathered looked familiar with all those rows of town houses with shutters and arched windows.

When the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, Cam choked and his foot slipped from the table. His thumb drilled into the remote to increase the sound.

The reporter breathlessly gushed into the mic. “All we know so far, Carrie, is that Congressman Robert Wentworth, from the Second Congressional District in Florida, died in this town house behind me sometime last night or this morning. There was a 911 call and the DC Metro Police responded. The body has not yet been removed.”

Carrie put on a concerned face, but Cam could see the speculative light in her eyes. “Have the police said whether they’re looking at foul play here, Stacie?”

“They haven’t released any statement yet or talked to reporters.”

Cam curled his fingers around the remote and hardly noticed the edges digging into his flesh. The reporter hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone else being hurt...or arrested. What the hell had gone down in that town house after he’d left last night?

Cam muted the TV and reached for his phone. Damn that Casey for dragging Martha into her messy life. He stopped, his thumb hovering over the screen. Or was it the other way around?

Could this really be just a coincidence after what Martha had gone through yesterday? What possible connection could Wentworth have to Martha and the emails?

Cam dropped his phone when it hit him that he didn’t even have Martha’s number. He’d given her his number with the understanding that she’d call him to go with her to fix the laptop. Some understanding. Seemed like he didn’t know Martha at all.

He paced the room, juggling his phone from hand to hand, occasionally turning up the TV for more news on the congressman’s death. The stiff muscles across his shoulders began to unwind when he didn’t see anything about any other injuries or anyone getting taken in for questioning, and then seized up again as Martha had been identified as the owner of the town house.

More than an agonizing hour later, Cam’s phone buzzed with a DC number. “Hello?”

“Cam, it’s Martha... Martha Drake.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re kind of famous right now, or at least your town house is. What the hell happened over there?”

“My name’s out there, isn’t it?”

“Are you worried about your job?”

“I’m worried about a lot of things right now.” She sighed. “It looks like the congressman had a heart attack. Casey didn’t even realize it until this morning. His body was slumped halfway out of the bed when she woke up.”

“A heart attack? Of course, they’re gonna do an autopsy before they rule on the cause of death.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “How are you holding up? How’s Casey?”

“Casey is hysterical. I’m...nervous.”

“Why, Martha?”

“Why do you think?”

“Are you linking this to the emails?”

“Aren’t you?” Her voice rose, and for a second she sounded close to hysteria herself.

“Crossed my mind, but I can’t see how this can be related to the emails or how it affects you.” He wedged a shoulder against the window and watched one bare branch from a tree scrape against the edge of the balcony. “Heart attack, right?”

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”

“And clean that computer.”

“Don’t come anywhere near here. It’s a madhouse. I’ll slip out the back and head over to your hotel. The police are still questioning Casey, poor girl.”

He gave her the name of the hotel and the address before turning up the volume on the TV again. Several reporters were still camped out in front of Martha’s town house, and the speculation had begun. Since Martha owned the town house, the reporters had her name on their lips.

It wouldn’t be long before they dug up the fact that Martha worked for the CIA, and he hoped it wouldn’t be long before they discovered she hadn’t been the one who’d invited Congressman Wentworth to an after-hours meeting.

His blood percolated as he listened to the innuendo linking Martha to Wentworth, but he still couldn’t figure out how this had anything to do with the threats from the patriot.

With the TV still droning in the background, Cam straightened his hotel room, stuffing clothes back into his suitcase and shoving toiletries into the plastic bag hanging from a hook on the bathroom door. He hadn’t needed to see Martha’s place last night to figure she’d be a neat freak, and for some reason he wanted to assure her he wasn’t a slob.

He went a few steps further and got a couple cans of soda from the vending machine down the hall and stuck them in the mini-fridge. The woman must’ve had a rough morning.

By the time Martha tapped on his door, Cam had rendered the room acceptable to the neatest of neat freaks.

He opened the door and she barreled past him without even a hello, striding to the sliding door to the balcony.

She turned to face him, twisting her fingers in front of her. “This is bad.”

“Tell me what happened.” He gestured toward the sofa facing the TV. “Not many details on the news, except that you own the town house where Wentworth croaked.”

She perched on the edge of the sofa. “Casey’s name will come out. The police are still talking to her.”

“At least you won’t be portrayed as the other woman for much longer.” He yanked the chair back from the desk and straddled it, resting his arms across the back. “Give me all the details.”

“After you left, I went to bed and I could hear those two...whooping it up.” Two bright spots of red formed on her cheeks. “I have earplugs for just those occasions, and I was able to fall asleep.”

“Damn, you need earplugs?” Noticing Martha’s pursed lips, he wiped the grin off his face. “Go on. You fell asleep during noisy sex.”

“I...” She ran her fingers through her messy hair, dragging it back from her face. “Yes, I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew Casey was in my room hysterical and crying, saying Bob had died sometime during the night.”

“What time did she discover him?”

“About six. I ran into her room and felt his neck for a pulse. He seemed dead to me, but I have no experience in medicine. I called 911 right away.”

“The news said possible heart attack, so I’m assuming no blood or visible injuries.”

“No.” Martha crossed her arms, cupping her elbows. “He was half out of the bed, as if he’d tried to get up but didn’t make it.”

“Did Casey have anything to say?”

“Not much to me, but the cops were grilling her. They’d met for a drink at a quiet place. Bob wasn’t feeling great, and they decided to head back here.”

“You’d never met him before? It didn’t seem like you had last night.”

“No. I’m not saying she’s never brought him back to our place, but I usually make myself scarce when she brings guys home, so I’d never met him before.”

Cam tugged on his earlobe. “I don’t understand why you think some congressman’s heart attack is related to you and the emails.”

“Who says it’s a heart attack?” She jumped up from the sofa and twitched back the drapes at the sliding door, peeked out the window and yanked the drapes back together.

“It could be something else. Poison. He didn’t feel well. Or there are drugs out there that mimic heart attacks. Nobody would know the difference and poof—” she tried snapping her fingers, failed miserably and flicked them in the air instead “—you’re gone.”

Cam flattened the smile from his lips and drew his brows together to look concerned instead. He couldn’t help it. Even when he listened to Martha talking about murder, he found her irresistibly cute.

“Wait, wait.” He held up his hands. “How does that impact you, unless the patriot plans to frame you for Wentworth’s so-called murder...and that’s a long shot. How exactly does Casey’s illicit affair with a politician affect you and your investigation of the emails?”

“It brings everything back up. It tarnishes me and anything I might have to say about these emails. It’s a warning that he can get to me if he wants to.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Yeah, okay. It shows he’s powerful, although this is a risky way to do that. But—” he frowned for real this time “—what do you mean by bringing everything back up? Finding the emails?”

Her gaze darted to the TV, still humming in the background, and she took two steps toward the coffee table, picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV.

The reporter mentioned Martha’s name, and Cam jerked his head toward the TV. A picture of a young Martha with thick glasses and braces stared back at him next to a picture of a gray-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. He tuned into the reporter’s words.

“In a bizarre twist to this story, the owner of the town house is none other than the daughter of convicted stock trader Steven ‘Skip’ Brockridge, who’s currently serving twenty-five years in federal prison for his role in a Ponzi scheme that bilked investors out of millions.”

He twisted his head back toward Martha, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. She raised one hand. “That’s me, Martha Brockridge, daughter of a convicted felon.”

Cam swallowed. “That’s your father, not you. Obviously the CIA already knows about your background. A name change isn’t going to throw off the Agency.”

“I never tried to throw them off. I was up front about my father. They knew. I think they even believed that my father’s criminal behavior had influenced me to follow the straight and narrow path, and they were right...until now.”

Her voice broke at the end, and he jumped up from the chair and took her by the shoulders. He dug his fingers into her tight muscles. “This situation is completely different.”

“Maybe, but do you think anyone’s going to believe me about the emails now? A convicted felon’s daughter?” She shook her head, and the ends of her hair tickled the backs of his hands.

“I doubt the patriot went through all this trouble to discredit or warn you, and the CIA already knows about your father. It didn’t stop them from believing you the first time you turned over those emails.”

“I don’t know what to think. It’s hard for me to believe there’s no connection between my online conversation with the patriot and the death of Congressman Wentworth.”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t believe that, either. I don’t believe in coincidences, but I can’t wrap my mind around his motives.”

“You think there might be another reason?”

He smoothed his hands down her arms and released her, stepping back. “How long has Casey been living with you?”

Martha blinked her long lashes. “About eight months.”

“You received the emails four months ago, right?”

“You’re not implying Casey is involved? That ditz?”

“It could’ve all been an act. The people who sent you the emails needed someone on the inside, and it would’ve been too hard to get one of your coworkers to cooperate. How’d that virus get on your laptop? I’m sure the CIA must drill computer security measures into your head and you didn’t just click on some random link in an email. Who does that anymore?”

Martha chewed on the edge of her thumb. “I thought maybe he’d used Dreadworm again to get to me.”

“How’d you meet Casey?”

“Through one of those roommate finders. She had the money up front—first, last and insisted on a larger security deposit than I’d asked for.” She smacked her knee. “I should’ve trusted my instincts. I thought she was a little too eager.”

“Something else about her choice in boyfriends.” He straddled the desk chair again just to keep from touching Martha. It felt...manipulative to use her distress to get close to her. She didn’t need any more distractions in her life right now, and neither did he.

“Congressman Wentworth?”

“Remember I told you last night I knew him from the House Intelligence Committee? He must have a lot of information on Denver.”

She lowered herself to the bed as if in slow motion. “So, this is a twofer for Casey. She moves in to keep an eye on me, and she dates Wentworth to keep an eye on him and Major Denver.”

“It makes sense that a lot of that stuff about Denver came from an inside source.” Cam’s anger at the injustice of Denver’s situation burned in his gut. He crouched to grab the sodas from the fridge, cracked one open and took a long swig from the can. He held the other out to Martha, and she shook her head.

Tucking one leg beneath her on the bed, she said, “We’re just guessing. How are we going to prove any of this?”

“Let’s start with Casey. Where was she when you left?”

“She was still with the police.”

“She’d admitted to the affair?”

“Of course. What other explanation could she give?”

“It’s odd.” Cam smoothed a hand across his freshly shaved jaw. “Why risk such public exposure? If Wentworth had served his purpose and they wanted to get rid of him, and maybe scare you in the process, why do it so publicly? They could’ve killed him without dragging Casey into the picture.”

“You’re asking me?” She jabbed a finger at her chest. “I still don’t even know what the patriot wants of me, and I hate calling him that since he’s clearly not one.”

“I think he wants you to stop thinking about those emails for one thing and delete them. He wants you to drop your investigation.”

“It’s hardly an investigation, but I’m not dropping anything. People can’t just get away with things.” She pointed to her laptop case propped up against the wall by the door. “I called a computer repair place, and the guy told me to bring the laptop in today.”

“You know this tech guy?” Cam stood up and stretched.

He didn’t know how much longer he could be cooped up with Martha in this small room, anyway. He always had these instant attractions to women, and those never ended well, although Martha wasn’t his usual type so maybe he’d learned a few lessons.