Читать книгу Set Up With The Agent - Lori L. Harris - Страница 9

Mark followed Beth into her small bungalow. It hadn’t taken much to convince her to let him bring her home. Or to control the conversation during the drive. They’d covered the recent weather and a number of other unmemorable topics. And the only time she’d brought up Rheaume’s death, he’d suggested they wait until they reached her place. Her agreement had come in the form of silence.

Just inside the door, she stopped to disarm the security system and to turn on the foyer and living room lights, but then kept moving. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to put on some coffee.”

“Sure.”

As she walked on through to what he assumed was the kitchen, he didn’t follow. He wanted to give her some space. Even if she wasn’t displaying any of the obvious signs of distress, she was still coping with it internally. He recalled the first time he’d used lethal force, the way his hands had shaken for hours afterward. How, for nearly a week following the incident, even when he hadn’t been thinking about the shooting, his hands would suddenly start to tremble again.

Turning, he checked out the living room. Though the house and neighborhood dated before the 1940s, the inside of the home had been decorated with an almost loftlike starkness. Lots of metal and wood and bright colors.

He glanced at the red chair and hassock in front of the unlit fireplace and found himself wishing he could afford the luxury of just sitting, of sharing a cup of coffee with a woman without having to interrogate her.

Unfortunately he couldn’t do either of those things. He had a meeting in Boston in the morning, and in the meantime he had a job to do.

The kitchen light went on and then there was an extended stretch of silence where he was left to wonder what she was doing.

After several minutes, he finally took half a step toward the kitchen. “Can I help?”

“No,” she answered in a voice that was an octave higher than usual. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Three years,” she said over the soft thump of a cabinet door closing. “I bought it as soon as I was assigned to the Baltimore office.”

Hearing the kitchen faucet run and figuring that she’d be busy for a few minutes more at least, he stepped across the foyer and into the darkened home office. At one time the space would have been a formal dining room. Like the living room, the furnishings were also contemporary. He took off the khaki-colored trench coat and folded it over the back of the desk chair, before turning his attention to the wall of family photos.

She was the only daughter of a diplomat. Geoffrey Benedict had done stints in both France and Turkey, which accounted for Beth’s proficiency in Turkish and French. And for the numerous black-and-white photos with European and Middle-Eastern backgrounds.

Though she held a degree in accounting, he suspected the FBI had been more impressed with her language skills. Since becoming a government employee, she’d added Farsi and Spanish to the list. And with the global environment out there now, that ability would only become more important as time went on.

So why was Bill Monroe so determined to terminate her? Was she really the loose gun her personnel file suggested? Unwilling to follow orders? Unable to function as part of a team? That wasn’t the recruit Mark remembered.

He’d first noticed her in his class because, even at twenty-three, she’d been a standout. Not only physically but also intellectually. Her questions had demonstrated an awareness of world views that most of the other recruits had yet to recognize. She had intrigued him then. And she intrigued him now. Perhaps more than was wise.

Suddenly the overhead light went on. “Make yourself at home.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he didn’t miss the slight rebuff. Or that she’d taken off the coat and scarf, but didn’t appear to have checked the head wound. If she had, she would have wiped away the dried blood on the side of her neck. She had dark-gray eyes and nearly black hair that was on the short side. And if anything, she was more attractive than she’d been three years ago.

“Coffee will be a few minutes,” she offered as she took an additional step into the room. “Maybe while we’re waiting on it, you could tell me what this is about. Why you went to see Rheaume? And why you came to see me?”

He turned and faced her. “What I’m about to say can’t leave this room.” He held her gaze. “You understand?”

“Okay.” She crossed to the desk chair and sat, looking up at him, her hands resting palm up in her lap. She wanted to look at ease, but he sensed she wasn’t.

Maybe he was making a mistake here. Several members of the task force, men he trusted, had questioned the advisability of approaching Beth Benedict. But given the situation, he didn’t feel he could ignore any lead.

“Nearly four months ago, despite tight security, a canister of MX141 was taken by Harvey Thesing, a chemist who had been instrumental in its development. He not only managed to circumvent the stringent safeguards that were in place, he was also able to conceal the theft for several days.”

“And what exactly is MX141?”

“The next generation chemical weapon. So deadly that exposure to the vaporized form kills in less than a minute. With other types of exposure, either to the skin or ingestion, you’re looking at five minutes tops.”

He grabbed the remaining chair. It didn’t surprise him that she didn’t know anything about MX141. Currently, because there was a very real concern of a full-scale panic should the public learn about the theft, only key members of the administration, the defense department and Mark’s unit knew anything about it.

“By the time the theft was noticed, Thesing was dead and the container was missing. The assumption at the time was that the weapon had changed hands, and Thesing’s buyer had decided it was cheaper to pay with a bullet than with cash.”

“I’m assuming his bank account supported the theory.”

He nodded. “No unusual activity.”

She shifted her hands in her lap, the motion drawing his gaze down. She’d removed her damaged stockings. Her legs were now bare, her skin pale and smooth and…

“Any theory on who the buyer was?”

“No. We’ve been looking at a number of groups, both foreign and domestic. Thesing had recently aligned himself with environmental causes.”

“And that was four months ago?” Beth clarified, obviously trying to figure out the connection between what he was telling her and Rabbit Rheaume and even herself. And also possibly recognizing that for months now the terrorism alert level had remained in the elevated level, when, given the situation, it should have been much higher.

Mark straightened. “We’ve been chasing leads with little progress. Recently, because continued Intel hasn’t picked up any mention of the theft or the weapon, we had started to theorize that Thesing may have had second thoughts and either destroyed the MX141 or possibly hidden it somewhere. That his death had been a result of his refusal to turn it over to the buyer.”

Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and met her gaze. “And then just this morning I received a call from Rabbit Rheaume’s attorney. Rheaume claimed to have been approached in early July by a man looking to sell MX141. In exchange for the prosecution dropping a number of charges, Rheaume would give us his identity.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly. “And now Rabbit is dead?” As if she’d noticed his previous interest in her legs, she tugged at the hem of the navy-blue skirt, tucking one ankle in even more tightly behind the other.

It was a prim-and-proper pose that he suspected she’d perfected during the years when she’d acted as her father’s unofficial hostess following her mother’s death.

“And you don’t really think it’s a coincidence. You think whoever has the chemical weapon knew Rheaume was about to give him up?”

“The timing and the way it went down certainly leaves open the possibility.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did it happen?”

“An inmate using a shiv got Rabbit in the jugular. He was dead before prison guards could get to him.”

“And the inmate? Did you question him?”

“Didn’t get the chance. A guard shot him.” Mark clasped his hands in front of him. “Right now we’re interviewing any recent visitors the inmate had, but there’s only a few and none of them look promising.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If it was a hit, someone would have needed to contact him to set it up, wouldn’t they?”

“Sure. But it looks as if there may have been a middle man, another inmate who was involved. A go-between. Who, even if we’re lucky enough to ID him, obviously isn’t going to talk. At least not right away.”

She nodded. “So you’re hoping I can help in some way?”

“At the time of the theft and the possible contact between our unsub and Rheaume, you would have still been working the money laundering case. Any chance you saw or heard anything?”

Beth’s mouth tightened briefly before she answered. “I saw and heard a lot during those eighteen months as Rabbit’s assistant, but unfortunately, none of it pointed to Rabbit’s involvement in the sale of any type of weapon, even assault rifles. And certainly nothing like a chemical weapon.”

Obviously it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “You’re certain?”

“Absolutely certain?” She hedged. “No. Of course not. Even though I was involved in most aspects of his business, I imagine there were instances where that wasn’t the case. Rabbit was the cautious sort. He built himself a pretty good niche business laundering money for half a dozen mid-level drug traffickers. He wouldn’t do business with large ones because they were the ones the feds were after. And he refused to take on a partner. Which is why he managed to fly under the radar for so many years and why it was so difficult to get the evidence needed to prosecute him. All that being said, though, I just can’t see his having the type of contacts who would deal in chemical weapons.”

She leaned back. “My guess, for what it’s worth, is Rabbit somehow heard about the theft and decided to use it to his advantage.”

This time when her mouth tightened, his gaze lingered on her lips for several seconds before he caught himself and forced his eyes to meet hers again. “A deal would have been contingent on the info panning out.”

“Even if it didn’t, he would have had some fun messing with the feds. Rabbit likes—” She broke off to correct herself. “Rabbit liked to mess with people. He really enjoyed watching them squirm. He was cruel like that.”

She glanced away, her voice dropping. “One minute he’d be chatting you up, the next he’d have your face in the dirt and a gun muzzle planted against the back of your skull.”

Because he’d read her file, he knew she was speaking from personal experience.

Getting to her feet, she motioned toward the kitchen. “The coffee should be ready by now. If you’re in a hurry,” she said over her shoulder, “I can put it in a to-go cup.”

She wanted him gone. Unfortunately, there was at least one more thing he needed to discuss with her. “No. I’m not in any hurry.”

After pouring two cups, she handed one to him, then retreated with the other to lean against the opposite counter. The harsh fluorescent lighting revealed the shadows beneath her eyes. She’d had a rough night, maybe a couple of rough years. Eighteen months undercover, constantly on edge, continually fearful of taking a wrong step, would have been a difficult assignment for even a seasoned agent, let alone one with just over a year’s worth of experience.

Why had she been chosen for the assignment?

He set his cup on the counter. “I think there may be one possibility you haven’t yet considered.”

“What’s that?” She blew on her coffee.

“If Rabbit Rheaume wasn’t lying, if he was killed to keep him from talking…Maybe it wasn’t Rabbit behind what happened to you tonight.”

Something flashed briefly in her eyes. Renewed fear maybe, but then it was gone. She took a quick sip and then lowered the cup. “So you’re theorizing that whoever silenced Rabbit is now trying to do the same to me? Because he believes I know something?”

“I think you have to consider the possibility. Especially given that Rabbit contacted us today and not a week from now. Why, after arranging your death, not wait to hear if Leon Tyber was successful? If he had been, there’d have been no need to contact us. To get messed up in any of this. At least, that’s my understanding. That without your testimony there was a good chance the prosecution wouldn’t get a conviction.”

She seemed to contemplate what he’d said for several seconds, and then just as quickly discarded it. “Thanks for the warning, but I’m putting my money on Rabbit. And even if I’m wrong, whoever your unsub is, he’s not stupid. He’s got to realize that if I did have any information, I would have already shared it. If not before tonight, certainly during this visit.”

Looking down at her coffee, she pushed away from the cabinetry before lifting her chin, meeting his eyes. “Besides, nothing has really changed. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for months now. I’ll just keep doing it.”

Her calm composure didn’t particularly surprise him. In essence, she was right. Nothing had really changed for her. “It still might be a good idea to stay with a friend for the next few days. Or maybe even your father. If you want, I could talk to Bill Monroe about a few days—”

She cut him off, her voice sharp. “I’ll be fine.” Her mouth briefly tightened as if she regretted her tone. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

“That’s not a bad idea. For both of us. I have an early flight tomorrow, and I’m sure after everything that’s happened, you must be beat.”

She remained silent. He’d been about to suggest he could sleep on her couch, an offer that, given everything he’d seen and heard to date, she wasn’t likely to appreciate.

He dumped what remained of his coffee into the stainless steel sink. But when he turned back to her, something in her expression stopped him from heading for the door. “What is it?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Did Rabbit say he’d actually met with the seller?”

“Why?”

“There was one call.” She started to bring the mug up to her lips again, but then suddenly lowered it. “It came in on July fifth. The man wouldn’t give his name, insisted on talking only to Rabbit.”

Mark noticed that her voice shook slightly now and that the knuckles on the hand grasping the mug were pale. As if it wasn’t just the cup she was trying to hold on to, but her composure, too. It was a definite departure from her behavior of several seconds ago. As much as he would have liked to be concerned about the emotional shift, he couldn’t be right now.

“Did he take the call?”

She nodded. “In his private office. Afterward, when he came out, he was in a mood and said something about having limits.” She put the mug down and crossed her arms in front of her. “And that some things weren’t for sale.”

The fifth…The theft had occurred on the second, so the timing made it possible. And since she’d provided a date, going through the calls from that day wouldn’t take much effort. But why would she find a discussion about a phone call from four months ago unsettling? Maybe when he heard it, he’d have a better understanding.

“I’ll need you to listen to the recordings from that day. Tell me which—”

“There aren’t any.”

“What do you mean? Certainly if there was an ongoing investigation—”

“There was a problem with the phone taps. I’d just been alerted to the situation and assumed the call, the one we’re talking about, was somehow connected to the problem. That my cover had been blown.” She grimaced. “Which turned out to be true, but not until much later.”

“But you’re fairly confident now that the call wasn’t related to your cover, but to something else?”

“I’m not certain, no. But looking back, recalling Rabbit’s behavior, I don’t think he knew until that afternoon that I was a fed. He wasn’t usually the patient sort.”

“You mean because he didn’t confront you until later.”

She offered up a wry smile. “Yeah. Because the incident didn’t take place until later.” Her emphasis on the word seemed to suggest something, but he didn’t allow himself to get sidetracked.

“I assume the phone company had a trap on the line, too?”

She offered a stiff nod. “Sure. And we got a phone number. Unfortunately, it belonged to a public pay phone outside a laundromat.”

He inhaled sharply. Jesus. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d worked a case like this one, where he was thwarted at every turn. “I know I’m talking a long shot here, but is there any possibility that you could recognize the voice if you heard it again?”

For several seconds she continued to meet his gaze and then, tightening her arms in front of her, she closed her eyes. Her brows drew down over them, her head cocking ever so slightly to the left. As if she listened to something only she could hear.

Waiting for her response, his gaze dipped to her mouth. Her lips were softly full, the remnants of lipstick clinging to the shapely outer edges. As he watched, they parted, the tip of her tongue running along the lower one briefly before disappearing again.

His pulse had immediately accelerated as he watched, but it was several seconds before he realized that more than just his heart had been impacted. Fighting the tension in his lower body, he averted his eyes.

He found himself recalling the last time he’d reacted similarly to a woman. It had been nineteen months, three days and counting.

And because he’d allowed himself to get distracted, she was dead. It was that final memory that destroyed whatever sexual tension remained, leaving behind the cold emptiness he’d come to accept as a necessity. Because it allowed him to do his job.

When he lifted his chin, his eyes met her slightly narrowed ones. He got the oddest sensation that she somehow knew where his thoughts had gone.

She inhaled sharply, looking slightly unsettled. “Would I recognize the voice? Maybe.”

LESS THAN SEVEN hours later at 4:30 a.m. Mark was in the hotel exercise room, wrapping up mile four on the treadmill while Colton Larson sat on the edge of a bench working with free weights. Because of the early hour, they had the relatively soundproof space to themselves.

A television mounted high in one corner was tuned to CNN, but the volume was turned off, the closed caption scrambling across the bottom of the screen. Mark read the story covering a congressional investigation. “Another lobbyist bites the dust.”

Larson was still too focused on what they’d been talking about before, though, to show any interest in the Carson scandal.

“I can’t believe you’re even considering this,” Larson said. “Adding Beth Benedict to the team.” The dumbbell he’d been using made a soft thump and clang as he exchanged it for a heavier one. “I’m not downplaying her language skills. Or suggesting that they aren’t ones that we’re in need of since Ledbetter was pulled off the team. But her background is in forensic accounting, for godsake, not counterterrorism.”

“She was at the top of her class three years ago. She impressed not just me but her other instructors, too.”

Larson’s mouth tightened. “I’m just questioning if she’s the best we can do. If one of us has to break pace to bring her up to date on four months of investigation, you’re not really adding manpower, you’re losing it. At least temporarily.”

Mark upped the treadmill speed, lengthening his stride into a full sprint. He understood Larson’s reservations because he shared a number of them. “I haven’t made any kind of decision yet.”

With an intense expression, Larson pumped away. Sweat collected at the end of his nose. He blew out, dislodging it. “Bill Monroe isn’t an idiot. If he’s limiting her to administrative duties and has her seeing a shrink, there’s a reason.” Larson released the twenty-pound weight and straightened. “And from what I hear, she was so spooked by getting locked in that car trunk, she can’t even get on a damn elevator. You’re going to have a hard time finding anyone who wants her covering their back.”

Everything Larson said was true. She wasn’t an ideal choice. In fact, when Mark had been working his way down the pro and con list at 3:00 a.m., the cons had been a runaway train. Her emotional health was questionable; she didn’t have a background in counterterrorism; not one of his agents would be eager to work with her.

And as far as recognizing the voice on the phone that day, even if she had the ability, it wouldn’t do them any good until they had a suspect in custody, and even then it was unlikely to be admissible in court. On top of all those things there was nothing to say with any certainty that the call was even related to the current situation.

In the pro column, though, she would bring something to the table that no other candidate could.

Mark adjusted the treadmill speed downward, slowing his pace. “I think you’re overlooking one crucial fact. She may be the only connection we have to our unsub. If it wasn’t Rabbit who hired Leon Tyber, but our unsub, there’s always the possibility he’ll come after her again.”

“I agree. Use her as bait. But that doesn’t necessarily require that she be part of the team. If the unsub wants her dead, he’s just as likely to go after her here in Baltimore. Ask that she be placed under constant surveillance.”

Larson was right. Mark could handle it that way, but he wouldn’t. He grabbed a towel from the basket next to the door and wiped down. He’d request that Beth be added to the team this morning before leaving Baltimore.

As it had several times since he’d left her place last night, his mind drifted slightly off-topic and into more personal avenues, where he wasn’t so much thinking about her as an agent but as a woman. Even during their short conversation, he’d found himself distracted more than once by her attractiveness. It seemed reasonable to assume her presence would impact at least a few members of his team in the same way.

He had just draped the towel around his neck when his cell phone went off. Even as he reached for it, he and Larson glanced toward the television, focusing on the closed caption, looking for the kind of bad news that would lead to a predawn call, but the text at the bottom of the screen still dealt with the lobbying scandal.

The ringer sounding a third time, Mark checked the number to the incoming call. It was his SAC, special agent in charge, David Daughtry.

As he listened to what Daughtry had to say, the knot in Mark’s chest—the one he’d been battling recently—tightened. He sank onto the closest bench. Larson sat only a few feet away having abandoned his weights, his elbows propped on his knees as he listened.

Even from the one-sided conversation, it would be obvious to him that after months of chasing a ghost, they’d officially run out of time. The investigation had suddenly rocketed into a whole new phase. With even higher stakes.

Disconnecting less than three minutes later, Mark dragged the towel from around his neck and tossed it toward the hamper. Bellingham, North Carolina. He’d never heard of it, had no idea what larger, more-familiar city it was located near. He soon would.

When was the last time he visited a city, a town, a destination where something bad hadn’t just happened? When was the last time he’d climbed onto a plane with a bathing suit and not a business suit packed in his luggage?

Larson’s face had gone from flushed to pale. “It’s finally happened, hasn’t it?”

“Too early to be certain. Call came in just over an hour ago, requesting our assistance.”

“Where?”

“Bellingham, North Carolina.” Mark tried to breathe past the knot. “A high school.”

Larson swiped the sweat from his face with a single hand. “How many casualties?”

Mark climbed to his feet. “Two.”

Still sitting, Larson looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Only two?”

Two casualties. Mark knew he should be relieved by the number, but somehow it didn’t make any difference. Even two was too many.

Taking a deep breath, he then let it out slowly. The maneuver didn’t help. The tightness in his chest was still there. “Obviously, if it was MX141, it’s just a warm-up exercise.”