The Asset, page 16
As the lecture droned on, a male’s voice next to her made her look up from her phone.
“Boring, isn’t it?”
He was good-looking—tailored suit, expensive shoes, dark eyes.
“Are you talking to me?” she whispered. She hadn’t had many boyfriends and wasn’t used to good-looking guys singling her out in a crowd.
“Yes. You’re the only interesting thing in this place, sweet piece. Can’t take my eyes off you.” He grinned like a man who’d just tasted something good and wanted more.
Would she have blushed at the compliment? Balked at it? If he was good, really good, he would have let her believe she’d made the first move.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she said.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to mess with your class participation grade.”
She laughed too loudly and then covered her mouth. “Sorry. I never participate in the class. It’s a waste of time. The prof seems to think we can protest, make a difference. It’s crazy. We’re going to war.”
He grinned. “Let’s protest the class, then. And get out of here.”
“Where?”
“My apartment is close.”
Was she really doing this? Going to a total stranger’s bed in the middle of the day? She waffled. What would Dad think?
He took her hand. “If war is imminent, let’s enjoy the last days together.”
She went home with a stranger, and quickly fell head over heels for a man she barely knew. Trusting a conman and putting her own life in danger.
Would Martin have known his daughter was dating a conman? Of course. He would have been worried about how quickly the relationship was progressing, and undoubtedly, would have hired a private investigator to dig up dirt on Patrick Dunbar. Martin would have assumed Patrick was only after his daughter’s money, and when he had enough evidence, he would have told Heather the ugly truth about her lover.
Having a sense of the woman she had learned to emulate, Heather suspected the real daughter did not take the news well.
What happened next was not clearly outlined in the files. Heather could make a guess, based on how Patrick had looked at her at the foodie event.
I met Patrick at his apartment and told him the good news. I chose him over the Slade family money because nothing matters as long as we are together. Patrick was…not happy. I had never seen him like that. He raged at me to go back and demand my share of the Slade fortune. When I said I wouldn’t go back, he slapped me across the face. I had never been hurt like that. It stunned me. I couldn’t think straight.
He yelled at me. “If you don’t get the money, I will take it from him myself.”
That sharpened my senses. What was he going to do to my dad? “No! You stay away from my father.”
“Right. How will you stop me? I’ll lock you up and throw away the key, you ugly sow. I will make him pay a ransom for your body.”
I screamed and tried to run, but I couldn’t get away. He slapped me again, so hard that everything went fuzzy. And then he walked out the door. A click told me that he’d locked it with a key.
I was trapped.
Several days later, Martin had received a horrible picture of his daughter, beaten and bloody. He’d paid the largest ransom anyone in the Union had ever heard of to get her back. What did he get for his money? Nothing. He never saw his real daughter again. She seemed to disappear into thin air. Where was she? What happened to her? So many questions.
Heather had solved one mystery.
Dunbar hadn’t seemed terribly surprised to see his ex alive, even with a new face, at the Smiths’ party and the foodie event, which meant he hadn’t killed the real Heather Slade. Was she still alive? Dead? In the POW camp?
“Where are you, Heather Slade?” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet kitchen. There was no answer.
Heather stood and stretched. Living the emotions of a lost girl was exhausting. She put all the photos and documents back in the envelope. She finished her beer and threw the bottle in the trash.
Her house was quiet, still.
She suddenly wanted to get a warm shower and wash away the envisioned touch of Patrick Dunbar. Even though she told herself it wasn’t real, she could still feel the sting of his hand on her face. She turned her face up to the water and the hurt and shame melted away.
As the warm water poured over her skin, a few dangerous questions coursed through her mind.
Why had the file been buried? Who benefited from hiding it? What would happen if Martin knew the truth?
That last question hit home the hardest.
Knowing Martin as well as she did, he must have supported Blockwell’s presidential campaign because he’d been tricked into thinking Revos had taken his daughter. He was hurt and felt betrayed and angry. He had “switched teams” and focused his money to fight who he thought were the bad guys. Your enemy is my enemy.
Was that the ultimate goal, then? Had Dunbar and Blockwell conspired to trick Martin in order to have access to his money? It made sense in a brutal, horrific way. Who kidnaps a man’s only daughter, beats her, and holds her for ransom, just to make a man switch political parties?
God, she hated them.
And now? If Martin knew the truth after all these years, what would happen?
A sick thought twisted inside her, for she knew the answer. Her play would be done.
If Martin was in his right mind and knew the truth, he would act on it. Dunbar would be exposed, Revos would no longer be hated, and she, the fake Heather Slade, would be out of the game. As long as Martin remained a Patriot supporter, she could continue to swim in IC waters, continue to work for HQ as Heather Slade, and hopefully bring them all to justice.
Was this why the file was hidden—to keep her cover intact? Had Poor Martin been kept in the dark because of her?
What a twisted web of deceit.
It made her feel sad and guilty. After turning the water off, she stood unmoving as rivulets ran down her skin, and made a promise to the universe—even if it hurt her or got her fired, Martin Slade would know the truth.
One day, she would tell him everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Heather dried herself and brushed her wet hair. Looking in the mirror, she saw a woman who had used an old man’s grief for her own purposes. Because she’d made a vow to do anything to punish men like Blockwell and Dunbar, she had continued the charade of being Martin’s lost daughter. And today, for the first time, she could really see what the cost was for Martin. Did the ends justify the means? Shame clogged her throat, anger darkened her pale skin, and her nostrils flared. Rage clenched her fists.
She pounded her right fist into the mirror, punching her own reflection in the nose. A web of cracks spread across the glass. “I will make them pay for this,” she said. “Dunbar, Blockwell, Smith. All of them are going down.”
Dammit. Her hand stung and now there was blood dripping onto her countertop. She wrapped her towel around her bleeding hand and cleaned the mess. She was in a dangerous mood. She almost wished an attacker was in her living room. She needed a good fight.
She sprayed sealant on the cuts, stopping the blood completely, and then padded barefoot into the kitchen for a drink. She downed a shot of tequila. There on the kitchen counter sat the other file with a name on the top that read Lt. Col. Gregory Henkle.
Might as well read Gregory’s file now and know everything about the man she had been deceiving. Would it make her feel worse about herself? Maybe. Hammer thought Gregory’s file would soften her on him. Why? She had to know. Just as she opened the file and saw Gregory’s photo clipped to the top, a phone rang in her bedroom. Heather quickly followed the sound and picked up her burner phone.
It was a strange number, but she recognized the area code. Shoshone Nation.
“Is he okay?” she asked without the usual niceties.
“Agent Slade? This is Chief Natihani.”
“Yes, Chief. Is my father okay? What has happened?”
“I did not mean to frighten you. Yes. The man you call father is getting better. A lot better. I’m just calling to tell you another man was here earlier. A big guy with lots of muscles and a huge attitude. He was looking for Martin Slade.”
She frowned. “A Patriot Defender? What did he want?”
“We told him we had no idea what he was talking about, and he was not welcome in our lands. Especially if he was a Patriot Defender. The man laughed, low and deep. He assured me he was not a PD.”
She frowned. “Who was he?”
“He claimed he knew both you and your dad. Said he just wanted to know if Martin was here.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I stared at him from the big screen over the gate. He made a sound in his throat like my wolf does when someone tries to take his bone away. I growled right back. He seemed surprised by that. As if he’s an alpha dog who is not used to being challenged.”
“Sounds like a guy I know. Did he say his name was Hammer?”
He chuckled. “He was a real tool, but he didn’t say what his name was.”
“Did he leave peacefully?”
“I told him to turn around quickly before my men used him for target practice. They shot over his head. He left. We think he was like you—a secret agent.”
She paused at that. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
He chuckled again. “You can’t kid a kidder, Agent Slade. Yes, I know you are working with the Revos. I applaud it.”
He suspected she was an agent? What in the world had Martin told the Chief? This was bad, really bad.
“I don’t know why you would think such a thing of me, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat it. That kind of joke could get a girl killed.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Chief?”
“I won’t tell anyone outside these walls, Agent. I promise.”
Crap. How many people inside the walls had he told? “Call me Heather, or Miss Slade, not that other thing.” She had to steer the conversation away from herself. “I’m sorry the man bothered you. If it is Hammer, he is a colleague, but he shouldn’t know that my father is there with you. No one should know.”
“We see eye to eye on this, Agent Slade.”
The man was not going to drop it. “Heather, please. Just call me Heather.”
“As you wish. There is something else you need to hear, Heather. It’s best you come here. Soon.”
She didn’t want to make the trip again so quickly. Especially if Hammer had been tracking her. “What’s it about?”
He continued on as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Come alone. And don’t tell anyone you are coming to the reservation, not that tool man, or your hearse driver. I won’t trust anyone else outside the Shoshone Nation with…what we want to share with you. Only you. I may side with your interests, but I can’t have you put my tribe at risk.”
She narrowed her eyes. This whole thing didn’t smell right. Was it a trap?
“I am not sure I can get away, Chief. Especially not alone.” It wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t sure if she could ditch the team, or even if she should. She’d learned the hard way at the infinity hospital that a spy needs her team to get out alive.
“Trust an old chief when he tells you this—you should get away. Run if you can. The battle is not over for you or any of us. Our people will keep dying until the head of the snake is cut off and buried so deeply in the sand that the buzzards can’t smell it.” He paused. “I had a dream last night. I saw you holding a cleaver in your hand. Are you strong enough to use it?”
To lop off Blockwell’s head? Hell, yes. As soon as she got the chance. “You’re going to have to give me more than animal stories and dreams. What’s this really about, Chief?”
“No one plans a war over the phone, Heather.”
He was right about that. Perplexed, but sufficiently intrigued, she nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.
“I’m coming.”
When Heather hung up, her heart pounded, and her gut rang alarm bells. Odds were high that something bad was waiting for her on the reservation, but what if the chief actually had intel that could destroy Blockwell? She was going, even if she had to go alone.
Her earbuds started buzzing inside her purse. Hammer. It was as if he already knew she was going on another unsanctioned mission. She frowned. How was she going to ditch him this time? The earbuds kept making the annoying sound, as if pestering her to pick up. Hammer had an unnerving way of demanding to know her every move. It was getting old. Way old. When was HQ going to trust her to get her damned job done? Buzz, buzz. She snatched the earbuds out of her purse and put them into her ears.
“Hammer, enough! You’ve got to stop—”
“Agent Slade, do not hang up,” a woman’s voice said.
Heather blinked. “Who is this?”
“Here’s a clue . . . you call me a pain in your ass.”
Heather cocked her head. Her handler was calling her on Hammer’s direct-link comms? She’d never done that before. What was going on? Was she working with him?
“Uh, no. I call you the biggest pain in my ass. Hammer is the second biggest.”
The woman actually laughed. “I stand corrected.”
“How did you get this direct link?”
“You are not the only one with friends at I-Q-T. But I better hurry while I still have the connection.”
Interesting. She’d hacked Hammer’s comms? That took balls, or a death quest, and required someone like Raven to get the job done. “Why are you calling me like this instead of using the usual channels?”
“It’s urgent. And time-sensitive. Where are you hiding Martin Slade?”
“Who?”
“Agent.” She said the word like a teacher would say the name of a bad student. “This is important. Is he safe?”
“He is safe.”
“Where is he?”
“Is this a test? You told me not to tell anyone where he is.”
“And have you told anyone?”
Mike Robles. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why would I lie to you, X? Especially when you tell me the whole truth all the time?” Madame X hid truths from her, and she twisted truths and erased truths in her own head.
“Good. Keep the information to yourself. If something happens to Martin Slade, your job is done. And, well, mine is too. We are tied together, Agent. Keep Martin alive.”
Ah, so that was what this was about? Madame X was worried about losing her job? God, she really was a huge, self-absorbed prima donna.
“Why do you think I snatched him from the infinity hospital before HQ’s kill team got to him? I’m doing everything I can to keep him alive.”
“Are you going to see him now?”
A strange scratchy sound came through the earbuds. Was someone listening in on this conversation?
“No comment,” Heather said.
“Crap, my comms splicer is slipping. I have to hurry,” Madame X said. “Do not take your earbuds or any other gadgets with you. You are being tracked.”
“Don’t take my gadgets? What if I need to call for backup?” She didn’t like the idea of being off book, without any chance to call for help if things went horribly south. Like walking into a trap laid by an old chief.
“Backup? You told me Martin is safe.”
“He is.” Or at least, she hoped he was. The Chief had been pretty cagey with his language. “But anything can happen in the field.” She didn’t want to cut her lifeline with Hammer or Mike.
“Don’t go looking for trouble or take on any unnecessary risks. I’ll provide you cover so Hammer won’t go looking for you. Now, this is imperative—make sure you tell him—”
The line went dead.
Tell him…what?
Which him? Hammer or Martin?
Heather took the earbuds out of her ears and laid them on the kitchen counter. She stared at them a long time. The idea of leaving them behind gave her the same feeling she’d experienced when Jack Spanner, the free press journalist, was shot by a sniper on Main Street. It had been dangerous to run toward the dying man, but she had to hear the truth with her own ears. She needed the intel. Was this moment any different? Going to the reservation on her own, without anyone knowing where she was, could be the riskiest move of her career. She’d never done that before. The team was her lifeline.
Still, I need the intel. Especially if it gave her the cleaver to kill the beast once and for all.
But if things went all shades of wrong, she didn’t want to disappear without a trace. She couldn’t do that to Mike. He would go crazy trying to figure out what happened to her. He might blindly stumble into peril, just by following her footsteps. To help reduce the odds of him becoming the next dead body on the pavement, she knew what she had to do. She snatched up the earbuds and went to the basement. She unlocked the secret door and kept it open. There was no time for paintbrushes. Reaching for a red marker, she found a blank spot on the wall and wrote a note to Mike.
Gone to Martin. If I don’t come back, take the whole team. Do not go alone. I mean it, Mike. bring the whole team.
Emotions started to bubble up from nowhere. It was as if she were saying goodbye to him. Would it be her last communication with him? Would she ever see him again? There was a strange pain under her breastbone making her breathing choppy. Crap, do not cry, Heather.
And then, because emotions blurred her vision and played tricks with her thoughts, she wrote one more thing under the note.
She drew a heart in crimson ink and turned away quickly so she didn’t regret it.
Now to find the outfit for the day. Digging through her armoire, she passed several costumes, one after the other. Nothing seemed to be perfect for the mission until… There! At the back of her wardrobe closet was one she had never worn. It would do. She gathered up the suit, wig, glasses, and shoes. She’d need to call in a no-questions-asked favor, too, for any of this to work. Dialing the number, she crossed her fingers.
“Hey, Worm. It’s Heather.”
“Bella. Everything okay?”
“Peachy. How do you feel about driving my McLaren?”
