Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel 2 (27 page)

Staci never suspected Drew of having an affair. No, instead she thought she’d married either a sociopath or a pathological liar. She did a lot of research and finally decided Drew
had
to be a compulsive liar, which was difficult for her to accept, though much better than him being a sociopath. Sociopaths have no empathy or concern for others. That wasn’t like Drew at all.

Compulsive liars, on the other hand, didn’t lie to cheat or benefit or hurt others. They lied as an addiction, as a means of comfort. Her heart broke for him. She blamed his parents. They had to have tainted him, harmed him somehow at an early, formative age to make him turn to fabrication to feel whole. But she, Staci, would help him turn away from all that. Her love could replace the comfort of lying. She’d show him that honesty was best and absolutely necessary in a relationship.

She agonized for months before she finally confronted Drew and begged him to get help. He confessed that she was right. He was a liar. Of sorts. But not what she thought. He was a spy. And she was his rock. In a world where no one told him the truth, where deceit was as valuable as currency, she was his one island of honesty, the one person he could trust.

She was touched. In a way. And though she was reassured, no matter what the circumstances, living with a liar isn’t easy. And worse still, his job forced her to try to become a liar, too. And she just couldn’t do it. Not effectively. And now look where it had all led.

You know what she really wanted? Her twenty dollars back from Bill. He’d missed one key qualification she’d asked him for—honesty.

Staci sat up and leaned back against the headboard. Why would Drew be hopeful and happy now? He couldn’t possibly still be in love with her, could he?

And if he was? What did that change? She was still a liability to him.

She couldn’t play this charade much longer. She already felt as if she were losing herself.

She sighed, too wound up to sleep. She twisted her hands and caught a glimpse of her nails. They needed a touch-up. She got up and grabbed the new nail polish she’d bought earlier. She’d left the cling fingers next to it on the counter. The cling fingernails
really
needed a manicure. She grabbed them and the polish, and returned to bed.

Drew had a TV in the bedroom. Might as well watch something while she worked. She grabbed a clicker from the nightstand and turned the TV on. There wasn’t much on at three
AM
. With any luck, it would put her to sleep.

Though she knew the truth—she’d have a hard time sleeping until Drew was safely home.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Drew and Noe sat in Hook House Ale’s security control room, each with an amber ale in hand, as they watched the silent surveillance video from Thursday night. They hoped the video feed would reveal Martel’s killer.

Drew wished he’d been successful in getting into the brewery last night. But he’d had to stay with Staci until he was sure she was safe from the poison Grimley’d scratched her with. Then he’d gone to Grimley’s nursing home room and found a couple grand stashed in his sock drawer. He’d been paid cash to hit Staci. No surprise there.

Next he’d hit Martel’s apartment. By the time he’d gotten there, someone had already tossed it. Then dawn broke and he’d run out of time. The brewery was open for breakfast on Saturday. The morning crew would have already been arriving for work.

Drew had crossed his fingers, hoping no one decided to do a spot check of the security recordings. At that point, no one connected with the brewery even knew Martel was missing. Martel hadn’t been scheduled to work on Friday. It wasn’t standard protocol to check the tapes if there wasn’t an incident. The bungled amateur break-in attempt didn’t count. They had the guards account for that.

But still, Drew had been sweating it. Chance was a crazy, unpredictable bitch.

Noe reached for the bowl of peanuts between them. “How long ’ave you been back with the wife?”

“Huh?” Drew was concentrating on the monitor as intently as if it were a football play-off game. “A few days.”

Noe nodded. “A few days? What a coincidence, aye? You’re investigating her stepfather, and suddenly you’re back together, the ’appily reunited couple.”

“Yeah.” Drew didn’t feel like elaborating.

“I’m pretty good at reading people. You don’t seem like you’re faking it to me. But then you are good,
mon ami,
one of the best. I ’ope Staci won’t be hurt in the end. She’s a good woman.”

Drew didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Neither did Noe, but Drew felt his disapproval. “Why would she get hurt?”

“Well, RIOT is trying to kill her, no? Because they suspect she knows something, maybe?”

It came as no surprise that Noe knew about that, too. “That’s not what you meant,” Drew said.

“No, indeed not. The reconciliation is genuine then?”

“Sure.” Drew nodded.

“Then I ’ope
you
don’t get hurt, my friend.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Drew glared at the screen.

Noe chuckled.

Drew frowned and watched Martel making the rounds of the brewing room on the video before him. The timestamp indicated it was nearly nine o’clock on Thursday night. Just minutes before closing.

The door to the brewing room opened. Martel paused and looked toward the door, obviously on alert. When he saw who it was, he smiled.

A middle-aged man walked in, greeted Martel, and slapped him on the back like an old buddy. He wore a baseball cap that hid his hair completely, jeans, a soft-shell spring jacket, and a Hook House polo shirt, the kind the gift shop sold thousands of. Whoever the man was, he was savvy enough to avoid the camera as much as possible and keep his face hidden. There was no audio on the feed, but you could see the two chatting and the other man asking questions.

Drew frowned. His heart raced as he experienced a glimmer of recognition.

He concentrated, studying the movements of the newcomer. He knew that walk and those body movements. The man turned just enough so that the top of his cap was fully visible to the camera. Drew caught the faint hint of an inkblot-shaped stain on top. He felt nauseous. He knew exactly how that stain had gotten there, whose hat that was, and who was wearing it. “Sam!”

Noe flashed him a quick look before returning his attention to the screen.

Martel turned away from Sam to point at one of the vats. While his back was turned, Sam pulled a gun from his coat pocket and put two slugs into Martel’s head with a movement so quick there was no way Martel knew what hit him.

Seasoned and as used to death as Drew was, he blanched and felt sick. He set his ale down on the desk.

Noe paused the video and looked at him. “Are you okay?”

“My stepfather-in-law is a cold-blooded killer.”

“You’re sure it is ’im?”

“Positive. See that stain on the hat? That’s blood. His. I was with him when he got that spot on it, helping him work on his deck. He cut his finger. He wasn’t even aware he was bleeding when he reached for his hat and bled on it. I rinsed it out with cold water while he bandaged his finger.

“The blood left a light-brown stain, exactly that shape. Sam cursed and threw a fit. That’s why I remember it so well. That’s his favorite cap.”

Noe nodded sympathetically. “Some of us ’ave worse in-laws than others.”

“There’s an understatement. My stepfather-in-law is not only a greedy bastard of a traitor, he’s also a killer. And experienced with a gun. Look at the way he handles it.”

He replayed the video, forcing himself to watch. “No hesitation. Just bang, bang. Then he hides the body in the hops, and turns and walks away as if nothing’s happened.”

Noe studied the screen. “You didn’t expect that?”

Drew shook his head. “I didn’t think he was the kind of guy to get his hands dirty. He’s not violent. Or wasn’t. He loves to fish, but catches and releases half the time. He doesn’t hunt. Not that I know about. Claims guns aren’t his thing.

“Two years ago, he was just a bitter document control engineer who thought he deserved more of everything. A prime RIOT target—a dissatisfied man with access to top-secret documents.”

He took a breath, pushing away his most disturbing thoughts. “Someone’s taught him how to shoot to kill. This changes things.”

Noe nodded again.

“He’s in deeper with RIOT than I’d feared.”

“Anyone who deals with RIOT is in too deep,” Noe observed. “No one ever leaves that association alive. SMASH makes sure of it.”

Drew pounded the table next to him with his fist. “Here’s what’s bothering me—how did Sam know Martel was an agent? And why did he kill him?”

Noe could have taken offense at Drew’s implication that CSIS was inadequate at protecting their agent’s cover. Or that their agent screwed up and blew it himself. But he didn’t appear to.

“We’ll find out.” Noe stared at Drew and paused, looking as if there was something he didn’t want to ask. “Could Sam put two in your head?”

“Two minutes ago I would have said no.” Drew paused. “The real question is—will Sam shoot Linda, my mother-in-law, if she gets too nosy? Or Staci?”

Damn, he’d put Staci in more danger than he’d originally thought.

Noe looked at him. “You know your father-in-law better than I do.”

“Watching this, I feel like I don’t know him at all.” Drew nodded toward the video. “Let’s make a copy of this and splice the killing out for the feed we leave here. Until the deal goes down, we’re going to have to protect Sam from a murder investigation. And we’re going to have to be very careful. Until we know better, we’ll have to assume RIOT had Martel under surveillance, discovered who he was, and ordered Sam to kill him.”

Noe nodded his sympathy and switched topics. “Next up is Martel’s office. We’ll see if he ’as left us any clue.”

The men rigged the security cameras so they wouldn’t record their trip to Martel’s office, picked up their beer, dumped their nuts, and made their way through the facility.

Drew had a set of master keys. He spoke as he unlocked the door. “Want to place a bet on whether this office has been ransacked or not?”

Noe laughed and shook his head. “If RIOT is as efficient as they claim, it most certainly ’as been. As you said yourself, Martel’s apartment was tossed quite thoroughly. But RIOT does not know what we know—Martel’s hiding place.” He winked at Drew.

Drew pushed the office door open. Sure enough, the office had been ransacked, looking as if someone had been in a hurry to find something. He cursed beneath his breath. Martel’s office didn’t have a camera. They had no way of knowing who’d searched it or what the unknown person was looking for. Drew assumed Sam was the culprit. What did RIOT want?

Noe didn’t walk into the room, as Drew expected. Instead, he held the door open, pulled a tiny screwdriver from his pocket, and removed the old-fashioned brass office numbers. From behind them, he pulled out a tiny memory device. “See! Here it is, just like I said.”

Drew shook his head and grinned. “That is just too
Casino Royale,
too obvious.”

“Obvious is sometimes best.” Noe’s eyes twinkled. “Good thing evil RIOT agents don’t read.” He laughed.

Drew surveyed the room again and turned serious. “Damn, look at this mess. We’re going to have to clean up before we leave.” He glanced at his watch. “We better start playing janitor. We don’t have much time before the brewery staff comes in to open for breakfast.”

Noe moved to stuff the device into his pocket.

Drew caught Noe’s arm before he could finish pocketing it. “Hang on there, buddy.”

“What?” Noe comically arched one dark brow.

“Share and share alike, that was the deal.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Drew held out his hand.

“We don’t have much time.”

“We have enough.” Drew pulled a memory stick from his own pocket. “It won’t take long to make a copy.”

*   *   *

Three hours later Drew and Noe sat in Starbucks, sipping their coffees as they studied their open laptops. They’d each sent their respective headquarters Martel’s intel. Both of them had now received new orders and complete mission instructions.

They sat across from each other reading the latest dispatch, innocuously encoded, of course. To the casual observer, they appeared to be reading the Sunday paper online. In reality, the “Sunday paper” was carefully encoded intel. Since each of them was a master at deciphering coded messages, especially if they had the key, they read the paper as quickly as the normal person perused the Sunday edition.

While it appeared as if Drew was reading the sports page, this is what the latest baseball scores really meant:

From NCS Chief Emmett Nelson to Field Agent F:

Using a shadow corporation and a complicated money laundering scheme, RIOT chief Archibald Random has been investing heavily in a small telecommunications company. This particular company has secured all necessary permits to launch a new satellite from North Korea into geostationary orbit into the heart of the equatorial satellite belt at 22,223 miles above the earth, where all weather and communications satellites sit.