Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2) (5 page)

Cappy paced in front of the fireplace partition.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Talon asked, pulling knife upon knife from a plethora of hidden places on his person and laying them on the other half of the dining room table. He then picked up his cleaning cloth and began wiping them down.

Cappy froze his fidgeting. Damn. Acting like a caged tiger only tipped everyone off that he had something more at stake than doing the Senator’s bidding. “Ted, pack all your essentials.”

The genius blinked, surprised. “Really?” A little too much excitement filled that one word for Cappy’s taste. “You want me in the field with you?”

“No.” Cappy grimaced and hoped it didn’t show too bad. “Yes.”

Talon paused and raised an eyebrow.

Natch
. “I mean, you’re coming with us,
but
, you’ll have to operate within established boundaries. You’re not protected here without us and I don’t trust your uncle not to send an uninvited guest once he finds out we’re not here.”

Talon snorted and resumed playing with his knives.

The renewed light in the kid’s eyes didn’t reassure Cappy he had made the right call. Damn. How bad of a liability had he just invited to tag along?

Wraith and Grady wandered in from making arrangements with their trainee. The past eight months had been a dark time for the team when Wraith had faked her death, hid in Ridge Creek, and worked for Grady at Gradwick Adventure Center under the alias Sandra Walsh. The discovery of her still being alive kicked off a series of events that ultimately led to Victor’s new postal code.

“I don’t think I can leave right away.” Ted chewed on his lip. “I need some time to wrap up a few things before I can shut down.”

“Fine. Grady, Wraith,” Cappy pointed at the pair, “guard him for the rest of the day. If you need to go to Gradwick, please take him with you. I don’t want him here by himself, for obvious reasons.” Cappy indicated the destruction Victor left behind.

“I’m not a child,” Ted mumbled, his ears a brighter shade of pink.

“No. You’re a critical asset under our protection,” Cappy corrected, then shot them all a stern warning. “Hear me, you three. You need to be knocking on whatever door we’re holed up in tomorrow morning. Capisce?”

“Sure.” Grady shrugged at the same time Wraith replied with, “Check.”

Ted nodded, then glanced fervently at the couple, then at Talon, who picked up one of the knives he kept stashed in his boot and began cleaning it. Not that the action fooled Cappy. The man could recite every nuance performed while supposedly not paying attention.

Ted seemed to come to the same conclusion because he stood and stretched theatrically, then motioned with his chin for Cappy to . . . What the hell did the chin thrust mean?

The computer genius did the action again, this time with his eyes bugged.

“I think he has a secret he doesn’t want us to hear,” Talon said casually, not looking up, proving Cappy’s point. “Put us all out of misery and just head to the other side of the living room so he can share it with you.”

Ted’s shoulders slumped and his ears pinkened. “Never mind,” he mumbled, dropping back into his seat.

“Later?” Cappy asked, hitting speed dial on his phone.

Two rings then laughter poured through the speaker.
“Yo,”
a male voice answered.

“Romeo, how’s the progress?”

The team’s lothario chuckled.
“Severing all our leases would be a lot faster if Magician would just let me throw all this crap out.”
Loud muffled scrape, then,
“Ow!”

Cappy could just imagine Magician letting Romeo have it. She was one of the most beautiful women he knew. At five-two with long straight black hair, baby-blue eyes and a perfect hourglass body, she was the total package. Not that her looks ever got Cappy’s heart racing. She was too . . . ideal. He liked a woman with meat on her bones. Someone with substance who actually fit with his six-two brawn.

His cock twitched as an image of Michelle’s swaying hips flitted across his brain.
Pipe down
.

“Are you telling me the squad’s resident Casanova couldn’t charm a woman into doing something his way?”

Romeo laughed.
“Not this woman. I can’t get away with anything and you know it.”

True. Romeo may cause the rest of the women in the world to break into song at his handsomeness, but Magician seemed immune.

“Hmmm,” Cappy answered. “I’m recalling you two.”

The smile dropped from Romeo’s voice as he answered, all-business,
“What happened?”

“We’ve got a new mission.”

“Interesting, given our recent KOS status.”

Cappy snorted. The Kill On Sight orders had been Victor’s handiwork when Cappy and his team not only refused to terminate Wraith but also helped her live. Once Victor issued those orders, the assassins appeared and hadn’t stopped until the Senator had Victor arrested and assumed temporary control.

“What’s our assignment?”
Magician asked with her usual directness.

“The murder of Senator Harris’s son.”

Romeo whistled.
“I saw that on the news. They had a clip of some girl running from the hotel. They catch her yet?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Cappy stopped his pacing and caught the eyes of the teammates in the room. “We need to get to her first.”

“I thought that was the general plan,” Grady stated, his gaze a little too sharp for Cappy’s conscience.

“Yes. No.” He swiped his hand through his buzzed hair. “I mean, it’s imperative we get to her before
anyone
finds her, including the Senator.”

“Oh?” Talon asked, pausing his wiping of a Bowie knife. “And the reason is . . . ?”

“I know who she is.”

All movement stopped, even the ambient sounds on the phone, as every eye studied him. Ted, Wraith, and Grady with varying stages of stunned while Talon narrowed his gaze and cocked his head.

“Well?”
Magician snapped, breaking the silence.
“You going to spill today?”

Cappy flipped through the Colombian video in his head—the damn thing hadn’t shut off since he first saw Michelle on YouTube. He studied the floor, unable to believe he was about to cross a forbidden line, but not seeing a way around it.

“Cappy?” Wraith’s voice broke through his silent argument.

“When I met her, her name was Michelle Alger. I’m pretty sure she goes by something else now, but regardless, the second she sees me, she’s going to inadvertently tell you things I’ve not been allowed to say. You should hear them from me first.”
No going back now.
“Prior to joining SweetBriar Group, my name used to be Jeremy Malone. Captain Jeremy Malone formerly of the U.S. Army Green Berets, to be precise.”

Stunned silence echoed in the room. The team knew he had been Army but he’d never been allowed to state his real name. None of them had.

“Wraith isn’t the only walking dead among us,” he babbled, just wanting to get this part over with. “Though the Army declared my death instead of SBG.”

Wraith’s eyes softened and she reached for his hand, squeezing it.

He appreciated her support.

“I can’t say much about how I met Michelle other than it was during my last classified mission. She was a student at the University of California and originally hailed from Laurel, Delaware.”
With a butterfly tattoo on her hip.
He knew better than to admit that small tidbit with this bunch.

For too many heartbeats, no one said a word.

“Wow. Okay. Thanks for the trust in us, Cappy.”
Romeo finally broke the silence.
“I’m stunned, since you’ve been—”

“A hardass about us breaking SBG’s rule surrounding our former lives,” Talon cut in, his mouth tilted in a quirk. “Boy Scout, you bucking one of SBG’s sacred commandments makes me kinda proud.”

Cappy rolled his eyes. “I know. I know. Clean Slate policy. Never reveal your true name or where you came from, blah, blah, blah.”

“This Michelle must have made quite an impression on you if you can recall all those details,”
Magician stated in that tone women had that oozed suspicion and sincerity.

An image of Michelle’s swollen and bruised face attempting to smile as she feebly said, “Cappy for short,” rose in his mind. He never told a soul he had chosen his codename based on that memory, that show of strength when anyone else in the world would’ve given up. Most thought it was derived from his former rank, and he didn’t feel the need to correct them. Made an impression? They had no idea.

“Let’s just say the circumstances surrounding the meeting are something I’ll never forget.”

“Still, six years is a long time,” Ted said, clacking on his keyboard.

Most days, it feels like yesterday
. Cappy pushed the vivid image of Michelle’s broken body from his mind. No sense in revealing that part of the story. “Ted, I’ll need a full legend for Jeremy Malone. I want to use the private security company owner story.”

Ted blinked. “Uh, sure.”

Cappy continued, “Romeo and Magician, you have your full alias kits?”

“Yeah. We always carry all of them. In this case, Special Agents Raymond Stiles and Sonya White can leave Kentucky and head north,”
Romeo answered.

“You never said why we had to find her first,”
Magician stated.

Cappy didn’t have much more than a gut feeling, so he just shrugged for those in the room. “Let’s just say I don’t think we have the whole story. When I last met Michelle, I never would’ve associated the word
murderer
with her. Something’s not right.”

“So the Senator’s simple directive just got complicated,” Grady summed up.

Dismay coursed through Michelle as she watched the scenery outside the taxi’s window turn seedier and seedier. Excellent. If she got mugged, her day would be complete.

Knowing it would only be a matter of time before her car was spotted, she had ditched it in the only place she could think of. A car dealership. Neatly tucking it in with the thirty other cars waiting to be serviced, she then caught a bus to the farthest stop on the route, Greenwood, a small town south of Indianapolis. From there, the only place she could think to tell the Middle Eastern cab driver was a strip club. On TV, those places never had cameras and the employees didn’t bother remembering faces.

Now she wished she had thought of something else. Drawing knowledge on how to go on the run from Hollywood was definitely not the way to survive.

The cabbie slowed and entered a parking lot in desperate need of repair. Neon tubes in pastel colors advertised the beer they served proudly and how the PussyFoot Gentleman’s Club was open twenty-four hours.

“You get out now.”

Michelle tore her gaze away from the monstrosity that, surprisingly, had a decent number of cars for high noon. “Where’s the motel?”

He pointed to an equally tired building beside the PussyFoot. No name other than OTE adorned the place. She could see the missing “M” and “L” in the light of day but figured the average nighttime clientele wouldn’t care if the letters were burned out.

She swallowed. Could she really stay in the OTE tonight? What kind of vermin were crawling inside the rooms of this place?

“You out now. I charge if you stay longer.”

Whatever. She survived worse. She grabbed her stuff and pushed her way out of the car. She barely got clear of the door when the cabbie pulled away. What a douche!

Too many centuries later, she firmly shut the door to “suite” number nine and leaned against the wood. The metal number outside rattled and she winced. The nail had fallen out of the top part of the number so it looked like she was in room six. Classy. The OTE usually charged by the hour but she’d been able to bargain the kid behind the counter down from his initial price if she promised to visit him after his shift ended. God, she hoped she figured out her next move before then.

She opened her eyes and surveyed her nightmare. The skeeviness triggered her brain to recall images of another horrible room. She stumbled to the rickety wooden chair set near the window and plopped onto the seat. Wave upon wave of video played in her head of her time in Colombia. Sweat broke out on her skin as she dropped her head into her hands and rested her elbows onto the scarred round table.

“What were you doing in our woods?”
Punch. Punch.
“Who do you really work for?”
Slice. Slice.
“Who is your handler?”
Whip. Whip. Whip.

“AHHHHH,” she cried against the barrage, clutching her hair. “Stop!”

A pair of dark eyes filled her mind. Rage, sadness, compassion, respect. All those emotions had flitted through his irises as he rescued her from Hell.

Captain Jeremy Malone. Green Beret. Hero.

She didn’t remember much about the actual rescue, but she’d never forget his eyes or his voice. They spoke to her soul. Her feelings for that man went way beyond gratitude, though she had that in spades. It was like she had finally found the other half of herself she hadn’t realized was missing. Her Cappy. The memory of his smile when she dubbed him the nickname because she couldn’t muster the stamina to say more helped chase away the ghosts.

With shaking hands she rooted inside her purse until she found her cell phone. Damp fingerprints marred the surface from her sweat as her heart raced. She had to calm down. Rubbing her hands briskly on her uniform pants, she took in three deep breaths. Better.

Popping the cover off her phone, she stared at the contents. The only item she managed to save from her previous life rested against the battery.

The edges were bent and worse-for-wear but she could still read the strong, masculine handwriting. With a trembling hand, she picked up the small piece of paper.

“If you ever get into trouble again, contact me. I promise I’ll come running, no questions asked,”
Cappy’s deep, gruff voice had whispered.

She lightly fingered the spot below her ear where he had kissed her. The quick press of his lips and the utter conviction she would overcome the nightmare had kept her going all these years. Even when she snuck an Internet search in the early months of her captivity by the U.S. Marshals and found a memorial page to Captain Jeremy Malone on the web, she refused to give up. Her heart had thundered when she stared, disbelieving, at the screen. Date of birth listed beside date of death—which coincided with the same day they met. She had then performed a search for her own name—the one she had been born with before Colombia—and found a small article on an Internet-based newspaper stating she was deceased as well.

No way had Jeremy died rescuing her. For some reason, he needed the world to think he was dead. Her yearning to believe he was still alive gave her the conviction to hold that as a truth. Having faith in Jeremy’s not-dead status wasn’t the easiest. The strain of being cut off from her family and former life sometimes pressed in on her, allowing doubt to worm its way in. When that happened, guilt over possibly being the cause of his death always joined the party, and she’d have to combat it all by gripping that
something
in her heart that said it couldn’t be true and hanging on.

Over the years she had often fondled the paper, wishing for an excuse to talk to him, to know once and for all he still lived. Now that she had one, did she dare call? What if he hadn’t really meant it? She bet he rescued hundreds of people in horrible situations. Did he give them all the same offer?

She put the slip down and stared at the scrawled message.

Jeremy Malone—Cappy

555-546-2389

She ran her finger over his name and chewed her lip. Had the news of her fugitive status reached whatever part of the world he currently inhabited? If so, would he still come running if she called? He had said he’d help with no questions asked. Did she have the guts to test the theory?

Maybe it was time to find out.

***

Griffin studied the selection of snacks in the small gift shop located within a neat line of boutiques in the lobby. The old-money decadence of the Cerise Hotel clashed with the gaudy pink décor. Whoever splashed the swanky place with the stripper’s shade of lipstick needed to have their decorator’s license yanked.

All the infusion of color made the rack of candy bars and chips unappealing. He moseyed beyond the food and fingered a few magazines. He didn’t really want to buy anything but needed an excuse to loiter in the area. Suits and dresses in all their ill-fitting, cheaply made glory paraded through the front doors as the alphabet agencies set up shop on one of the floors above.

The Senator’s son’s murder had this city all abuzz.

Griffin cracked his neck from left to right and stuffed his right hand in his front jeans pocket, making sure he always kept his left side toward the open area beyond. Fucking prosthetic. He needed to blend in as much as possible, and a man wearing a fake arm tended to stick out no matter how much it cost to make it look “real.”

A swell of commotion hooked his attention and Griffin slid to the end of the aisle. Finally, the Senator and his wife arrived. Stern, joyless men accompanied the Senator as he strode across the paisley carpet. The wife remained a few steps behind with a wad of tissues gripped in her palm.

Griffin strolled out of the gift shop toward the large seating area filled with tall potted trees and palms. He pulled the bulky encrypted phone out of his jacket and opened a highly illegal app a tech head he met years ago had developed and sold to Griffin for an astronomical amount. There were plenty of free or cheap tracking apps parents could utilize to track their kids, but this beauty had a few extra perks that’d have the privacy advocates screaming and picketing. Who, honestly, would want a piece of spyware delivered to their phone via a call and Bluetooth connection and have all their calls and movements monitored by someone else without them ever knowing?

Operatives the world over, and he was the only one who had it, thanks to a fatal car “accident” the IT nerd had suffered shortly after selling the software to Griffin.

He retrieved April’s number and pressed Send.

As casually as he could, he slid his fake hand into his jeans again and headed for the couple causing the controlled chaos throughout the lobby.

The phone in Mrs. Bob Harris’s hand rang, and she jumped. She stared at it, puzzled.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the phone. “Answer the fucking thing.”

On the fourth ring, she answered with a shaky,
“Hello?”

He instantly pressed a button on the app and held his breath while it scrolled and flashed on the display.

He bypassed the couple and continued moving toward the main doors.

“Hello?
” April Harris asked again.

The phone dinged and the words
Successful Pairing
blasted on the screen. He chuckled and hung up, strolling into the sunlight.