The Betrayal (2 page)

Gary remained unmoved, although Declan thought he saw a glimmer of sympathy in his boss’ world-weary eyes. The sight of it ignited his anger.

“Don’t go feeling sorry for me, Gary. Don’t you fucking
dare
. This is bullshit! It wasn’t me. There’s been a mistake. You’ll see. It’s all a mistake. A simple, fucking mistake.”

Gary rested his hands on his desk and leaned over it, holding Declan’s gaze.

“I hope for your sake that’s true. But in the meantime, I have my orders. You’re standing down until further notice.”

Declan stumbled out of Gary’s office and headed in the direction of his own desk, his thoughts a disjointed blur. A dull roar sounded in his ears. In a daze, he saw Charlie stand and move toward him, a concerned expression on his face.

“Are you all right, mate?”

Declan pushed past him and staggered toward the locker room. His limbs were heavy, like they were weighed down with concrete. The door to the locker room seemed light years away.

Reaching it at last, he put a shoulder to its hard surface. The door gave way and he collapsed against the bank of steel lockers and sucked oxygen into his depleted lungs. His heart hammered against his chest.

Christ, he was having a heart attack.

“Shit, mate, you look awful. What’s going on?”

Charlie’s hands grasped the material of Declan’s shirt and steadied him. Declan was thankful for the support, not at all sure his legs would continue to keep him upright.

“I don’t know; I don’t know,” he gasped, shaking his head. “Someone’s setting me up. IA is involved. I have to go.”

Pulling out of Charlie’s grasp, he turned and stumbled to his locker. Leaning heavily on the wall of steel, he released the combination lock and tossed his things into his gym bag. Charlie watched him in silence, concern marring his handsome features.

“IA? Fuck. What are you talking about? What can I do, mate? Please, talk to me. Tell me what I can do.”

Declan stopped what he was doing and spun on his heel, anger exploding through his fear and confusion.

“I’ll tell you what you can do. You can keep your eyes wide open and your ears to the ground. And spread the word. I’ll find out who did this and when I do, I’ll make them regret they ever fucking knew me.”

CHAPTER 2

The snooze button went off for the third time and Chloe Sabattini groaned. She lost another minute of sleep debating whether she could actually afford to spend any more time in bed… Then guilt won out and she reluctantly pushed off the blankets and climbed out—her weekend was officially over.

After her restless night, she thought briefly about skipping the shower, but one look at her thick, black hair standing on end changed her mind. Nothing but water, conditioner and a hairdryer would be strong enough to tame the long, riotous curls into the order and respectability expected of a senior Australian Federal Police Internal Affairs investigator.

Toweling dry after a few minutes under the steaming hot spray, she slid open the door to her closet and surveyed its contents. Like every other morning, an array of sensible black and navy suits and even more sensible tailored white or pastel blouses hung there.

Once, months ago, in a fit of daring she’d bought a fancy fitted-silk blouse in the hottest of pink, but she’d stowed it in the back of her cupboard as soon as she returned home. The price tag was still attached.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have a healthy self-esteem. She was more than happy to have inherited her parents’ dark Italian coloring; that her flawless olive skin was envied by her school friends when she’d sailed through puberty with barely a zit and they’d been battling full scale acne; that her figure, although a little on the short side, was compact and curvy in all the right places—or so she’d been told by the handful of men she’d briefly dated since she’d been old enough to drive. She was even happy with her mostly straight, white teeth that had emerged without the aid of braces.

But despite these positive physical attributes, she’d never managed to completely overcome her shyness…and drawing attention to herself with bright, bold colors had never been something she was brave enough to entertain for more than a few wistful minutes.

The mantle of confidence, strength and unquestionable authority she exuded at work was a far cry from her private self. If she’d told any of her work colleagues about her affliction, they’d have rolled around the floor with laughter, not to mention disbelief. That was one of the reasons she’d chosen her occupation. Her job as a hard-nosed IA investigator forced her to become the woman she wished she could be and she lived in the vain hope that somehow, somewhere the professional confidence would rub off into her personal life.

No one had guessed that beneath the poised, self-assured exterior she wore to work, along with the classic, tailored suits, was a woman who wasn’t even brave enough to flirt or ask a man out. She was sure it had something to do with the time way back in high school when, after weeks of agonizing, she’d finally found the courage to ask the boy of her dreams if he’d like to go to the library with her after school.

The humiliation of his emphatic ‘
No
’ and his subsequent retelling of the encounter to all of his friends had lived with her for many years and, if she were truly honest, even now, the memory of it still left her embarrassed.

Her glance fell on the snatch of hot pink silk that peeked out from underneath a shoebox on the top shelf of her closet, but then quickly skittered away. Today wasn’t the day to trial bravado. She’d been up most of the night reading over the file of Federal Agent Declan Munro and was scheduled to interview him later that morning.

The allegations were serious—much too serious for a frilly, form-fitting, hot-pink blouse—even if it was teamed with a sensible, tailored navy skirt and matching jacket.

With a sigh, she reached for the nearest pastel blouse and pulled it off the hanger.

* * *

Chloe glanced at her watch and wiped slightly damp palms down the sides of her skirt. The bare walls of the interview room suddenly seemed too close. She always got nervous right before a major interview, especially one involving such serious misconduct. Even when it was being conducted on her turf, the nerves still set in.

She’d obtained a photograph of Declan Munro from the AFP’s personnel office and the image of the man with sparkling green-flecked brown eyes and a broad, cheeky smile looked better suited to a glossy magazine model than a sexual predator, but she’d learned the hard way not to be taken in by someone’s more-than-pleasing looks and she was determined not to make the same mistake again.

A short rap on the closed door of the interview room interrupted her thoughts. Looking up, she caught the brief flash of light brown hair through the small square of clear viewing glass on the door. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Remaining seated, she called for him to enter.

Her first thought was that his photo hadn’t done him justice. His hair was flecked with lighter pieces of gold. It was thick and wavy and looked ruffled in a sexy, straight-from-the-bedroom kind of way. A bold, lime-green tie, liberally embellished with navy and silver polka dots, eclipsed a well-cut navy suit and dazzling white business shirt. The fabric looked expensive, but the colors weren’t for the faint hearted.

Then he smiled. Open, warm, honest. Her heart skipped a beat and then hammered against her chest. In the flesh, Declan Munro was more than she imagined. He was beautiful. And incredibly tall.

He reminded Chloe of an athlete—all tanned, taut skin and long, athletic limbs. Even under his suit, his body looked hard.

She swallowed and then blinked, turning her attention to the hand that had been extended in her direction. Pushing away from the desk, she stood and returned his handshake. Her hand was engulfed in a warm, firm grip.

“I’m Federal Agent Declan Munro. I take it you’re from IA?”

Retrieving her hand with undue haste, Chloe swiped at an errant strand of hair that had come loose from the sensible bun at the nape of her neck and tried to regain her composure.

“Senior Investigator Sabattini. And yes, I’m from IA. Th-thank you for coming in.”

A gleam of surprised amusement lit up the green-brown of his eyes and sent her pulse skyrocketing. Heat flooded her face. Flustered, she turned away.

Get a grip, Chloe
.
So what if he’s as good looking as
… Her mind was in such a muddle, she couldn’t even come up with an acceptable comparison.

Not that it was important. His looks were irrelevant, along with his expensive clothes. He was being investigated for accessing online child pornography. Nothing else mattered.

The thought sobered her. She regained her seat and opened the file on the desk in front of her and indicated for him to sit down opposite in the single remaining chair.

“I take it you know why you’re here?”

His smile evaporated and his eyes narrowed. “Oh, I know all right. I know it’s bullshit. Whatever you have in there,” he pointed toward the file in her hands, “is total bullshit.”

Chloe was used to anger. The offenders she interviewed usually cycled through an arsenal of emotions: shock, anger, disbelief, denial, guilt, remorse and sometimes back to anger again. It wasn’t easy to get them to admit to their guilt, but she prided herself on having a knack for getting to the heart of a suspect.

Most of the time, deep down, they weren’t bad people. After all, they’d gone into the AFP for noble reasons, wanting to serve and protect their community. It was just that somewhere along the way, things veered off course.

It helped her to think of it like this. Somehow, it made her job more bearable. She also wholeheartedly believed in the justice system that presumed a man innocent until he was proven guilty. It was this belief that helped her do what had to be done. After all, the ultimate decision about guilt or innocence lay with the courts.

Ignoring his outburst, she kept her expression neutral and tugged the blank legal pad and pen toward her.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Agent Munro, and I’d like you to answer them honestly. I’m sure you understand that when an allegation such as this is made, it must be thoroughly investigated. However, I’d like to remind you, this is an investigation, not an interrogation. Who knows? If you answer the questions to my satisfaction, this whole thing may not go any further.”

He stared at her. Dragging her gaze away, she concentrated on the pad in front of her. “Do you agree to answer my questions, Agent Munro?”

The earlier glimmer of amusement was long gone. His lips tightened and his expression turned hard. “It’s not like I have any choice.”

“Of course you do. You have the right to seek legal representation and you are entitled to have your lawyer present during this interview.” Chloe looked up from the notepad in front of her and caught his gaze. Green-flecked eyes stared back at her unflinchingly.

“Would you like to speak to a lawyer, Agent Munro?”

“No. I have nothing to hide. Ask your questions. Let’s get this bullshit over with.”

The anger in his voice was reflected in his eyes. Chloe held his gaze a few seconds longer, searching for signs of insincerity. So far, she’d been unable to detect even the slightest hesitation.

Still, the evidence was there in her file. She needed to get past the fact he was gorgeous and get on with her job—digging to get to the truth.

She nodded. “All right, let’s get on with it. Try to keep in mind that if you provide me with honest answers, we’ll get to the bottom of this very quickly. Tell me lies and it will take longer. Either way, I’ll find out the truth eventually. It’s your choice.”

He eyeballed her again and she forced herself to remain unmoved. “I’m obliged to tell you this interview will be recorded.” She reached for the remote control that lay on the desk and pointed it in the direction of the video recorder that was fixed to a shelf in the corner opposite to where they sat. High above it, hung a camera.

“For the sake of the video,” she continued, “I will introduce both of us. My name is Senior Investigator Sabattini and I have with me Federal Agent Declan Munro.” After confirming the time and the date, Chloe turned to him.

“Agent Munro, is your full name Declan Andrew Munro and do you live at 9-338 Jonas Road, Kingston Foreshore?”

The man seated opposite her gave a brisk nod.

“I’m sorry, Agent Munro, I must have a verbal response from you.”

“Yes, that’s my name and my address.”

“That’s a nice part of town, Agent Munro. Do you rent or own there?”

“Not that I see the relevance of your question to this interview, but I rent, Senior Investigator Sabattini.”

She failed to rise to his bait. “How old are you, Agent Munro?”

“I turned thirty-four a few weeks ago.”

Chloe hid her surprise. He held his age well. If she’d been asked to guess, she would have thought him younger, closer to her age. She filed the information away and continued.

“You’ve been requested to attend this interview for the purposes of answering questions regarding an alleged incident or incidents that occurred during the course of the week commencing August thirteenth this year.

Her eyes narrowed on his face. “Agent Munro, have you ever accessed confidential departmental computer files without proper authorization?”

His gaze remained steady on hers. “No.”

“Can you tell me what your departmental username and password is?”

His lips twisted. “I’m sure you’ve already received that information or else I wouldn’t be here. Surely, that’s what you’re hanging your hat on, isn’t it? The fact that my username and password was used to illegally access files on my computer?”

Chloe’s anger stirred, but she held it in check. “For the purposes of this interview, Agent Munro, can you please tell me your username and password?”

His face hardened. His words became clipped. “My username is declanmunro22@afp_cpu. My password is Cassie.”

Chloe dropped her gaze, ostensibly to make some notes, but her thoughts snagged on his password.