Wolfsbane (41 page)

The outrage over Midas’s reaction and actions dumped. Was Danielle Roark
that
important to Midas? When did that happen?
That’s it
. That’s what he wasn’t telling them.

Headlights struck the team as a vehicle rounded a bend in the road.

Legend slapped Max’s shoulder. “There’s our ride.”

A white van pulled to the curb. A half hour later, the team strode into the Shack.

“I think we need to do something,” the Kid said. “She’s down there. With that piece of work Bruzon. Anyone with a brain knows that’s not good.”

Max snatched a towel from his locker. “Tell me, Kid, how do we get down there?”

“Lambert—”

“Missing.”

“Get a flight—”

“Flights take money and passports. Hamer had ours put on hold.”

The Kid shifted. Looked around at the others, who said nothing but bore the weight of the dire situation. “We can’t just do nothing—again.”

“I don’t plan to.”

Startled blue-gray eyes came to Max’s. The Kid wet his lips and checked the rest of the team again. “Then we’re going to do something?”

Secure Facility, Virginia 18 May

“Holy cow! Can you believe this?”

Fist against his lips, Major Matt Rubart paced outside the hospital room, his brain buzzed. When he’d gotten the anonymous tip about Corazine Mercado, he’d been pumped about finding more clues. Excited to add a new layer to this case that oozed conspiracy and thousand-watt trouble. What he hadn’t expected was the nuclear blast of information she provided. In the last two days, she’d filled gaps lurking within the case file with affectionate anecdotes and mirth over the antics of Bayani and Chesa.

“Foreign nationals … training …” He dragged a hand over his mouth. “It doesn’t make sense, Carrie. Why were Green Berets training Latino nationals in the Philippines? We have forces down there working
with
Filipino special forces, but not on our own like this, out in a village. It’s … it doesn’t make sense.”

Major Carrie Hartwicke met him with a rueful smile. “I’d say someone was passing notes—and I’m talking G-notes—under the congressional table.”

Matt frowned. “You realize what you’re saying.”

“Do you realize what I’m
not
saying?”

Eyeing her warily, Matt stowed the ideas tumbling through his head. If this was true, if the Special Forces unit stationed there had been ordered to train an enemy’s enemy … the ramifications blew his mind. But then again, it also explained so much. Like why someone wanted the whole Tres Kruces fiasco swept under the Capitol Hill carpet. No senator or congressman or woman would want something like that hanging over their heads at reelection time.

But the anticipation that nearly made him giddy was that this would also prove Canyon Metcalfe wasn’t guilty.

Which would score major points with Willow.

That is, if Matt could prove it. But the sweet woman had nearly died giving her story. And if it hadn’t been for their location—inside a hospital—she’d have died.

“What now? She’s on life support. The docs think she won’t regain consciousness.”

Matt rubbed his knuckles over his lips, staring at the dark gray flecks in the linoleum. “We have more than we did two weeks ago.”

“True, but we don’t have the proof to clear Metcalfe. And some of her story sounded elaborated.”

“It sounds legit.”

Major Hartwicke studied him. “Then you believe her?”

“She knows too much for it not to be true.”

“Half of what she said isn’t in the report.”

“Exactly. She filled in the holes we’ve been guessing at for the last forty months.”

“Yes, but thinking that and leaping off the bridge with her story is a huge risk.” She reached back and freed her hair from the bun. “Listen, Matt. If we go to the Brass with this story, first of all, the press is going to be all over it.”

“Nobody knows.”

“You can be really naive sometimes.” She glowered. “You and I both know they’ll be all over it.”

“Not naive. I just don’t see demons behind every wall.” He raked his hand through his hair and pushed to his feet. “How can
you
, in good conscience,
not
want to pursue this? An innocent man has been wrongly accused, convicted, and borne the punishment of a crime he didn’t commit.”

“We don’t know he’s innocent.”

Matt considered his friend and CID partner. She’d always been challenging, negotiating troubling thoughts and theories, and it’d worked well for them, but this time … something felt different. “Carrie, what’s with the misgivings? You’re the one who was all over this like white on rice. You said we should throw ourselves in the Atlantic if we didn’t try to get her back here.”

After a long sigh, she slumped into a chair. “I’ve been thinking about it—a lot. Whoever did this to Metcalfe, whoever buried the truth—they won’t want that coming out.”

His mood darkened. That was it? She was cowering? “So … what? We sit on it? Let Canyon bear the burden of everyone thinking he massacred an entire village?”

“Matt,” Carrie said with a hiss. “Nobody knows, remember? The Brass buried it. They made it go away. It made the papers once then died out. Besides, we aren’t even sure who this Bayani is yet—”

“Give me a break, Hartwicke! Bayani has to be Canyon.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear it from the old lady’s lips.”

Matt eased back. “Interesting that Canyon never reported marrying the chief’s daughter.”

“Well, it’s frowned upon but there aren’t any laws against it.”

Matt nodded.

“So … the little girl …”

Roughing a hand over his face, he groaned. “Mrs. Mercado never said which of her daughters gave birth to Tala. And even in her testimony, she said Chesa never conceived.”

He dropped his gaze, thinking of what Canyon had gone through. Remembering the man who’d stood before him nearly thirty months ago during his one-year review—haunted, ticked off, and adamantly silent. They’d really gotten to him. Spooked the Green Beret. “Pretty convenient, isn’t it?”

Carrie’s brown eyes rose to his. She cocked her head to the side. “I know that look.”

“Why would they bury it? Yeah, sure, it looks bad, but if what Corazine said is true, our men were training foreign nationals. What if that wasn’t on the up-and-up?”

She seemed startled and straightened. “Like?”

“Like, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

CHAPTER 26

I
am still surprised you came all the way down here, General Lambert.” Humberto rested an arm around the old man’s shoulder. “We are making good progress with the talks.”

“Progress?” Lambert’s bushy eyebrows arched. “General Bruzon, it’s chaos in those meetings. Every one of them wants their piece of the pie.”

Humberto guffawed. “Then they will be very disappointed when they learn we are serving cake. I will walk you out.” He removed his arm and let his gaze hit the man trailing him. The man who’d warned him about Lambert’s presence. The man who had returned from hunting for the incompetent team who’d returned Danielle to him.

Humberto smiled. Imbeciles. They thought they could protect her. Keep her safe—in
his
country! He’d shown them. Just as he would show this arrogant joint chief.

His fingers itched to curl around the wrinkled neck and squeeze the life right out of the general. Instead, the calm, confident expression of his right hand, Navas, kept him at peace. Humberto had played this game much longer than anyone else. And so close to victory this night, he could not afford to be impetuous.

No, he would not allow an imbecilic American to thwart his attention.

He clapped a hand over the man’s shoulder as he guided him to the main courtyard, where cars sat idling. “You will return in the morning, General, for another day of talks, despite the boredom?”

Olin Lambert turned and nodded. “Of course, General Bruzon.” Blue eyes twinkled under the glare of the well-lit area. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Humberto held up the 1965 bottle of wine he’d plucked from the
cellar stores for the general, who’d manipulated the conversation earlier with the Madame Secretary so she would ask for a tour of his home. A simple but ineffective attempt on the part of the general to try to locate Danielle.

Did the man really think Humberto would keep her under the same roof? No wonder the Americans were losing the war.

“Thank you.” Lambert accepted the wine. “I look forward to sharing this with my wife.” He tucked himself into the car.

“Excellent. I hope she enjoys it.” Alone. Because the old man would be dead before he ever returned to American soil.

Humberto waited as the car slid through the gates. “He wasn’t on the original list?”

“I memorized every name,” Navas said from behind. “He shouldn’t have been here.”

“Indeed,” Humberto said, his eyes on the gate but his mind on the past. On a formidable foe who had been responsible for shutting down the secret training of Bruzon’s militia in the Philippines. He’d inflicted a blow to the man, but he’d recovered and sailed to the top of his career ladder. But … that wasn’t the same man, tormented with worry over a young woman. “He’s lost his touch. A shame.”

Humberto drew up his shoulders and let out a sigh as he turned to his man. “Know why I like you, Juan Navas? You aren’t afraid to dirty your hands.”

The man smirked. “A little soap and water …”

This time, the laugh was belly jouncing. “Lambert is resourceful. Perhaps too resourceful. He is a worthy adversary. He has the
cojones
to come out here and try to do things his way.”

“Unlike some people.”

He shot a side glance to Navas. He referred to the man who had been a long-time conduit to access whatever Humberto needed—Senator Michael Roark. “And his resources seem to know what they’re doing. Your face is a mess.”

Navas’s gaze narrowed. “Do not mistake a black eye as a sign that you are in danger. I will not let them get close to you.”

“Oh, that I do not doubt. No, I am not worried here. I have more security, more guns than the president himself.” He smoothed his hair back. “Besides, if they get in, I will kill you myself.”

“You can try.”

Surprise pinned him to the ground. Humberto once again considered his man. Then laughed hard. “This—
this
is why I chose you,
Navas; you are cold-blooded. Now …” Humberto clapped his hands, then sloughed them together. “I think I’d like to see Danielle now. A little fun, eh?”

Smirking, Navas shook and lowered his head.

“General.” The minister rushed toward them. “Come, we must confer about these border talks.”

Humberto groaned. He wanted to visit the feisty American girl. He sighed. “Very well.” He had time—after all, her father had delivered her himself.

“Oh, Navas?”

The man met his gaze.

“You know what to do, yes?”

“Lambert will be dead by morning.”

Canyon’s Condo, Virginia 21 May

Rushing, Canyon stepped into the early morning sunshine as the beeping of his security alarm echoed through the day. He locked the doors and turned.

Something shoved toward his face.