Czytaj książkę: «Disruptive Force»

Chapter One

Are you still assigned to help me? CJ Grainger hesitated before she sent the text to Cole McCastlain. The former member of Marine Force Reconnaissance now worked for Declan’s Defenders, the small but dedicated agency created to help fight for justice when the police, FBI and CIA couldn’t get the job done.

A week ago, CJ had helped Declan’s Defenders by providing them information she’d found on the dark web about a potential assault on the National Security Council meeting.

That attack had gone down as predicted. The VP and Anne Bellamy, a mid-level staffer for the National Security Advisor, had been taken hostage, amid another plot involving a deadly serum. Fortunately, Declan’s team had been ready. They’d rescued the vice president and the staffer, killed two Trinity sleeper agents embedded within the White House staff as well as two other agents who’d worked with them to abduct the hostages.

Trinity.

Even the thought of the name and organization made CJ break out in a sweat. She’d spent the past year hiding in plain sight. One of very few who’d escaped Trinity and lived.

I’m here, Cole texted.

Again, CJ hesitated. On her own for so long, she’d survived because of her independence and ability to disguise herself. She’d been very careful not to leave a trail a trained hacker, private investigator or Trinity-trained assassin could follow. And she didn’t have anyone to be used as leverage. No Achilles’ heel, no loved one Trinity could hold hostage to get her to come out into the open.

The part about no loved ones had been one of the reasons she’d been recruited into the Trinity training program in the first place. And by “recruited,” she meant stolen out of a foster care home she’d been placed in by Virginia State Social Services.

The state of Virginia hadn’t spent a lot of time and resources looking for a child nobody wanted.

Years ago, as a young adolescent, she’d been assimilated, brainwashed and forced to learn how to fight, how to defend herself and how to kill people Trinity ordered her to eliminate.

Until one year ago.

They’d ordered her to kill a pregnant woman. The wife of a senator. When CJ had sighted her rifle on the woman, who’d been probably eight and a half months along in her pregnancy, she hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. She’d hesitated, wondering if the baby was a boy or girl and thinking that if she killed the child’s mother, she’d be without a parent. And knowing that if Trinity decided the father was of no further use to them or was a risk who could expose someone within the organization, the father would be eliminated, as well. That would leave the child parentless.

Having been parentless, CJ had refused to let that happen to the unborn child.

Her hesitation hadn’t helped the woman. Trinity had a second assassin waiting on a rooftop to do the job if CJ wouldn’t.

The shot was fired, the bullet piercing the woman’s belly, killing the baby instantly. It wasn’t until much later that CJ learned the mother had died in transit to the hospital.

After she’d failed to take the kill shot, CJ had known what would happen next. Since most Trinity agents didn’t get second chances if they failed an assignment, she knew the man who’d assassinated the pregnant woman and her baby would be turning his rifle on her.

CJ, anticipating the inevitable, had ducked low, out of the sight line of the rooftop from where the gunman leveled his sniper rifle and pulled the trigger.

The bullets flew well over her head. She’d tucked her rifle into the golf bag she’d carried up to the rooftop and then crawled to the door and descended to the first floor. There, she hid her golf bag under the last step of the staircase, planning to retrieve it after the furor died down.

In the meantime, she’d pulled a hooded jacket out of her satchel and slipped it on over her sweater. The added bulk made her appear heavier. She slipped on a pair of black-rimmed plastic glasses and tucked her hair under the hood of the jacket. Then she jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders like a teen trying to be invisible. Slipping out of the apartment building, she’d blended into the rush of people heading home from work.

Instead of going to her apartment, she’d kept walking. Nothing in that apartment meant anything to her. It had been a place to sleep and shower. She always carried everything she needed in the satchel she’d slung over her shoulder. A laptop, a couple changes of clothes, three wigs in varying colors, makeup and her Glock 9mm pistol. She’d also had a burner phone in her pocket, along with a wad of cash and a couple of credit cards that would have to be shredded since she’d become a target for the same organization she’d worked for.

For the past year, she’d been on the run, dodging shadows and living from day to day looking over her shoulder.

Are you in trouble? Cole’s second message brought CJ back from her memories to the task at hand.

Are you still digging into Trinity conspirators? she texted.

CJ didn’t want help, but she had to find the leader of Trinity before he found her. Two or three people searching the internet was better than one person using borrowed internet from public libraries.

Yes.

Look into Chris Carpenter, the Homeland Security Advisor for the National Security Council.

Cole’s response was quick.

Got anything to go on? Any clues?

CJ hated to say she had a gut feeling about the man. A trained assassin relied on cold, hard facts, disregarding emotion and luck.

Prior to the attack in the NSC, the conference room coordinator received a text from Carpenter.

The guy who helped kidnap Anne Bellamy and the vice president?

Yes.

His assistant, Dr. Saunders, was the woman who was almost killed in a hit-and-run accident, wasn’t she?

That’s the one.

On it.

CJ had been doing her own digging on the dark web via the Arlington Public Library. She’d hacked in, making it past the firewall of the phone system used by Chris Carpenter to his billing information. She’d narrowed her search of his calls to the day of the attack. She’d gone through his phone records, searching for a connection to Terrence Tully, the conference room coordinator for the NSC meeting, and found one.

Terrence Tully had been one of Trinity’s sleeper agents, embedded in the White House, waiting for his call to serve.

That day, he’d helped orchestrate the kidnapping of the VP and Anne Bellamy, the woman CJ had contacted to warn about the attack.

Can we meet? Cole asked.

CJ frowned. Any contact she had with others put them at risk. She’d already broken the first rule she’d made for herself upon her defection from Trinity: stay away from anyone or anything to do with the organization. Including people who were actively searching to destroy it.

She’d broken that rule by contacting Anne to warn her of the attack.

Then she’d involved herself in Declan’s Defenders’ rescue effort. If that wasn’t bad enough, she’d gone to their base location at Charlotte Halverson’s estate. The Defenders knew more about her than she’d wanted to divulge, including what she looked like. And they’d assigned one of Declan’s men to be her protector and backup.

CJ snorted. Like she’d let that happen. If she allowed anyone to get that close to her, it would be one more way for Trinity to find her and the agent would be collateral damage when Trinity came to kill her.

Being a loner was better for all involved.

She typed, If I need you, I’ll find you.

CJ backed out of Carpenter’s phone records she’d been perusing and went back on the dark web, digging into anything she could find that might lead her to Trinity’s leader, the best kept secret in the entire organization.

When she’d first left Trinity, her main focus had been on staying alive and out of their way. It didn’t take her long to realize, however, that she’d never be truly safe until the organization was destroyed. And the best way to do that was to find its leader and destroy him. Because of the recent Trinity activity in the DC area and the fact that it was a world capital, she felt confident that Trinity’s head was somewhere in the vicinity.

A little more than a week ago, she’d found a particular website with a forum where anyone could anonymously arrange to hire a hit man. It seemed assassins for hire didn’t like that Trinity was an exclusive organization they couldn’t crack. Some of the people on the site had it out for Trinity and had made it a personal challenge to identify its leadership and/or to sabotage the organization’s hits. It was on that site through online chats and more that CJ had learned about the potential attack on the White House during the NSC meeting.

Going to the site, CJ went directly to the message board.

Still looking for the Director, she typed.

A few seconds later she received this response: They’re still looking for you.

Weary of the chase, the worry and living below the radar, she wrote, Time to stop T.

The time will come. We will find the Director.

Today?

Probably not.

The next message made her pulse pound.

Someone knows where you are.

CJ frowned.

How do you know?

Message traffic on another site, listing IP address of Arlington library.

She glanced out the glass window of the computer room to the library beyond. Moms were helping their children carry stacks of books to the counter, and a college student with a backpack leaned over the desk to ask the librarian a question. No one looked like a Trinity assassin. But then, she had been one and had been trained to blend in.

Where are you seeing this? she typed.

No time.

He’s here now?

Now. Run. Don’t go home. Compromised.

CJ cleared the browser, cleared the screen and logged off the computer. She ducked low, pretending to get something from her backpack. Instead of putting something in, she took out the blond wig cut in a short bob, pulled it on and quickly stuffed her own auburn hair beneath it. Then she took off her black leather jacket and crammed it into the backpack, straightening her pale pink T-shirt with the cartoon kitty on the front. Setting a pair of round sunglasses on her nose to hide her green eyes and popping a piece of bubble gum into her mouth, she stood.

Disguise in place, CJ exited the room through the opposite door from where she’d entered and slipped through the stacks, weaving her way along the travel section into the how-to books.

A gray-haired man peered at a gardening book for beginners. A young woman perused a book on designing websites.

CJ moved past them. She’d have to go through the front entrance to get out without setting off any emergency exit alarms.

A group of two women and six children ranging in ages from five to fourteen loaded books into bags and headed toward the door.

The college student stood at the magazine display, leafing through the tabloids.

CJ crossed the open space in front of the checkout desk and trailed the group of women and children out of the building and into the parking lot. She looked around, keeping the door to the library in her peripheral vision.

CJ moved across the parking lot in the opposite direction of the children, not wanting them to be collateral damage should the situation get sticky. She kept walking, figuring the farther away from the library she got, the better. Once she knew she’d shaken whoever might be after her, she’d hop on a bus and head for...

Hell if she knew. If the apartment she’d rented had been compromised, she couldn’t go back there.

Footsteps sounded on the pavement behind her.

CJ stepped around a large SUV and chanced a look back.

The college student had followed her out of the library. He had slipped his backpack off his shoulder and was reaching inside.

CJ made it to the sidewalk, quickly passing shops and other buildings until she found the right one. She ducked into the restaurant and walked to the back. The dim lighting forced her to remove the sunglasses. Following a waitress, she entered the kitchen.

“Sorry, miss, you can’t be here,” the waitress said.

CJ grimaced and glanced over her shoulder. “Is there a rear exit through here?”

“Yes, but for employees only.”

“My ex-boyfriend is following me. He won’t leave me alone. And he’s abusive.” CJ touched the waitress’s arm. “Please. I need to get away from him.”

The woman’s eyes rounded and she looked through the glass window of the swinging door. “Dark hair and backpack?”

CJ nodded. “Yes.”

The waitress grabbed her arm. “Come with me.” She led CJ to the back door and out into the alley. “My husband is waiting for my shift to end. He can take you where you need to go, as long as it’s not too far.” She glanced down at her watch. “I get off in fifteen minutes.” She took CJ’s hand and led her to an older model sedan with a faded paint job.

The man in the driver’s seat was asleep, his head tilted back against the headrest.

The woman tapped on the window.

Jerking awake, the man sat up and rolled down the window. “Hey, Bea, are you off already?”

“No,” Bea said. “But I want you to help this woman get away from an abusive ex-boyfriend. Take her where she needs to go. I’ll be ready to go when you get back.”

She turned to CJ. “Ronnie will take care of you. He’s a good guy, my man is.” Bea opened the back door and held it for CJ. “Hurry, before he figures out which way you went.”

CJ nodded, hating that she’d lied, but needing to get away. “Thank you.” She climbed in and hunkered low on the backseat while Ronnie drove away from the restaurant and out onto the busy street in front.

CJ waited until they were half a block away before she looked up over the back of the seat in time to see the college student run out of the restaurant and look both directions.

When he turned and walked toward the library, CJ let out a sigh.

“Was that the guy?” Ronnie asked.

CJ nodded. “He just won’t let go.” Which was true. Trinity assassins were trained to keep after their target until the target had been eliminated. He’d find her again. And when he did, he wouldn’t let her slip away a second time.

CJ had Ronnie drop her off at a metro station two miles from the library. She slipped onto the train headed for a neighborhood she’d been through several times. The one where Cole McCastlain lived. She wasn’t ready to admit she needed help, but she’d found a furnished town house for rent near his. If it was still available, she’d crash there and regroup. She needed time to think about her next move. Maybe it was time to openly join forces with Declan’s Defenders. They were all after the same thing. To bring an end to Trinity. To do so, they had to bring down the Director.

COLE SAT AT his desk in the town house he’d rented, his body tense, his gaze glued to the computer. He’d seen the messages come across the website he’d been following. He’d known Trinity was closing in on CJ. And he’d been unable to do anything but warn her. Frustration was too weak a description of what he was feeling. Cole needed action.

But CJ had refused to let him or anyone else from Declan’s Defenders overtly assist her in their mutual objective to bring down Trinity. She’d insisted she was better off alone.

He’d been lucky today. The messages had come in just in time for him to warn CJ to get out of the Arlington library. Hell, he’d been able to locate her based on the IP address of the computer she’d logged in on. She’d been perusing the internet on sites known for helping people find assassins for hire. What scared him was that if he was able to find her, others could easily do the same.

He’d invested in a burner phone. Next time she texted, he’d give her that number and insist she use it with a new burner number. Trinity had to know Declan’s Defenders were out to destroy the organization that had most likely put out a hit on John Halverson. Declan’s Defenders would not exist but for the trust and generosity of Halverson’s widow, Charlotte—Charlie.

John Halverson had been on a mission to stop Trinity’s illicit activities. He’d scratched the surface and had probably gotten too close to finding their leader, thus making them desperate enough to eliminate the threat.

As much as Charlie had done for Declan and his band of former Marine Force Reconnaissance men, they wanted to return the favor. Their mission was to find the leader of Trinity, the Director. The theory was to chop off the head of the snake and the rest of the organization would die.

According to Halverson’s records, he’d been searching for the same thing. It had taken him years to get as far as he had, and yet, he’d not found the Director or, at least, not been able to identify him before he was murdered.

Cole had been working with Jonah Spradlin, Charlie’s computer guy. They’d been hacking into the computer system at the White House to deep dive existing background checks on people who worked there ever since CJ had given them the heads-up on a planned assault on the NSC meeting at the White House. The problem, of course, was that there were over four hundred people who worked in the White House. Narrowing them down to the few who might present a threat had been a challenge. Four had evaded their background check prior to the hostage taking at the NSC meeting. Four Trinity assassins had been embedded in the White House staff.

Those four were no longer a threat. But how many more were slipping past them? The background checks didn’t tell them much. They had to dive deeper into their private records, bank accounts, emails and phone records. The task was monumental given the number of White House staff.

The cell phone beside him buzzed with a text message. He glanced down at the screen. Unknown Caller.

His pulse beat faster as he unlocked the screen and stared down at the message.

Thank you.

Are you okay?

Yes.

Need a place to stay?

No.

If you do, I have room. So does Charlie.

Thanks.

Let me help more.

You are. Dig into Carpenter.

Will do. Be careful out there. I’m here whenever you need me.

Good to know.

Got a burner phone. Need to stop using this number in case it’s being monitored. Call me for the number.

Cole waited, hoping she’d call. For several minutes, he didn’t hear anything, text or voice. Then his personal cell phone chirped.

Unknown Caller.

“It’s me,” he answered.

“Number?” a female voice said.

He gave her the number and waited for more.

The call ended.

Disappointment piled onto frustration made Cole clench his fist. How could he do the job of protecting CJ if she wouldn’t let him get close?

His burner phone vibrated. His pulse leaped and he lifted it to his ear. “It’s me.”

“It’s me,” she echoed.

Cole smiled. CJ’s husky voice flowed over him like warm chocolate, oozing into every one of his pores.

“Better,” he said. “Now, tell me...did you find a place to stay?”

“For now.”

“Did you have any trouble getting away from the Trinity guy after you?”

“No.”

She wasn’t very forthcoming with information. Cole sighed. “What are my chances of actually seeing you so that I can protect you?”

She laughed, the sound like music in his ears. She almost sounded like a different person. “Slim to none. I don’t need protection.”

“Would you have made it out of the library without my help?”

“Yes.”

“Did my assistance help you make it out without an altercation?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Thank you for the heads-up.”

“It can’t be easy searching the web on public computers. Charlie has a room full of computers in a secure location.”

“Thanks, but I’ll manage.”

He felt her pulling away. “CJ?”

She didn’t answer, but the line didn’t go dead.

Cole continued. “I really want to help you.”

“Find the Director.”

“We’re working on it,” he said, wanting to reach through the airwaves and grab her hand.

“I’ll be in touch.”

And the call ended.

Cole sighed. At least he’d heard from her and gotten her onto a more secure line. He wanted her to be more tangible, to see her, touch her and know she was close so that he could protect her. At the same time, the woman was still alive after living a year outside of Trinity. She knew what she was doing and having someone else hanging around might slow her down.

Patience was never something Cole had in abundant supply.

He lifted his personal cell phone, not the burner phone he’d used with CJ, and dialed Charlie Halverson’s estate.

Declan O’Neill answered. “Hey, Cole. Got anything new?”

“Heard from CJ.”

“Good to know,” Declan said. “Was wondering when she’d make contact.”

“Dig into the Homeland Security Advisor, Chris Carpenter, since he’d texted Terrence Tully prior to the NSC incident.”

“I’ll get Jonah on it.” Declan paused. “Did she say anything else?”

“No.” Cole explained what had gone down with messages on the dark web and Trinity finding her at the library in Arlington.

“Does she need a place to stay? Charlie would happily put her up for as long as necessary.”

Cole shook his head, though Declan couldn’t see it. “She said she has a place for now. I gotta tell you, this assignment is killing me. How do I protect a woman I can’t see?”

Declan chuckled. “It’s like she’s a ghost. Most likely she’s gun-shy.”

Cole snorted. “I know I would be if I had a target painted on my back. Trinity doesn’t like to lose one of their own.”

“To Trinity she’s a loose end that needs to be tied up.”

“With a bullet.” Cole’s jaw tightened.

“That’s why you need to get closer to her and keep that from happening.”

“Tell me about it.” Declan was preaching to the choir. If only Cole could get close enough. Then he might be able to do his job.

In the meantime, all he could do was continue to sift through clues and data to find the Director.

Until CJ came out of the shadows, she was on her own.

Chapter Two

Contrary to what she’d told Cole, CJ didn’t have a place to stay that first night after abandoning her apartment. She’d slept behind some bushes in a quiet neighborhood, leaving just before sunup to sneak into the twenty-four-hour gym she’d joined, paying for her annual membership in cash. After weight lifting and a run on the treadmill, she hit the shower and changed into clean clothes. She didn’t think she’d be able to come back to the gym. Trinity had come too close the day before. If she was smart, she’d leave the DC area and start a new life in a different state. Hell, a different country wouldn’t be far enough.

After a breakfast of a protein bar she had stashed in her backpack, she went in search of a new place to live. She’d done her own homework about the man assigned to protect her. Cole McCastlain lived in a town house in Arlington.

Last night, CJ learned that a town house a few doors down from the one Cole lived in was being sublet. The owners had just left on a world cruise and wouldn’t be back for six months. She paid the deposit with money she’d earned designing web pages, gave her fake identification and quickly passed the background check. By noon, she had moved into the fully furnished home.

She didn’t waste time settling in. While Cole and Declan’s Defenders searched the web for information on Chris Carpenter, CJ would follow the man and learn what she could about his habits and who he talked to. She might be chasing shadows, but the text he’d sent to Tully prior to the NSC assault was all she had to go on. It could have meant nothing. The text could have been a legitimate effort to make sure all was in place, nothing more.

All other coordination for the meeting had been done via emails throughout the weeks prior to the get-together. A text would have been appropriate for a last-minute adjustment to the arrangements. Or it could have been information regarding the attack.

Though CJ had a laptop and could access the internet by tapping into Wi-Fi at internet cafés or libraries, she couldn’t delve into the dark web anymore. Somehow, Trinity had found her and traced her IP address to the library. She could continue to hack into phone records and other sources of information, but they were getting too close.

Needing additional clothing and disguises, she shoved her hair up into a ball cap, dressed in a long gray sweater that hid her figure, and sunglasses. Disguised as best she could, CJ left the town house to visit a couple thrift shops. She found items that would help her to blend in and make her as invisible as possible. She even found a skirt suit that might come in handy if she wanted to get closer to some of the politicians on Capitol Hill. The total of her purchases barely made a dent in her cash. Afterward, she made a quick trip to the grocery store and stocked up on a few items she’d need to keep from having to eat fast foods. Once she’d unloaded the food and staples in the refrigerator and pantry, she put on a black wig, a different pair of glasses and a hooded sweatshirt and went out to scout the neighborhood thoroughly. Knowing where to go on short notice was always a good idea.

Stepping out on the sidewalk, she started toward Cole’s place. On the bottom step of the next town house, a stooped old woman stood with one hand on a cane, the other on a leash. At the end of the leash was a white ball of fluff.

“Good afternoon,” the woman called out with a smile. “You must be the one subletting the Anderson place.”

Normally, CJ didn’t stop to talk to anyone. But the woman and her dog didn’t appear to pose a threat. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Rebecca.” She didn’t bother holding out her hand since the older woman’s were both occupied.

The woman nodded. “Gladys Oliver.”

CJ squatted beside the dog. “And who do we have here?” The little dog wiggled and jumped up on CJ, excited to meet someone new.

“Sweet Pea, named after one of my favorite flowers,” Gladys said. “Down, girl.” Her gentle tug on the dog’s leash had little effect. “My granddaughter got me the dog, but she’s still a puppy and needs a lot more exercise than these old bones can give her. I’m thinking I might have to give her back.” The woman’s brow furrowed. “She’s such a sweet thing. I hate to give her up.”

“I’m going for a walk now,” CJ said. “I could take her with me, and she could burn off some energy, if you like.”

The old woman’s blue eyes brightened. “You would do that?”

“Certainly.”

“I mean, it’s not like you’re really a stranger. I know where you live and all.” Gladys handed over the leash. “She’s really no trouble. Just needs to move a little faster than I do. If you’re sure it’s not a bother...”

“We’ll do just fine together.” CJ smiled at Gladys. “We’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be inside. Just knock when you’re back. I’ll come to the door.” Gladys leaned down to pat the little dog on the head. “You be a good girl for Rebecca,” she said and scratched Sweet Pea behind the ears.

Her disguise complete with a dog in tow, CJ walked along the sidewalk, letting Sweet Pea take her time sniffing every tree, mailbox, bush and blade of grass along the way. The dog’s interest in her surroundings gave CJ plenty of time to study the homes, the street and places Trinity agents could be hiding, or where she could hide if she needed to.

Soon, she passed the town house where Cole lived. It looked much like the rest of the homes on the street. Two-story, narrow front, a four-foot-wide gap between it and the townhomes on either side, which she walked through to learn more. A five-foot-tall wooden fence surrounded a postage-stamp-size backyard. Nothing CJ couldn’t scale, if she had to. Without actually climbing the fence, she couldn’t see what the back of the house had to offer in the way of doors, windows or trees. It was comforting to know he was only a few doors down from where she was staying.

She moved on, back to the front, studying the other houses and alleys all the way to the end of the long street where it turned onto a busy road. CJ turned left and kept walking, sticking to the sidewalk. A block away, there was a small strip mall with a hamburger place on one end and a pizza joint on the other. In between was a liquor store, a nail salon and an insurance agent.

Across the busy thoroughfare was a tattoo parlor, a pawnshop and a Chinese restaurant.

For the first few blocks, Sweet Pea led the way, tugging at the leash, eager to keep going. When she started to slow and hang back with CJ, it was time to turn around and get her home to her owner.

CJ performed an about-face and started back. When she turned the corner onto the street where she lived, her gaze went to Cole’s place. She wondered if he was home. How easy would it be to stop in and say hello, like a regular person?

Still a few houses away, she heard the sound of running footsteps coming from behind.

CJ spun to face a man jogging toward her, wearing only shorts and running shoes. His body was poetry in motion, his muscles tight and well-defined. Every inch of exposed skin glistened with sweat.

Cole McCastlain. The man who wanted to be her protector.

She recognized him from the one time she’d been to Charlie Halverson’s estate, immediately following the rescue of Anne Bellamy and the vice president of the United States. At that time, CJ hadn’t been wearing a wig. She’d been without any disguise, her auburn hair hanging down around her shoulders.

Using the back of his arm, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and kept running toward her.

A tug on the leash reminded CJ of Sweet Pea. The dog had crossed the sidewalk to the opposite side, her leash creating a line in front of Cole. CJ crossed to the same side of the sidewalk to keep Cole from tripping over the leash.

He ran past her, the muscles in his legs flexing and tightening with each long stride.

A rush of relief washed over her, at the same time as a flush of heat.

The man had tone and definition in each muscle of his body, from his shoulders, down his chest, to his abs, thighs and calves. She bet she could bounce a quarter off his backside.

As he passed, he shot a sideways glance her way. For a brief moment, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t slow, or stop, but kept moving. When he reached his town house, he ran up the steps and disappeared inside.

CJ inhaled a deep breath, amazed at how much she needed it. Had she forgotten how to breathe in the presence of the former marine? She told herself she wasn’t ready to do anything that would connect Cole to her. If Trinity was watching Declan’s Defenders, and CJ was hanging out with them, they’d find her and eliminate her before she had a chance to expose the Director. She couldn’t let that happen. There were a lot of lost children, teens and young adults being held captive and indoctrinated into the Trinity family of assassins. They didn’t deserve the life of violence for which they were being groomed. The Director ruled the organization with an iron fist. If they found and destroyed the Director, Trinity would fold.

At least, that was the theory.

As she passed Cole’s townhome, CJ kept her face averted, focusing on the sidewalk in front of her as if she were only out to walk her dog. In her peripheral vision, she watched the windows for movement. Was that him, standing in the corner of the front picture window?

Her heart pounding, CJ kept moving, walking past Gladys’s house and her own for another block before she returned.

The old woman met her at the door. “I thought I saw you go by with Sweet Pea. I guess she needed a little more of a walk.” The woman leaned over, her back hunched as she reached down to pet her tired dog. “Thank you for taking Miss Sweet Pea for a walk. I bet she sleeps all afternoon, now.” Gladys looked up. “Can I pay you for your trouble?”

CJ could always use the money, but she couldn’t take it from the kind old woman. “No, ma’am. It was my pleasure. Sweet Pea must give you a great deal of comfort and companionship.”

“She does. Since my children all grew up and moved away, and my husband passed, I’ve been lonely. Sweet Pea is my surrogate baby. I love her so much.” The woman’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear me blubbering about loneliness. But if you ever need a companion to walk with, Sweet Pea and I would be happy if you take her.”

“Thank you, Ms. Gladys.” On impulse, CJ leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheeks. She reminded her of a grandmother she might once have known, who’d died before her parents’ auto accident. Her heart swelled with emotions she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Thank you again,” she said and turned toward her town house.

“If you ever want to share a cup of tea or coffee, stop by anytime,” Gladys called out. “I’d be happy to make some.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” CJ responded, knowing she couldn’t do that. If Trinity was watching now, her short interaction with the old woman and her dog would place them in danger. Trinity wasn’t above using others to lure their defectors out into the open. And they weren’t above killing innocent people to get what they wanted.

And they wanted CJ dead.

WHEN COLE ENTERED his town house, he stopped long enough to catch his breath and then turned to the window. He could swear he knew the woman he’d jogged past, but he couldn’t put his finger on who it was or where he’d known her.

The black hair wasn’t ringing any bells. And the dog? He was certain he’d seen it with someone else. Didn’t it belong to the old woman who lived several doors down from his place?

Maybe that was it. The woman was a daughter, granddaughter, niece or something to the old woman. Perhaps that was where he’d seen her before.

He waited at the window for her to pass with the dog. When they did, he looked hard, still unsure of where he’d seen her before. But he knew he had. The way she walked, the sway of her sexy hips, the tilt of her nose and the long, thick eyelashes should have been dead giveaways.

His phone rang in the armband he used when running. Cole tapped the earbud in his ear. “Yeah.”

“You coming in to do some heavy-duty computing?” Declan O’Neill’s voice sounded in his ear.

“I am. Just showering. I can be there in thirty to forty-five minutes.”

“See ya then,” Declan said.

When Cole glanced back out the window, the woman had disappeared, dog and all.

Cole showered, changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed out to the Halverson estate, driving the Hummer he’d purchased prior to exiting the Marine Corps. Thankfully, Charlie Halverson had hired him before he’d had to sell it for money to live on until he’d gotten a decent-paying job.

Once he passed through the gates, he drove up the winding drive to the sprawling mansion.

Roger Arnold, Charlie’s butler, met him at the door and let him in. “They’re waiting for you in the war room,” he said.

Cole went straight for the study and the trapdoor that led into the basement of the mansion. All of Declan’s Defenders were there.

Declan stood at a large whiteboard with photographs taped to the surface. Jonah Spradlin sat at a desk against the wall, an array of computer monitors displayed in front of him.

Mack Balkman sat in a chair near Declan. He ran a hand through his black hair, his blue eyes studying the whiteboard. Beside him sat the former Russian operative, Riley Lansing. Gus Walsh stood on the opposite side of the table, the woman he’d helped rescue standing at his side.

Jasmine Newman, aka Jane Doe, was as much a key to their operation as CJ Grainger. Jasmine had been a Trinity agent before John Halverson recruited her to help him fight the organization. Combat trained and fluent in Arabic and Russian, she was a formidable opponent and a worthy ally. They’d “killed” her off and given her a new name and identity to keep her off Trinity’s hit list. So far, she’d managed to remain out of sight, but she would always be looking over her shoulder as long as Trinity remained a threat.

Jack Snow, the team slack man, sat beside Anne Bellamy, the mid-level staffer who’d been recruited by John Halverson to spy on politicians and staffers in the West Wing. She still had the bruises from her kidnapping ordeal by the Trinity sleeper agents a week before.

Frank “Mustang” Ford stood with his girl, Emily Chastain, the college professor. He turned as Cole entered the room. The brown-haired, brown-eyed former point man was as used to action as Cole. He paced the room like a caged cat. “Nice of you to join us.”

Cole shook his head. “I’d have been here sooner, if I’d known you wanted me here.” They were all tense. After the attack on the National Security Council meeting, they knew they had to bear down and come up with some real leads. Trinity had far too much power and had infiltrated too many places. Picking the agents off, one by one, would take too long and never be effective as the organization continued to “recruit” new agents. They had to find the lead man and take him down.

“Based on your woman’s intel,” Declan said, “Jonah’s made some headway that might be useful.” He turned to Charlie’s computer guru.

Cole wanted to correct Declan. CJ wasn’t his woman. He barely knew her and had seen her only once in the very room where he stood now. An image of a black-haired woman walking a little white dog rose in his mind.

Jonah pointed to one of the monitors. “Chris Carpenter is in debt up to his eyeballs. He’s maxed out every credit card he owns—and he has quite a few—and he’s struggling to make the minimum payments on all those. He’s in a house that far exceeds his pay scale and he’s gone through everything his father left him in a trust fund.”

“The man is barely able to keep his head above water,” Declan concluded. “It’s a wonder he got a security clearance.”

Cole shrugged. “CJ thought he might have a connection to Trinity since his was one of the last texts Tully received on his cell phone prior to the attack on the NSC conference room. How does his financial woes make him a likely suspect?”

“A man that deep in debt can usually be bought,” a female voice said from behind Cole.

He turned to face Charlie descending the stairs, carrying a tray loaded with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

The butler followed with another tray of sandwiches Cole suspected were prepared by Charlie’s chef, Carl.

Cole took the tray from her and set it on the conference table.

Charlie took over hostess duties, pouring lemonade into clear, crystal glasses. “It’s not whiskey, but then I thought you might want to have clear heads for this discussion.”

She handed out glasses to everyone who wanted one and then nodded toward the picture of Carpenter that had been taped to the whiteboard. “If Carpenter is in debt that deep, an offer to bail him out might convince him to do favors for anyone who is willing to pay for them.”

“I’ve worked with Chris Carpenter for the past two years.” Anne Bellamy shook her head. “It’s hard to believe he would work for Trinity.”

“Desperation changes a man,” Charlie said. “If he’s in over his head and drowning, he’ll take any life raft thrown his way to get out.”

“Just because he’s in debt, doesn’t make him a traitor,” Cole said. “We need solid proof. Got anything else?”

Jonah’s lips twisted and his gaze narrowed. “He’s made several payments to a marriage counseling center.”

Cole sighed. “Again, a marriage on the rocks isn’t much to go on.”

“We need more,” Declan agreed. “Do you have access to CJ?”

“We’re communicating by burner phones,” Cole said, and held up the phone he’d purchased for just that purpose.

“Get her on the line,” Declan commanded.

“I can’t guarantee she’ll answer,” Cole said. “She’s very skittish.”

“That’s the only way she can stay alive if Trinity is actively pursuing her,” Jasmine said. “It’s a miracle she’s still alive after escaping over a year ago. And to be in an area known to be prime Trinity territory...” The former assassin shook her head.

Cole hit the redial button on his phone.

After the fourth ring, CJ answered. “What did you find?” she asked without preamble.

“I’m with the team. Can I put you on speaker?”

“Yes.”

Cole hit the speaker button. “We learned more about Carpenter, but not enough to accuse him of conspiring with Trinity.” He filled her in on the Homeland Security Advisor’s financial troubles and the fact that he was seeing a marriage counselor.

“I doubt he’s meeting with any Trinity contacts inside the West Wing. I’ll follow him,” CJ said.

“That puts you at too much risk of being discovered,” Cole insisted. “I’ll follow him and let you know what I find.”

“I’ve seen him go into a bar close to the metro station after work,” Anne Bellamy interjected. She gave them the name of the bar and the street where it was located.

“Anne and I will keep an eye on him in the West Wing during the day,” Jack offered. He was still posing as Anne’s office assistant.

Anne nodded. “We can follow him at lunch and see if he talks with anyone.”

“Good,” Cole said. “But he knows you two and wouldn’t want you to know who he’s meeting with. I’ll go to the bar tomorrow night ahead of him. He doesn’t know me and won’t think anything of me sitting there sipping on a beer.”

“I can let you know what time he leaves,” Jack added. “And follow him in case he doesn’t head for the bar.”

“Deal,” Cole said. “CJ, we’ll keep you informed.”

“Understood,” she concurred and ended the call.

“Not a woman of many words,” Gus noted.

Cole snorted. “No, she’s not.”

“You’ve heard the phrase ‘loose lips sink ships’?” Jasmine asked.

“Yeah, but she’s like a ghost. If she hadn’t shown up after the NSC attack, here in this room, in front of all of us, I’d still wonder if she exists.”

“She wants to bring down Trinity,” Anne Bellamy said.

Cole silently agreed. They all wanted to bring down Trinity. He understood CJ’s reluctance to trust anyone but herself with her life, but she didn’t know the benefits of working with a good team, one that had her back and was pushing toward the same goal.

“And she can’t do it if she’s dead,” Charlie reminded them, her mouth set in a grim line. “As we all know. John wanted to bring down Trinity, but look where that got him.”

John Halverson had been murdered. The person who’d done it had never been caught.

Cole had no intention of being Trinity’s next target. And something in him stilled at the thought of CJ meeting John Halverson’s fate.

Not on his watch.