Desperate Deeds Page 9

  “By stealing my mother’s scarf?” Tyler’s eyebrows lifted, her expression incredulous. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “The whole thing feels off to me,” Owen said, taking a sip of his now-tepid coffee, his thoughts turning to his earlier conversation with Logan Palmer. “But for now, it’s the best lead we’ve got. Who else knows what happened to your mother?”

  “Besides Avery, only Nash. But I didn’t share details. So he doesn’t know about the scarf. And even if he did, he’d never betray me like that.”

  There was a first time for everything. Even betrayal. Owen had learned that the hard way.

  “But the suicide was public, right?” Avery asked, his brow furrowed as he sought answers. “It was on the news and in the paper.”

  “Sure.” Tyler nodded. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It means that the information is out there.” Avery leaned forward. “If the news of your mother’s scarf was made public—or even if it was simply noted in a police report—that means it’s accessible today. And with the internet, and a moderate degree of technical savvy, anyone would be able to find it.”

  “So we’re right back where we started,” Tyler sighed. “And even if they did access the information, I still don’t see the payoff. So, again, what’s the point of getting me involved?”

  “Like you said, maybe it’s personal,” Avery said. “We’ve certainly made enemies over the years.”

  “But it still doesn’t make any sense,” Tyler protested. “Unless you’re right and someone is trying to frame me. And even if that’s the case, there are countless other things they could have done that would have been a hell of a lot more damning.”

  “So maybe this is just smoke and mirrors,” Owen suggested. “A way to throw us off the scent.” If Palmer was to be believed, Tyler was the one behind the smoke and mirrors. But even if Owen accepted that theory, Avery was right, the pieces still didn’t fit.

  “Maybe.” Avery frowned, clearly considering the possibility. “Or maybe it’s simply a way to make certain that A-Tac is involved.”

  “So what’s the motive?” Tyler queried.

  “If someone from A-Tac has been playing the other side,” Owen said, phrasing his words carefully, “and if that person was a party to the theft, then the group responsible would have someone on the inside running interference with any investigation on our part.”

  “But it’s not a foolproof plan. I mean, wouldn’t they figure we’d eventually put it together and ferret out the guilty party?”

  “There’s a risk in any kind of inside operation,” Avery said. “But there’s also the possibility that we won’t find the source. And that he—or she—will be successful at thwarting our efforts.”

  “Or maybe it isn’t about stopping the investigation. Maybe it’s about buying time,” Owen suggested. “Keep us chasing our tails until they can accomplish whatever it is they’ve set out to do.”

  “The very thought of which makes my blood run cold,” Tyler fumed. “What if Nash is right and they’re planning to use the detonators?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Avery said. “One thing at a time. If someone is working against us—someone on the inside—then we have to consider the fact that they’re getting better.”

  “I’m not following.” Tyler shook her head.

  “The original attempts to sabotage things were basic. Interfering with communications, weapons. Things that would jeopardize a mission, but not national security. But in Colombia, the damage increased exponentially. The leaked information could have done serious damage to the unit’s credibility, not to mention costing the lives of more than one of its operatives. Hell, you and Drake could easily have been casualties.”

  “You’re talking about Ortiz and di Silva again,” Owen said, thinking of the jagged scar beneath Tyler’s breast. “Tyler mentioned she’d been shot.”

  “Exactly. But even more important, the failure of that mission could have put millions of lives at risk if Ortiz’s weapons stash hadn’t been destroyed.”

  “But from what I read, it sounds like A-Tac, particularly your man Drake, more than carried the day.”

  “An understatement,” Avery acknowledged, “but the point here is that if the efforts to subvert us have been cumulative, then we need to be on our guard.”

  “And work together to find answers,” Owen said. “No matter how uncomfortable you feel doing it.”

  “Well, the first thing to do is to check the tapes,” Avery said. “If someone broke into Tyler’s house, we ought to have a record of it, as well as footage of the person who brought your suitcase to the house.”

  “If we’re right about my involvement being a decoy, it’s even possible that the scarf was stolen after the fact,” Tyler mused. “To scare me, maybe. Or just to confuse the situation further.”

  “Hopefully your surveillance will tell us more,” Owen said, hoping it didn’t expose him as well. Still, he had a reason for being on site, and Avery had said there were no cameras on Tyler’s property.

  “In addition, we need to check for prints and any other forensic evidence,” Avery said, “as well as checking your bag. And at this point, I don’t think we should wait until morning.” He picked up the phone, walking over to the window as he talked.

  “God, this is all so damn complicated,” Tyler said, pushing off the hearth to settle restlessly on the arm of a chair.

  “Maybe that’s exactly how they want you to feel,” Owen suggested.

  “Well, if that’s the objective, it’s working.” The look of anguish on her face was heart wrenching, which meant either she was one hell of an actress, or she was telling the truth.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he said, reaching out to cover her hand with his. “I promise.”

  She stared down at his hand for a moment, and then pulled away, the distance emotional as well as physical.

  “All right,” Avery announced, cutting through the tension as he flipped his phone closed. “I called Hannah in to review the surveillance tapes. I’m heading over to the war room to brief her and see what I can do to help. And I’ve got people coming over here to take prints and check out the house.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Tyler said, her voice less than enthusiastic.

  “Look, I know you’re beat,” Avery said, his eyes full of concern. “And there’s no need for you to be here. We can bring you up to speed in the morning. Why don’t you go over to my house and get some sleep?”

  “No, way. I’m not leaving. I need to know what they find.”

  Avery opened his mouth to object, but Owen cut him off. “I’ll stay here with her. That way, at least, she won’t be on her own. And when they’re gone, I’ll see that she gets some sleep.”

  “Good luck with that,” Avery murmured, his expression shifting to rueful. “But I will feel better if someone’s with her.”

  “I’m standing right here,” Tyler said, “and I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you do.” Avery smiled. “But I am accepting Owen’s offer. And it’s not up for debate. You choose. My house and bed. Or here—with Owen.”

  “Fine. You win. It’s not like I have a choice.” She grabbed her coffee cup and stomped off to the kitchen.

  Owen started to follow, but Avery reached out to stop him. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tyler. And frankly, it’s none of my business. But a man would have to be blind not to see the sparks flying between the two of you. All I’ve got to say is that you’d better watch yourself. She means a lot to all of us here. And we’re not likely to take kindly to anyone who hurts her.”

  CHAPTER 7

  You can turn on the light.”

  Owen’s voice broke through the darkness, sending Tyler’s heart skittering to her throat. She sucked in a fortifying breath and flipped the living room light switch, blinking in the bright light. “I couldn’t sleep. So I came down here to
get something to drink. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping either,” he said, lifting his arms to stretch. She tried to ignore the ripple of muscle, but her body wasn’t listening, every particle inside her responding to his presence.

  She blew out a breath, quelling her tumbling emotions. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted him in the house. She needed her wits about her, and something about him continually unnerved her. She’d tried to fend him off. But he’d insisted on sleeping on the couch, even after she’d made it more than clear that she didn’t need him to watch over her.

  Damn the man.

  “There’s just too much going on, I guess,” she sighed, leaning down to pick up a discarded piece of paper. The forensics team had been thorough if not particularly forthcoming. There’d been fingerprints all over the house, and until they were run through a database there was no way to know whose they were.

  The suitcase hadn’t been tampered with, but they’d taken it anyway, apparently to perform more tests. Tyler had offered to come along, but Avery had insisted she stay out of it, at least until the morning when they had some answers. But the morning was too damn slow in coming.

  “What do you say I make us both a cup of tea.” Owen pushed to his feet, his words pulling her from her thoughts. “You do have tea, I presume?”

  “Somewhere,” she said, following him into the kitchen. “Cooking isn’t really my thing.”

  “Well, making tea isn’t rocket science,” he said, opening her cupboards to search for tea bags.

  “I think maybe in here?” she suggested, pulling open the cabinet by the sink. Behind a jumble of half-empty containers and boxes she found a tin of Earl Grey. “Will this do?” She held out the canister. “My stepmother gave it to me last Christmas. There are no bags, so I wasn’t really sure what to do with it.”

  Owen took the tea and pried off the lid, sniffing the contents appreciatively. “Your stepmother knows tea. This is the good stuff.”

  “Maybe she had a premonition I’d have a British houseguest. Anyway, I haven’t got the right gizmo to steep it. I mean you can’t just toss it in a cup, can you?”

  “In a pinch, it’ll work, but coffee filters work much better.” He reached for the box next to the coffeemaker and extracted two. “I don’t suppose you have a kettle?”

  Tyler shook her head, watching as he filled the coffee pot with water and emptied it into the machine. “It won’t be perfect,” he said, smiling, “but it’ll do.”

  The machine hissed as the water started to drip down into the pot. Owen measured out spoonfuls of the tea leaves into two cups topped with modified filters.

  “It all seems very domestic,” she said, perching on the opposite counter. “I’d have expected you to know how to make a martini, but not so much with the tea.”

  “I’m English,” he shrugged, “it comes with the territory.”

  “Not all Englishmen drink tea,” she protested. “If I remember correctly, James Bond didn’t drink it.”

  “Quite right. He referred to it as a ‘cup of mud,’ actually. But he was a fictional character, Tyler. And at the risk of disappointing,” he turned around, his velvety eyes turning to steel, “I’m afraid I’m not that kind of superspy, just a civil servant, making a living the best way I can.”

  “Somehow, I’m not sure that I buy that. But I’ll accept the tea thing. And anyway, Della will be delighted I’m actually using the stuff. She doesn’t quite know what to make of me, I’m afraid.”

  “Your stepmother, you mean?”

  She nodded as he poured the now-boiling water over the tea leaves, letting the water level rise until they were covered.

  “I expect she isn’t used to women with a penchant for ordnance,” he said.

  “She isn’t used to women who wear pants. She’s amazingly old-fashioned. Every time we talk I can just feel the disapproval.”

  “Maybe she’s intimidated,” he said, going to the refrigerator and opening a carton of milk. He sniffed the milk and pulled a face. “Not exactly fresh.”

  “I’ve only been back for the better part of twelve hours. Give a girl a break.”

  “Fine. We’ll make do with sugar. Anyway, I can see where you might be a bit off-putting.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No offense meant. I’m just feeling fondly toward the woman who provided our tea. Without Della, I’d be drinking coffee.”

  “You had some earlier. And there were no complaints.”

  “I’m nothing if not flexible.” He picked up the cups and walked over to the table. She followed carrying spoons and the sugar bowl. “In a pinch coffee will do. But it’s not the same as a good cup of tea.”

  “All right, I’ll cede the point. After all, you’re the expert. I just think tea seems a bit domestic.” She added a spoonful of sugar and took a deep whiff. “Although I have to admit, it smells pretty damn good.”

  “That’s the bergamot. Makes Earl Grey, Earl Grey. Anyway, for me, it’s a touch of home, if you want the truth. Don’t get me wrong, I like your country, but there are moments when I long for the comfort of the familiar.”

  “You make it sound as if you’ve been away a long time.”

  “Time is relative. Anyway, we were talking about your stepmother.”

  “Actually, there’s not much more to say.” Tyler took a sip of her tea, her thoughts turning to the general and his wife. “To be honest, I’ve always gone out of my way to avoid her. Stepmothers aren’t really my thing. And as I said earlier, she’s not the first. But the truth is, she makes my father happy, which isn’t an easy task. And now that he’s sick, she’s been there for him. In fact she’s wonderful. Patient and loving.”

  “Sounds like you admire her.” He sipped his tea, his dark eyes watching her over the rim of the cup, the whole idea of tea’s being emasculating going right out the window with one swallow.

  “I don’t know that I’d go that far,” she said. “But I’ve certainly come to appreciate everything she does for my father.”

  “You said he’s sick?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, swallowing the sudden surge of pain. “He has Alzheimer’s. But it’s still in the early stages. Which means he has lucid days. But sometimes it’s really bad. He doesn’t even know me. And the doctors say it’s only going to get worse.”

  “It’s a difficult situation for all of you.”

  “Especially my father,” she said, surprised at how easy it was to talk to Owen. “He’s used to being in charge, to being the smartest man in the room. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him to know that it’s all slipping away.”

  “All the more reason to cherish the time you have left.” A shadow passed across his face, his jaw tightening with momentary emotion, but before she had time to form words to ask, it was gone. “So is that what was keeping you awake? Your father?”

  “No. At least not directly. I just keep going over everything in my mind, trying to put the pieces together in some way that makes sense.”

  “Any luck with that?”

  “None at all.” She shook her head ruefully. “How about you? You said you’d been awake, as well.”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out why they didn’t kill you the first time they had the chance.”

  The words were like cold water, any intimacy she’d imagined evaporating in an instant. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “Just what I said.” His gaze was steady. “It doesn’t make sense. They killed both of your colleagues. And by your own admission they had a clear shot at you when you passed out. But here you are, sitting in your kitchen drinking tea.”

  “Well, don’t sound so happy about it.” She frowned, taking a big gulp, almost choking on the hot beverage.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted that you’re here.” His gaze traveled the curves of her body, her skittering nerves reacting as if he’d touched her.

  Heat flushed her face and more nether regions, and reflexively sh
e crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t go there,” she warned, her words coming out on a raspy breath of air.

  His lips lifted in a slow, crooked smile. “I don’t know why not.”

  “Because you just accused me of lying about what happened.”

  “I most certainly did not.” The lines of his face hardened as he dropped any further attempt at flirtation. “I merely said I was questioning why you were left alive.”

  “Maybe they thought I was dead,” she suggested, knowing that she sounded defensive. “I was at the bottom of the ravine and it was dark.”

  “But these men were professionals. I’d have thought they’d check to be certain.”

  “So what are you suggesting if not my complicity in what happened?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but she didn’t like feeling cornered—especially by him.

  “I don’t know. The only other option I can think of is that there was some reason they wanted you alive.”

  “Then what about the shooter in the parking garage?” Her thoughts were tumbling end over end now, and she struggled to keep her anger from consuming her ability to think.

  “Maybe it was unrelated. Or maybe they changed their minds. I don’t know. That’s why I was puzzling over it.”

  “What possible reason could there be for them to have wanted me alive?”

  “Possibly to confuse. I mean, they had to know that anyone who found you would assume first off that you were involved. If nothing else that would slow things down a bit.”

  “Especially when you factor in my mother’s scarf,” she sighed, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. “And I suppose they could also have been counting on my getting A-Tac involved. If they knew me well enough to know that I’d react to seeing the blue scarf, they’d also know that I’d want to be the one to hunt them down.”

  “Agreed,” he said, still watching her.

  “But it still doesn’t explain Petrov.”

  “As I said, maybe he was on a different mission. Revenge for Ortiz. Or maybe for some reason you became a liability.”

  “I don’t know, it just seems more logical to assume they thought I was dead. I took like four rounds full-on. And they had no reason to believe I’d be wearing body armor.”