Blindsided (18 page)

“You’re insane. Positively certifiable,” John added, still shaking his head.

“What part makes me insane, John,” Teigan asked in low patient undertones. “The part where I’m counting on the tracking system being the key to finding our killer, or the part where I’m counting on you to obey my orders.”

John settled back into the desk chair, folded his arms. The gestures themselves were not a challenge, but the amount of time it took him to answer was. “I’m not questioning your authority,
Agent
Teigan.”

Teigan felt the tension forming knots along his shoulders. That’s right, he was a field agent, and John was a Head.
Dickhead, that is.
But Whitesman had put Teigan in charge of this op, so for now, John was under his command. Whether he liked it or not. “Then what are you questioning, John?”

“It just sounds a bit like chasing shadows.” John snapped his gum. “All you have is this girl’s opinion and some circumstantial evidence that Byron’s alive.”

Teigan was going to wring John’s neck and dump the body somewhere. Better yet, he was going to let Carthridge wring John’s neck and dump the body. The V-10 could probably do it quicker and cleaner, and after spending the last twenty hours babysitting the gum-snapping geek, Teigan thought Carthridge would be willing.

“I have to back Agent Evans on this one,” Garret spoke up from behind Teigan, supporting his brother and unknowingly saving John’s life. “And you have to admit, those images alone are damn convincing.”

“Yeah.” John paused long enough to blow a bubble, drawing it back into his mouth where he burst it with a muffled pop. He jerked his head toward the screen. “Do you know how many secure systems she hacked into to get this stuff?”

Teigan gave him a withering look. “Are you telling me you’ve never hacked a secure system, John?”

“A couple,” John admitted blithely, “but nothing on this grand a scale.”

“So she’s smart,” Carthridge said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I, for one, am grateful. Times running out and we need an edge.”

The lead V-10 seemed to have taken the presence of an unmonitored Viadal child in stride. Better than John apparently. The first question out of John’s mouth, after he’d gotten a litany of “I knew it” and “I told you so” out of the way, was “have you informed Whitesman about her yet?” It was when Teigan had told him no, and then proceeded to outline the new plan, which kept Aria listed as an unnamed source, that John had gone into a fit of hysterics ending with the proclamation that Teigan needed to get his head examined. Which, given the fact that he’d been entertaining strategies for wooing his way back into Aria’s good graces once this whole debacle was over, might well be true.

“Regular smart or genius smart?” John asked snidely.

Teigan took a deep breath, blew it out. “Just spit it out, John. What are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying she seems to know, or have surmised, a hell of a lot. And the whole thing is glued together with speculation. Nice little puzzle pieces she’s fit together to paint this nice little picture you want to believe.” He gave a contemptuous chuckle. “Not that I can blame you. Pretty little tail like that? I’d want to believe it, too.”

That’s it. He’s dead.
Teigan slammed his fist down on the corner of the desk, the resin surface splintered into a small web of cracks around the impact.
Damn, that stung
.
 

“Governments going to pay for that, right?” Garret asked.

Teigan didn’t bother to answer. His attention was fixed on John as he got right in the tech’s face. “Don’t let me ever hear you say something like that again.”

John wisely kept his eyes averted. “I’m just saying.”

“I know what you’re saying. And you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” John asked, surprising Teigan when he turned his head to meet Teigan’s gaze. Teigan growled at him, but John wasn’t backing down this time. “They’re twins,” John added defiantly.

“So?”

“So if he’s alive, then maybe they’re in it together.”

“I don’t believe this shit.” Teigan stood up, raking his hands through his buzzed hair—
never going to get used to that
—before he could give in to the urge to strangle John. The tech seemed genuinely troubled, and as team leader, it was his job to listen to and address his team members’ concerns. “She’s scared, John. Yet despite the risks she came here to warn Garret. So show some respect.”
 

John hands shot up, palms out. “Hey there, buddy. She’s no angel. Do you want me to count off the number of laws she broke by hacking into our systems? Isn’t that what those first bunch of Viadal boys did?”

“She’s not hacking it to play a game of world dominance,” Teigan explained through gritted teeth. “She’s simply trying to protect herself, and Garret.” He waved his hand in Garret’s direction. “There is nothing malicious in what she’s done.”

John chewed on the pink wad in his mouth. Finally he shrugged his shoulders and sat forward. “This is good shit. I still don’t know how she broke into all the different systems. Especially France. They’re worse to hack into than Fort Knox.” He looked over his shoulder at him. “You’re confident this shit is real?”

“It’s real,” Teigan confirmed.

John shook his head. “Fuckin’ amazing. Wish I could do this shit.”

Teigan took that as a sign that John was somewhat appeased. “Just compile the data into something workable we can present to Whitesman. Only the bare minimum, and it needs to look like
we
dug this shit up.”

“On one condition,” John said.

Teigan clenched his hands into fists, and then forced them back into a relaxed pose. “What’s that?”

“If Whitesman finds out, this is on your authority, and therefore your ass.”

“Affirmative.”

“All right.” John cracked his knuckles, settling his fingers on the panel. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Teigan turned to Carthridge and Garret. Both men had assumed their standard location within the room. Garret toward the back, casually leaning against the wall, and Carthridge by the door, arms folded across his chest and stance deceptively at ease.

“I’m surprised she was willing to give you this information,” Carthridge commented, “given what it reveals about who and what she is.”

“What we have is a rogue Viadal of unknown origins.” Teigan repeated the pat answer for perhaps the fifth time in the same number of hours. Hell, he’d said it so much, even he was beginning to believe it.

“You’re telling me nothing on those data chips has a link to Miss Idyllis?”

“No,” Teigan answered truthfully. The chips Aria had prepared had everything on them. From the hacked files and images, genetic and psychological profiles, speculations and theories to a God awful number of taunting emails and com messages she believed to be from Byron. “But all we need are the images that pinpoint this rogue Viadal in the time and vicinity of our victims. From that data, and the DNA sample obtained at the Hong Kong site, we’ll be able to confirm our suspect when he’s located and…captured.”

Carthridge nodded in understanding. “Capturing a Viadal can be tricky. Often times, you’ll have better luck in killing one than capturing one.”

Teigan gave an ironic lift to his eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

The corner of Carthridge’s mouth quirked up. “Seems like you have it all worked out then.”
 

“You don’t seem to be concerned regarding Aria,” Teigan said, testing.

Carthridge shrugged. “Why should I be?”

“Good.” Satisfied, Teigan started to leave the room.

“Just make sure the report John hacks together looks authentic,” Carthridge said before Teigan could exit.
 

Teigan turned back around, measuring the look in Carthridge’s pale green eyes. Nothing, a V-10 only let you read what they wanted you to read.

“Better that I’m not asked,” Carthridge explained.

Damn, he’d thought Carthridge was going to support him on this. “Oh?”

“Truth Serum,” Garret growled under his breath. He’d come up beside them, and kept his voice low so John wouldn’t overhear. “Any glimpse of a possible lie or omission during a monthly psych eval gives them the right to use it.”

“Fuck.” Teigan rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, then glanced over to where John was happily snapping bubbles and working his computer magic. “John can do it.”

“It’s getting late,” Garret said, as if that should mean something to Teigan.

Teigan glanced at the shuttered window, light still slipped in under the blinds. Puzzled, he glanced down at his watch, and then grimaced. “That’s right. I have to get to your work.”

Garret smiled at him. “Have fun, bro.”

Teigan gave him a level stare, which appeared to do nothing to quell his brother’s amusement. “You know, I’m really beginning to not like you.”

“That’s what brothers are for, right?”

“Right.” Teigan took a deep breath. He wished to hell they had the hacking program up and running already. They had access to the security feeds at Garret’s work, and many of the city buildings or municipal security systems, but your typical corporate companies didn’t allow Uncle Sam peeks into their interworkings without a warrant.
 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right outside, watching your back. Think of me as your guardian angel.”

Guardian angel, my ass
. Teigan shook his head and started from the room.

“Hey, Teigan.” John’s call drew his attention.

He grabbed the door frame, tilted his head around it. “What is it, John?”

John had the goofiest grin on his face. “If you could say something to Byron right now, what would it be?”
 

Teigan shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Fucker’s online right now. Want to send him a message?”

Chapter Eleven

August 2
^nd
2104: 2157 EST

“Thank you for seeing me here at your home,” John said from the other side of the entryway, his voice filled with seeming deference, even though he was craning his head to see over Whitesman’s shoulder into the brightly lit interior.

Whitesman grunted, stepping back to let John in. He was not pleased to be opening his sanctuary to anything work related. With each one of the heavy titles that weighed on his shoulder came an exponential amount of responsibility, and an exponential amount of hours behind his desk that weighed on his frame. His townhouse was the one place he relaxed. Rarely did he bring work home and never did he invite any co-workers within. Unless it was for one of those extravagant get-togethers that his wife, Bridget, loved to throw. Not only had John disturbed his refuge, but interrupted his evening routine as well.
 

John stepped across the threshold, his gaze slowly traveling through the interior and to the back of the open floor plan. Brown eyes gleamed with the same something that lighted an investor’s when the market spiked. Whitesman frowned, studying his humble abode from the eyes of his head-of-systems tech. Both foyer and great room beyond were coated in marble. Plush faux-suede furnishing held the floor with an eclectic mix of antique wooden tables and wrought iron statues. Pricey, yes, but hadn’t he deserved it after all the years of loyalty he’d put in?
 

Without a by-your-leave, John moved across the room, his eyes about bugging out of his head as he took in the floor to ceiling view that spanned the back half of the house.

“Wow. That’s stellar. You can walk right out and play a round anytime you wanted, I bet.”
 

Whiteman glanced out over the stretch of illuminated fairway outside his window. The last time he’d panned his skill against water hazard and bunkers alike had been… oh 2092.
 

“Why don’t we have a seat?” Whitesman shifted John’s attention to the seating arrangement behind them. “Perhaps you’d like a drink?”

John’s pupils widened, his astonishment at his guest-like status palpable. “Hell ya.”
 

Whitesman felt the tick forming at the corner of his left eye.

John cleared his throat. “I mean, sure, that would be great.”
 

Whitesman waited as John moved around an end table and plopped himself into one of the cushy chairs, making himself right at home with his feet planted on top of the glass coffee table.
 

Whitesman cleared his throat, pitching his voice so it echoed through the room. “Computer, bring 6bDW online, scotch for two.”

“Fully intergraded com system? Happy home, right?” John asked eagerly. “Scanning system?
 
Voice recognition?”

From anyone else but John, the questions would’ve made Whitesman uncomfortable. The Happy Home system was something his wife had insisted upon. She liked the idea of having one central system that could answer all her requests without the flashy, eyesore panels the more antiquated systems required. No buttons to push, no key slots to code into, just one master panel integrated into the home office, and a highly complex identification program hooked into the sensor and security feeds. Constantly scanning for voice, facial and biorhythm recognition, the Happy Home was raved to be the most secure system around. Personally Whitesman had felt more secure with the old system and its three system check: Voice recognition, palm scan, and key card. Call him old-fashioned.