Blindsided (22 page)

The room exploded in chaos. Matt screaming obscenities as he dove for his weapon, men bellowing orders. Phft. Phft. Not her this time…Matt.

I should help him.
Wavering on her feet, she tried to take a step forward. Another thud hit her high up on her outer thigh.
Hmm. Four shots. Didn’t hurt though. How strange.

“She’s not out yet!” a man shouted over the roar of shouts and grunts, his voice filled with incredulity.

That same cold, emotionless voice, softly spoken, cut through the din. “Take her down, whatever it takes.”

Chapter Fourteen

August 3
^rd
2104: 0915 EST

Teigan pushed open the door of Garret’s outdated Ford—who the hell drove a Ford these days? The last cutting edge car Ford put out was the Model T—got out, slammed the door shut, stomped through the garage into the kitchen, and went directly to the cold unit.
 

He needed a beer, and needed it about five hours ago.

It didn’t help that Garret had followed him in from the garage and was now leaning against the counter, arms and ankles folded and an amused quirk at the corner of his mouth. Why Garret was amused was beyond him. Three work code violations in one night. Another night or two on the job and he would succeed in getting Garret fired.

“Is your boss always such a dick-wad?” Teigan asked as he scanned the meager contents of the unit. A handful of men could make a real dent in the food supply.

The smile widened. “Yup.”

“And does he always make you do that sort of crap?”

And faded. “Yup.”

“Thought you were a security guard, not some friggin’ janitor.” Teigan immediately regretted the words.

“Welcome to the real world, bro.” Garret pushed off the counter. “Or at least my world. I’m beat, heading to bed.” He hesitated at the archway. “If that’s okay with you.”
 

“I’ll be crashing soon myself once I get the updates from John and Carthridge.” Teigan pointedly kept his gaze on the contents of the fridge. He’d put his foot in it. But damn it! Who wouldn’t be in a bad mood after walking endless rounds through the building in between scrubbing windows, organizing, aka stacking, storage inventory, and cleaning the heating ducts—all in the name of security.
 

Garret must be a masochist. There was no other explanation for why he put up with this shit. Shitty house, shitty job, shitty Uncle Sam leering over his shoulder every step of the way. As far as Teigan was concerned, Garret’s life sucked. Only person who had it worse was the schmuck trying to play his role.

His eyes lingered on the lone beer stuffed into the back of the fridge behind a carton of mostly empty milk. God he wanted that beer. He grabbed a soda instead. It may have been “after” work, but it was still morning, and his real job was a 24/7 kind of thing.

 
He shut the unit and turned, coming face to face with Carthridge.

“Hey, I was going to find you.” Teigan stepped around the V-10, heading into the living room and plopping down on the couch. “Everything quiet while we were out?”

Carthridge nodded, planting his feet in the archway between kitchen and living space. “Peachy keen here. But what did you do to piss Garret off?”

“How do you know he’s pissed?” Teigan countered, experiencing another twinge of guilt.

Carthridge didn’t so much as move a muscle as he carefully answered Teigan’s question. “Garret was on my team for five years. We grew up together, trained together. I know.”

Teigan grimaced and did the only thing he could: Redirected. “Where’s John?”
 

He needed to talk to the head tech. First to see if he got the data condensed for the report to Whitesman and also to make sure John hadn’t done anything other than monitor Byron on that social media site last night. Somehow he didn’t think the man who masterminded his own death cover-up stupid enough to not find random contact over the internet suspicious. John had seemed to get that, but sometimes the tech’s excitement got the better of him.

Carthridge stared at Teigan, his unusual hazy-green eyes thoughtful, most likely trying to decide whether to make an issue of Garret’s mood. Teigan felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck into the collar of the security uniform. He really didn’t want to get into a power struggle with Carthridge. Finally Carthridge shrugged, relaxing his stance. “Sleeping in, I imagine. He said he’d be in later this morning.”

“Huh.” Teigan popped open the soda. “Did he get the stuff to Whitesman last night?”

“Think so. He took off around ten with chip in hand.”

Teigan nodded. “Good. I want to have that hacking program in place by tonight.” He rolled the cool soda against the side of his jaw. The temperature was rising, the day promising to be a scorcher, and Garret’s environmental system couldn’t seem to keep up with the presence of the numerous large, human heat-pumps. “I’m following Garret’s example here in a sec. Wake me when John gets in.”

“Nolan is on shift. He arrived after you left last night.”

Teigan grunted. He should muster some energy to get up and meet the new team member. And he would, in a minute.

“Morris come back here? Or go home to crash?” Teigan asked. The answer would determine if he got the couch or the cot in the home gym.

“Morris is making his rounds around the perimeter.”
 

Teigan gave him a disgusted look. “You guys do sleep, right?”

Carthridge shrugged.

“Hey.” A soldier, buzz-cut brown hair, solid build, unremarkable features—presumably Nolan—popped his head out of the command center. “I got some dude coming up the walk way.”

Great. Just great. Teigan hefted his lead-weighted body up and moved to the door, palming on the viewer. Willis was marching up the front walkway, his face contorted into a livid mixture of tense white and furious red.

Wonderful. Looks like they were finally going to have it out.

Resigned to the confrontation, Teigan keyed off the door and swung it open.

“Two-faced, spineless bastard!” The fist plowed into Teigan’s face before he even registered it had flown. The blow wasn’t as hard as Aria’s had been the other night at the restaurant, but it was still enough to knock him back a step. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carthridge lift his stunner. Willis couldn’t have seen him yet, the door was blocking his view. And Garret, although probably not sleeping anymore, wouldn’t show unless the situation warranted. Hopefully Nolan would hang back in the command center—Willis was an annoyance, not a threat. Although one look at his face right now might make it hard to convince the others of that fact.

Thankfully Willis didn’t seem ready to attack again. He stood on the threshold, body vibrating, a mix of hellacious fury and daring challenge in his eye. He appeared to be waiting to see if Teigan would retaliate.

Not likely. Teigan had an ingrained respect for his elders, and though Willis might have been insulted to be considered such, he was.

Teigan motioned Carthridge at ease and stepped in to let Willis cross the threshold. Willis strode in, sweeping a glance around the interior of the living quarters. His age-wrinkled eyes alighted on Carthridge, who stood with deceptive casualness in the archway of the kitchen. Willis wasn’t fooled, his gaze roamed over the V-10 from head to foot as he took his measure.

“Can I offer you something? A drink perhaps. Some ice for your hand?” Teigan nodded toward the red and swollen knuckles of Willis’ right hand. “I have a hard head.”

Willis turned his attention back to Teigan. His jaw rolled, his injured hand clawing into a fist. “What I want to do is gut you. Carve you open, pull out your innards, and feed them to the vultures, all while you’re still alive and screaming.”

“Sounds pleasant,” Teigan quipped and moved into the kitchen to grab an ice pack for himself. “You sure you don’t want anything? That is, anything I’m willing to give you?”

When no answer was forthcoming, he closed the freezer and placed the ice pack on his jaw. It was throbbing, but he was sure there was no real damage other than a potential beauty of a bruise.
 

“So what brought on this pleasant visit? I thought we’d agreed to eye each other balefully and keep our mutual dislike to ourselves.”

“Well Miss Idyliss isn’t here now, is she?” Willis said in a voice laced with acid.

Teigan narrowed his eyes at Willis and jerked his head toward the hall, willing the man silent. No dice.
 

“And that, I’m sure, is thanks to you.” Willis continued glaring venomously.

Teigan realized he had no hope that Nolan hadn’t heard that. Hopefully he could disseminate, muddy the waters. Too many people already knew. He straightened, lowering the pack from his jaw as he gave Willis a warning look. “I don’t think this is an appropriate time or place to discuss personal issues.”

Willis’ eyes narrowed, the crinkles around them, which normally gave the man a soft grandfatherly appearance, calcifying harshly. “You think I give a shit if your man in the next room hears me ranting? You think it matters now that they’ve already come and taken her away?”

Teigan’s hold on reality shifted. Disjointed from his body, he became a distant observer. Was that the floor falling out from under his feet? No. He must have misheard Willis. “What are you talking about?”
 

Willis struck the counter with his injured hand. “Came in like some goddamn SWAT operation. Slapping their IDs around and overriding security doors. She didn’t even resist, but the bastards still sedated her!”

“No.” Teigan shook his head in denial but Willis’ gaze remained hard and unyielding, the truth evident in the accusation he saw there. “No. My source was anonymous. The only people who knew were me, Garret, Carthridge...” He narrowed his gaze toward Carthridge whose head moved fractionally back and forth in the negative.
Shit. John
.
 

“Fuck. Fuck!” He pounded the countertop, reopening the cuts he’d gotten when he’d slammed John’s desk the day before. He’d failed her. He’d promised to keep her safe and at this very moment she was probably tucked away in some cell somewhere. Alone, injured…and probably believing that
he
was the one who’d betrayed her.
I might as well have, trusting John.
Hands planted against the counter, he leaned over, head tucked to his chest as he tried to center himself. “
Goddamn you, John
.”

Willis leaned in close. Teigan tipped his head up, meeting his gaze. For a moment Teigan thought he saw a flicker of sympathy in those dark brown eyes, but just as quickly the older man’s antagonism was back. “Betrayal sucks, doesn’t it?
 
Too bad the ultimate weight of it falls on your shoulders.”

Teigan curled his lip, a low growl vibrating in his throat. He
really
didn’t like Willis.

But right now, the only person he hated more was himself.

Willis must have seen some of that self-loathing in Teigan’s face. He nodded, stepped back a pace and folded his arms. His face twisted into a considering look as he pinned Teigan down with fathomless dark eyes. “Tell you what. You bring me the man who gave her up, and I’ll make your own death quick.”

“Oh joy, no evisceration,” Teigan said with a self-mocking smirk.

A menacing half-smile crossed the older bodyguard’s face. In that moment Teigan saw exactly how competent the man had once been. At his prime, no one—at least no one sane—would’ve crossed Willis.

“Oh no,” Willis said chillingly. “I’ll still eviscerate you. I just won’t feed you to the crows until
after
you’re dead.”

Sounds fair.

“Give me twenty-four hours.” Teigan pushed off the counter, striding for the garage door. “If I don’t have her out by then, then I’ll donate the knife.”

***

Teigan barreled through the bustling maze of halls of the Agency, the lethal looks he doled out clearing the way. Fellow employees took one glance at him and squeaked to the side, allowing him as much clearance as possible. Eyes, widened in shock, tracked his progress.
Say hello to the real me
, he broadcast, and those waiting for the lift parted like the red sea, inching further away when the doors whooshed open to dispense the lone occupant. The man, a scientist his lab coat announced, glanced at Teigan and the half dozen bystanders who had receded to the far side of the hall, and scrambled out of the box.

Uncontested, Teigan claimed the lift and slammed his palm against the controls to gain clearance. “Agent Teigan Evans, level 118.”

The doors closed, sealing out the possibility of another occupant. Anything past the one hundredth level required a certain level of clearance. “Agent Evans, you are cleared for level 118.”

The lift started its long rise, though at least it was quicker than his normal ride to this level would be—he didn’t have to wait for others to depart on their own floors before coding in his final destination. His current path was counter intuitive to the direction he knew he’d want to eventually go. Aria wouldn’t be in any of the rooms that spun fresh air through them or were illuminated with natural light, she’d be down in the bowels of the beast. Sub level D or lower. The lower you went, the more dangerous the detainee or the more secret the goings-on. The problem was Teigan wasn’t authorized beyond sub-level C without prior sanction from someone of a much higher level in the Agency than he. Someone like Whitesman.