Blindsided (38 page)

Inside his back pocket, his com link buzzed. His fingers reached for the slim plastic, eager for some possible good news, but just as he touched it a wave of trepidation ran up his spine.
 

Then again, maybe Nolan was right.

***

Teigan rapped his fingers impatiently on the dash of the Airlan E200. Nolan had automatically slid into the driver’s seat. Seemed that was his gig—cars, shuttles, heli’s, planes—if it had an engine, Nolan was in the cockpit. Normally Teigan would object. When it came to cars he was a bit of a control freak, but right now his mind was too busy chugging to zero in on his surroundings, so it was probably good Nolan was at the helm.

Mission over. Bryon had been captured. And Whitesman wanted him back at the Agency for a debriefing ASAP.
 

It seemed surreal. Anti-climactic. Maybe his nerves would stop zapping when he could actually see the bastard in his cell.
 

Soon. They were almost there. He glanced at the speed-o-meter: 185. The Airlan maxed out at 200, and really, the car didn’t handle that well over 160. Still, he wished he was driving so he could push it faster. Whitesman had been closed mouthed on the com, too busy to talk. Teigan wanted to get there, find out what had happened, see for himself the mission was really over, and then get back out to the cottage.

He’d been leery of bringing Aria and or Garret within roping distance of Whitesman. Luckily, Whitesman’s orders only specified Nolan and himself so they’d left the pair behind at the cottage. With Byron in custody they’d be safe. But again, it was hard to convince his nerves of that fact.

 
“Back entrance I assume?”

“Do you ever get to go in the front?”
 

Nolan whipped the car off the sky-way, hurtling down toward D.C. proper. “Nope.”

If Teigan hadn’t been so anxious, he might have appreciated how the V-10 handled the car, hardly slowing before touching down on the pavement and coasting into the lot. He didn’t bother to park in a slot, but pulled up behind the Agency transport that stood in the loading area.

They pushed their way into the back of the Agency, entering through the less public doors that a detainee would be brought through. Their timing was superb. Ahead of them in front of the service lifts stood Whitesman, briefing Steven and his team on what to do with the prisoner in their midst. It was a bit of a shock to finally see Byron in the flesh. Trussed up in shackles and a shock collar, he sat in a wheelchair, both elbows strapped to the armrests, one of Steven’s men on each side, stunners at the ready. Another seven men stood in a circle around them, all ready to take down the target if he so much as twitched. Which at one look, was doubtful. Byron’s curly blond head was tipped down and to the side—heavily tranqed. The corner of his mouth was swollen and there was a trickle of dried blood running down the side of his face, originating from an egg size welt by his temple. Otherwise the bastard seemed okay.

Whitesman finished talking. Steven waved his hand, directing his men with their charge onto the lift. The doors started to close. Just before they shut fully Byron lifted his head and cracked open a vibrant blue eye.

Teigan fought the scowl. Even if Byron wasn’t as out of it as he first appeared, Steven wouldn’t let his guard down. Ten men, all whose training exceeded Teigan’s own, could get one V-10 from here to there. Especially since the lift wouldn’t respond to Bryon’s voice command.

Whitesman turned, catching sight of Teigan and Nolan.

“Soldier, report below for your debriefing,” Whitesman said to Nolan.
 

Nolan spun on his heels and moved across the vestibule to the far wall. The concealed panel opened when Nolan drew near and he stepped into the hidden lift.
 

“Agent Evans.”
 
Whitesman jerked his head to the other visible lift. They rode up in silence then navigated the halls at a clipped pace.

As soon as they were inside Whitesman’s office and the head director had settled his stocky frame into his chair, Teigan pounced. “What happened?”

“Byron miscalculated, that’s what happened. No other reason he’d go for the city target. Though it was damn close, damn close.”

As if he wasn’t tense enough, Teigan felt his muscle contract further. “Casualties?”

Whitesman sighed. “Three. Two of Steven’s team and Morris.”

An icy pool of guilt formed in Teigan’s stomach. Sure it had been Whitesman’s suggestion, but he’d been the one to okay splitting the team. Now two good men and another V-10 were dead.

“At this rate I’m going to have to integrate the team into one of the Special Forces group.” Whitesman grunted. “Actually, that might be better.”

Easier to monitor. Whitesman was as transparent as the desk panel in front of him. He didn’t show any signs of jubilation, but he certainly wasn’t chocked up over the loss of one of his problematic, controversial V-10s.
 

“Where’s Carthridge?”

“Tying up a loose end.”

Teigan raised a brow in question. Whitesman blatantly ignored him.
 

“I was head of this mission,” he reminded his boss.

“Mission was split up.”

Teigan gave him a hard look.

Whitesman rubbed his hands over his face. “Teigan, you already have some serious strikes against you that need to be addressed. As your boss, and a man who’s valued your services for over a dozen years running, I’m telling you that this is need to know, and that
you
don’t need to know.” He lifted his head, his eyes boring into Teigan. “Let it go.”

“Fine.” Teigan folded his arms across his chest. “I still need to stop by the house and see Carthridge.” Carthridge might have been a V-10, but he was also human. And just because he’d been taught to compartmentalize his emotions, didn’t mean he wouldn’t be grieving on the inside.

Whitesman’s lips thinned. “Your mission is complete. There is no further need for contact between you and any of the V-10.”

“And does that include Garret?”

“I believe he’s recently lost his job. Terms of his release from service include him maintaining acceptable employment. Otherwise his options are to rejoin his team, or be housed in government barracks.”

In other words, he’d soon be residing in a care facility if he didn’t rejoin the team.
Over my dead body, Asshole
. “Garret has another job lined up.”

“Idyllis records is not on the approved list of acceptable employers for 08122074e13782ssi.”

Teigan’s hands fisted. Images of how Whitesman’s head would look all askew layered over his current vision. “You’re a cold bastard.”

Whitesman’s face went stony. He folded his hands on the table in front of him, the image of calm. “I have to go debrief Steven’s team and see to the prisoner. I suggest you go to level thirteen for your own psychological evaluation. This mission has obviously taken its toll on you.”

“Sure thing. Soon as I get back from vacation.” Teigan rapped the table with his knuckles. “Which, I believe, I have a whole bunch coming to me.”

“You’re not going to get my approval without a psyche evaluation first.”

“Well, I guess there is always Option B.”

Whitesman’s eyebrow lifted. “Which is?”

“I quit,” Teigan said and spun out of the room.

***

Whitesman stared at the closed door for a long time, tamping down his fury, burying his doubt, soothing that little twinge of guilt—what the hell was that about?
 

Agent Evans couldn’t quit.

Teigan didn’t know it, but Whitesman had always considered the agent his protégé. First mission out, when it had become apparent Teigan had the skills necessary to end up at the top, Whitesman had begun gently molding him to be his replacement. When his head was on straight, Agent Evans was calm, collected, and damn good at getting the job done with minimal fuss. He even had a way about him with the suits. Diplomatic, put together…when he had his head on straight. Over the last year or so Whitesman had begun to see signs of strain in his best man: questioning commands, projecting doubts regarding mission objectives. Whitesman had done his damndest to ignore them, hoping it was just a phase and Teigan would shape up with time. Should have known better. If he’d paid attention and not given Teigan this mission, given him that damn vacation time, he wouldn’t be dealing with this fallout now.

Agent Evans couldn’t quit. And that wasn’t just because Whitesman still held out hopes he could bring his rebellious agent back in line. Teigan couldn’t quit, quite simply, because Teigan knew too damn much to quit.

If Teigan couldn’t be talked out of quitting, or if he didn’t pass his psych evals, then Whitesman was going to have to send someone out to take care of him, clean up the mess. He didn’t want to do it. Damn he hated to lose a good man. But if he had to do it, he would. He’d done far worse in his time.
 

Whitesman popped a soother, waiting for the little pill to ease the churning acid in his stomach. He was getting a damn ulcer from all this.

“Calm down, Vernon. It might take some strong-arming, but Evans will come around.” In the meantime he had other things to worry about.
 

He hefted his weight out of his chair, made his way out of the office and to the lift that would bring him to the lower levels.

The doors opened again, spewing him into the claustrophobic caverns of the Agency’s hidden underbelly. He hated it down here. The hard soles of his shoes created a rhythmic tempo that echoed back off the walls, making it sound like a dozen men walked the tunnel. Steven and his team came into sight. Whitesman forced himself to slow down, realizing that he’d been practically running. Not the image he wanted to give, the head boss running from shadows.

He stopped before Steven who saluted him. “He cause you any problems?”

Steven shook his head. The Black-op leader seemed to be coping with the loss of his two men well enough. That pleased Vernon.
 

“Not a one. Docile as a domesticated dog.”

Whitesman grunted. Dog was right. Domesticated, hardly. He’d seen the images over the link of what the prisoner had done to 08142074e13652ssa. Tore him to pieces. The question was, what did you do with a rabid dog? Did you kill it? Or go through the heavy bout of treatments to see if you could cure it?

“Two of your men, with me now.”

Steven jerked his head and two of the men milling nearby moved in to flank Whitesman. With a deep breath, Whitesman palmed the panel, “Vernon Whitesman.”

The locks clanked open and the door ground open, giving Vernon the first glimpse inside the stale smelling cell. From the chair behind the small table where he was chained, the prisoner lifted his head, looking at Vernon through clear, lucid eyes.

That wasn’t right. He’d had enough tranquilizers to drop an elephant.

Byron’s swollen lips split wide. “Why hey there, just the man I was waiting to see.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

“That should be it. All the traps are down.” The sliding glass door closed, Garret stomped his feet on the mat inside. “And in case you were wondering, yes, it’s still raining.”

He sounded thoroughly disgusted by that fact. Curled up on the couch with Frodo’s head draped lazily across her lap, Aria held back the grin. “You could have waited.”
 

“And if the mutt had to take a leak?”

“Then you would’ve had to take him out on his leash.”

“Screw that.” Garret moved across the room. Glasses clinked as he helped himself to some liquid warmth. “Want some?”

She shook her head. “No thanks.”

More liquid poured, the floor boards squeaked slightly, and he plopped down in the armchair beside her. They sat in companionable silence for maybe ten minutes when he broke out with, “I wanted to apologize.”

She cocked her head to the side. “For what?”

“The library. I’m sorry about, uh, the come on.”

Ah. Yes. She’d wondered about that, if she’d been imagining things, or not. “So it
was
a come on.”

“Kind of. I knew Teigan was already head-over-heels and you seemed to be into him too, at least when you thought he was me. Then you backed off and I wondered…”

“If I was just taken with the idea of hooking up with another Viadal.”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Apology accepted.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking about that day. Even though she’d tried to convince herself that Garret’s interest had all been in her head, there was one thing that didn’t fit.

“What?” Garret asked, probably sensing her unease.

She hesitated, but then decided it was better to know than not. She and Teigan were together now, or at least, she hoped they had a chance at being so, and it would be awkward if Garret had any feelings for her in that way. “What I don’t get is the rush of adrenaline you gave off right before you moved in on me.”

“Oh, um. The book. I really wanted to borrow it, but I’ve learned that it’s better not to give Uncle Sam such insight into my mind. You wouldn’t believe the fit Whitesman had when I read Machiavelli’s
The Prince
.”