Washington, DC
1:22 PM Wednesday, January 14
If it wasn’t for the near-arctic temperature, Brynn would’ve taken the Metro back to SNAP headquarters, if only to escape the pitiful glances Jack kept shooting her way. Her cell phone buzzed with another message from Olivia apologizing.
Brynn sighed as Jack pulled into the parking garage beneath the Acacia Building. She knew Olivia had meant well, but it didn’t take away the feeling of vulnerability hollowing out her chest. Now Jack knew she was all alone.
Jack parked the car, and they climbed out and walked toward the elevator. He scanned his card key and hit the button for the eighth floor before his eyes slid to the white paper bag in her hand.
“Old CIA strategy?”
“What?”
The elevator arrived and they stepped in.
“Discover a weakness and use it to win favor. Good choice with Mina’s baklava.”
“Pssh.” Brynn shook her head. “Mina wouldn’t let me leave without bringing something back, and I know it’s your fav—”
The rest of the word dried up in her throat at the smile cresting on Jack’s face. A familiar flutter of attraction tried to work its way into her chest, but she shoved it aside as the elevator doors slid open.
It was ridiculous. A simple lunch at Mina’s—which she’d done whenever she could over the last eight years—and her mind was drifting to the past. Their past. One smile from him brought the past rocketing to the future like no time had passed. But it had. So much had happened since then, and it would serve her well to remember that. When put to the test . . . they both wanted different things.
Walking down the hall, Brynn shrugged. “I thought it’d be a nice gesture.”
Jack keyed in his code to the SNAP office. “You don’t have to win their affection.”
“Don’t act like you can read my mind, Hudson.” She was teasing, but she hated that he’d been able to discern a nugget of truth to her intentions. She’d never admit that Lyla intimidated her a little bit.
The pungent aroma of oregano, tomato, and basil filled the kitchen of SNAP’s office. A quick search and Brynn spotted the source. A glass dish sat on the counter, the tomato sauce and cheese baked on the edges the only evidence left of what might’ve been in there—but Brynn knew.
“Please don’t tell me that was your mom’s lasagna.”
Jack removed his coat and hung it up. “It was.” He held out a hand, and she passed over the order of baklava. He placed it on the counter while she took off her coat. “I forgot about it.”
There was no way she was hungry, but her stomach gave a nudge of longing. “How could you forget about it?” Hanging up her coat, she reached for Riad’s laptop bag. “We could’ve come straight here and had that for lunch while Kekoa worked on this.”
“Worked on what?”
Brynn did a double take. The woman who’d walked in barely resembled the whirlwind of sass she’d met that morning. Gone was the purple hair, eyebrow piercing, stilettos . . . the edginess. Instead, Lyla’s light-brown hair was swept away from her face and into a bun. Without the makeup, her blue-green eyes appeared large and bright. And in a pair of black leggings and an oversized denim shirt knotted at the waist, she pulled off chic comfort in a way that made Brynn jealous.
“Riad’s laptop.”
“We need Kekoa to . . . hack into it.” Brynn didn’t know why she felt the need to whisper that last part, but it drew an amused look from both Lyla and Jack. She swallowed, her lunch feeling heavy in her stomach. “Uh, so I should take it back to—”
“Did someone bring food?” Kekoa walked in, nose in the air, sniffing. His dark-brown eyes locked on the white bag sitting on the counter. “I’m starving.”
Garcia edged around Kekoa. “You just ate.”
“Speaking of that—my lasagna?” Jack lifted the edge of the empty dish.
Lyla and Garcia exchanged quick glances before Garcia used his eyes to direct Jack’s attention to Kekoa, who was already pulling out the foam container from the bag.
“What’s this?”
“Syrian baklava,” Brynn said. “We brought it back from lunch.”
“To share,” Jack added, taking the container from Kekoa. “Really, the whole lasagna?”
“Not all of it. I saved some.” Kekoa tipped his head toward the fridge. “For you and my favorite wahine.”
Kekoa winked at Brynn, a wide smile on his face. He was dressed in a short-sleeve T-shirt that wrapped tightly around his bulges of biceps, and she still couldn’t fathom how he had made it work on a ship.
“Hey!” Lyla punched Kekoa’s arm. “I thought I was your favorite?”
“When was the last time you brought me food?”
Lyla’s lips pinched, her face scrunching in thought. “I brought you brownies last week.”
“Bahahaha.” The burst of laughter from Kekoa’s lips was so loud and unexpected, Brynn startled. “You mean the hockey pucks?”
His laughter, a hearty noise that echoed around the room, resumed and soon Jack and Garcia joined in, leaving Lyla scowling. Brynn bit down hard on the inside of her lip to control her own giggle from escaping.
“I guess you’re too busy laughing to eat this, huh?” Lyla swiped the piece of baklava Jack had plated.
Kekoa’s laughter stopped, eyes wide, smile daring. “Two things.” He held up two meaty fingers. “One, no slippahs in the house, and two, you don’t get in the way of a man and ono grindz.”
Lyla rolled her eyes, holding up her right index finger. “Reason number one why there’s no lasagna left.”
“All right, everyone, grab some dessert if you want and let’s begin our debriefing.” Jack led the way back into the Jason Bourne–like set of their office. He glanced over his shoulder at Brynn. “You can give that to Kekoa.”
She looked down at Riad’s laptop bag in her hand. Grip tight over the handle. Unease snaked through her. Jack was right. SNAP did have the authority to look into Riad’s laptop—a fact she confirmed with a quick call to Peterson after excusing herself from the table at Mina’s. Why was she so afraid to let it go?
“Kekoa knows to look for anything on there of value to our assignment.” He nodded to Kekoa. “And only our assignment.”
“Don’t worry, sis.” Kekoa reached for the laptop and Brynn released it. “I’ve got this.”
There was no doubt in her mind the skilled cryptologist would find something—but what? Her nerves thrummed with anxiety. Even as her own beliefs about Riad wavered, if her assessment about the Egyptian spy was wrong—if she’d missed something or been misled—what did that say about her? If Riad was involved in something, she needed to stop him.
“Are we ready?”
Jack’s question snapped Brynn’s attention back to the room where everyone, including Kekoa, had taken seats around the conference table as they had that morning.
Kekoa reached for a plate, fork in hand, eyes glazing in anticipation of the bite of baklava he was about to eat when Jack spoke up.
“Let’s start with the security footage from the shopping center. Were you able to get us that?”
“Brah.” Kekoa quickly scooped a giant piece of the buttery, honey pastry into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Too easy.”
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Kekoa grabbed his silicon keyboard and flexed his fingers like a pianist readying for his recital. He pointed over Brynn’s shoulder to a large flat-screen television mounted on the wall with security footage streaming from different angles around the Acacia Building.
“It took some sweet-talking by yours truly, and Babs”—Kekoa’s face went serious—“no joke, the woman’s name is Babs, and she’s fifty-two and breeds Chinese crested dogs, which are not pretty by the way. I had to look it up.”
Lyla snorted, and Brynn was quickly becoming convinced Kekoa might be her favorite of the team. She kept her eyes from drifting to the only other person who may have claimed that spot by default once upon a time.
“Anyway, she sent me the video footage from the Fairfax Towne Centre’s security cameras.” A few keystrokes and the screens overhead filled with a dozen different angles of the shopping center. Kekoa enhanced one of the screens. “Over here”—the video angle changed—“you see Riad’s car pull into the parking lot. Parks.” Another camera shift. “Walks to the bakery but never goes inside.”
Brynn’s pulse ticked up. What were you doing there, Riad?
The camera angles switched again. “He walks around for a bit but never leaves the area around the bakery for twenty or so minutes. That’s when you show up.”
One of the angles enlarged, and a second later Brynn and Jack come into the shot.
Brynn watched herself turn, a surprised look on her face. He was right there. And she’d missed him. On the screen, Riad, wearing what she remembered, stands there for several moments before turning and seeing Brynn. Then there’s a sudden jerk of his head, and his attention shifts as people begin rushing by him.
“The car accident.”
“Right,” Kekoa said. “If I go back to this camera.”
Riad’s reaction to the accident pushes him forward a step as though he wants to assist, and then something stops him, because he spins around. Brynn tried to read the expression on his face, but the angle was too high. He starts walking, the direction taking him out of that camera’s viewpoint.
“Where does he go?”
Kekoa typed. “There.”
Riad reappears in the corner of another shot, and it looks like he’s talking to someone, his hands gesturing in the air, but the angle keeps his face and the person he’s talking to hidden. A moment later, Riad begins moving again, briskly, shoulders hunched and head tipped forward.
Jack furrowed his brow. “Looks like he’s bolting.”
“No.” Brynn frowned. “Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Riad’s a proud man. He carries himself with confidence. It’s one of the things I noticed about him, always walking with his shoulders back. Likely due to his service in the military, but it’s also cultural.”
Garcia nodded, eyes on the screens. “I can see it. His posture shifts when he sees you and Jack and then again after this conversation.”
Jack pointed to the screen, where they watched Riad enter and exit different camera angles, Kekoa tracking him. “Is there a better view so we can see who Riad’s talking to?”
Kekoa typed some more. “Nah, brah. Whoever it is stays close to the edge and out of sight. Even camera angles from across the way can’t catch him.”
“It’s like he’s using Riad as a shield,” Lyla added.
“How do you know it’s a he?” Jack asked.
Lyla looked at Jack and then at Brynn. “If she’s right about Riad’s posture, why would a proud Egyptian man cower to a woman?”
Brynn nodded. “Smart catch.”
A moment passed between her and Lyla before she gave a single shoulder shrug. “Easy observation.”
Except it wasn’t. Only someone who understood Middle Eastern culture would make that connection. Lyla was definitely proving to be more than meets the eye.
“Wait, it looks like Riad rounds back to the bakery.”
Jack’s words turned her attention to the screen he was watching. A quick look at the other cameras, and Brynn caught her and Jack going in the opposite direction, looking for Riad.
“Is he going back to his car?”
“No,” Kekoa answered Garcia. “Ugh. He’s . . . wait . . .” Kekoa squinted at the screen, typing as the images overhead flashed through several camera angles. “He’s gone.”
Brynn stood, walking closer to the screens. “Can you back it up, Kekoa?”
He did, and Brynn watched Riad round the corner by a women’s clothing store. He continues walking, but Lyla was right. The man makes sure to stay tucked in tight so he can’t be seen.
Once again, tension riddled Brynn’s body.
Keeping an eye on Riad’s USA knit cap, she followed it until they got to the scene of the accident, where almost two dozen people were congregating to watch. A large man crosses in front of Riad and then Riad is gone.
“He couldn’t have disappeared,” Lyla said. “Unless Egypt’s version of the CIA teaches tricks and tips from Houdini? Or was it David Copperfield who made the pyramids disappear?”
“An evasive tactic?” Jack said with a sigh. “If he’s a good intelligence agent, he’d know cameras were watching him. Didn’t want anyone to see where he was going so he couldn’t be followed.”
Brynn hadn’t noticed he’d moved next to her, and his sudden nearness caused her insides to tighten, warning her of trouble. Or maybe it was his observation that unnerved her? She pointed up at the screen, using the gesture to put a few inches of space between them. Just enough so she could breathe. “Kekoa, if you go back a few seconds, there’s something on the ground.”
Again, Kekoa, without question, did as told even as Brynn’s cheeks burned.
“Please,” she added.
The Hawaiian gave her a lopsided grin with a wink. “What you lookin’ for, sis?”
“Pause there, please.” Brynn reached up, her fingertip tapping on the screen. “That right there.”
Lyla wrinkled her nose. “The black blob on the ground?”
“Riad’s cap,” Jack said, confirming his theory. “He slipped it off so we couldn’t follow him.”
Brynn didn’t like the way Jack said that. “He might’ve been coerced.”
Jack faced her, and she could read the doubt in his eyes. “Which leaves us with one question—why was Riad there in the first place?”
“Most intelligence officers I know don’t act without a purpose.” Garcia’s words grounded Brynn. “Riad’s behavior suggests he went there for a purpose, and we have to consider he may have achieved his objective.”
“Achieved his objective,” Lyla mocked in a low tone with a flirtatious smile. She slid the plate of baklava to Garcia. “Eat some more sugar, Nicolás. You’re too formal.”
Garcia’s jaw muscle flexed, the only movement in his otherwise controlled expression.
“If you won’t eat yours, I’ll take it.” Kekoa reached across the table, hesitating only a second for Garcia’s permission, which consisted of a tight nod.
Jack returned to his seat, and so did Brynn even though her nerves were on edge. Sitting was the last thing she wanted to do. However, pacing wouldn’t exactly exude control, and she needed to hang on to any shred as she watched her profile on Riad crumble around her—likely taking her career down with it.
“Anything else pertaining to the assignment?” Jack asked, looking around the table. Garcia’s hand wrapped around the brim of his Red Sox cap as he tipped it up a bit. “Garcia?”
“It’s not relevant to the current assignment, but I got an email about an hour ago from Barksdale Air Force Base, and they noticed some of their systems have been glitchy. They recently updated their system with a defense contractor and wanted us to check into it.”
“What’s at Barksdale?”
“The Global Strike Command, which manages more than half of our nation’s nuclear capabilities for combat readiness,” Garcia answered Brynn. “It’s where the Eighth Air Force is headquartered and the location of a squadron of B-52 bombers.”
“The Mighty Eighth,” Kekoa said around a bite of baklava. “‘Deterrence through strength, global strike on command.’”
“Nuclear war and pastries. Yum.”
And just like that, Lyla’s sass returned.
“Nuclear deterrence.” Garcia pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, revealing muscled forearms that would make any girl swoon. “To prevent war.”
A glitch in anything having to do with nuclear systems did not sound good to Brynn. She was learning something new about Jack’s team and how deep their involvement stretched.
“Okay, check into it and keep me updated,” Jack said before the trill of his cell phone sent it dancing across the table. He grabbed it but not before Brynn caught a glimpse of the caller.
Amy Carmichael.
Jack declined the call, his eyes flashing to her before he quickly tucked the phone into his back pocket.
An ugly feeling rushed into Brynn’s chest, but she refused to allow it to take root. Jealousy never looked good on anyone, and she had no business worrying about who Amy Carmichael was or what she was to Jack.
Eight years. It had been long enough for both of them to move on, and while it appeared Jack likely had, it was a stinging reminder that after all this time she . . . hadn’t.