from the other Gilroy’s story—and how they’d escaped and gone on the run. “So forgive us if we don’t believe you.”
“Yeah,” Chris added, crossing her arms over her chest.
“But that means…,” the man said, frowning. He looked like he was putting something together. “Then Dimitri… so he could… it makes sense, but…”
Teri looked at him closely. She’d seen a lot of bad acting over the years. She knew what it looked like when someone was spinning. That didn’t seem like what was happening here. “But what?” she asked, keeping her eyes on him.
“But this means Dimitri had a plan I wasn’t aware of. And he outed me as a way to get free himself—then used my backstory when it became necessary to convince you.”
“Why would he have done that?” Dustin asked, looking like he was trying to keep up.
“He’s always been passed over for his brother. Never the favorite. It was this weakness I exploited to get him to turn.”
“That’s what he said in the car, right?” Chris turned to Teri. “About his brother? What does this mean?”
“Can you prove it?” Teri asked. “Can you prove you’re who you say you are?”
“I have my badge—”
“Not enough,” Chris and Daryl said together.
The man frowned. “I couldn’t have too much on me—undercover, of course. But I have a locked file on my phone. It’s in my pocket.” Dustin got the phone, used the man’s face to unlock it, then found the folder and keyed in the password—1234. “I know.” The man hung his head. “I need to change it.”
“You work for the CIA.” Chris sounded appalled.
Parker shook her head, clearly disappointed.
Dustin held out the unlocked phone and they all gathered around it. They saw pictures of the man in a suit and tie, posing with other people dressed the same way, badge on a lanyard on his neck. A shot of him waving as he walked into the White House. In the desert, in a golf shirt and khakis, pointing to something. Playing bass onstage—he explained he was in a band called the Redacted Documents, and they played covers with some of the words missing.
“These could be faked,” Teri said as she scrolled through them.
“No.” Daryl pointed to the picture of the man outside the White House. “See these shadows? That’s hard to fake. They’re uniform all around, and there’s no blurring on the edges. It’s nearly impossible to get that kind of color bleed on a fake.”
“Impressive,” the man said.
Daryl grinned at Teri. “Told you I was good at Photoshop.”
“So this is real?” Teri asked slowly, horror slowly dawning. “And we just… tied up a CIA agent?”
“It’s okay,” the man said, shaking his head. “After what you’ve been through tonight, it’s understandable you’re not too trusting.”
“But how did you even find us?” Teri asked as everyone else started to untie the man—the Real Gilroy.
“I wasn’t looking for you. I managed to get a tracker into Dimitri’s arm. I’ve been tracking him.”
Teri froze. “But if you were tracking him, and your tracker led you here, that means…”
“It means he’s near,” he confirmed grimly.
The sound of clapping made Teri turn around. There was Fake Gilroy, walking through the kicked-in door. “Well done,” he said, smirking. “Bravo.”
“Dimitri,” Real Gilroy said, straining against the ties they hadn’t fully released him from.
“Ah, my old friend the CIA officer,” Fake Gilroy—Dimitri—said. “Gang’s all here.” He looked around, then paused at Dustin. “You, I don’t know.”
Dustin held out his hand. “Hi there. Dustin Alberta.”
“What are you doing?” Chris hissed at him.
“Sorry.” Dustin looked abashed. “We’re a polite people.”
“I suppose you told them everything.” Dimitri was sneering, but Teri could see real fear behind his eyes—this situation spinning out of his control.
“Everything but why you did it.” Real Gilroy’s expression was calm, but Teri could see that he was working fast to try and free himself from their ties. She took a step closer, to help, but Dimitri drew his gun and turned it on her.
“Stay where you are,” he ordered. “And it’s not a mystery, Damon. I had an opportunity to punish the family that never appreciated me and expose a CIA agent. I took it.”
“Who was the guy at the rest stop?” Teri asked. She still didn’t understand what the diamonds had to do with any of this.
“I’m joining a new organization. Somewhere my talents will be appreciated. And there was a price for entry.”
“You’re joining the Knights of Darkness?” Real Gilroy asked. He sounded stunned. “Albanian mafia,” he explained. “They prefer payment in diamonds.”