backpack. She carried everything into the bathroom and didn’t lock the door this time, instead leaning back against it.
The events of the night had been a temporary distraction, but nothing had changed—she still wanted him, more now that this very capable, in-control man had emerged.
Who was going to protect her against him—and what he would assuredly do to her heart?
What the hell was wrong with him?
He’d completed this type of assignment many times before. Get close, find out what she knows, and complete the mission. Not so easy this time around. Shanice was in his blood, under his skin.
Aggravated, Cruz tended to his cuts with the first-aid kit he had stashed under the kitchen sink. He dabbed alcohol on the sliced skin on his neck and shoulder and placed a Band-Aid on the busted knuckle of his right hand.
Then he set about to do what he promised. Reaching under the desk, he yanked on the encrypted phone he had taped to the bottom. Making a call to another encrypted phone meant no one could listen in or intercept the conversation.
He powered on the device and started dialing. He had to get a message to Miles and let him know what was going on. The mission he’d been sent to perform was not exactly what they thought it was. He was almost done dialing the number when he paused, thumb hovering over the eighth digit.
Something wasn’t right. What did the list of names mean?
He doubted they had anything to do with national security. Maybe instead of turning Shanice over to Miles or anyone else, he could do a little investigating of his own. He asked her to trust him, so now he had to display the same level of trust. He needed to make a decision—complete the mission by handing her over with everything she knew, or dig a little deeper to get to the bottom of this mystery?
He already knew what his decision would be. He needed to dig a little deeper.
In a short time, he’d come to care for Shanice, and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
He cleared the numbers and hoped he wasn’t letting his feelings cloud his judgment. Instead, he dialed the number of a friend he could trust. Listening to the phone ring, he cast a glance at the dark alley below. Nothing untoward, no suspicious activity. He was fairly certain they hadn’t been followed, but one could never be too careful.
“Yo, Cruz, what’s up, man?”
Cruz grinned at the sound of his friend’s voice. Some agents, like him and Raheem, had developed relationships over the years that turned into true friendships and they kept in touch. For many of them, the Plan B agents were the only family they had. The benefit was, whenever they needed help with an operation off the books, they had someone to call.
“¿Que bola, acere? How have you been? What are you up to?” he asked.
“Shit.”
Cruz chuckled. “I have a job for you. You interested?”
Raheem was what they called an “information specialist.” He could access all sorts of information, and given enough time, hack just about any corporation’s server. Plan B pulled him into the network after he accessed a tech company’s mainframe and sent millions in direct deposits to their employees after learning the CEO was getting a bonus while the employees received layoffs.
He faced up to ten years in prison for computer fraud, wire fraud, and a host of other charges, but Plan B offered him a job, which he gladly accepted at the age of sixteen. He was much older now and even better at accessing difficult-to-access information.
“Hell yeah, I’m bored as hell.”
“Good. I’ll make sure you have stellar accommodations.”
“Last time you promised stellar accommodations, I was sleeping on a sand floor in the middle of the desert.”
“I promise you won’t experience anything like that. You’ll even have a roof over your head. Can you be in Houston tomorrow?”
“Sure can.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Bring all your tools. I’ll need you to analyze a list of names. There’s a claim that the names on the list have something to do with national security.”
“Doesn’t sound like you believe that.”
“I don’t. Here’s something you can work on until I see you. I need to find the storage unit for a Dennis Ray, an investigative reporter for the Houston Times. He’s dead now but was married to Karen Sandoval, Senator Joseph Sandoval’s niece.”
“Whoa. What have you gotten yourself into?”
“Hopefully you can help me figure that out.