Not This Time Page 4

  “Not to change the subject, but you need to know. We had a fatality—Clyde Parker.”

  Joe recalled the arthritic senior he’d first mistaken for Nora’s husband and his stomach clutched again. “I’m sorry, bro. He was a good man.” Joe skidded back to a tree and sat up behind it. “How’s Nora taking it?”

  “About like you’d expect.”

  “Yeah.” Joe let his gaze drift. “You summoning the team?” Mark would get the indirect question. Do you think NINA pulled the attack?

  “Considered it, but things here are too hot. FBI is handling it.”

  And Homeland Security. “I’m there if you need me.”

  “I’m not officially in the loop. Anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

  “Understood.” Beth wanted him to call. She confused Joe, and he couldn’t get her out of his head. She seemed interested in him, but his charm didn’t work on her. Figured. The one woman he wished it would work on was immune. “Did Beth say why she wanted me to call?” Was it personal or professional?

  “No.”

  “Care to speculate?” Joe couldn’t tamp his interest.

  “Could be she’s shaky. Seeing everyone blacked out like that and Nora losing Clyde—you know Beth’s really close to Nora, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.” There wasn’t much Beth and he hadn’t discussed except those parts of their work that neither of them could discuss with anyone.

  “She might want to talk about Sara’s husband.”

  Beth and Robert Tayton had a longstanding feud. She didn’t trust him and he hated her for it. Sara was stuck in the middle, playing peacemaker, and Beth hated that most of all. “What’s the snake-oil salesman done now?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t show up today. Sara couldn’t reach him. She was worried.”

  That’d send Beth into a tailspin. Back in college, she’d promised Sara’s mom she’d watch over Sara, and since Sara’s parents’ deaths, Beth had kept her word. “I’ll call her.”

  “Anybody phone home?”

  The team. “Sam’s neck-deep in the annual Civil War battle reenactment.” Mark would know that was in Alabama. “Tim’s down in the Keys.”

  “Still nursing a broken heart?”

  “Oh yeah.” Joe frowned and swatted a mosquito buzzing his face. “Mandy was supposed to marry the guy she dumped Tim for today.”

  “Did she do it?”

  All the guys had hoped she’d come to her senses. “I haven’t heard, so I guess she did.”

  “Tim’ll be a wreck for a while then.”

  “Yeah.” Tim and Mandy had been engaged for nearly a year when she met Mr. Wonderful and kicked Tim to the curb like a piece of trash. Foolish move she’d one day regret. Tim had it all: looks, personality, money, and class. Joe didn’t get it—and he liked women and understood most of them better than they understood themselves. But he’d never understood Mandy. The woman had secrets; Joe would bank on it.

  He swiped at the sweat on his forehead with his shirt-sleeve and glanced over. Light from a pole splayed over Karl Masson’s RV and the rear windshield of his car. Nothing stirring. “I haven’t talked to Nick.”

  “Special assignment. Madagascar, I think.”

  Joe deciphered the code. Middle East. One of the oil-producing countries.

  “Where are you?”

  “Following up a lead on Karl Masson.”

  “Without backup?” Mark’s voice elevated a full octave.

  “Just some recon, bro. No interdiction.”

  After the human-trafficking incident, the FBI put out word that Masson had died in a fishing camp explosion in Louisiana. As long as NINA continued to think that, Masson would live. Yet something was going on, or headquarters wouldn’t have requested Joe take on a special assignment monitoring Masson’s RV.

  “Watch your back.”

  “Will do.” Joe checked again. Still no activity. It’d been nearly forty-eight hours. Where was he? Had to be on an extended rafting trip. That’s the only thing that made sense. “When’s Clyde’s funeral?”

  “Tuesday. But don’t come. Like I said, things are too hot here right now.”

  Typical Mark. Always trying to protect everyone else. But if things were that hot, someone needed to watch his back and Beth’s. “Understood.”

  “I mean it, Joe. NINA would love to kill us both. Lay low.”

  “Got it, bro.” Joe would radio in the RV’s GPS coordinates and leave immediately for Seagrove Village. Mark knew Joe would; had known it when he called. One of those strings had been tied to Lisa’s finger. No way would Mark stay out of it—officially or unofficially—and for the same reason, neither would Joe.

  Beth Dawson might not yet realize she mattered much to Joe, but he realized it. She was sporting one of those strings and looking into the incident? Wild horses couldn’t keep him away.

  “Get creative.”

  Very creative. “Yeah.”

  “And check with your sources on Robert Tayton III. Something’s off with that guy.”

  Of the team, Joe had the broadest reach on connections. His team depended on that to survive. “Any idea what?”

  “No. But it’s something.”

  Mark’s instincts were legend. “All over it.” Joe locked in the GPS coordinates and crawled on his belly and elbows through the woods to his bike. He’d call Sam on his way down to the village and have him run a background on Tayton. Nick was sharper on computers, but Sam had a bloodhound’s nose. If there was anything to find, Sam would find it. “Karl Masson’s been MIA from his gear for forty-eight hours. He could be your man.”

  “You think NINA knows he’s alive and brought him back into the organization?”

  “Do we have proof NINA ever considered him dead?”

  Mark grunted. “Valid point.”

  Joe slid over an oak’s protruding roots, scraping his stomach and thighs. “Get me a secure line to talk to Beth.”

  “I need a couple hours.”

  “Fine.” A rock dug into Joe’s elbow. He winced. “Who’s handling the club attack?”

  “Roxy.”

  It was her event—she was the bride—and the FBI assigned her? She was good, very good and gutsy, but the personal interest made assigning her a questionable move. “She’s way too close, bro.”

  “She can handle it. She’s the top authority on NINA and motivated.”

  So Homeland Security made the call and pegged NINA as its primary suspect. With Karl Masson on the loose, this didn’t look good. “You need the team.”

  “No. Not this time.”

  “Understood.” They could best assist from a distance—and maybe stay alive.

  Joe walked the last twenty yards to his Harley, then drove off into the night, dialing Sam.

  From behind a twisted oak, Karl Masson watched Joe go. When he was out of sight, Karl fished out his own phone and hit speed dial.

  A woman answered. “Yes?”

  “Raven?” It sounded like her, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Who is this?”

  “Gray Ghost.” He studied the spiderweb tattoo on his right hand between his forefinger and thumb.

  “Mission?”

  “Dead Game.”

  “Code?”

  “A72777.”

  “You’re late reporting in.”

  It was Raven. “Yes ma’am. Unavoidable.”

  “They’ve picked up on you, then.”

  “Yes ma’am.” How high up the chain, he wasn’t sure. But having a Shadow Watcher on his back for two days proved word he was active was no longer secret. Masson broke into a sweat. With Raven, the truth or a lie could get an operative killed—even if he was the best go-to cleaner in the entire organization. Truthfully, she worried him more than Homeland Security or the Shadow Watchers. They weren’t ruthless. “He’s departed the fix, which means he’s probably en route to Seagrove Village.”

  “We’re ready.”

  Her local operatives were in jail, tied up, or campaig
ning for mayor. She needed someone stealthy who could actually do her some good. “What are my orders?”

  “Leave the car and RV in place and get down here as soon as you can.”

  Great. Just great. Mark Taylor and Benjamin Brandt would be looking for him on every corner. Their women, Lisa Harper and Kelly Walker, would be too. Raven knew that, so why was she bringing him—a possibility struck hard. “You’re not suffering any ill effects?” He started walking. It was six miles to the nearest town.

  “No, I’m fine. Having me at the club during the attack was a stroke of genius.”

  “Thank you.” His idea and, since it was successful, his glory. What better cover for Raven than to be one of the victims? “Where should I go when I get there?”

  “Call half an hour before arrival for further instructions. Raven out.”

  The line went dead.

  Masson shivered. When he’d contacted Raven about Harvey and Roxy’s ceremony and suggested the Dead Game operation, he figured his odds were fifty-fifty. Raven would either welcome him back or kill him. She had bought into the FBI claim he was dead. He tried, but he couldn’t stay hidden. Not with authorities turning over every rock to find him. They’d gotten too close to his kids. That’s when he had to move, take the risk, and hope Raven brought him back into the fold. Fortunately, she liked his plan.

  It was brilliant.

  But whether or not it was brilliant enough to keep him alive, Raven alone would decide. And what she decided, he suspected, would depend on that nosy computer whiz at SaBe.

  5

  It was a hard night to be alone.

  A few hours before midnight, Beth sat on the back porch of her Gulf-front home with her laptop balanced on her knees and ran an update on NINA and today’s incident. Waiting for her security clearance to kick in, she looked over at the Towers. Nora’s apartment was still lit up. Poor thing likely wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.

  Few knew Nora worked as a housekeeper for Ben because he needed her and not because she needed the job. She and Nathara had learned business at their dad’s knee, and on Nora’s eighteenth birthday, she’d bought her first store. Over the next fifty years, she built an empire. Beth hadn’t known that—few did—until she’d started SaBe with Sara, and Nora made it her mission to help Beth successfully navigate business’s shark-infested waters. She’d saved Beth’s hide a million times, celebrated her every accomplishment, and somehow always knew SaBe’s exact status.

  Sara and Beth had been born to average middle-class families, spent four years as roommates in college, and after graduation started SaBe Inc. They’d worked hard, built a sterling reputation, and in a gutsy move had formed a strategic business alliance to do the software for the patent owner of a semiconductor doping process that revolutionized electronic devices. In five years, their little software business had exploded. They had licensing agreements for their software with every major electronics firm and thousands of feeder firms—enough that SaBe was up to twenty-eight employees, most of whom were attorneys, security, and support staff. They were well paid, and Beth and Sara were beyond rich. Robert Tayton III wanted a big piece of that—Sara’s piece of that.

  For nearly a year, Nora suggested Beth hire a new software developer, but since the lab was Sara’s domain and the one place she seemed like the woman she was before marrying Robert, Beth hadn’t done it. The look in Nora’s eye proved she knew exactly why, and she never uttered a single reprimand. Beth loved that. She was too soft for cutthroat business, but Nora was tough. It took a secure woman to be that comfortable and confident being tough, and no one understood that better than Clyde Parker. How many times had Beth told him if she could find him in a thirty-year-old model, she’d marry him? Dozens. Beth choked up. So hard to believe he was gone.

  He and Nora were there when Max humiliated Beth. They’d nudged her toward Jeff, but when Beth said the x factor just wasn’t there, that was that. They trusted her judgment—even after the Max debacle. That meant a lot to her—and she considered having them lecture her parents. They’d been bad after Max, but after Sara married, they’d been single-minded in their goal to get Beth married so they could live their dream of moving to Europe for a few years. Her mom denied that, of course. “You can take care of yourself, but life gets lonely. It’s nice to have a partner to ride out the storms.”

  Nora’s take was more Beth’s style. “Ain’t but one reason to get married, dearie. Because the idea of not marrying the man makes you want to crawl in a hole and die. Don’t fret. God’ll send the right man to you. Just watch for the signs he’s arrived.”

  That resonated. So until he arrived, Beth was hanging on to single life without remorse, and if Joe made her feel a little wistful, well, she’d just get over it. She didn’t even know his last name—or any of the Shadow Watchers’ last names, except for Mark Taylor’s. Was Joe even Joe? She had no idea. But he was gorgeous and had an easy, laid-back charm that made Beth melt. Frankly, that was too reminiscent of Max—unnerving. Not even a stand-up guy like Joe should have that kind of power over her. Was that a sign? Or just chemistry?

  All in all, if Sara hadn’t issued that bizarre warning to Beth a week ago—“No matter what happens, don’t trust me. I can’t and won’t explain. Just promise me you’ll protect yourself from me—and if you can, protect me from myself”—Beth would love her life. But when your best friend puts that kind of monkey on your back … well, who could love life lugging that around?

  Her phone rang.

  Who’d be calling this late? She checked caller ID. Sara. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “Robert still hasn’t called home. He’s not at the hotel, not answering his phone—Beth, something bad must have happened.” Her voice cracked. “Can you come over?”

  No attacks. Please, no attacks. Beth shut down the computer and slipped inside. “I’m grabbing my purse.”

  “I’m scared.”

  And likely reliving her parents’ deaths again. “It’ll be okay. He’s resourceful, Sara.”

  “Just hurry over, okay?”

  “I’m on my way.” Beth hung up, grabbed her purse, and locked the door behind her.

  Twenty minutes later at Sara’s kitchen table, Beth focused on Sara’s crisis—because to have a friend you have to be one. “You haven’t eaten?”

  “First the attack, now Robert. Who can think about food?”

  Beth made them a salad and pulled out the crackers. “Eat.”

  Sara frowned but picked up her fork.

  On the phone, Sara had sounded frantic. Now she shoved lettuce around on her plate in silence. Beth debated. She should keep her mouth shut but didn’t. “You took your meds, right?” When Sara nodded, Beth added, “Then you better eat so you don’t get sick.”

  “My stomach’s going to have to fend for itself.” Parking her elbow on the table’s polished edge, Sara wiped her face with her hand and covered her eyes. “I can’t swallow.” She looked over at Beth from between her fingers. “How can I eat when I can’t swallow?”

  “Sounding really stressed there.” Tension had been building in Sara since she spotted the cake-topper bride with the groom ripped away. It didn’t take much imagination to link that groom and Sara’s both being missing. “Stress kills” wasn’t an overstatement for Sara. She’d landed in the ER three times in the last year alone—and that was during a time she was supposedly well and happy. Asthma was a merciless wretch. Add anxiety attacks and being high-strung to it, and then toss in other medical complications Sara never discussed, and it made one wicked recipe for disaster.

  Rocking her head back, Sara sought solace at some point beyond the ceiling and clearly didn’t find it. “Where is he?”

  Robert. A smooth talker who had shown up at an electronics conference in Atlanta last year and swept Sara off her feet. He was handsome and suave. She was naive and sheltered—a vulnerable recluse whose first love was her work.

  Sara and Beth’s differences made them perfect partners. Beth loved illogic
al and messy people, Sara loved creative computing, and they both had vision, drive, and more ambition than sense. They knew enough to risk anything and not so much that they feared failing. It was a recipe for success, and that they trusted each other implicitly gave them a little extra kick that impacted everything they touched in thousands of ways that couldn’t be measured or charted.

  Stealing Sara’s heart had been disgustingly easy for Robert Tayton. He’d caught her up in a whirlwind relationship and a scant month later, he’d whisked Sara off to Las Vegas and married her.

  You should have taken her to a remote cabin and nailed her feet to the floor until she got her head out of the clouds and her sense back. You knew Sara lacked experience—she had never been that close to a man in her life. She might have listened. Okay, maybe she would have listened. All right, all right. Odds were she wouldn’t have heard a word, but at least you would have tried. You should have tried.

  Oh, if only she could go back. Warn Sara away from him right off the bat. In the hotel lobby that night, before he sank his grubby manicured claws into her heart. Why hadn’t Beth done that? Why? Why? Why …?

  Remorse turned her salad bitter, and Beth pushed her plate away. In Atlanta, she had been sure he was out for a diversion. But when he followed them back to Seagrove Village, claiming he lived in Destin and had fallen in love with Sara at first sight, Beth had seen right through him, and she assumed Sara would know the truth at gut level—in that way women do, especially when they wished they didn’t.

  Unfortunately, Sara hadn’t seen or known spit.

  Logic had floated right out of her body and she’d bought into his bait—hook, line, and sinker. Robert Tayton III had fallen in love, all right—with Sara’s assets. And letting him know Beth knew it had been the first of Beth’s many mistakes. Sara paid the bill for that, which added interest to Beth’s guilt that had her minding her p’s and q’s and keeping her mouth shut when she really wanted to just smack Sara and say, “Girl, he’s using you. Grow a spine and kick him out on his social-climbing rump.”