Page 9 of Between Love and Honor

But Ben didn’t want to face it. Not after what he and Quinn had shared. He and his bruised ego staked out the Darby house for the entire holiday weekend, ignoring the commands of his mother and aunt to come work at their family’s marina. By Monday, he was desperate. So desperate that the straight arrow Boy Scout did the unthinkable.

He risked his commission to West Point by breaking and entering Quinn’s house.

He had never been inside the stately home. Whenever the two of them worked on homework it was at the library or at his aunt’s tackle shop at the marina. He now realized she was likely embarrassed to have anything to do with a townie; the son of a widowed school teacher and slain police officer.

That dark night, he wandered through the rooms of the house not caring about the fact he could be caught at any moment. He just wanted answers. Wherever she and her parents had gone, they’d left in a hurry. And if the empty drawers and closets were any indication, they weren’t coming back.

The familiar scent of Quinn’s perfume led him to her bedroom. He’d fingered the cheerleader pom-poms hanging from the doorknob. Random photos she’d taken of friends framed the side of the big mirror on her dresser. His heart had stopped when he spied a snapshot of the two of them among the others. He looked like a goofball in the picture with his cheesy smile, but the way she was smiling up at him still made his throat tighten and his chest swell.

Just then, a car had slowed out front. He quickly glanced around the room for more clues. In desperation, he snatched up the photo and shoved it in his pocket before bolting down the back stairs and into the inky darkness of the backyard. He’d spent the rest of that night hypothesizing about all the possible scenarios for her abrupt disappearance. Most of them involving terrorists or mafioso. It wasn’t until the next day at school he’d learned the truth.

And Blaine Simpson, captain of the lacrosse team and leader of the snotty rich crowd had taken great glee in delivering the blow. Quinn’s father had been recalled to England. According to Blaine the Pain, Quinn had known for weeks it was coming and that she wouldn’t be around for the prom. Apparently, the only one who didn’t know was the one boy in town who supposedly knew everything.

Ben had never been more grateful to report to the Beast Barracks for his plebe summer at West Point five days after graduation.

“Kind of ironic that the one time you’re in the White House for an event, she shows up,” Adam commented, interrupting Ben’s painful stroll down memory lane.

Ben sprang from the sofa. He didn’t believe in irony, coincidence, or anything else that couldn’t be explained by fact. And his gut was telling him Quinn Darby showing up after all these years, on the arm of a Russian criminal, meant something. He just needed to figure out what.

The rapid pinging of his computer distracted him from solving the puzzle of Quinn, however. He tapped a couple of keys to open an email from the Secretary of Homeland summoning him to her office. Apparently, the NSA director was serious about wanting VOYEUR as soon as he could get his hands on it.

“Well, alrighty then.” Adam got to his feet. “Good chat.” He headed for the door. “I really stopped by to see if we’re still on for dinner in Watertown tonight. Joss wants to sample some of the seafood appetizers we’re serving at the reception. Probably the best part of this wedding planning, if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” he replied absently. “I’ll see you there.”

Adam hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Look, Bennett, I realize I’m not one to call a guy out on the secrets he keeps close to the vest. But a hotshot from MIT once had to set me straight about the value of friendship. Now I’m gonna return the favor. Griff and I, we’re your brothers and we’ve always got your six. We’re here when you want to talk.”

“Adam,” Ben called out before his friend slipped out the door. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Five minutes later, Ben was in a cab headed to South-west, DC and the Department of Homeland. Secretary Lyle was already at her desk. Unlike him, she was showered and, from the looks of it, had slept in an actual bed the night before.

Ben fingered the micro card in his pocket containing a copy of the operating system for VOYEUR. He felt a bit conflicted turning it over to the NSA. But the artificial intelligence program had passed its trial run with flying colors last night—including its original purpose in identifying Quinn, astoundingly. There was no reason it shouldn’t be rolled out to the rest of the US intelligence community.

It would be a critical tool. Still, it felt a little like giving up a puppy he’d raised from birth.

“One of last night’s guests was found murdered,” she blindsided him by saying.

He shook his head briefly to regroup. “I just spoke with Agent Lockett. He didn’t mention they’d found a homicide victim when they were searching through the White House.”

“That’s because the Secret Service didn’t find him. The Russians did.”

Ben swayed slightly trying to process the information.

“Who was he?”

“Kir Abramov.” She passed him a file folder. “Russia’s representative to the board of governors with the World Bank.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She gestured to the folder.

Ben opened it and quickly scanned its contents.

“Abramov worked for us?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she replied. “There are times when our two countries need to share intelligence for the greater good. Abramov was often the conduit of sanctioned information from Moscow. And vice versa.”

“So, his own country didn’t off him?”

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