Page 26 of Poison Evidence

Curt paced the length of her office, deep in phone conversation with a general who’d ignored Mara’s repeated calls. She caught his eye and pointed to the computer. “I need you to look at something.”

He nodded and wrapped up his conversation. A minute later, he stepped behind her at her desk. His hands fell to her shoulders, and his thumbs dug into her shoulders in a quick, casual massage. She leaned back. The top of her head brushed against his stomach, and she smiled up at him.

He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “What’s up?”

She nodded toward the computer. “Ivy attached a picture but didn’t mention it in her email. I’m wondering why.”

“That’s Jack Keaton?” Curt asked.

“I presume.”

He pulled his computer glasses from his breast pocket and slipped them on, then leaned toward the screen. There was something about when he put on his glasses. Like he was Clark Kent. Sweet. Nerdy. And hot as hell. She never got tired of it.

He stared at the image. “Holy crap. That’s Parker Reeves.”

She sat upright, her infatuation with her husband brushed aside. “Parker Reeves? The Coast Guard lieutenant who turned out to be a Russian spy? You’re sure?”

“Not a hundred percent. I never met him in person, but I saw enough photos when we investigated him after the fact. We need to get Luke Sevick or Undine Gray on the phone. Luke can confirm if it’s Reeves.”

Dimitri had hoped it would take Ivy longer to figure out how the Pentagon was using her, but those were the breaks when working with a woman with a high-genius IQ. Then again, her brain had also created CAM, which just might find Sophia and Yulian’s salvation, so he couldn’t complain.

“I’mnota spy,” she insisted.

“No. Not intentionally, yet there’s no doubt you’re collecting data. The same kind of data spy technology would gather.”

“Data you intend to steal.” She frowned. “Have I mentioned it’s illegal to collect artifacts or debris from the Peleliu wreckage or from any archaeological or historic site? Artifact trafficking is closely tied to drug trafficking. If you’re looking for something to be used in the drug trade, you can bet your ass I’ll make sure you fry for it.”

He huffed out a sigh. “The object I’m looking for isn’t part of the Peleliu battle, and it isn’t an artifact.” His gaze flattened. “I’m also not a low-life drug smuggler.” Ridiculous that the accusation should rankle so much, considering she had no reason to believe he was even a remotely decent human being, but still it did.

“So it’s some sort of spy thing, and you’re going to take it and leave me holding the bag.” Her vocal cords sounded dry. “I’ll be sent to prison for aiding and abetting a spy.”

“Not if they never know you found it. Right now, no one has given you any orders regarding anything except mapping Peleliu. It’s not your fault the Pentagon is scouring your uploads to the database for the object. And not your fault they haven’t told you what to look for.”

“They’ll see it, and you’re going to take it. I am so fucked.”

There was nothing he could say to that. Would it have been better if he’d stayed Jack? He could have spent the next week screwing her brains out and she’d have trusted him completely. However, she still wouldn’t have given Jack access to the GIS mapping database, and it would have come down to this anyway. After a life of lying, it was refreshing to choose the truth. And at least going this route, he’d given her a modicum of power. If she was half the hacker he believed her to be, she’d follow the trail that would lead straight to Luke Sevick, and then maybe she’d find a reason to trust him.

Luke probably received his card today. He would vouch for Parker. At least, he hoped the former SEAL would. Sending Luke the card had been the ultimate gamble—and he’d wagered his life. Ivy’s too, if he couldn’t protect her from others who were after CAM.

No further messages arrived from her boss, and she logged out of the system, then fixed him with a hard gaze. “Take me to Peleliu. I need to pick up where I left off on the survey.”

“No. We’re going to the Rock Islands. Your boss will understand why you’ve switched to the more remote survey areas. It’s safer to hide there when boys from ISIS will be coming after you.”

She glared at him. “Patrick’s terrorist group wasn’t affiliated with ISIS.”

He laughed. She was quibbling overthat? “Sweetheart, a terrorist is a terrorist—you can try to console yourself thinking at least your ex was in deep withbetterterrorists than ISIS, but really, it’s a bullshit argument. Better how? Al Qaeda better? Taliban better? Al Shabaab? Boko Haram? Does that ease the sting for you? They’re all killers who believe in raping little girls. They’re the kind of people who board school buses and shoot fifteen-year-old girls in the head. That’s who your ex aligned with. And you can bet your ass that once Dr. Patrick Hill was out of the equation, his followers turned to ISIS. They’ve got the money and recruiting, and now they could get CAM.Your CAM. Handed over to ISIS thanks to your husband’s promises. You picked an evil sonofabitch to marry.”

She flinched, and he suspected she wanted to lash out. But she couldn’t, because he was right. She scanned him from head to toe. “Apparently, my taste in men hasn’t improved since the divorce.”

“There’s one major difference: I’mprotectingyou and CAM from ISIS.”

“You haven’t given me a single reason to believe that.” She crossed the deck.

“Put together the drone,” he said before she disappeared down the hatch. “So you’re ready to work when we reach the Rock Islands.”

He turned back to the helm. He’d known she’d lump him in with the likes of her ex, but the words grated anyway. Dr. Patrick Hillchosehis path. He actively sought to become a player in the Middle East and was nothing better than a slimy arms dealer, buying weapons from lowlifes who’d managed to stockpile them when the Soviet Union dissolved. Hill had sold arms to all sides of the conflict in Syria and Iraq, because conflict meant more access, more customers, more power.

Dimitri’s life had been proscribed from the moment he was plucked from the orphan home. He’d been part of a new wave of fully embedded spies, like the Soviet sleeper agents dispatched during the Cold War, but he was from the new Russia. A post-Yeltsin-era spy.

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