Page 11 of Wired Strong

“Well, I’m surprised that she hasn’t mentioned it, since I’m involved in this one, in however peripheral a way.” Sophie kept a sharp eye on her father.

“I’ll ask her about it, if you’d like.” Frank’s dark brown eyes met hers, blandly expressionless.

“Please do.” Sophie finished her drink and stood up slowly, stretched and yawned. “Need any other information gaps filled in before I go to bed?”

“I don’t think so.” Frank set his drink aside and stood too. “Anything I should know about what’s coming up?”

“I have no idea from one day to the next.” Sophie shook her head. “Let’s take it as it comes, Dad.”

“That sounds best.” Frank kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning.”

Sophie headed to her room and shut the door gently. Brushing her teeth, she frowned.

Her father absolutely knew something about this team, this case, and whatever the hell they were trying to do—but he hadn’t taken her hint to share. She’d have to be more direct the next time they talked.

Chapter Nine

Marcella:

Day 3

Marcella draggeda brush through her hair and wound its smooth length expertly around her fingers, pressing the thick roll of chocolate-brown locks against the back of her head and anchoring it with bobby pins; a style she called “The FBI twist.” Her features were so bold—her eyes long-lashed, her brows strongly-marked, her lips full—that anything more than a touch of lipstick, for daytime, looked overdone.

She stepped back from the mirror, tugged down her neatly buttoned blazer, and brushed a bit of lint off her sleeve. Ben Waxman, her Special Agent in Charge, was a stickler for dress code and protocol, and she was about to barge into a large, multi-agency team meeting and ask to sit at a table where she wasn’t sure she’d be welcome. “All they can say is no,” Marcella told herself out loud. “And I won’t let them say no.”

She had to get on the task force to help Sophie. Offering intel would open that door. Marcella wanted Connor caught. Only when that man was behind bars would her friend be safe. Be great if Sophie’s sicko mother Pim Wat went down too, while they were at it.

Giving her jacket another tug, Marcella headed for the door of the women’s room, enjoying a glimpse of her gleaming gold-toned pumps beneath regulation navy trousers. A girl needed a good pair of shoes to boost her confidence, and Marcella had those in a rainbow of colors and styles.

Marcella pulled the door open and headed for the FBI’s conference room, walking fast, her head up and arms swinging. The meeting room door was closed; she had expected that. She knocked, two loud raps, and then opened it and stepped inside.

As she had anticipated, Waxman was seated at the head of the table, with agents ranged around him beneath the FBI logo prominently displayed on the wall. She recognized three: Agents Pillman and Gundersohn. Neither of them had ever been a friend. The only other female in the room, Secret Service Agent Kate Smith, assigned to Sophie’s father, was at least a familiar face.

“Good afternoon. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have some important information to share with the team,” Marcella said.

Waxman’s brows went up, but his gaze looked relieved—apparently the meeting had not been going well. “Pull up a chair, Marcella. Everyone, this is Special Agent Marcella Scott, one of our finest.”

Waxman was sparing with his praise. He was probably trying to pave the way for her intel, but regardless, Marcella’s neck warmed at the compliment. “I’m sure I can catch all of your names later. I’d like to volunteer to be a part of the investigation.”

Waxman’s eyebrows snapped together; he didn’t like that. She should have gone through the chain of command, but the chain of command would have dead-ended with a pat on the head. “Some new information about how Sophie Smithson was rescued on the Big Island, along with her deceased partner, Jake Dunn, has come my way.” That was a mouthful. Marcella forged on. “Sophie is a personal friend of mine. She told me that using a chip with satellite tracking capabilities embedded under her skin, the Ghost found them.”

The conference room door opened again. Marcella turned to face whomever had entered—and shock widened her eyes. “The group is already aware of this, Marcella,” Ambassador Smithson said, as he advanced into the room. “I gave them that intel.”

Waxman speared her with his icy blue gaze. “Why didn’t you come to me directly with this, Agent Scott?”

“I got it only yesterday evening, when I met with Sophie.” Marcella pulled out a chair and seated herself in an open space. She looked around the table, making eye contact with five different people. Only the blue-eyed brunette Secret Service Agent smiled at her. “I have more confidential information to share, but I would like to be formally added to the team first.”

Pillman scowled. “That sounds a lot like you’re trying to leverage us, Agent Scott.”

The man sitting closest to Marcella turned toward her, and extended a hand. “This FBI infighting is to our benefit! I am all in favor of you joining the team. I’m Stefan Voise of Interpol. We tried to grab Sophie last night to interview her, but she evaded us at her apartment. We still can’t figure out how.”

Marcella bit her bottom lip on her startled exclamation—Sophie grabbed at her apartment?

“As to that.” Ambassador Smithson had seated himself closest to Waxman. His resonant voice rumbled with angry authority. “My daughter is grieving. She’s also expecting a child. She is not to be harassed any further. I’ve cooperated with this investigation because I want her separated from the negative influences of Connor, her mother Pim Wat, and whoever the hell the Master is. But my agreement with this task force was that no one would interfere with my daughter or try to bring her in. An attempted grab at her apartment violates that agreement.”

Marcella had guessed that Frank was here to protect Sophie the minute she saw the ambassador—why else would he get involved with something like this?But now he’d stolen her thunder. Marcella had been planning to share the news of Sophie’s pregnancy as intel; what else did she have to offer?

The room broke out into raised voices and arguing.

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