A Shot Worth Taking (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 3) Read online

  “And we didn’t get invited to the party?” Lundgren’s eyebrows rose in contemplation. “Go.” He gave the nod.

  Tony grabbed his cup to provide a pretense while he attempted to gather intel. Angela came down the hallway. An agent he hadn’t met was on her heels.

  “There’s no point in waiting for Wetzel when these guys can probably tell us what the hell it is.” She made straight for Tony. “You guys are familiar with a variety of explosive devices, right?”

  Whoa! “Yeah. We all are. What do you need?” The intense look on her face and her question shattered the lethargy that plagued him after hours of reading bogus documents.

  “I need you to see if you can make heads or tails of these. It’s out of my area of expertise.” She relinquished the papers despite the grumbled protests of the other agent.

  Tony gave the sheets a cursory glance. He pivoted and ushered her to the conference room. “Take a look.” He turned the papers over to Lundgren.

  The chief studied them for a moment. “Make room,” he requested.

  The team scrambled to clear the stacks of papers and takeout containers strewn over the large table’s glossy wood surface. Tony picked up the box of sesame chicken while Lundgren spread out the hand-drawn sketches. Grant and Porter crowded in to get a better look.

  “You got my sesame chicken?” Angela frowned.

  “Yours? They just brought us …” Guilt, and her adorable pout, won out. He held out the container. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I got some lo mein. I wanted sesame chicken, though.” She gave him a coy smile and used his chopsticks to help herself to the chicken and broccoli.

  He’d give this woman anything she asked for. Watching the food disappear into her mouth made the blood rush to his groin again. Man, he couldn’t wait until this mission wrapped up.

  “Those two know what they’re doing?” She leaned closer while Porter and Grant shuffled papers around.

  Her shoulder brushed against his bicep, giving him a fraction of the body contact he yearned for. It took Herculean control not to slip his free hand to her hip to keep her close. He settled for eye contact. “Porter likes to blow things up, and Grant’s our resident genius.” He pointed out his teammates while he talked. “If it’s any type of explosive device, they’ll know. What made you suspect it could be a bomb?”

  “I translated the word ‘detonator.’ That kinda raised a red flag.”

  The sketches didn’t resemble any bomb he’d seen. Detonator, however, was pretty damned specific.

  “He really a genius or you picking on him?” She studied Grant’s profile.

  “Depends. You like the genius type?”

  She gave a low, lusty chuckle. “They aren’t usually the best conversationalists. Course, he might not steal my sesame chicken.” Her voice dropped lower, adding to the seductive lilt.

  “I said I was sorry. Guess I’ll have to buy you Chinese another night.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She dug out another piece of chicken, then returned the chopsticks to the box.

  “What are you lookin’ at, Dominguez?” Great. Dominguez grinned in that annoying way that told Tony he’d be grilled later.

  “I’ll leave those sketches to see what you guys can make of them.” She gave him a subtle wink when she passed him on her way out.

  “Excuse me. Ma’am?” Grant stopped her. He dug out his notepad from the pile of papers they’d shoved aside and tore off the top sheet. He rounded the table and gave her the sheet. “Can you ask your techs to eliminate all saved files with these sentences? I found them randomly inserted into documents. And this list on the right, I think they’re words inserted because they would set off the alarms and whistles. I thought the request might be better received coming from you.”

  Tony’s jaw muscles tightened when Grant flashed Angela his all-American, boy-next-door pearly whites, but Tony nodded to reassure her there must be a solid reason to his teammate’s analysis.

  “O-kay,” she drawled. “I’ll ask.”

  “I found some more …” Angela stopped a step inside the conference room. She stared at the image projected onto the cream-colored wall. It resembled a drawing made by a spirograph. “What is that?” she asked the team of men.

  “We’re still working on it. Things aren’t lining up right,” the man with the shaved head and goatee who Tony had identified as Linc Porter answered. His tilde-shaped eyebrows gave the sexy operator an aura of perpetual concentration as he adjusted one of the transparencies in the stack layered on the overhead projector.

  “Here are the sketches with everything translated. We found a few more sketches, and this. I don’t know if it’s related or not, but these symbols here”—she pointed—“there’s one on each of the sketches.”

  “Ah-ha! I knew it. Thank you! And this”—the genius, Grant, took the sheet she’d pointed to and gripped it in both hands like it was the Holy Grail—“has to be the key.” He snatched up the entire stack of transparencies and shuffled through them. He conferred with Porter, and they turned the slides at different angles. “I need transparencies of these new ones.”

  “I’ll go ask Becca to make them. Give ’em over.” Dominguez acted downright gleeful at the excuse to escape the room and seek out the flirty junior agent.

  “He’s easy to make happy, huh?” she said to Tony, who had already made his way to her side. He stood close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his muscled body. She forced her attention back to the image. “So, it’s like a puzzle?”

  “And it’s driving Grant nuts that he can’t figure it out.”

  “I have more good news. He was right about the dummy phrases. Singh did as he asked, and it eliminated all but like seventy-three files. They’re printing those off now, and we’ll get you copies.”

  “We’ve spun our wheels reading all this crap for nothing?” Mack tossed several pages on top of a pile to his side.

  “I wouldn’t say for nothing. What he discovered helped a lot. There are encrypted files they’re trying to crack, and Singh said they’ll run an algorithm on those secret code words.”

  “‘Secret code words’? You sound like such a spy.” Tony chuckled.

  She shot him a mock scowl. He laughed harder, and his fingers touched her low back. His touch didn’t last long enough. Her eyes locked and held on his. What was it about this man that could make her melt with a look, or a touch, and bare her soul? While she hadn’t run a background check to verify his marital status because of everything else going on, she’d flirted and conveyed her interest. Now, if she found out he’d lied and had a wife or fiancée, she might have to kill him.

  Since he didn’t know her entire past, he didn’t have the good sense to run. And telling him would be presumptuous. Besides, he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Just fun and sex. Then he’d be gone. She could live with that—couldn’t she?

  Of course.

  She had to.

  Her mouth turned up in a smile that didn’t sync with the empty ache inside her. She needed to get out of this room. Now. Before her thoughts went down that dusty road to nowhere.

  “Good luck with the puzzle, guys. If I find anything else, I’ll be back.”

  “See ya.” Tony discreetly touched her arm.

  “Thanks.” Grant took the briefest moment to glance up before resuming his frenetic manipulations of the transparencies.

  She hurried back to the safety of her temporary office and sank into her chair. When she finished this assignment, she’d be like the ghost she’d been as an operative working for the CIA. She’d disappear and leave behind no trace of being there. Only a memory in the minds of those she had contact with. No one would miss her.

  They might miss her work. That’s what she excelled at. It was where she could make a difference—protect the innocent. After one more heavy breath and glance around the sterile office, she went back to doing what she did best.

  Nine

  “Grochowski needs everyo
ne in the main conference room. Now.” Weiss interrupted Angela’s reading.

  “They find something?” She stared at his mischievous grin for a moment before it hit her. He’d spoken in Arabic, and she’d responded in kind. Shouldn’t surprise her after reading documents in Arabic for the past few hours.

  Weiss laughed and switched to English. “Singh broke the encrypted files, and your fan club found something that has Grochowski in there—and Hollis.”

  Hollis? She sprang to her feet. The director of local Homeland Security and the special agent in charge of the FBI’s New York office didn’t call joint conferences every day. More like every half-decade. Her mind raced over the implications. She hurried down the hallway after Weiss and crowded into the conference room.

  “Here you go, ma’am.” Tony’s teammate Kyle Liu, who hadn’t previously spoken two words, got to his feet and motioned for her to take his seat.

  After the past two hours at her desk, she preferred to stand—right beside Tony Vincenti. The chair afforded her a prime spot to observe his profile, though.

  The navy tie Grochowski wore with his charcoal-gray suit complemented Hollis in her navy suit and butter-yellow blouse. Both wore matching grim expressions.

  “Hakim’s banking records show three high-six-figure money transfers out in the past four months,” Grochowski started once everyone settled in. “The money hit an account in the Caymans. Singh is working on where it went after that.”

  That garnered Angela’s full and undivided attention. She’d bet the worst was yet to come.

  “We have an idea what it might be for. Chief Warrant Lundgren.”

  Lundgren shifted his impressive frame, sweeping an arm toward the fair-haired genius. “Staff Sergeant Grant will brief you on his findings. In civilian speak,” he added in a low tone.

  Grant turned on the power to the projector. Two separate images appeared on the whiteboard. His gaze swept over her as he began speaking. “Thanks to Special Agent Hoffman”—Great. She really didn’t want to take credit for this find—“we found this series of sketches that were individual files. When compiled correctly, they’re schematics for building a shockwave-type bomb. But our major concern is that this second diagram indicates plans to incorporate radioactive material—creating a dirty bomb.”

  Several gasps reverberated throughout the room. The contents of Angela’s stomach bubbled like lava before an eruption.

  “They’d need radioactive material to make that happen. So far, we haven’t had any viable threats.” Calomiris downgraded the threat.

  “True. But it doesn’t have to be weapons-grade,” Grant continued. “It could be radioactive material used for research or medical purposes. There are thousands of orphan sources. Stolen materials and high-security risk elements that disappeared after the collapse of the Soviet Union. This bomb wouldn’t have the destructive capability of a nuclear weapon, but depending on where it’s detonated, it could kill thousands. Sicken hundreds of thousands. And apart from the human cost, it would create mass hysteria and cost billions in cleanup.”

  Weiss whistled through his teeth. One of the male agents in the back of the room muttered an expletive.

  Grochowski exhaled a lament. “We don’t know for certain that it’s gone beyond getting the design for the bomb. However, the amount of money that Hakim’s moved makes us think they could have acquired the materials. And, if so, we have no idea of their target—or when.”

  “Special Agent Hoffman?” Homeland Security Director Hollis scanned the females in the room and settled on her before she nodded in acknowledgment. “Does the name Ahmad Bin Faud ring any bells? Someone Hakim might have mentioned doing business with?”

  Angela couldn’t suppress the rueful laugh. “No. Hakim never discussed business associates. Paranoid is his MO. He doesn’t even mention where he eats a meal. Makes it hard to carry on a conversation.”

  “We found a receipt for an airline ticket booked under that name in his emails. We don’t have a record of anyone entering the States under that name. We’re checking visas and passports issued abroad,” Director Hollis explained.

  “Where was the ticket to?” she asked, trying to follow the evidence trail.

  “LaGuardia to Paris. Two days from now and returning in three weeks.”

  “Leaving—for France? I think we may have a problem.” Angela swallowed the lump in her throat only to have it crash in her chest.

  “Why?” Director Hollis asked.

  All eyes were on Angela. What if she were wrong?

  “I think the name is an alias.” She struggled to get the words out. Her tongue seemed too large for her mouth. “He wouldn’t—I—I can’t see him having that on his computer for someone else. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Singh also found porn on his computer.” Grochowski didn’t even crack a smile at the implication. “That doesn’t fit what we know of him, either.”

  “Porn?” Her brain threatened to explode. He was right. That didn’t fit Hakim’s profile. She’d heard reports that one of the 9/11 hijackers called for a hooker the night before their attack, and another watched pay-per-view porn in his hotel room. Those terrorists were radical extremists, too.

  “It was just one downloaded video. We can check his surfing history, though,” the tech, Singh, said.

  “I …” She hesitated and ran a hand through her hair. “I think he’s skipping the country. Going to France fits. It’s the one thing he does talk about. And how he loved it there. Says ‘America is a den of iniquity.’”

  “Hakim’s not perfect, either. He planned to do the deed with Sabine. You guys aren’t married,” Weiss rationalized.

  She wanted to strangle Weiss. His implication made heat rise to her face.

  “Hoped to.” Tony’s hard tone challenged anyone to make another insinuation.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. She’d done it before—slept with a man she’d rather have killed. But she’d done what she had to do to get the job done and stay alive. And she would have slept with Hakim if she had no other choice.

  “We need you all looking for any mention of dates, locations. Anything that could be related. Anything out of the ordinary,” Grochowski instructed.

  “Our last option is to detain him at the airport to make sure he doesn’t flee the country,” Hollis said. “That would tip our hand, though.”

  The room remained silent as people filed out to go back to work. Detaining Hakim wouldn’t stop anything already in the works. The airline ticket told her Hakim didn’t want to be in the proximity of a dirty bomb, but would he talk to save himself? When the alternative meant spending the rest of his life in prison, no. Not without some form of torture—the line she’d swore she wouldn’t cross. Making him puke his guts out was nothing compared to things she’d seen in the past. But with so many lives at risk, would she sacrifice her moral high ground? Even suggest a specific form of torture?

  This morning’s meeting had derailed Angela’s train of thought. With so much on the line, it had taken her twice as long to translate the documents. And nothing had stood out. Maybe Weiss would see something she missed.

  As she approached his office, it was the moans of pleasure that stopped her more than the five people sandwiched inside.

  “We’ve got a potential dirty bomb threat, and you guys are watching porn? Unbelievable!” She shook her head at the men—and Becca—all facing Weiss’s computer, that now issued a woman’s accented voice.

  “Relax. It’s not even good porn.” Weiss grinned at her. “We’re following Grochowski’s orders. Seeing if there’s anything in the video that would explain your boyfriend’s interest in it.”

  “It could be because the woman looks and sounds like she’s from a Middle Eastern country. And he’s right, it’s not good porn.” Dominguez didn’t show the least trace of being embarrassed, unlike Liu, who had the good graces to tear his gaze from the screen. “Look. Seriously,” Dominguez continued when Angela crossed her arms and held her ground. �
�The woman looks like she’s drugged out.”

  “Probably some amateur who answered a casting call,” Weiss explained. “They’re desperate for money and their big break to stardom, so they believe the guy who tells them they only have to let someone touch them a little. Producer gives them something to help them relax. Next thing they remember is waking up and being given a couple of hundred bucks for a few hours of work. I worked human-trafficking cases here. Same ploy. I’m not totally devoid of scruples,” he admonished. “And get this. The name of the film is Den of Iniquity. See? Valid research.” He turned the screen to show her.

  “See what you can find on the stars of the film,” she suggested. “That may be helpful.”

  She disregarded the scantily clad body of the woman on the screen and studied her face. A pang of compassion rippled through her. And the tiniest bit of relief that Tony wasn’t in here watching the video. “I didn’t find any clues in these. Take a second look. Anything else you need me to take a look at? Besides the video.” She handed Weiss the documents.

  “Naw, I’m good. But this really is work.” He couldn’t quite keep a straight face.

  She understood the need to take a break from reading and translating Hakim’s documents. Her own eyes stopped focusing half an hour ago. She needed to get caffeine and clear her head. Okay, and a glimpse of Tony would help her get a second wind.

  In the break room, she slipped a dollar into the vending machine for a Butterfinger. Oh, seriously. She cursed the anonymous dolt who left enough for two swallows in the coffee pot. She poured it into a foam cup, dug out a new packet, then filled the machine with water. See, it’s not that hard people.

  While she waited for fresh brew, she twirled the cup in her hands. There might be coffee in the carafe in the conference room, though those guys were mainlining it. It gave her an excuse to go in, get her little bonus thrill.

  Her pulse quickened as she made her way down the hall. Breathe normally. You’re just getting coffee.