In Plain Sight by Hope Anika

Chapter Thirteen

It had been nearlytwenty-four hours since Max vaulted over the fence at the Bureau’s downtown office, disabled the CCTV, and placed surveillance equipment on his team’s vehicles: GPS trackers, listening devices, and a few tiny cameras for good measure.

He’d spent every minute since noting their activities: Moss—who should have been at goddamn work trying to uncover who had infiltrated his goddamn team—spent his Saturday drinking Arnold Palmers and playing golf with the Mayor; Lyssa—who also should have been working her ass off to find Max, if nothing else—had spent her day at a southside women’s shelter (volunteering, no doubt, which he found admirable, even if it annoyed the hell out of him); and finally, there was Lee Chang.

Lee was a small, slender, quiet Asian man.  Max had always found him to be contemplative, intelligent, and reliable.  He worked well with a team but could go it alone without any handholding.  He could also put down a man three times his size.  He was, by all accounts, happily married with three teenaged daughters.

For most of the day, Lee’s GPS had him running seemingly random errands—the hardware store, the bank, his daughters’ ballet class. Then he’d gone home and had dinner.

In contrast, Lyssa had attended an evening ceramics class—frigging ceramics? While her partner was AWOL and she was missing a federal witness? Was she serious?—and Moss had attended the mayor’s re-election dinner with his wife and son. Champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

The dick.

Did none of them care that they’d been infiltrated? That one of their own had been shot down? That they’d lost track of a kid who had a big, glowing target on her back?

What? The? Fuck?

Max couldn’t wrap his brain around it. He had to be missing something. And yet, thus far, he hadn’t found a single piece of incriminating evidence. No clandestine meetings or suspicious behavior; no smoking gun. Just people going about their lives, seemingly untouched by the violence that had erupted around them and ended one of their team.

They hadn’t even spotted him tailing them, and that was just pathetic.

Who were these people?

He’d spent a fair amount of time contemplating that question. Having his butt parked in a car for sixteen hours left plenty of time for reflection. He knew he should go back to his cheap, crappy motel room and regroup—being parked outside Lee’s sedate home was a waste of time—but that felt like defeat. Like being helpless. And Max hated feeling helpless. Too much of his childhood had been spent in that powerless state; something was always better than nothing.

And maybe, if he was lucky, the universe would drop a goddamn clue on his head.

The phone in his pocket began to vibrate, and he pulled it out. Linus.

“What have you got?” he demanded.

“I’m really good,” Linus said with heavy sarcasm. “Thanks for asking. How about you?”

“I’m waiting.”

“You’re such a jerk sometimes.”

You’re being a dickhead again.

Everyone was so frigging sensitive. “My apologies. I’m just trying to save a life.”

“And the rest of the time?”

A growl rumbled in his chest. Max knew he could be a first-rate asshole. It was a skill he’d always had, and one he’d honed to perfection.

Unfortunately, it usually worked against him.

“That’s what I thought,” Linus said and snorted. “I have some news. It’s not much—I need more time—but it’s a beginning.”

“Go.”

“That’s great news, Linus. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate it.”

Max snorted. “Get on with it.”

“Your Bureau needs way better security; it’s garbage. I thought the FBI hired, like, professionals. It was pathetically easy to get into the system.”

“Great,” Max muttered.

“And your fed buddies have turned over this whole nasty mess to the U.S Marshals Service—so you now have a dozen deputy marshals hunting your ass. And everyone is totally freaking out that you stole the kid.” Linus paused. “She okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Okay, cool. So, everyone’s crapping ducks. Some even think you’re Dolan’s boy.”

Which was unsurprising; he’d expected as much.

“Did you know McLean was going to roll over on big daddy Dolan?”

“Yes. Any idea who his handler was?”

“I found a bunch of emails between him and some agent and a pretty sweet plea agreement. And they say crime doesn’t pay—”

“Who was McLean talking to?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Don’t get your undies in a wad. Sheesh.”

“Who was he talking to?”

“He was talking to your boy who got hit at the safe house. Special Agent Les Farland.”

What the hell did that mean? Because Farland hadn’t said anything about being McLean’s contact. Nothing about a WITSEC deal, nothing about being his handler, nothing—not even when they’d stood next to his dead body. Not one goddamn word.

“I figure whoever outed McLean outed your safe house. And news flash: your dickweed boss’s name is on the plea agreement, so he definitely knew McLean was singing. That guy’s a total cockstand, you know that, don’t you? He’s claiming you went rogue, and you’re the Marshals’ problem now. No wonder you have such sad social skills; what kind of example is that? And then there’s your partner—Lyssa Valentine. An interesting woman. Did you know her file is sealed, and what little exists in the database is so heavily redacted, it’s unreadable?”

“How do you know that?” Max asked sharply.

“Because I’m a hacker. That’s why you blackmailed me, remember?”

“I didn’t blackmail you.”

“Just keep telling yourself that. Your girl’s file is locked up tight. But there was a reference in the redacted bit. It said: By Agency Order. I’m assuming that ‘Agency’ means, you know, men in black and water-boarding and rendition-type shit.”

Max’s blood grew cold. Lyssa was a good FBI agent; she wasn’t great. She couldn’t lie worth a damn, and she always erred on the side of caution. She was way too soft to be CIA. Too weak. Had she joined the Agency first and been unable to hack it? Had she screwed up and been demoted to the Bureau? Or was she the Agency’s effort to keep tabs on their homeland counterpart—with whom they rarely played nice?

Christ, what a cluster.

“Great,” he muttered.

“Yeah, it’s all pretty interesting. Next, we have Lee Chang. Nothing incriminating on him. He’s actually normal, except for his wife’s little problem.”

“Problem?”

“Potawatomi Casino. She takes the bus over during the day while he’s at work and loses his paycheck at the slots.”

Jesus.

“I’m going to dig deeper on Farland. For a dead guy, he’s got some serious cybersecurity. I’m also combing through the dispatch calls from that night, just in case something is interesting. Dolan’s security is like Fort-freaking-Knox, so that’s still in progress, too. I did find a book club run by Dolan’s old lady on Facebook. Get this, it’s called Sinful Selection. Guess that’s lady porn or something. I’m working on a list of the members. Might be nothing, but who knows? Like I said, this will take time. And I have to be careful.”

“I know,” Max said.

“That’s everything I have. I’ll check back in when there’s more. You getting anywhere?”

Nowhere fast. Time. It would all take time—which was something he didn’t have. He needed answers—evidence—so he would know who he could trust.

If anyone.

“Not yet,” Max said shortly. “Keep at it. See if you can find out who else McLean might have been talking to about Dolan.”

“Thanks a million, Linus. I know you’re putting your ass on the line for me, and I couldn’t do this without you.” Linus sighed. “And my mom says I’m the one without manners.”

Smart-assed kid.

“Be careful,” Max told him, both annoyed and amused. “Don’t get caught.”

“No shit.”

Linus hung up. Max slid his phone away, impatient, and painfully aware that he wasn’t getting anywhere.

Hurry up and wait.

Which was bad enough. But sitting around, ruminating, dredged up all kinds of other crap—like the look on Selena’s face when he’d walked away from her. The same look Fi had given him, all those years ago.

The one that said, I know you aren’t coming back.

That look had haunted him for years—mostly because it had been entirely accurate. Standing in front of her yesterday had forced him to feel the shame and guilt and sickening sense of loss he’d run from for years, and her rejection of his apology had been like a fist to the gut. Not that he could blame her, but goddamn.

Would they be able to get beyond where they were? Was it even possible to be family again? He wasn’t sure. No amount of determination would make any difference if she was done with him.

But she was helping him.

Surely that had to mean something?

He didn’t know. Not anything at all.

And if he couldn’t fix things with her, he’d never fix them with anyone else. Not Hatchet, or Ares, or, God help him, the one person he’d never forgiven himself for—

Not now. Later.

All bets, he realized, were off.

Despite the lengths he’d gone to in an effort to be his father’s antithesis; regardless of how carefully he’d molded his career, built his reputation, cultivated his success. None of what he’d worked so hard for meant a goddamn thing to him. His prize, nothing more than ash in his mouth.

Traded for truth. His truth.One he was no longer willing to turn his back on.

Which left only one direction he could go.

Forward.

No matter the cost.