Trust No One (Vista Security) Page 5

  “A couple of good reasons. One, the cause of death has been listed as natural; it mimics a stroke or a heart attack. And two, most of the senators are retired and don’t live in the D.C. area anymore, so it’s been difficult to connect the incidences.”

  “Are you sure it’s Tasha? Maybe the cause of death is natural. If they’re retired, they’re bound to be old. God knows most senators don’t leave the job until a foot’s in the grave anyway.”

  “We’re not one hundred percent positive. You can call it a hunch.”

  “No proof? You’re wasting my time then.”

  “You telling me you don’t believe in hunches?”

  “Momma, momma. High, high.”

  MJ shifted her attention to Angel. “There you go sweetie.” She gave the swing another shove before she turned back to Ben. “I believe in my own hunches, and right now it’s telling me I’m not going to be able to help you. Sorry.”

  “You don’t sound too sorry. Maybe you’re holding out.”

  “Why would I bother? Tasha’s a big girl, more than capable of taking care of herself, and cleaning up any mess she makes. I mean figuratively of course.”

  “You could say it literally, too. The crime scenes are clean.”

  “Then you really have nothing to go on. Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

  MJ turned back to Angel, signaling the issue settled, but Ben obviously had other ideas. He moved into her personal space, and wrapped his hand around her bicep. Once more his touch sent a sharp spark of heat through her, even through her layers of clothes. Had to be purely imagined, she reasoned. Still, she frowned, not liking her body’s reaction. When she slowly raised her gaze to meet his, he made his point.

  “I’m not the one who’s going to need luck. You are.”

  His words snapped her focus away from unwanted sexual awareness and straight to the reason he was in Whiddon. MJ narrowed her eyes. This whole situation was starting to piss her off. “That better not mean what I think it does.”

  “And they told me you were sharp.”

  She jerked away. “I’m retired.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Like hell.”

  Ben knew he could have been more subtle but she was damned prickly and her constant defensiveness presented more challenges than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t her inappropriate sense of humor—she was right, in this business a sense of the bizarre, a way to find humor was a necessity to stay sane.

  This was too often a shit business and it was about to get shittier. His frustration stemmed more from his orders rather than her. With what he knew about her, plus her devotion to that baby. . .it was going to be damn hard to continue as he’d been directed. Better to let her think he had no sense of humor.

  Because if she didn’t agree to go after Tasha, he had no choice but to be heartless.

  He mentally shrugged. If her opinion of him started low, it wouldn’t be a shock for it to sink lower. “Can we go back to your apartment and talk?”

  “I don’t have anything more to say.”

  “Look, it’ll be dark soon. You’ll have to go home in a few minutes. When you do, I’ll just park on your doorstep.”

  She pierced him with a sharp stare that gave him the impression she wished for an equally sharp knife to maybe carve out his heart. Yeah, just wait until she heard the plans if she refused, then he’d really have to watch out for a sharp knife. He bet she had a good aim.

  Finally, with her feet planted squarely beneath her shoulders she said, “You’re not invited to dinner.”

  “Fair enough. We don’t have to be friends, MJ, but I’ve got to have your help.” He clenched his fists and thought how much more tolerable life had been when his hands were holding a bottle.

  “My daughter isn’t ready to leave yet.”

  Ben didn’t want to stay any longer, in spite of his threats to do just that. “How about I meet you at your apartment in an hour?”

  Resignation sank deep into her eyes. “Okay.”

  “Since you’re not going to feed me, where’s a good place to eat?” Food would take his urge off the need to drink as well. Every day he fought that urge. It was funny how Southern Comfort had become such a necessary comfort. Or maybe not so funny.

  MJ didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Roy’s Diner. Ask for Paula.”

  * * *

  Another One Bites The Dust.

  The song blared out of Tasha’s speakers, the bass so heavy it shook her Porsche.

  She drove on through the night, listening to the music, the song now part of her ritual. She held herself rigid behind the steering wheel, her focus on the road ahead. Driving away from the latest victim, moving forward toward the next. Of course, not straight to the next victim. Each one took time and meticulous planning. And pretty soon if her theory—Ed’s theory really—was right, someone at Vista should catch on, if they hadn’t already, and send an agent after MJ.

  Help. It would be nice to have more help, Tasha thought. Definitely not the kind Vista would want from MJ, but either way Tasha didn’t want MJ involved. Little sis had a new direction in life now. Still, Tasha knew well enough that the mystery person at Vista was going to try and drag MJ into a fight not hers.

  Tasha had already dragged her little brother Nikolai into the mess. Sent him on a mission to run down the Russian angle. That he’d disappeared, hadn’t been in touch with her for over a week now caused a worrisome niggle to tighten her chest. No time to find Niko now though. Had to keep moving.

  Before she regrouped, Tasha needed to send a warning message for MJ to stay away. And then back to focusing on the goal that drove Tasha ever forward. The senators.

  Failure was not an option.

  Adrenaline seeped out of her body leaving Tasha struggling to keep her eyes open. Still more to go. More to do.

  After she’d driven a hundred miles, the first of many, Tasha started looking for a fast food place. The dumpsters were emptied often, so evidence quickly disappeared. She made a practice to divide up the trash from a job—wig, wipes she cleaned evidence with, used condom if there was one in a zip lock with bleach—between several dumpsters over a span of two or three hundred miles.

  Tonight, as the adrenaline drained, the familiar queasy feeling started, worse than usual. She’d learned early on to avoid eating before a job if she could help it, but this evening she’d played the part of a call girl, and the senator had wanted her on his arm at dinner.

  She sipped bottled water, swallowing carefully; hoping the food threatening to come up would stay down. Normally, she followed a pattern. First, she found a Jack-In-the Box. Then McDonalds. Last Wendy’s. But tonight she didn’t have time to stick with her routine. Any fast food place would suffice.

  At last she found one.

  With the late hour, only the drive through was open, which didn’t matter one way or another. She was only interested in the dumpster at the back of the thankfully deserted parking lot. She slid her car into a parking place, her stomach roiling. No bathroom here, no time to make it if there was one. She opened the door, stumbled out. Half walking, half crawling, using her hands for balance, she made it behind the dumpster before she lost the gourmet food she’d eaten.

  More water would be nice; at least to rinse out her mouth and soothe her raw throat, but to get back to her car would take too much effort. At the moment, she could only hang her head, her stomach still jumping, but empty now.

  As her senses came back into working order she noticed the night sounds. A lone car swooshed by on the road in front of the restaurant. A train whistled, a distant far away sound. The cold wind rustled the leaves of decorative Yaupon trees making her teeth chatter. Lonely, eerie sounds made her shiver with the spooky feeling she was alone, one against the world.

  And then she heard the scratching. A noise close to the dumpster. Probably nothing more than a rat, but enough to let her know she wasn’t alone after all.

  Rats weren’t a favorite of hers. She’d killed her
share of the human kind, including the one tonight. She’d even eaten one furry kind, an experience she didn’t want to repeat. The thought made her stomach roll again.

  Definitely time to change scenery. But when she moved to get up, a low growl made her freeze. Rats didn’t growl.

  She squinted into the dark, there, by the edge of the dumpster. A shape about the size of a large rat, only this rodent looked like a ball of black fur with pointy ears and a bushy tail curving over his back. No rat, but a furry little dog. He was chewing on the remains of a hamburger. He met her eyes and growled again.

  “Am I disturbing your dinner? Or would it be breakfast?” He only stared but when she pushed to her feet, he came up on all four feet, hair raised and answered with another threatening rumble.

  “And aren’t you just the little killer dog?” With teeth bared, the sounds coming from his throat would have given her pause if he were big. “Don’t worry. I won’t swipe your food. I just got rid of my own.”

  She wobbled away on shaky legs. The dog, apparently deciding she was no longer a threat, went back to eating his food. “Bye, dog.”

  When she made it to her car she reached through the open door for the water bottle, rinsed her mouth, and took a cautious drink, hoping it stayed down this time. Her stomach settled, but now her body shivered as the cold dark night sank through her defenses.

  She dropped her head back onto the seat, clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from chattering until she found the energy to start the car and leave. God. It was getting harder each time, but this time, so far, was the worst. She tried to avoid sex, but sometimes it was unavoidable. She felt dirty, longed for a shower, considered dumping the water bottle over her body, but she didn’t relish turning into an icicle.

  The dog wandered up to the edge of the dumpster, and sat licking his lips. She lifted her head and looked around, saw no sign of water for him. She figured the little guy might be thirsty.

  With an act of compassion she couldn’t explain except that he was a cute little ball of fur, she struggled back out of the car with her water bottle. Perhaps doing an act of kindness for a helpless creature would erase some of her many sins.

  With wide dark eyes, he watched her. Having no container, she made a cup with one hand, poured the water. “C’mere, little guy. Or are you a girl? You act more like a guy though. Whatever, do you want a drink?”

  The lips pulled back in another snarl.

  “Oh, you’re not really all that tough, are you?” She proved it by moving closer and the dog scooted back. “You’re one of those kind of guys that’s all talk no action, aren’t you? I’ve dated a few of those men.”

  The dog still stared, and she blew out a breath. “It’s water, dog. Not poison. I’m not into killing dogs. Only nasty old senators.” Tasha smiled grimly as she realized she was holding a one-sided conversation with a four-legged creature that probably had a brain the size of a pea. Like the typical man.

  “Okay, dog, last chance. I have to be going. Drink now, or go thirsty.” He stood, took a step forward as if he understood her. Maybe his brain was bigger than a pea. Which would put him a class above most men she knew.

  He moved close enough to sniff her hand, decided she was safe and a tiny pink tongue darted out as he lapped the water. “Hey, that tickles.”

  She poured more water into her hand, and the dog drank with enthusiasm now. Tasha set the bottle on the ground and reached out a hand to pat his head. “Good dog.”

  He sat on his haunches as if he’d been trained. His lips spread back, showing his teeth again; this time it seemed closer to a smile. Tasha blinked. Yes, it really did look like he was smiling.

  She smiled herself. “Have a nice night, dog.” She patted him on the head once more and stood.

  The dog barked, a silly squeaky yap considering how tough he sounded with his growl.

  “Yeah, good bye to you, too.”

  She tossed the water bottle into her car, wiped off her wet hand on her slacks. She’d been slobbered on by worse, too. Tonight for instance.

  The dog whining interrupted her thoughts. “What?”

  He whined some more and wagged his tail so hard his butt wiggled.

  “You want to go?”

  Another yap.

  Tasha considered it. Probably a bad idea, but with his big bat wing ears and pointy little nose, he was awfully cute. If he turned out to be more trouble than he was worth, she could drop him off at a humane society. That would be a better place than living outside of a dumpster.

  She knelt and held out her hands. “Wanna come with me, dog? I got no one else. Looks like you don’t either.”

  To her surprise, he came right to her. She picked him up, his warm wiggly body offering immediate comfort. She might like having a dog at that.

  “All right. Guess you’re going to be my new partner.”

  Tasha didn’t usually work with a partner. Her assignments most often included using her body as a distraction, and a partner was a detriment when she was trying to get a mark to focus on her breasts.

  The one time she worked with a partner, he’d been a religious man. Matt was nice to work with, one of the few men who never tried to get into her pants. Of course, he’d been married, but her experience the ring on the finger didn’t often make a difference with some men. It had with him. Which made it tragic when he lost his wife. After that, he retired not only from the job but from life as well—and he learned to hate Tasha.

  Once, when discussing his beliefs, before the. . .tragedy, Tasha questioned how he justified what he did on the job. Killing was sometimes a necessity in their line of work, and she knew most religions frowned on killing.

  His response had been unique. “Vengeance might be the Lord’s,” he’d told her. “But I’m the instrument.” He held an unwavering belief that what he did for his job would make the world a better place. Of course, that had changed.

  But now, Tasha shared his belief. She might not be on an official assignment but she was making the world a better place.

  She put the dog in the passenger seat with another pat on his head, shut her door.

  “Hang on,” she told him, and yes, she’d definitely seen it was a boy. Figured. Males were attracted to her. Sometimes an asset, more often a pain in the ass.

  She started the engine. Another One Bites The Dust blared out of the car speakers. The song brought her mission back to mind as she turned onto the road and drove onward to the next destination.

  Vengeance might be the Lord’s, all right. But this time Tasha was the instrument.

  Chapter 4

  “I’d like to welcome you to–”

  The phone rang, interrupting Dave Armstrong’s new boss Jeff Jones, who excused himself to take the call. Dave, looking at the interior of the office of the head of Vista Security, too eerily similar to his former boss’s office at the FBI, pondered the new direction he had taken with his life. He’d turned in his resignation to the FBI the day after the fiasco with the Peruzzo crime family, with no real idea of what he’d do next. He just knew that after the rules he’d bent, all in the name of bringing Carlo down, that staying with the FBI wasn’t an option. Even if the investigation had proved him innocent of any wrongdoing, Dave knew he’d veered off the straight-and-narrow.

  “Sorry for that.” Jeff apologized, disconnecting the call. “Unavoidable.”

  “Trouble?” Although he’d tried not to listen, Dave had gathered from the tone that the call hadn’t made Jeff happy.

  “Yes, and part of the reason I wanted to meet with you. Other than to welcome you on board, give you the new hire speech. Although with you, I’ll let you know we’re not as restrictive as what you’re used to, we have more leeway without the government constantly pinching our ass.”

  Dave raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. He knew what Jeff meant. Dave’s creative solution to the Peruzzo deal attracted Vista’s interest. He also didn’t bother with any niceties either, like “thanks for the welcome, or non-welcome�
�� as it turned out. Instead, he sat patiently, waiting for Jeff to expand.

  His boss came right to the point. “At this moment, you’ve joined us mid-crisis. We’ve got a rogue agent and a missing agent.”

  “Two different agents?” Dave clarified, not immediately understanding Jeff’s wording.

  “Yes.”

  “If the rogue agent isn’t missing, then why is he–”

  “She,” Jeff corrected.

  Interesting. “She,” Dave amended with a nod. “Then why is she rogue? Can’t she be brought in?”

  “We’re in the process. I guess you could say she’s missing as well, but we are pulling in an agent to bring her in.”

  “And this agent knows where the rogue agent is?”

  Jeff picked up a pen and began twirling it between his fingers. “Maybe. This agent is retired, but I’m hoping the two are still in contact.”

  “Former partners?”

  “No. Sisters.”

  That made Dave straighten his spine. “Sisters?”

  “No not really. But they were raised as sisters when their families were killed in an automobile accident. Their dads both worked for the CIA. Ed took them in, then being Ed, he raised them for the business.”

  Dave knew Ed founded Vista when he left the CIA, and being childless he had adopted three kids–“Wait a minute. I know who you’re talking about. One of them was injured not too long ago, a bad job in Italy? She almost died?” It had been such a big deal, even all the up-and-up ABC agencies had heard about the Italian job gone wrong.

  “Yes. A little over a year ago.”

  At this, Jeff stopped twirling the pen and began tapping it on the desk, which Dave found quite annoying. Fortunately, Jeff seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped.

  “MJ Thornberg,” Jeff continued. “She saved our asses when her partner went bad. Our extraction team just barely got there in time to pull her out and keep her alive.”

  Italy. The thought brought Marisa to mind. Dave wished it hadn’t. Such a short time together, and yet what a powerful influence she had over him. Not for the better. Still, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, couldn’t stop missing her. With a precision he was still practicing, he shut off the memory and focused on the job at hand. “It’s been a year already?”