Conspiracy (Alex and Cassidy Book 4) Read online

  Alex closed her eyes and exhaled. Cassidy was often the only thing that could silence the constant spinning of her thoughts. Sometimes, it only required a glance from across the room. Cassidy would sense Alex’s growing anxiety and smile from a distance at her. The whirlwind that was Alex’s mind would slow its pace. Other times, when Alex's emotions began to dance with her reasoning, Cassidy would reach out and lay a gentle hand on Alex’s arm, stifling all of Alex’s thought in an instant. Alex relaxed under Cassidy’s caress.

  “I’m here,” Cassidy whispered. “No matter what. I’ll always be here,” she promised.

  Alex pulled Cassidy to her. She sighed and let her thoughts wander. It was impossible for Alex to fathom her father’s actions. He was a complete puzzle to her. For years, he had left Alex feeling cold and inadequate. Over the last two years, she had discovered sides of Nicolaus Toles that perplexed her. Her mother had attempted to fill in some of the gaps. Alex remained apprehensive where her father was concerned. At times, Alex would find herself looking at Mackenzie or listening to Dylan and wonder how any parent could deliberately pull away from their child. There was nothing and no one in the world that Alex Toles loved more than her family, her wife and her children. Sometimes, she wished for a simpler life, one that brought her home at five in the evening each day. That had never been Alex’s life, but at times, she found the thought appealing. Home grounded her. Home was a refuge from the ills that often plagued her days. When Alex found herself doubting that humanity could save itself after confronting the selfishness and greed in the world, she would wander into one of her children’s rooms and watch as they slept peacefully. She would listen in the distance as Cassidy sang to Mackenzie or read to Dylan. It gave her a sense of hope and possibility. Alex smiled as her thoughts turned yet again.

  Cassidy felt Alex chuckle against her cheek. “What are you thinking?” she asked. Alex did not answer. “Alex?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about football.”

  Cassidy shook her head and kissed Alex’s chest. “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” Alex asked innocently.

  “Maybe we could finish training before we add to the team,” Cassidy suggested.

  Alex laughed. “First rule in training, Cass.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Recruits learn more from each other than from you,” Alex said.

  Cassidy laughed and smacked Alex’s stomach playfully. “We’ll negotiate, coach.”

  “Oh, it’s gonna cost me, isn’t it?” Alex replied. She could not see Cassidy’s smirk in the now darkened room. “Cass?”

  Cassidy smiled against Alex and bit back her laughter. If Alex could, Cassidy was certain that she would assemble an entire football team with their children. In the midst of upheaval, chaos, and loss, the family they had created always served to remind them both of what mattered most—this was it. No one could ever take that away from them. Cassidy was confident of that.

  “Cass?” Alex called to her wife nervously.

  “Go to sleep, coach. I need my rest with all this recruiting you’ve got going on.”

  Alex snuggled closer to her wife. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you too,” Cassidy answered. “Now, go to sleep. I’m serious about the rest.”

  Alex laughed. She banished all thoughts of the father she had always wished to impress and failed to understand. Cassidy was right. There were things Alex needed to say. There would be bridges she would inevitably have to cross. Home always awaited her. Home meant family. That family had grown. She closed her eyes and let herself begin to drift away. “Just be safe, Jonathan. Please,” she offered a silent prayer. “Just be safe.”

  Chapter Five

  February 26th

  “I was surprised to get your call,” Claire Brackett said as she stretched her legs out in front of her and reclined on the small sofa in her home.

  “Nice to see you too,” Agent Anderson replied with a chuckle.

  “I’m sure it is,” she winked at him. “So? What can I do for the NSA?” she asked.

  “As usual, your arrogance is charming,” Anderson noted.

  Claire shrugged. “Do we need wine for this?” she asked him. “We’re not on the clock, are we?”

  “We don’t punch clocks,” he reminded her playfully.

  Claire stood and stretched her long form like a cat about to go on the prowl. She moaned appreciatively at the pull in her muscles and smiled amusingly at Anderson. Anderson intrigued her. There were only a handful of people that Claire Brackett respected. Unfortunately for her, most of them had become adversaries—formidable adversaries. Anderson was an unknown quantity. Technically, his designation was NSA. Technicalities mattered little in Claire Brackett’s world. Every agent technically reported to someone, and more often than not their loyalty could be found elsewhere. She padded carelessly to the kitchen with Anderson trailing casually behind.

  “You know, you might want to slow down with that,” Anderson cautioned as Claire began opening a bottle of wine.

  Claire turned the corkscrew smoothly, freeing the plug, pulled down a glass and filled it. She swished the red liquid gently and smile lasciviously at the man in her kitchen. Slowly, she brought the glass to her lips, taking a moment to allow the soft aroma of plum and vanilla to tickle her nose. She lifted the glass to her lips, glancing over its top at Anderson, who was leaning against the wall. Anderson grinned at Claire’s blatant seductiveness.

  “Does that work for you?” he asked her lightheartedly.

  “Normally.”

  Anderson nodded. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked past Claire casually. Claire watched as Anderson sniffed the cork from the bottle appreciatively. He raised a brow and smirked at Claire as he moved to pour the contents of the bottle down her sink.

  Claire pouted. “Waste not, want not,” she sighed.

  “I’m not sure you know what you want,” Anderson said.

  Claire chuckled. “I wanted wine.”

  Anderson’s expression darkened. “Is that right? That’s what drives you, Claire? Wine?”

  “It’s dependable,” she explained. Anderson pursed his lips and nodded. He snatched the glass from Claire’s hand and tossed its contents into the sink. “Hey!” Claire complained.

  “If you are looking for dependable, perhaps you should consider a dog.”

  “When did you get a sense of humor?” Claire asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “What is it that you want, Marcus? Why do I find it hard to believe Joshua Tate sent you here?”

  “Maybe because he didn’t. He doesn’t trust me. He certainly doesn’t trust you,” Anderson said.

  “That’s fair. I don’t trust you either. Then again, I don’t trust anyone,” Claire said flatly.

  “I’m not sure that is true.” Claire dismissed his assertion with a roll of her eyes. “What is it that you are looking for?”

  “Me?” Claire asked. “What do I want?”

  “Yes.”

  Claire sighed dramatically. “I told you—waste not, want not. You want something in this world, Marcus, you take it before someone takes it from you. Lesson one? Someone is always ready to take it from you,” she told him as she turned to retrieve another bottle of wine.

  “Yes, they are. And what if, someone wanted to take the only thing you wanted at all?” he asked her.

  “I’ve never been into monogamy,” Claire returned.

  Anderson chuckled. “The bedroom is not the only place for conquest.”

  Claire turned with a smirk. “I can be flexible.”

  “I’m sure,” Anderson said. “Storm is brewing,” he said.

  “Storms are always brewing,” Claire dismissed him as she turned back to her project and opened the bottle of wine.

  “Yes, but not all of them are headed straight for the one thing you care about.”

  Claire spun on her heels. “She made her choice.”

  “And now, you will have to mak
e yours.”

  ***

  Steven Brady walked into a small room. James McCollum sat behind a metal desk, his wire-rimmed glasses sitting precariously on the tip of his nose as he studied a paper in front of him. Brady stared at the older man silently. Brady was positive that McCollum had sensed his presence long before he stepped through the doorway. McCollum did not avert his gaze from the paper in his hand.

  “And? How is Mr. O’Brien?” McCollum asked evenly,

  Brady remained still. He had spent more than two hours in the company of Christopher O’Brien. He had pushed the former congressman to the limits of human tolerance mentally and physically. As ordered, Brady had bent O’Brien as far as he could without breaking him completely. The experience had left a multitude of burning questions in Steven Brady’s mind. O’Brien had reacted exactly as any seasoned agent would have been taught that a weaker person without any training would react. He had pleaded. He had begged. He had offered what Brady was certain was erroneous information without any relevance—information that implicated known figures. That was the problem. The entire exchange was textbook. Brady had felt at more than one juncture as if he were back in a training exercise. Nothing unexpected happened. After years in this line of work, the one thing that Steven Brady had come to expect was the unexpected. Nothing was ever textbook.

  “Who exactly is Christopher O’Brien?” Brady asked, a hint of accusation coloring his voice.

  McCollum folded the piece of paper in his hands and slid it into a small envelope. He removed his glasses, folded them deliberately and set them on the desk. McCollum looked across at the younger man and extended the envelope forward. Brady looked at the man across from him curiously. He took a step toward the unflinching, expressionless man and accepted the envelope. Brady opened it and retrieved the same piece of paper that McCollum had been perusing just seconds before.

  McCollum smiled at the questioning eyes before him. “I trust you know how to proceed,” McCollum said.

  Brady was puzzled. “Why now?” he asked the older man.

  “Why not now?”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Brady asked.

  “Tell you why you are being called in now? I suspect you can draw the right conclusions about that.”

  “No, tell me who O’Brien is.”

  McCollum nodded. “Who do you think he is?” he asked Brady.

  “He’s not who he’s led us to believe. There is something you are not telling me. He anticipated every move I made.”

  “That is interesting.”

  “Jim…”

  “You have your orders, Agent Brady.”

  “You are leading them here, aren’t you? Why?” Brady asked.

  “So concerned about the whys. Worry about the now, Steven,” McCollum advised.

  “What about….”

  “I will deal with my former son-in-law.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Brady asked.

  “Quite a lot, actually. Quite a lot.”

  ***

  February 28th

  “What are we doing exactly?” Fallon asked. Hawkins held him back with her hand and kept her eyes locked on movement across the street. “Hawkins, do you really think some ambassador is going to hold a clandestine meeting in an alley?” he whispered.

  Charlie Hawkins had been working in covert operations for most of her adult life. She’d seen the most unlikely scenarios play out before her. But, that was not why she had led her new partner here. Hawkins had often reasoned that espionage was a great deal like a massive game of hide and seek. To be victorious, you had to discover the whereabouts of your opponents. As you uncovered their secrets, you drafted them to become your allies, until one by one each participant was revealed. She heard Fallon groan quietly and forced herself not to laugh at his impatience. She smiled triumphantly when a figure began to grow larger in her sight.

  “He’s here,” she said.

  “Daniels?”

  “Not exactly,” Hawk pulled on Fallon’s arm until he came even with her.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  Hawk’s grin grew wider. “Glad you could make it,” she said.

  “You could have let me sleep for a few hours,” the man replied.

  “What the hell?” Fallon muttered in disbelief.

  “Nice to see you too Agent Fallon. Last time I saw you, you had a gun pointed at your head.”

  “It was you?” Fallon asked in disbelief.

  “You’re welcome,” Steven Brady replied.

  “What the hell is going on?” Fallon looked at the pair before him.

  Hawk shrugged. She turned to Brady with a smile. “Buy you a drink in our old haunt?” she asked Brady.

  “Sounds agreeable,” he said.

  Hawk and Brady began walking toward a seedy bar that lay at the far end of the alley.

  Fallon looked at the two agents suspiciously. They appeared to be friends. That caused him concern. He called after the pair. “Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

  Brady and Hawk turned abruptly to find Fallon standing firmly in place. Brady shrugged and looked at Hawk. “Better make his a double,” he surmised playfully. He noted the determination in Brian Fallon’s eyes. “Trust me, Fallon, you might need more than a double for this.” Without another word, Brady placed his arm around Hawk’s shoulders and the two continued their stroll down the alleyway.

  Fallon watched from a distance for a moment, considering his options. As far as anyone he knew was concerned, Agent Steven Brady was dead. Moreover, the agent’s motivation and loyalty had been in serious question. Why, Fallon wondered, would Brady reappear now? If what he claimed was true, why did he save Fallon from Michael Taylor’s gun only to run away? It made no sense. Fallon shook his head slightly and began following behind. He momentarily considered calling Alex before continuing. Something was clawing at the back of his mind, warning him to listen before he made that call. Fallon doubted that Alex would be thrilled at the news of his new partner, and he was positive given both Hawkins’ and Taylor’s demeanor that Alex had not been apprised of that decision. Brady added another wrinkle. Alex had considered the NSA agent a trusted friend. Fallon sighed heavily as his feet dragged toward the bar’s back door. Betrayal was something a person never got used to. He stopped just shy of the door and contemplated the parties awaiting him. “What the hell is going on?” Fallon took a deep breath and opened the door. He scanned the small room, taking in the tacky red leather booths and chairs, the worn pool tables, graffiti behind the bar, and noted the stale stench that years of alcohol spills, and other fluids produced. He caught sight of his compatriots sitting at a small booth in the corner and forced the roiling of his stomach to abate. “Well, one thing’s for sure, we aren’t finding any ambassadors here,” he mumbled.

  ***

  Alex stopped outside Mackenzie’s room to listen to Cassidy holding a conversation with their daughter.

  “You will love the cabin, Kenzie. It’s Mommy’s favorite place away from home. You know why?” Cassidy asked Mackenzie rhetorically. Mackenzie blew some bubbles and giggled. “Mmm. Because, Kenz, it was Grandpa’s favorite place to take her. That’s how Mommy learned to ski. Shhh. That’s our secret, though. Momma doesn’t know how well Mommy can ski,” Cassidy whispered.

  Alex stepped into the room. “Holding out on me, hey?” Alex asked. Cassidy spun around with Mackenzie in her arms. “I thought we agreed—no secrets,” Alex said as sternly as she could manage.

  Cassidy rolled her eyes. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

  “Afraid I will beat you in a downhill challenge?” Alex asked.

  Cassidy pursed her lips and shook her head. “No more than I am that I could beat you in a hurdle race, coach.”

  “Ouch,” Alex laughed. “You’re that good, huh?”

  Cassidy shrugged as Alex reached out for Mackenzie. “I can hold my own.”

  Cassidy did not talk a great deal about her ability. In fact, she ha
d not skied once since Alex had met her. Rose had taken Dylan to the cabin she owned in Maine a few times, and she had offered it to Nicky. Alex’s younger brother had jumped at the chance to take Cat and Dylan for a weekend. Alex had jumped at the chance for alone time with Cassidy. Dylan loved to ski. He talked about it constantly—skiing, soccer, and airplanes—Dylan’s passions. He had been talking for weeks about the coming trip and how his mother would finally be able to ski with him this season. All of it piqued Alex’s curiosity.

  “Come on, Cass, your Mom brags all the time about it. I thought she was kidding about the Olympic thing.”

  “She was exaggerating,” Cassidy said.

  “Really?” Alex asked doubtfully.

  “I never wanted to compete.”

  “But, you could have,” Alex guessed.

  “I guess so. Probably. My dad was an expert,” Cassidy explained. “He started teaching me as soon as I could stand.”

  Alex noted the melancholy in Cassidy’s voice. “Cass?”

  “I didn’t ski for three years after he died,” Cassidy explained. “And then, I don’t know, I just lost the desire. I liked to ski by myself—just me. It made me feel closer to him. It was our thing. I didn’t want to share that with anyone, I guess.”

  “You sure you are okay with going to the cabin this weekend?”

  “Yeah, I am. It’s been too long. It’ll be good for us all. Dylan has Monday and Tuesday off. He’s been begging Mom. Besides, I think your mom is looking forward to it.”

  “All true, but what about you?” Alex asked.

  “I just miss him when I am there sometimes,” Cassidy said. “I know it’s stupid after all these years. I just always feel like he should be there—like he’s going to walk through that door any minute. Crazy, I know.”

  Alex shook her head and looked at Mackenzie, who was reaching for Alex’s ponytail. “Not crazy at all, Cass.”

  “What about you? I thought you were headed to the office today?”

  Alex grimaced slightly. “I have a meeting tomorrow morning.”

  “Problems?” Cassidy asked. Alex’s lips turned into a crooked smile. Cassidy sighed.