Which meant he wasn’t as apathetic about the hand he’d been dealt as he let on.
“Isn’t it time you found out?” She pressed her point. “Don’t you want to know who was responsible for what happened that night?”
Silence. A slow, methodical shake of his head. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Stone walls, remember? That’s not happening.”
“But what if it could? What if I could make it happen? What if we could make it happen?”
He pushed out a laugh. “What? So . . . now you want to help me clear my name?”
“I want to clear Ramon’s name,” she said honestly. “I couldn’t care less about clearing yours.”
He laughed again. “You are such a charmer.”
“Don’t you want to read the files?” she hurried on, ignoring his cynicism.
“Sure, fine. So show them to me. Or wait . . . if I frisk you, will I find them myself?”
His eyes were smug and baiting. And he was enjoying himself far too much at her expense.
“You really think I’d compromise my investigation by traveling with the flash drive? It’s not on me. It’s in a safe place. Back in the States.”
When he looked thoughtful, she pressed her advantage.
“Look. I haven’t added it all up yet—I can’t add it up without hearing your full story. Detail by detail. Call by call. You were there. You know what really happened. Who was there, who called the shots, who had something to gain. But the bits and pieces I have uncovered tell me that if you were set up—”
“We’re back to if again? You should really do something about this little bipolar thing you’ve got going on.”
She couldn’t blame him for doubting her. “If someone set up the team and framed you they could still be active duty. They could still be running bogusreports to cover up other operations that are far from being in the interests of national security.”
He held up a hand. “Whoa. You a big Vince Flynn fan? Into spies and double-agent stories? Talk about a major leap,” he sputtered with a whole lot of cynicism.
Too much cynicism. So much that she knew he was actually thinking the very same thing but didn’t want to admit it. He struggled to hide it but he was interested. Real interested.
She decided to take a huge leap of faith. “Doors didn’t just slam in my face when I started asking questions. I can’t prove it, but I’m fairly certain that I’ve been followed.”
“Bipolar and paranoid. Throw in schizophrenic and you’ve hit the trifecta. They have padded rooms for people like you. Some of them even come with a view.” He touched a finger to his cheek again, winced.
“You think that didn’t cross my mind? That I wondered if I saw things where nothing existed? They were there. I’ve seen one too many cars, one too many times, behind me on the freeway or in my neighborhood. Sensed something out of place in my kitchen or my bedroom once too often.”
Just like she’d gotten that prickly sensation along the nape of her neck and that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that had her sleeping with her gun every single night.
He had that hard look in his eyes again. The one she’d started to recognize as stubborn but intrigued.
“So why not go to the CIA with your speculations? Or the FBI. DHS. Hell, pick the alphabet agency of your choice. Let them investigate.”
Of course she couldn’t do either, because she worked for one and the other would go straight to the very people who could be involved in the cover-up. If there was a cover-up.
“You know that’s not how it works. In the first place, it’s illegal for the CIA to conduct ops inside U.S. borders without special dispensation from the president. In the second, the Carter administration destroyed the CIA’s human-intelligence capabilities and the current administration has continued the war on the CIA. Third, the FBI has bigger fish to fry. Department of Homeland Security? Forget it. Besides, they’d never believe someone was after me.”
He
“Isn’t it time you found out?” She pressed her point. “Don’t you want to know who was responsible for what happened that night?”
Silence. A slow, methodical shake of his head. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Stone walls, remember? That’s not happening.”
“But what if it could? What if I could make it happen? What if we could make it happen?”
He pushed out a laugh. “What? So . . . now you want to help me clear my name?”
“I want to clear Ramon’s name,” she said honestly. “I couldn’t care less about clearing yours.”
He laughed again. “You are such a charmer.”
“Don’t you want to read the files?” she hurried on, ignoring his cynicism.
“Sure, fine. So show them to me. Or wait . . . if I frisk you, will I find them myself?”
His eyes were smug and baiting. And he was enjoying himself far too much at her expense.
“You really think I’d compromise my investigation by traveling with the flash drive? It’s not on me. It’s in a safe place. Back in the States.”
When he looked thoughtful, she pressed her advantage.
“Look. I haven’t added it all up yet—I can’t add it up without hearing your full story. Detail by detail. Call by call. You were there. You know what really happened. Who was there, who called the shots, who had something to gain. But the bits and pieces I have uncovered tell me that if you were set up—”
“We’re back to if again? You should really do something about this little bipolar thing you’ve got going on.”
She couldn’t blame him for doubting her. “If someone set up the team and framed you they could still be active duty. They could still be running bogusreports to cover up other operations that are far from being in the interests of national security.”
He held up a hand. “Whoa. You a big Vince Flynn fan? Into spies and double-agent stories? Talk about a major leap,” he sputtered with a whole lot of cynicism.
Too much cynicism. So much that she knew he was actually thinking the very same thing but didn’t want to admit it. He struggled to hide it but he was interested. Real interested.
She decided to take a huge leap of faith. “Doors didn’t just slam in my face when I started asking questions. I can’t prove it, but I’m fairly certain that I’ve been followed.”
“Bipolar and paranoid. Throw in schizophrenic and you’ve hit the trifecta. They have padded rooms for people like you. Some of them even come with a view.” He touched a finger to his cheek again, winced.
“You think that didn’t cross my mind? That I wondered if I saw things where nothing existed? They were there. I’ve seen one too many cars, one too many times, behind me on the freeway or in my neighborhood. Sensed something out of place in my kitchen or my bedroom once too often.”
Just like she’d gotten that prickly sensation along the nape of her neck and that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that had her sleeping with her gun every single night.
He had that hard look in his eyes again. The one she’d started to recognize as stubborn but intrigued.
“So why not go to the CIA with your speculations? Or the FBI. DHS. Hell, pick the alphabet agency of your choice. Let them investigate.”
Of course she couldn’t do either, because she worked for one and the other would go straight to the very people who could be involved in the cover-up. If there was a cover-up.
“You know that’s not how it works. In the first place, it’s illegal for the CIA to conduct ops inside U.S. borders without special dispensation from the president. In the second, the Carter administration destroyed the CIA’s human-intelligence capabilities and the current administration has continued the war on the CIA. Third, the FBI has bigger fish to fry. Department of Homeland Security? Forget it. Besides, they’d never believe someone was after me.”
He
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