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Tate had lost her. If he was angry enough to deal with Tate himself, then they would finally see face-to-face one of the most dangerous cyberterrorists in the world. It was possible his “mistake” would bring an end to the chase they’d been on for two years and an op that had forced Tate undercover, infiltrating the small band of street thugs who did the dirty work of the mysterious hacker in this area of the country. It was easier to get into Isaac’s good graces as muscle-for-hire in his low-level gang than to go straight for an audience with the king.
He could almost taste the end of a reign of terror for the unnamed criminal who had stolen lives, financed terror attacks and infiltrated the US military. Bringing him to justice would be a pleasure.
Isaac and his crew thought Tate was off somewhere licking his wounds, that he was doing things even his imagination refused to think. He’d make his way to Isaac’s in the morning, probably to find a drug-fueled party in full swing.
He could worry about Isaac later. Right now, he had to call in and report. And, if he could convince his team leader, perhaps he’d get permission to fill Meghan in on the op. Maybe together they could find out why she was targeted and why an international terrorist had hacked something as low level as a Christian school in central Michigan. Tapping into the school’s unsecured network had been the mistake that had allowed Tate’s team to zero in on him. It could all be another elaborate trap, like their last mission. Or it could be a fatal mistake on their target’s part.
He dialed Captain Ethan Kincaid’s number, and the team leader answered on the first ring. “You safe? From our end, it seemed your phone took a joyride.”
“I am, but we’ve got a wrinkle.”
“Not a big one, I hope.” Ethan was never going to be patient with anything that held them back. The hacker they were chasing had nearly killed Ethan’s now-wife and his best friend, Sean Turner. This was personal for Tate’s team leader.
“Meghan McGuire.”
The silence from Ethan’s end of the phone was telling. It was long seconds before he said anything. “Captain Meghan McGuire? Your partner?”
“The same.”
“How did you come across her?”
Tate thumbed his cheek, where a dull ache persisted in the spot Meghan’s fist had met. He needed sleep. Soon. But it probably wasn’t coming. “I wish I knew. Our hacker sent word two days ago for us to grab an asset. No name, just a description and a location to be determined. We were to sit on go until he knew there was an opportunity. This afternoon we got a location and a time. When we went in, it was her.”
“Our hacker wants her bad enough to pull her right off the street? Why?”
“No idea.” Tate gave a quick rundown of the events leading to Meghan’s staged escape. “But I want Ashley to dig into everything Meghan’s done since she left the army.” The request made his muscles tighten. Checking on his former partner was a necessary precaution, though not an easy one. At least Ashley could handle it, and it wouldn’t have to go through any channels that might raise red flags elsewhere.
Ethan’s wife, Ashley, ran Colson Solutions, a high-level technology consultant firm that also employed former team member Sean Turner. Ashley and Sean could do nearly anything with tech, stuff Tate would never understand. They’d been outmatched once, by the very hacker they were currently pursuing. The hacker Ashley had nicknamed Phoenix, like the mythological bird. Every time they thought they’d destroyed him, he showed up again.
And he was somehow always watching, always two steps ahead of them.
“You don’t think she’s working for Phoenix?” Ethan’s voice held skepticism. Back in the day, they’d all worked together in one form or another; the bond formed by their small unit was a strong one.
Tate prayed hard Meghan was still the woman he’d once known, prayed she hadn’t somehow flipped to the dark side. After all, she’d been his partner, the person he’d trusted with his life, the woman who he’d once counted as his best friend. “It’s been over four years since I last saw her but...no.”
“Probably we both need to step back and let a third party evaluate this one.” Ethan’s unspoken suspicions came through loud and clear.
“I’m not too close to her.” Tate could hear the fight in his own voice. “Unless Ashley unearths something shocking, I’m not going to treat Meghan as though she’s a suspect. If I got tangled in something, you’d come to me before you sent in the hounds, and I’m doing the same for her. I need permission to fill her in so we can get some answers.”
Ethan blew out a loud breath. He knew he’d lost this round to Tate and to all of their shared histories. “Fine, but use your judgment. Four years is a long time and people change. You should know better than anybody.”
How dare he speak to her as if he had some kind of authority? It was her life in danger, her past popping up all over the place. Meghan stopped at the window by the front door, holding Tate’s pistol tightly. She struggled to grab on to sanity, because it was rapidly slipping, muddying reality with dreams and nightmares.
She couldn’t lose her grip now. She had to face reality. Tate couldn’t tell her anything because she was nobody. It was true. When she’d walked away, she had relinquished the right to know. Having him stand before her and stonewall her hurt more than she cared to admit.
Meghan lifted the edge of the blinds and peeked through, needing another minute, but Tate wasn’t standing where she’d left him. She clenched her jaw, the tension in her head throbbing. It shouldn’t have been this way. Finding out he was alive should have been joyful, the promise of a new chance, not conflicting and angry and confusing.
Meghan dropped the blinds with a clatter and squared her shoulders. Confusing was the key word. Nothing about this day made sense, and the one person who could answer her questions stood somewhere in the shadows, where he’d apparently been living for years.
Putting on her game face, Meghan stepped onto the porch, determined to get the information she wanted.
Tate stood at the edge of the wood line, barely visible in the moonlight. His voice drifted to Meghan, words indistinguishable, although it sounded as if he was arguing with someone on the other end of a phone call. After a moment, he pulled the phone from his ear. The screen illuminated the hard set of his jaw as he stared at the device; then he shoved it in his pocket as she drew closer.
He took the offered gun, studied it, then held it out to her. “Trade me for yours.”
Without a word, Meghan unclipped her holster from her belt. He was right. If he appeared with the weapon she’d supposedly stolen from him, Isaac would know in an instant something was off.
She held the gun low and behind her, out of his reach. “Information first.” From the little bit she’d been able to figure out from watching his posture, it was clear the phone call had been to someone above his pay grade, likely determining what he could safely say to the outsider.
Tate didn’t hesitate. He’d surely been anticipating her move. “A couple of years ago, we set on a terror cell using a legitimate government contractor as a front. Their hacker would gain access to the network, tweak the payout amount and collect several times what was due. We put the brakes on the physical side of the cell and took the contractor into custody, thinking we’d managed to cut off the entire operation, but a few months later, the hacker surfaced again. We’ve been calling him Phoenix.”
“Because he keeps coming back.” She should know.
“Worse every time. He aided another cell, one murdering young soldiers without close relatives to ask any questions, then stealing their identities in order to set terrorists into their places. They planned random attacks within the ranks, making it seem as though soldiers were behind them. The kind of fear and distrust