Delta Force Defender

Chapter Four

Martha swallowed. Her gaze darted from Cam’s blue eyes to the blue eye on her laptop. She snapped shut the computer. “How do you know that?”

“Shutting it solves the problem right this second, but that Trojan’s gonna have to be removed from your computer as soon as possible. It’s not just computer keystrokes and actions. The person on the other side can see you as long as your laptop is open and powered on.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. “I wonder how long this has been going on.”

“A tech can probably tell you that by looking at the program. It’ll have a date on it.”

“But how did you know? How did you know where to look?” The veil of her preconceived notions about Cam Sutton lifted—and she liked what she saw even more. Brawn and brains.

“About a year ago, my sister was being stalked.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It became apparent that her stalker was watching her in her private moments. One of her friends, a real computer geek, came over to inspect her computer. First she watched for the blinking LED, and then she did a search for a common Trojan used to infect the computer and allowing an outside source to gain control of it. I looked for and found that same virus on your laptop.”

Martha’s mind raced and reeled over the times she’d had her laptop open in her bedroom, not bothering to shut it down. She hugged herself, digging her fingers into her upper arms. “Get it off. Can you get it off?”

“I can delete it. Hell, you can delete it, but I don’t know if that removes it from everywhere. It’s probably best if you take the laptop in or call someone to do it.” Cam tapped his chin with his index finger. “I wonder if they could hear us, too.”

“At least we were spared that. The microphone on my laptop doesn’t work. No sound in. No sound out.”

“That’s an unexpected bonus.” He hunched forward, digging his elbows into his knees. “Whoever was watching you saw me, but at least that person won’t know who I am and how I’m connected to Denver.”

She handed him the glass and pushed at his solid shoulder. “Put that in the sink or get yourself more. I’m going to open this up and delete that program. Then I’ll take my computer in and get the virus removed from everywhere else.”

Glass in hand, Cam pushed up from the sofa while Martha flipped open the laptop, keeping her thumb over the camera lens. She gasped and nearly drove her finger through her computer as a parade of skulls and crossbones marched across her display, the word busted floating between the grinning teeth.

Cam clinked the glass on the countertop. “What’s wrong?”

“Come and look at this. He knows I...you discovered the commandeered camera. He’s admitting he’s busted.”

“Son of a gun.” Cam hovered over her shoulder. “Cheeky bastard.”

“I wish I could just communicate with him and ask him what he wants. Oh.” Martha put her fingers to her lips as her email icon blinked, indicating a new message. “Maybe I can.”

“If you open that email, don’t click on any links. That’s how your computer gets infected. He might be trying to load something even more insidious on your laptop.”

“More insidious than a program to take over my camera to spy on me? That would be hard.”

“Hold on.” He backtracked to the kitchen. “Do you have any masking tape in here?”

“Post-its in the drawer to the right of the dishwasher.”

He returned with two pink Post-it notes stuck to his fingertips. He slid a finger beneath the pad of her thumb, covering the eye of the camera with one Post-it and stuck the other on the edge of the first one to hold it in place.

“Go for it.”

She opened the email and licked her dry lips.

“‘Do you want to...play?’” Cam read the message out loud, which took off its sinister edge and made it sound almost sexy.

Of course, Cam could make anything sound, or look, sexy.

Dragging in a breath, she put her fingers on the keys.

“Wait.” He cinched her wrist with his fingers. “What are you going to write back?”

“I’m going to write ‘Hell, yes.’ What do you think?”

“Shouldn’t you ask him what he means? Ask him what he wants? That’s what he’d expect out of you. If you agree too quickly, he’s going to wonder if he picked the right person for the job.”

His thumb pressed against her pulse. Could he feel it throbbing with excitement? She couldn’t tell if the buzz claiming her body was coming from the email or Cam’s warm touch. Did it matter? The two had mingled in her scattered brain.

Rotating her wrist out of his grasp, she said, “You’re right. I’ll take it slowly.”

She voiced the words as she replied to the email. “‘Play what? What do you want? Who are you?’”

She clicked Send and held her breath.

Her heart stuttered when the quick reply came through. She clicked on the email and read it aloud to Cam. “‘I’m a patriot.’”

Cam snorted and she continued. “‘I’m a patriot. That’s all you need to know. You did the right thing. Leave it alone, or you might not like the game.’”

She whipped her head around to face Cam. “He’s threatening me.”

This time her hands trembled as she held them poised over the keyboard.

Lacing his fingers through hers, Cam pulled her hand away from the computer. “Ask this patriot why he’s so nervous if the information he revealed in the emails about Major Denver is true.”

“Shouldn’t I ask him about his threats? If he’s the one who pushed me at the Metro?” She untwined her fingers from his.

“He’s not going to give you a direct answer or admit that he tried to harm you, but I’m interested to see his lies about why he wants you to stop digging.”

“I haven’t even started digging.” She puffed at a strand of hair that had floated across her face, and Cam caught it and tucked it behind her ear.

“He knows you saved the emails and shared them with me.” He flicked his finger at the Post-its. “And he knows you’re on to him.”

“If you say so.” As long as he kept finding excuses to touch her, she’d do just about anything he asked. She cleared her throat and her mind, and then typed in Cam’s question.

They both jumped when a message showed up in her inbox, but it was an ad for ink cartridges.

“Come on, patriot.” She flexed her fingers over the keys. “I think we scared him off.”

“Or he’s thinking up a good story.” Cam stretched his arms over his head before standing up. “I’m going to get more water. Do you want something from the kitchen?”

“No, thanks.” She wedged the toes of her boots against the coffee table. “We lost him.”

“Do you think my question was too direct?” He called back at her over the running water from the kitchen faucet. “We must’ve hit a nerve. He wants you to stop because he doesn’t want the truth revealed—that the claims in those emails were all bogus.”

Instead of an answer, grinning skulls danced across her screen, giving her the chills. “Ugh. He really is just playing games.”

Cam returned to the living room and hung over the back of the sofa. “Idiot. I don’t think he plans to tell you anything. He does want you to stop snooping though, and he’s trying to scare you off.”

“All the more reason to continue.” She rolled her shoulders in an effort to release the tension bunching her muscles. “Maybe I should turn all this stuff over to the CIA.”

“Martha, you committed a crime by making a copy of those emails. Even if you’re not prosecuted, you’ll lose your job.” He reached past her and closed the lid of her laptop on the skulls. “It’s not worth it. Do you want to wind up in federal prison?”

“No!” She dumped her computer from her lap to the sofa cushion. “You’re right. I’m not telling the CIA a thing.”

He drew back at the violence of her exclamation, but she didn’t have to explain herself as the key turned in the door.

“Casey’s home early.” Her eyes wide, Martha watched the door handle turn and released a sigh when Casey crept into the room on tiptoes.

“Oh, you’re still up...and you’re still here.”

The reason for Casey’s dismay followed her into the room wearing an expensive suit and a sheepish grin. “Sorry to intrude.”

“Join the party.” Cam spread out his arms and then dropped them to his sides as his invitation was met with silence. “Just kidding. We were just wrapping up.”

“Take your time.” Casey circled one finger in the air. “Bob and I will be upstairs. Bob, this is my roommate Martha and her friend Cam.”

They all managed awkward hellos and goodbyes as Casey led Bob up the stairs of the town house.

When she heard the door click above, Martha made a face. “She usually doesn’t bring them home this early. I never have to meet them.”

Cam whistled. “I can see why she doesn’t.”

“Why?”

Jerking his thumb at the ceiling, Cam whispered. “Old Bob up there is Congressman Robert Wentworth from some district down in Florida.”

“What? Are you serious? How do you know that?”

“He’s on the House Intelligence Committee—and he’s married, as far as I remember.”

“That makes it doubly worse that they’re up there...” She waved a hand toward the staircase and heated up to the roots of her hair. “Why do women go for these married men?”

Martha flicked a glance at Cam’s bare left ring finger and let out a little breath. Of course, lots of men didn’t wear wedding rings.

“Imprudent of him at the very least.” Cam leaned forward and lifted the laptop lid. “Still no communication from the patriot, so I’m going to head back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be once I power down my computer and stick it in the office tonight.”

“How many rooms does this place have?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“Just three bedrooms. I could sublet the other room, but I’d probably go crazy with another roommate.” She tucked the laptop under her arm. “Should I...should I call you tomorrow or something?”

“I’ll go with you to cleanse your computer. Is that okay?”

More than okay. “Sure.”

Cam strode to the kitchen and ripped a Post-it from the pad. He scribbled something on the pink square and then stuck it to the edge of the counter. “My number. Call me when you’re ready to roll.”

He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and hunched into it. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to lock your door.”

“Nope. I’ve got that one down. Besides, I have a US congressman upstairs for protection.”

“All right, then.” Cam stood in the entryway and thrust his hand forward for a shake. “Take care and thanks for trusting me.”

She tucked her laptop against her side and took his hand in a firm grip—no nonsense. “Thanks for...rescuing me on the platform and discovering I’d been hacked.”

They both released at the same time, and Cam saluted. “All right, then. See ya later.”

Martha shut the door behind him and then rested her back against it, hugging her computer to her chest. Had Cam been nervous? Maybe he thought she’d expected a hug or a kiss or something. Did she appear that desperate?

She spun around and threw the locks into place and then launched herself up the stairs. Cam probably hadn’t given her much thought at all.

Martha crept past Casey’s bedroom door and the low voices murmuring within, and slipped into her own room. At least her master bedroom had a bathroom attached.

Tripping to a stop, she glanced at the laptop in her hands. She didn’t want to go into the hallway again, so she made an abrupt turn and stuffed the computer on the floor of her closet under some folded clothes.

She got ready for bed. Several minutes later as she slipped between the covers, her mind was still racing with the day’s events.

Casey squealed from somewhere beyond the walls, and Martha burrowed beneath the covers. Her roommate and her lovers always made a lot of noise.

Martha reached into the top drawer of her nightstand for her earplugs and cupped them in her hand as the congressman let out a growl.

Shutting her eyes, Martha closed her fingers around the earplugs. What would Cam sound like in the throes of passion?

Casey yelped, and Martha stuffed the earplugs into her ears as she buried her face in the pillow. One thing she did know is that she wouldn’t be squeaking and squealing like Casey if she ever did get a chance with Cam.

And with that delicious thought making her shiver, Martha closed her eyes.

What seemed like moments later, Casey’s scream punctured Martha’s dream state...and her earplugs. She groaned and rolled onto her side.

Didn’t the woman have any shame—or self-control?

Casey screamed again, and Martha pulled the pillow over her head, gritting her teeth.

“Martha! Martha!”

The bedroom door burst open, and Martha sat up, the pillow falling from her face. She blinked her eyes at Casey standing in the doorway, a filmy nightgown clutched to her chest. Was she dreaming?

“Martha, wake up. We’re in terrible trouble.”

“What?” Martha flicked on the light above her bed, and Casey’s face looked whiter than it had in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Oh, Martha.” Casey stumbled across the room and tottered before she dropped to the edge of Martha’s bed. “Bob, Congressman Wentworth, is dead in my bed...in your town house.”

Chapter Five

Cam glanced at his phone for about the hundredth time that morning. Maybe Martha had decided to get her computer wiped on her own. It’s not like she needed him to do it. He didn’t know that much about technical stuff, and she probably figured that out about him in a hot minute. She seemed like the self-sufficient type, anyway.

In fact, Martha Drake had a surprising rebellious streak. He never would’ve guessed she’d be the type to sneak out those emails. The woman had gone rogue—and he was glad she’d decided to do so.

And maybe she was going rogue again by handling the patriot herself. Cam wouldn’t put it past her, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. What if she’d fallen in front of that train last night? She needed a right-hand man, even if she didn’t realize it yet.

He tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him and snatched up the remote. Propping one bare foot on the table in front of him, he clicked over to one of the cable news shows.

He studied the reporters and news vans with a crease forming between his eyebrows. Someone had died, and the street where the buzzing media had gathered looked familiar with all those rows of town houses with shutters and arched windows.

When the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, Cam choked and his foot slipped from the table. His thumb drilled into the remote to increase the sound.

The reporter breathlessly gushed into the mic. “All we know so far, Carrie, is that Congressman Robert Wentworth, from the Second Congressional District in Florida, died in this town house behind me sometime last night or this morning. There was a 911 call and the DC Metro Police responded. The body has not yet been removed.”

Carrie put on a concerned face, but Cam could see the speculative light in her eyes. “Have the police said whether they’re looking at foul play here, Stacie?”

“They haven’t released any statement yet or talked to reporters.”

Cam curled his fingers around the remote and hardly noticed the edges digging into his flesh. The reporter hadn’t mentioned anything about anyone else being hurt...or arrested. What the hell had gone down in that town house after he’d left last night?

Cam muted the TV and reached for his phone. Damn that Casey for dragging Martha into her messy life. He stopped, his thumb hovering over the screen. Or was it the other way around?

Could this really be just a coincidence after what Martha had gone through yesterday? What possible connection could Wentworth have to Martha and the emails?

Cam dropped his phone when it hit him that he didn’t even have Martha’s number. He’d given her his number with the understanding that she’d call him to go with her to fix the laptop. Some understanding. Seemed like he didn’t know Martha at all.

He paced the room, juggling his phone from hand to hand, occasionally turning up the TV for more news on the congressman’s death. The stiff muscles across his shoulders began to unwind when he didn’t see anything about any other injuries or anyone getting taken in for questioning, and then seized up again as Martha had been identified as the owner of the town house.

More than an agonizing hour later, Cam’s phone buzzed with a DC number. “Hello?”

“Cam, it’s Martha... Martha Drake.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re kind of famous right now, or at least your town house is. What the hell happened over there?”

“My name’s out there, isn’t it?”

“Are you worried about your job?”

“I’m worried about a lot of things right now.” She sighed. “It looks like the congressman had a heart attack. Casey didn’t even realize it until this morning. His body was slumped halfway out of the bed when she woke up.”

“A heart attack? Of course, they’re gonna do an autopsy before they rule on the cause of death.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “How are you holding up? How’s Casey?”

“Casey is hysterical. I’m...nervous.”

“Why, Martha?”

“Why do you think?”

“Are you linking this to the emails?”

“Aren’t you?” Her voice rose, and for a second she sounded close to hysteria herself.

“Crossed my mind, but I can’t see how this can be related to the emails or how it affects you.” He wedged a shoulder against the window and watched one bare branch from a tree scrape against the edge of the balcony. “Heart attack, right?”

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”

“And clean that computer.”

“Don’t come anywhere near here. It’s a madhouse. I’ll slip out the back and head over to your hotel. The police are still questioning Casey, poor girl.”

He gave her the name of the hotel and the address before turning up the volume on the TV again. Several reporters were still camped out in front of Martha’s town house, and the speculation had begun. Since Martha owned the town house, the reporters had her name on their lips.

It wouldn’t be long before they dug up the fact that Martha worked for the CIA, and he hoped it wouldn’t be long before they discovered she hadn’t been the one who’d invited Congressman Wentworth to an after-hours meeting.

His blood percolated as he listened to the innuendo linking Martha to Wentworth, but he still couldn’t figure out how this had anything to do with the threats from the patriot.

With the TV still droning in the background, Cam straightened his hotel room, stuffing clothes back into his suitcase and shoving toiletries into the plastic bag hanging from a hook on the bathroom door. He hadn’t needed to see Martha’s place last night to figure she’d be a neat freak, and for some reason he wanted to assure her he wasn’t a slob.

He went a few steps further and got a couple cans of soda from the vending machine down the hall and stuck them in the mini-fridge. The woman must’ve had a rough morning.

By the time Martha tapped on his door, Cam had rendered the room acceptable to the neatest of neat freaks.

He opened the door and she barreled past him without even a hello, striding to the sliding door to the balcony.

She turned to face him, twisting her fingers in front of her. “This is bad.”

“Tell me what happened.” He gestured toward the sofa facing the TV. “Not many details on the news, except that you own the town house where Wentworth croaked.”

She perched on the edge of the sofa. “Casey’s name will come out. The police are still talking to her.”

“At least you won’t be portrayed as the other woman for much longer.” He yanked the chair back from the desk and straddled it, resting his arms across the back. “Give me all the details.”

“After you left, I went to bed and I could hear those two...whooping it up.” Two bright spots of red formed on her cheeks. “I have earplugs for just those occasions, and I was able to fall asleep.”

“Damn, you need earplugs?” Noticing Martha’s pursed lips, he wiped the grin off his face. “Go on. You fell asleep during noisy sex.”

“I...” She ran her fingers through her messy hair, dragging it back from her face. “Yes, I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew Casey was in my room hysterical and crying, saying Bob had died sometime during the night.”

“What time did she discover him?”

“About six. I ran into her room and felt his neck for a pulse. He seemed dead to me, but I have no experience in medicine. I called 911 right away.”

“The news said possible heart attack, so I’m assuming no blood or visible injuries.”

“No.” Martha crossed her arms, cupping her elbows. “He was half out of the bed, as if he’d tried to get up but didn’t make it.”

“Did Casey have anything to say?”

“Not much to me, but the cops were grilling her. They’d met for a drink at a quiet place. Bob wasn’t feeling great, and they decided to head back here.”

“You’d never met him before? It didn’t seem like you had last night.”

“No. I’m not saying she’s never brought him back to our place, but I usually make myself scarce when she brings guys home, so I’d never met him before.”

Cam tugged on his earlobe. “I don’t understand why you think some congressman’s heart attack is related to you and the emails.”

“Who says it’s a heart attack?” She jumped up from the sofa and twitched back the drapes at the sliding door, peeked out the window and yanked the drapes back together.

“It could be something else. Poison. He didn’t feel well. Or there are drugs out there that mimic heart attacks. Nobody would know the difference and poof—” she tried snapping her fingers, failed miserably and flicked them in the air instead “—you’re gone.”

Cam flattened the smile from his lips and drew his brows together to look concerned instead. He couldn’t help it. Even when he listened to Martha talking about murder, he found her irresistibly cute.

“Wait, wait.” He held up his hands. “How does that impact you, unless the patriot plans to frame you for Wentworth’s so-called murder...and that’s a long shot. How exactly does Casey’s illicit affair with a politician affect you and your investigation of the emails?”

“It brings everything back up. It tarnishes me and anything I might have to say about these emails. It’s a warning that he can get to me if he wants to.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Yeah, okay. It shows he’s powerful, although this is a risky way to do that. But—” he frowned for real this time “—what do you mean by bringing everything back up? Finding the emails?”

Her gaze darted to the TV, still humming in the background, and she took two steps toward the coffee table, picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV.

The reporter mentioned Martha’s name, and Cam jerked his head toward the TV. A picture of a young Martha with thick glasses and braces stared back at him next to a picture of a gray-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. He tuned into the reporter’s words.

“In a bizarre twist to this story, the owner of the town house is none other than the daughter of convicted stock trader Steven ‘Skip’ Brockridge, who’s currently serving twenty-five years in federal prison for his role in a Ponzi scheme that bilked investors out of millions.”