Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) by Lisa Hughey
Authors: Lisa Hughey
Tags: General Fiction
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honestly.
“What’s in it for me?”
“Money. Chance to travel. A chance to serve your country.” Sort of.
“What’s the catch?”
I saw the wariness in his gaze. Wariness I didn’t have time for. A little pang hit my stomach. Not the nausea. Remorse? Regret?
Emotions I definitely shouldn’t be feeling. Second guessing my moves and actions was not an option right now. I had places to go, puzzles to solve.
He'd been in the hospital for observation after a car accident. Concussion. But he was due to be released later today. He was fine.
“We leave now.” I used my real name which meant that I couldn't linger in one place for too long.
“Now?”
“As in...get your clothes, leave a note for your mother, and we haul ass.”
I could see him weighing the pros and cons.
“Your father would be proud of you.” The final twist of the screw.
His gaze went to the television again. Obviously he had a deep-seated interest in Oprah. Not.
“Okay.”
“I’ll bust you out of here. Write a quick note. And I’ll explain the entire situation on the way.”
I had to hope protecting Bella Holden was precautionary. I really hoped I was wrong and she wasn’t in any danger.
One checklist item checked.
Now if I could just figure out who was trying to eliminate the people from Department 5491. Specifically, who was trying to eliminate me...life would be peachy.
Right. Peachy.
TWELVE
Four weeks later
October 17
11:00 am
The gray, cloudy sky matched the tenor of Jordan’s mood. A hint of wood smoke wafted in the air and a breeze blew frigidly across the exposed skin of his face. His new cashmere duster, specially tailored to accommodate his shoulders and arms, muted the brisk wind.
As Jordan passed by the monument to the soldiers who’d served in World War II, a cascade of multiple water sprays splashed into a circular pool, drowning out the murmurs of the tourists paying their respects.
The rectangular reflecting pool surrounded by the small wood fence was to his right. The Lincoln Monument rose in the distance.
Continuing on the paved path bordering the west basin, he strode toward the all but forgotten symbol of the First World War. A discarded remnant of a time very few people alive could still remember.
The small domed structure, styled like an ancient Greek temple, perched in untrimmed foliage and grass that should have been cut weeks ago.
Unkempt and untended.
Jesus. That was how he felt...like this monument, still standing as a reminder, except no one was looking.
Just as he was the only one still searching for Staci.
Whatever agency was surveilling her house, their surveillance had tapered off to a single guy twenty-four/seven. For a long time, that surveillance detail gave him hope that he wasn't the only one searching for her. Now it looked like he was the only one who still believed she was alive.
In the meantime, he'd been shocked by the phone call from the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence requesting a private meet in an obscure location. The guy wouldn't even discuss over the phone what the subject of the meeting was about. Jordan turned over possible reasons for this meeting.
Nothing good came to mind.
He’d been working on a few projects for the Franklin Group, but if the projects had anything to do with Congress, the senator probably knew as much about the details as he did. What the hell could the man want?
Traditionally if Jordan met with a member of Congress, the meet took place in their office. What was so damn secret it couldn’t be discussed over a phone line? The senator had been adamant that the meeting must be done in person. Away from the office.
Jordan stepped into the old marble monument, and noted the inscription, “The war to end all wars."
“Mr. Ramirez.” The senator was already seated, tucked away in the shadows, so no one would see him.
“Senator,” he replied warily.
Jordan sat down several stained pillars over from the senator and
“What’s in it for me?”
“Money. Chance to travel. A chance to serve your country.” Sort of.
“What’s the catch?”
I saw the wariness in his gaze. Wariness I didn’t have time for. A little pang hit my stomach. Not the nausea. Remorse? Regret?
Emotions I definitely shouldn’t be feeling. Second guessing my moves and actions was not an option right now. I had places to go, puzzles to solve.
He'd been in the hospital for observation after a car accident. Concussion. But he was due to be released later today. He was fine.
“We leave now.” I used my real name which meant that I couldn't linger in one place for too long.
“Now?”
“As in...get your clothes, leave a note for your mother, and we haul ass.”
I could see him weighing the pros and cons.
“Your father would be proud of you.” The final twist of the screw.
His gaze went to the television again. Obviously he had a deep-seated interest in Oprah. Not.
“Okay.”
“I’ll bust you out of here. Write a quick note. And I’ll explain the entire situation on the way.”
I had to hope protecting Bella Holden was precautionary. I really hoped I was wrong and she wasn’t in any danger.
One checklist item checked.
Now if I could just figure out who was trying to eliminate the people from Department 5491. Specifically, who was trying to eliminate me...life would be peachy.
Right. Peachy.
TWELVE
Four weeks later
October 17
11:00 am
The gray, cloudy sky matched the tenor of Jordan’s mood. A hint of wood smoke wafted in the air and a breeze blew frigidly across the exposed skin of his face. His new cashmere duster, specially tailored to accommodate his shoulders and arms, muted the brisk wind.
As Jordan passed by the monument to the soldiers who’d served in World War II, a cascade of multiple water sprays splashed into a circular pool, drowning out the murmurs of the tourists paying their respects.
The rectangular reflecting pool surrounded by the small wood fence was to his right. The Lincoln Monument rose in the distance.
Continuing on the paved path bordering the west basin, he strode toward the all but forgotten symbol of the First World War. A discarded remnant of a time very few people alive could still remember.
The small domed structure, styled like an ancient Greek temple, perched in untrimmed foliage and grass that should have been cut weeks ago.
Unkempt and untended.
Jesus. That was how he felt...like this monument, still standing as a reminder, except no one was looking.
Just as he was the only one still searching for Staci.
Whatever agency was surveilling her house, their surveillance had tapered off to a single guy twenty-four/seven. For a long time, that surveillance detail gave him hope that he wasn't the only one searching for her. Now it looked like he was the only one who still believed she was alive.
In the meantime, he'd been shocked by the phone call from the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence requesting a private meet in an obscure location. The guy wouldn't even discuss over the phone what the subject of the meeting was about. Jordan turned over possible reasons for this meeting.
Nothing good came to mind.
He’d been working on a few projects for the Franklin Group, but if the projects had anything to do with Congress, the senator probably knew as much about the details as he did. What the hell could the man want?
Traditionally if Jordan met with a member of Congress, the meet took place in their office. What was so damn secret it couldn’t be discussed over a phone line? The senator had been adamant that the meeting must be done in person. Away from the office.
Jordan stepped into the old marble monument, and noted the inscription, “The war to end all wars."
“Mr. Ramirez.” The senator was already seated, tucked away in the shadows, so no one would see him.
“Senator,” he replied warily.
Jordan sat down several stained pillars over from the senator and
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