“Not hurt,” Kane snapped. “Dead. She’s dead.”
“And I’m not her,” Melinda stated, making him want to slap his hand over her mouth to shut her up.
Or maybe slam his lips against hers. Different method, same end result. She’d finally have to shut up.
“Let’s go.” Laura’s voice preceded her. When their teammate finally appeared at the doorway, her expression as buttoned-up as the rest of her, she gave them a searching glance. Then she added, “Whatever you two are arguing about this time, maybe save it for after the big arrest.”
Then she was gone and Melinda was staring back at him, with eyebrows raised.
“Fine,” Kane said on a heavy exhale. If Melinda wanted to rush into danger, instead of staying in the office and doing her profiler work, so be it.
He strode past her, following the rest of the team out to the SUVs. On the way, he grabbed a submachine gun and slung it over his gear. Then, he climbed in.
This was going to be a dangerous batch of arrests, the kind the FBI would often hand off to one of their SWAT teams. But Pembrook had felt confident her team could handle it, and no one was about to suggest otherwise. In deference to the level of threat, every agent crammed into the SUV wore more gear than typical. They all had body armor—not from Petrov Armor, thank goodness—and even helmets.
The submachine guns weren’t standard issue, either. They were usually reserved for tactical teams. But tonight, that was the agents of TCD.
Kane glanced at Melinda as she hopped on board. The SUV had been converted, so the backseats had two rows facing each other. She sat across from him, looking even smaller than usual weighed down with all the extra gear. She stared straight at him, her face an expressionless mask. But there was something in her gaze that looked like nerves.
His gut clenched. She didn’t have the same level of experience on these kinds of arrests as the rest of the team. Sure, she’d been a regular special agent once. Then she’d traded in the field for an office where she could analyze the mind-set of serial killers, terrorists and zealots. She didn’t belong here.
But that wasn’t his call.
He tried to hold in his anxiety, but it only got worse as the SUV started up, heading toward the site of the raid. With so much undercover work, he rarely felt anxious. But when he did, it always seemed to be a sign that something was going to go terribly wrong.
The last time he’d felt this much anxiety was the day Pembrook’s daughter had died.
Chapter Nineteen
Uncle Joel knew.
Eric had told him days ago that Davis was an undercover FBI agent. He’d never said a word to her. Never chastised her for giving the FBI such unrestricted access to the company. Instead, he’d gotten chummy with Davis, spent more than an hour out of the office with him in the afternoon.
What had happened during that time? If Davis still suspected Uncle Joel, why hadn’t he said anything to her? If Uncle Joel was really involved, what was his end goal with chumming around with Davis?
More than anything right now, she needed to know Davis’s whereabouts. He’d left that evening with barely a word to her. Deep down, she’d known he wasn’t coming back.
She’d called him three times in the last ten minutes, and each call had gone to voice mail. Maybe he was busy and she was overreacting. She didn’t believe he was the kind of guy who’d ignore her out of spite, not after the closeness they’d shared.
Then again, could she really trust her own judgment? She glanced from Eric to Theresa and back again. In the space of a few days, she’d suspected them both of being the traitor. Maybe one of those suspicions was right and thinking it was Uncle Joel was way off base.
But the way her stomach was churning with fear, horror and betrayal right now, she couldn’t risk that she was wrong yet again. She needed to find Davis.
If Uncle Joel had really murdered his own brother, what was one undercover FBI agent?
“I need your help.” Leila’s voice came out a frightened squeak.
“What do you need?” Eric asked as Theresa repeated for the third time since Eric had announced it, “Davis is FBI? Your assistant?”
“Yes, Davis is FBI,” Leila responded, turning to fully face Theresa, studying her expression. By now, she’d had a good ten minutes to disguise whatever she was feeling. If Theresa was the traitor, she was cool under pressure.
“So, that’s why he was asking about my access card,” Theresa said, sounding horrified. “I should have known you were lying about the armor. It was ours, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Theresa sank into the chair on the other side of Leila’s desk. She shook her head, sounding lost. “I’m going to be ruined. This might be your company, but I’m in charge of development. How did this get past me? We have so many checks in place.”
“Whoever did it knows every one of them and how to get around them,” Leila replied, thinking it less and less likely that the traitor was in the room with her.
“And you honestly think it was your uncle?” Eric asked, the pain in his eyes mirroring her own feelings.
He’d never been close to her uncle, so Leila knew that pain was for her. She was grateful for it, knew it reflected how deeply he cared for her. But right now, with Davis potentially in trouble, Leila knew for sure the words she’d spoken to Eric earlier were true. Their time was over. She’d fallen in love with Davis.
As Eric stared at her, the expression in his eyes shifted. He’d known her too long.
She shook her head, wishing he hadn’t realized it like this, wishing she could say something to stop the pain she was causing him.
Before she could say anything, Eric said softly, “It’s okay, Leila. What do you need?”
“We
