Labyrinth of Lies Page 4

  And despite Kayla’s warning, she wasn’t going to avoid Noah Evans. Just the opposite, after her roommate’s loaded comment.

  As soon as school started, she’d find an excuse to seek him out and see what he knew about a missing student who’d gone to him for guidance—but perhaps had gotten something else entirely.

  “What do you mean, that’s it?” Phone to ear, Zeke began to pace in the living room of the high-end condo where he’d be spending his free hours until he finished the Ivy Hill job.

  “I mean, that’s it. Confirmation of employment with the County PD. Period.”

  Translation? Cate was at the school on official business. In an undercover role, from what he’d observed.

  But why would she do that? She’d never had any interest in clandestine work.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “What happened to interagency cooperation? Can’t someone pull strings? Go higher? Find out what she’s doing there?”

  “If I push too hard, they’ll want to know why we want to know. You want us to spill our operation?”

  Checkmate.

  Too much effort had been invested in this setup to risk any leaks.

  “Fine. I’ll get my own answers.”

  “Whatever she’s doing there, she won’t want to jeopardize her position either.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He paused at the window as ice pellets began pinging against the glass.

  Wonderful.

  The commute tomorrow morning for the first day of school was going to be a bear.

  “I’ll work some other contacts discreetly on my end, but you may get answers faster from the source.”

  “Yeah.” Zeke rubbed his temple, where a headache was beginning to throb. “Thanks.”

  “Good luck—and keep us in the loop.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Zeke ended the call, slid the cell back into his pocket, and retrieved a soda from the fridge. Popping the tab, he wandered through the rooms filled with upscale furnishings.

  Quite an improvement over most of the places he’d set up camp in during the past eight years.

  He could get used to this sort of environment, though, now that the shadowy, dangerous existence he’d once embraced was beginning to wear on him—as veterans had warned him it would.

  Like it or not, and despite his commitment to his job, burnout was setting in.

  He stopped at the window again, shifting his weight off his bum leg.

  It would be easy to blame his current mental state on the injury that had sidelined him, but that would be a lie. The truth was, he’d begun to consider changing course months ago. This assignment should have been the perfect chance to think through next steps in his career without the distraction of having to watch his back constantly.

  In fact, his boss had billed the job as a cakewalk compared to his previous roles.

  But that was before Cate had entered the picture.

  Cate.

  He sipped his soda and stared into the darkness.

  How many times had he thought of her through the years? Pictured that glorious, dark auburn hair . . . those intense eyes that could burn with passion . . . the firm mouth that had yielded so appealingly beneath his?

  How many times, as he lay awake in a grungy, sweltering fleabag motel, his pistol inches from his fingers, tensing at every squeak in the hall, had he calmed his jitters by calling up memories of her soft skin, the silkiness of her hair, the gentle touch of her fingers against his face?

  Too many to count.

  More than he wanted to admit.

  Because after they’d parted on that long-ago day in the park beneath a blaze of autumn color, he’d vowed to put her out of his mind. To focus only on the priority which, at that stage of his life, had superseded everything else.

  He took another swig of the sweet beverage—but the fizzy soft drink left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Maybe, if he’d been able to explain to her about the demons that drove him, she’d have understood why he’d chosen to take an unexpected opportunity to switch career paths over their relationship.

  Maybe.

  But the hurt inside him had run too deep.

  The guilt ran too deep.

  And dredging up the courage to expose his shame to a woman like Cate, who was all about honor and integrity and principles, had eluded him.

  So he’d broken her heart instead.

  Another source of guilt.

  Headlights arced across his window, and he jerked back, every muscle stiffening.

  Overkill, Sloan.

  Right.

  The reflexive self-defense moves that were force of habit after all his years in law enforcement shouldn’t be necessary on this job.

  He rotated his shoulders until the rigid line softened.

  As long as he maintained his cover at Ivy Hill, no one should come gunning for him.

  Which brought him back to Cate.

  Tomorrow they were going to meet face-to-face.

  He was forewarned and ready.

  She wasn’t.

  A plan to get her alone so they could hash out what was going on was already forming in his mind—but it all hinged on her reaction when she saw him.

  If she was well trained . . . if her acting skills were strong . . . if she was able to think fast and mask her surprise . . . they could pull this off.

  If she wasn’t?

  They could both be hosed.

  4

  WHAT IN THE WORLD . . . ?!

  From her slouched position in a seat near the back of the classroom, Cate stifled a gasp as the tall, dark-haired man who’d once been the center of her universe entered and strode to the desk in front.

  Zeke Sloan was the Spanish teacher at Ivy Hill Academy?

  No.

  Impossible.

  Teresa Medina taught Spanish here—and Zeke’s name was nowhere in the dossier of school personnel the department had prepared for her.

  Heart banging against her rib cage, Cate sank lower in her seat.

  What was going on?

  In light of the murmur that rippled through the students as Zeke faced them, she wasn’t the only one surprised by his presence.

  “Good morning, ladies.” He gave the room a commanding sweep and displayed one of those half-hitch smiles that used to turn her to mush. “As you can see, I’m not Ms. Medina. Complications from the injuries she suffered in her car accident have delayed her return. I’m Zeke Martinez, her temporary replacement.”

  As he finished the explanation and introduced himself with an unfamiliar surname, his gaze lingered on hers.

  There was no flicker of recognition or acknowledgment in his eyes.

  But he knew who she was, despite the blood-red streak she’d added to her hair and the dark eye makeup that wasn’t part of her usual beauty routine.

  You didn’t give a man your heart without learning to read his every nuance.

  Yet he wasn’t surprised by her presence.

  Why not?

  Who had tipped him off she was here?

  Why was he using a fake name?

  What had caused the barely detectable limp in his authoritative gait?

  Was he at Ivy Hill on an undercover assignment for the DEA job that had sabotaged their relationship?

  If so, how much did he know about her case?

  As questions raced through her mind, she dipped her chin and fiddled with the cap on her pen.

  She had to calm down. Play this cool. Zeke obviously didn’t intend to expose her. She owed him the same courtesy.

  At least until she had a handle on what was going on.

  Somehow she managed to function during the class, introducing herself when it was her turn, calling up the rudimentary Spanish Zeke himself had taught her, which had proven useful on a number of investigations.

  But getting through the test he passed out—designed to assess the competence level of the class, he said—was a challenge. Speaking Spanish was one thing. Writing it, another.

  As the students worked on the quiz in silence, Zeke circled the room, pausing here and there to look over a girl’s shoulder. Sometimes he asked a question or offered a suggestion in the husky-timbre voice that used to set her nerve endings aflutter.

  Used to being the operative term.

  She tightened her grip on her pen, focused on the sheet in front of her, and willed her pulse to behave as he started up her aisle from the rear.

  Zeke Sloan was history.

  This intersection of their lives was nothing more than a piece of bad luck—for both of them.

  He may have been alerted to her presence in advance of this class, but he couldn’t be any happier than she was about the freaky combination of circumstances that had put them in the same orbit.

  She kept writing on the paper in front of her, but she knew the instant he stopped behind her. The sense of his nearness was so acute she had to forcibly regulate her respiration to keep from hyperventilating.

  “You may want to rethink that word, Ms. Sheppard.” His long, lean finger entered her field of vision as he pointed to one of her scribbles.

  And when he leaned down to offer a few suggestions in Spanish, the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek.

  Or was that wishful thinking?

  Cate clamped her teeth together and banished that errant thought.

  She did not wish to be close to Zeke ever again.

  They were over.

  Done.

  Even if the man’s close proximity was awakening unruly, traitorous hormones.

  He moved on, but she kept her head down. Until she regrouped and got her emotions under control, focusing on his broad shoulders, muscled torso, and those impressive biceps straining against the fabric of his dress shirt could be dangerous.

  Somehow she made it through the interminable class—but the minute it was over she sped toward the door.

  Someone in the department needed to research this new development ASAP.

  Hefting her book-filled backpack into a more comfortable position, she half jogged toward the cafeteria, detouring toward the door that led to the courtyard where students congregated in warm weather. It ought to be deserted in January—the perfect place to call her handler . . . aka father.

  Even if someone did venture out, there was no rule against calling family—and the cell number was registered in his name. In fact, if anyone happened to check her phone log, all the calls would appear legit.

  She dropped her backpack beside the door . . . waited until the hall cleared . . . and exited.

  A shiver rolled through her.

  Mercy, it was cold out here!

  She tucked herself into a small alcove that offered a modicum of protection from the biting wind and leaned against the frigid stone wall.

  Her handler answered on the second ring, and she gave him a quick briefing.

  “I remember Zeke from his County days, before the DEA recruited him. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll text you once I have information, and you can call me back.”

  “Thanks.” She ended the call, slipped back inside, and picked up her backpack.

  As she stowed her phone in a side pocket, the edge of a piece of paper tucked in another compartment caught her eye.

  She pulled it out, hoisted the backpack into position, and opened the folded sheet.

  Library. 4:30. Bring Spanish textbook.

  No signature—but the cryptic note didn’t require one.

  Zeke had pulled an impressive sleight-of-hand trick to get this in her backpack without anyone noticing.

  So much for the after-school hike she’d planned around the property.

  She continued toward the cafeteria, appetite vanishing as the looming meeting with the man she’d once expected to marry sent a shaft of tension spiraling through her.

  Whatever his story—personal or professional—it was imperative she remember why she was here and do nothing to threaten her cover. If she let Zeke’s presence distract her, she could make mistakes. Assuming there were links to foul play within these walls, a slip of any kind could put both her investigation—and herself—at risk.

  Ivy Hill might be cushier than her last gig, but she couldn’t discount the possibility of danger.

  Because the more time that passed, the less chance the two missing teens would surface unscathed. More likely, they’d come to a bad end.

  And if someone was willing to kill two innocent young people for motives yet to be determined, that same someone wouldn’t hesitate to kill an undercover detective who got in the way—or got too close to the truth.

  So no matter what Zeke had to say, she’d keep her emotions to herself and make it clear that as far as she was concerned, the teacher/student role play that had allowed them to infiltrate this institution was the only thing they had in common.

  He could do his job, she would do hers—and they’d steer clear of each other as much as possible in the process.

  End of story.

  Wolf ducked into a doorway, pulled out his latest burner phone, and turned up the collar of his coat against the icy wind.

  The day he could leave this kind of weather behind forever couldn’t come too soon.

  And with his nest egg growing rapidly, he didn’t have long to wait. The minute he hit his target number he was heading for sun, sand, and surf.

  Until then, however, he had a business to manage.

  He tapped in Razor’s number, scanning the trash-littered alleys, empty storefronts, broken-out windows.

  As neighborhoods went, this one ranked high on the most-dangerous list. No wonder the patrol officers were SWAT team members.

  But no one would bother him. He was well known here, and even the few who might risk doing him harm if he was wandering around at night would leave him alone in the middle of the day.

  Fear of retribution was a powerful safety net—and he had many allies.

  “What’s crackin’, man?”

  He swallowed his disgust. Slang was for losers. “Save the street talk for your lower-level contacts. You’re above that.”

  “Thanks to you—but the lingo comes in handy during deals. What’s up?”

  “I’m past due for a status report on the last shipment.”

  “It’s still in distribution. I was gonna call you once the inventory was gone.”

  “Transactions are slower than usual. You sure there wasn’t any trouble at the pickup point?”

  “Nope. It was smooth. Not a soul in sight. But everybody’s on different schedules during the holidays. Getting the word out that we have merchandise has been slower.”

  “The holidays are over.” A homeless man across the street wove down the slippery sidewalk, and Wolf grimaced in disgust.

  Another druggie who’d lost the battle to get clean—if he’d ever bothered to enter the fray.

  What a wasted life.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Razor sounded miffed.

  Wolf refocused.

  Maybe his comment—and inherent insinuation—were out of line. There was no reason to doubt the trusted lieutenant who was his face on the streets. Razor owed him—and the man knew it. Without his intervention, Razor would be just another hash mark on the OD list, one more nameless statistic.

  Instead, he was positioned to take over an operation that would bring him wealth beyond his wildest dreams—as long as he stuck with the program.

  Continued cooperation was the key to both their futures.

  Better backtrack.

  “Nothing. Sorry. It’s been a busy holiday season. I’m overdue for a vacation.”

  “You’re headin’ toward a permanent vacation. Hang in and keep your eye on the prize.”

  Wolf arched an eyebrow.

  Once upon a time, he’d been the one offering pep talks.

  Another sign he should hand over the reins soon and fade out of the picture.

  “You’re right. A few more months, and my kingdom will be yours.”

  “Don’t rush on my account. I don’t know if our contacts are ready for new management.”

  “They will be. I’ve been laying the groundwork. You should start grooming your own second-in-command.”

  “I’m workin’ on that.”

  The wind picked up, and Wolf set off down the street at a brisk pace. “I’ll be in touch when the next delivery is scheduled.”

  “Same pickup place?”

  “Yes. It’s easier than changing locations with every shipment.”

  “I don’t like it out there—especially alone. I’m not a country boy.”

  “After what happened in October, solo is safer. You ever have any hassle about your grunt guy going missing?”

  “Nah. Going missing is a way of life here. I’m more worried about the other missing persons.”

  Wolf frowned as he crossed a street, detouring around a discarded syringe. “Why?”

  “I hear the cops are still poking around.”

  “I assume they won’t find anything.” Razor was quick-thinking and thorough, and if the man said the problem had been handled, there was no need to entertain doubts . . . or ask for details.

  Leaving the messy tasks to others was a perk of management.

  “No—and a chop shop took care of the car.”

  “Then let’s not dwell on it. The situation was unfortunate, but the fault was partly theirs. And the odds of anything like that happening again are too small to be of concern. I also have inside help to ensure the area is clear.”

  “Good.”

  “Call me after the inventory’s depleted.” Wolf checked his prepaid minutes. “On second thought, this phone is history. I’ll be back in touch with a new number.”

  “Got it.”

  The line went dead.

  Wolf pocketed the cell that was destined for the same fate as all the others—a fling into the river—and continued toward his destination.

  When a police cruiser rounded the corner ahead, however, his step faltered.

  But that was suspicious behavior.

  He picked up his pace.

  As he’d learned, if you acted innocent, most people gave you the benefit of the doubt.

  The patrol car slowed, and the officer behind the wheel leaned forward. Peered at him.

  Wolf called up a smile and lifted a hand in greeting, giving him a clear view of his face. As if he had nothing in the world to hide.