Delta Force Defender. Carol Ericson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      He twisted his head back toward Martha, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. She raised one hand. “That’s me, Martha Brockridge, daughter of a convicted felon.”

      Cam swallowed. “That’s your father, not you. Obviously the CIA already knows about your background. A name change isn’t going to throw off the Agency.”

      “I never tried to throw them off. I was up front about my father. They knew. I think they even believed that my father’s criminal behavior had influenced me to follow the straight and narrow path, and they were right...until now.”

      Her voice broke at the end, and he jumped up from the chair and took her by the shoulders. He dug his fingers into her tight muscles. “This situation is completely different.”

      “Maybe, but do you think anyone’s going to believe me about the emails now? A convicted felon’s daughter?” She shook her head, and the ends of her hair tickled the backs of his hands.

      “I doubt the patriot went through all this trouble to discredit or warn you, and the CIA already knows about your father. It didn’t stop them from believing you the first time you turned over those emails.”

      “I don’t know what to think. It’s hard for me to believe there’s no connection between my online conversation with the patriot and the death of Congressman Wentworth.”

      He blew out a breath. “I don’t believe that, either. I don’t believe in coincidences, but I can’t wrap my mind around his motives.”

      “You think there might be another reason?”

      He smoothed his hands down her arms and released her, stepping back. “How long has Casey been living with you?”

      Martha blinked her long lashes. “About eight months.”

      “You received the emails four months ago, right?”

      “You’re not implying Casey is involved? That ditz?”

      “It could’ve all been an act. The people who sent you the emails needed someone on the inside, and it would’ve been too hard to get one of your coworkers to cooperate. How’d that virus get on your laptop? I’m sure the CIA must drill computer security measures into your head and you didn’t just click on some random link in an email. Who does that anymore?”

      Martha chewed on the edge of her thumb. “I thought maybe he’d used Dreadworm again to get to me.”

      “How’d you meet Casey?”

      “Through one of those roommate finders. She had the money up front—first, last and insisted on a larger security deposit than I’d asked for.” She smacked her knee. “I should’ve trusted my instincts. I thought she was a little too eager.”

      “Something else about her choice in boyfriends.” He straddled the desk chair again just to keep from touching Martha. It felt...manipulative to use her distress to get close to her. She didn’t need any more distractions in her life right now, and neither did he.

      “Congressman Wentworth?”

      “Remember I told you last night I knew him from the House Intelligence Committee? He must have a lot of information on Denver.”

      She lowered herself to the bed as if in slow motion. “So, this is a twofer for Casey. She moves in to keep an eye on me, and she dates Wentworth to keep an eye on him and Major Denver.”

      “It makes sense that a lot of that stuff about Denver came from an inside source.” Cam’s anger at the injustice of Denver’s situation burned in his gut. He crouched to grab the sodas from the fridge, cracked one open and took a long swig from the can. He held the other out to Martha, and she shook her head.

      Tucking one leg beneath her on the bed, she said, “We’re just guessing. How are we going to prove any of this?”

      “Let’s start with Casey. Where was she when you left?”

      “She was still with the police.”

      “She’d admitted to the affair?”

      “Of course. What other explanation could she give?”

      “It’s odd.” Cam smoothed a hand across his freshly shaved jaw. “Why risk such public exposure? If Wentworth had served his purpose and they wanted СКАЧАТЬ