Sky's Lark (5 page)

If she ever met the guy, she owed him a big smacking kiss. Hell, she would owe him dinner, a vacation, and the right to name her firstborn after him, too.

Grabbing the phone, she dialed her boss, figuring he should know about this latest wrinkle in her life. She would argue and refuse to let them stand guard over her, but they needed to know that she had been made, thus endangering them as well. Santora's money reached far pockets, even to powerful officials in highly secretive agencies. Night needed what little information she could provide in order to protect the others and all their loved ones.

Pissed-off drug lords didn't play nice and rarely only went after the ones responsible for their troubles. They made it personal, calling in favors to torture and kill beloved family members and friends. Santora would use the same tactics if given a chance. Prison walls only deterred him from passing the orders along in person.

Chapter 7

"So, what do you think?" Lark asked between sips of her cappuccino, watching the expressions flicker across her boss's face.

Night turned his attention from the note to the photo, his lips thinning even as his jaw tightened. "I think we should've terminated the bastard when we had the chance."

Lark could certainly agree with that.

Once she told him about the situation, he drove immediately to meet her at a busy coffee shop near the mall, wanting to blend in with the large crush of people actively purchasing gifts for Christmas just around the corner. They ordered drinks then sat down. Night pored over the note and picture with keen eyes, a deep frown indicating his mood.

"Whoever left you this note took some risk. My guess is he's imbedded, an undercover agent of some sort, gathering evidence on Santora. He risked his neck to get this to you."

She nodded. "I think so, too." Her attention flicked across the room, noticing each new person as they wandered in, most with packages in hand. "I'm beginning to think that Santora has some bigwigs on his payroll with enough power to have him sent to DEA instead of jail. He sent the photo out after he was captured, so someone had to give him access to his commanders in order for that to happen."

Night sipped his coffee and nodded. "That would explain why our contact couldn't get deadly force clearance and might be another reason someone got smart and placed a ringer, someone on the inside, who could find out names on that payroll sheet."

"Any way of finding out who the guy is or who he reports to?"

"Not really. Besides, I don't want to bring attention to him. The farther under the radar he exists, the better his chances."

"Good point." She plucked a napkin from the holder and patted her lips. "How do we find the traitor? Personally, I would love to capture that guy and beat him senseless."

Her ire rose again with the thought that someone in perhaps her own agency had flipped affiliations, choosing to assist a cruel and vicious drug lord in exchange for spending money in his pocket. Greed made strange bedfellows and proved a poisonous thorn in the side of every agent, police officer, and military representative involved in the fight against drugs. Like their job wasn't tough enough without their own people jeopardizing the whole operation.

"Money." He folded the papers once more before sliding them across the table to her. "Money always leaves a trail."

She tilted her head in question. "You really think Santora is cutting checks to a person with power?"

"I'm certain of it." He took another drink from the steaming cup before replacing it in the saucer. "We just have to delve into bank accounts and money transactions."

"What if he uses a pseudonym or has foreign bank accounts?" Her mind began formulating a plan of how to access the information needed.

"Start at the basics. Look at salary and income then compare that with his assets. Anything that stands out, mark and keep for more review later." Night glanced at his watch.

Lark slurped down the rest of her drink, taking the hint. He had another meeting to get to and didn't want to be late. "Okay. I've still got my DEA pass and access. I'll swing by the office and start looking through files."

"No." His deep blue eyes caught her gaze. "Too dangerous and too many people. If there is a spy in the agency, you damned well don't want him walking by your desk and seeing what you're up to. Even typing in Santora's name is too dangerous."

She understood his extreme caution. His reasons were practical and rational. If the traitor happened to see her or searched the computer checks for anything related to his account or his boss, it wouldn't take a genius to trace the inquiries back to her. "How then?"

For the first time that morning, a sly smile appeared on Night's chiseled face, his dark skin tone contrasting with straight white teeth. "The public library."

"Huh?" She blinked even as she stood, empty cup in hand.

He followed suit, leaving his china on the table for an attendant to pick up as he cleaned the area for the next customer. "Public computers and a ton of information at your fingertips."

A grin appeared on her face as his meaning dawned on her. "You're sneaky. I like it."

He led the way through the door and held it open until she passed through. "If you need help getting past firewalls or barriers, call Spoon. He's an ace at info gathering. In fact, it might not be a bad idea to give him a call anyway. No sense wasting time when you could be knee deep in suspects by morning with his help."

"Oh, boy. That will stroke his ego big time, having me ask for his assistance." She snorted.

Night grinned widely at her teasing. "Just do it. Watch your back and call if you need anything or something changes." His stern tone turned his words into a command.

She barely resisted the urge to salute. "I will. Promise."

"Stay low. If you don't call and end up in trouble, there'll be hell to pay." With those words, he strode over to his black truck, stepped in, and quickly drove out of the parking lot.

Lark slid into the driver's seat of her Mustang, Night's words replaying through her mind. The fact he practiced hands off for the moment both thrilled and surprised her, showing her in an elemental way his faith and confidence in her abilities. At the same time, he expected her to realize her own limitations and to ask for a flotation device before she drowned. More than she expected, in all honesty, and a feather in his hat for boss of the year in her opinion. He treated her like he would any of the guys instead of bulling up and demanding she race to the nearest safe house, ordering high levels of security in order to protect her while they went in and brought the perpetrator to justice. Not her style.

As much as she appreciated the chivalrous efforts of men simply looking out for her well-being, she much preferred they view her as a compatriot, an equal, one to stand beside them in battle rather than hide behind their backs at the first barrage of bullets. She tolerated the overprotective louts in her family because that's just what older brothers and a loving father do. The other men in the world, she expected more from.

Night would give her all the assistance she needed while letting her run her own show. But should she falter, the whole team would come running, placing their lives on the line for the newest and only female member of the Wind Warriors. Those facts once more solidified her decision to join the group. They had her back without caging her in. They didn't know how much the simple philosophy meant to her.

She pulled out her cell and quickly punched in numbers. As much as she hated to ask for help, Night was right. Spoon could find out anything and everything in half the time of any other IT gurus she knew, including those at the DEA. If she had to tolerate his flirtation and attitude in the meantime, so be it. Keeping her hide intact and taking down a rogue agent was more than worth it.

Lark sat back in the hard wooden chair, rubbing at her irritated eyes as she blew out a long, tired breath. Her lower back ached from hours of sitting, tapping away at the keyboard in order to find the smallest link from any of the federal bureaus and the wealthy drug kingpin sitting in DEA headquarters. With the help of Spoon, she scoured through hundreds of pages of documents, carefully evaluating everything from tax documents to payroll checks, and big ticket purchases to foreign bank accounts. All her tedious and mundane labor netted a handful of people, all with little red flags in their financial inventory. The list would prove to be a starting point, since the probability that she'd found the person responsible for her situation would be marginal at best.

She marveled at Spoon's abilities as he coaxed information out of the public computer in a far corner of the large main branch library, scooting through firewalls and defenses with ease, able to filter through employee names and records at amazing speed despite thoroughly checking each and every one for inconsistencies.

"I owe you, big time," she whispered, sitting forward in her seat once more to stack the handful of papers they'd printed into a neat pile.

He shrugged, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, his focus remaining on the computer screen in front of him. "No problem."

She took in the man sitting beside her, noting his fine, tall frame complete with plenty of muscles. His clean shaven chin gave him a bit of a boyish appearance along with the tousled, short, dark brown hair and quick, chocolate-colored eyes. Women would drool over the fine specimen and count their blessings when they found out the inside contained a heart of gold, an odd sense of humor, and a genuine appreciation for life. Too bad she felt not a single sizzle or twinge. For all purposes, she saw him as a fellow soldier or even a brother. All in all, a good situation but a lost opportunity in her endeavors to locate the right man.

Back to the task at hand, she scanned over names of high ranking officials connected with the DEA, more than one ringing a bell. "Wait." She reached out to grab Spoon's arm before he could move on. "There. That one." Lark pointed out the next to last name. "Him. He's always struck me as slimy."

"Okay." Spoon clicked here and there, soon displaying several spreadsheets, all itemized assets and payments. "Nothing seems out of place."

She scooted closer, her forefinger tapping her lips in concentration. "My gut tells me he's got something to hide."

"Good enough for me." Spoon typed and clicked, meandering through page after page of information on one of the DEA supervisors. More than once, he came up against a high-level security screen refusing him entrance despite multiple attempts at circumventing the blockade. "Damn. This is tighter than the Pentagon." He cussed under his breath as yet another attempt failed. "It's going to take time and I'm still not sure I can get through it."

"That's okay. Maybe we don't have exactly what we are looking for, but this tells me Mr Slimeball is hiding something. Who else would have such a security net around their financial and personal lives?"

Spoon stretched, raising long arms in the air to work out the kinks. "True. I say he's a definite person of interest." He glanced at his watch and winced. "It's late. I should probably follow you to your apartment then head on home myself."

She refrained from rolling her eyes. "I can get home just fine, you know."

He shot her a crooked grin. "I imagine so. However, if I didn't make sure and something happened, Night would have my head. You're his favorite, after all."

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

"It's true." He quickly wiped their tracks from the computer, deleting and clearing all files and tracking cookies. Once done, he logged off then shut the computer completely down, ensuring the next user wouldn't be able to stumble across their work. That done, he stood, pulling his jacket off the back of the wooden seat.

Lark followed suit after stuffing the printed pages into her purse and zipping it shut to prevent any page from catching a breeze and blowing out. Hooking the strap over her shoulder, she dutifully followed Spoon out of the library and to the parking lot.

Standing on tiptoes, she brushed her lips across his cheek. "Thank you again."

He smiled down at her. "You're welcome. I'll work on it, but I doubt we'll find much more."

"No biggie. I think we're on the right track even if the evidence isn't there." She stepped back toward her car parked right beside his black SUV. "I'm heading home."

"I'll be right on your tail. Call me if you need anything," he said before heading to his own vehicle and climbing in.

True to his word, he followed her home and waited until she entered the building, turned her light on, and waved out the window at him before driving off. Lark normally bristled at the action, but in her precarious and rattled state, she found it comforting and reassuring.

She worked with a good group of guys, ones she relied upon and genuinely liked more and more each day. Like a band of brothers, they stood beside her, fretting now and again, but overall avoided coddling. They allowed her to use her abilities and skills without throwing a brick wall in her path with overzealous protective attitudes. A rarity she clung to, tightly.

A woman could suffer worse coworkers. Much worse.

Chapter 8

Bryce tossed in his hand of cards, keeping a watchful eye on Rodriguez as he chatted privately with Santora's right-hand man. Known as Shark, he lined up the drug deliveries for the various groups. Bryce had seen the man only once before, just days after he infiltrated the group, about the time Santora made a major move in the drug cartel business. His reappearance sparked Bryce's curiosity and stood the hairs on end at the back of his neck. Something big had to be coming.

"Call." The youngest member of the Hispanic-dominant group held up his cards, waiting for the others to fall in line.

Bryce sat back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest as if nonchalantly watching the game. Instead, he kept an eye on everyone in the room and tried to read lips now and again in order to find out more.

Without his strong Spanish heritage, he would never have been accepted into the group, let alone quickly climb the ladder of leadership to occupy a spot just below Rodriguez. He'd learned Spanish as a baby, his fluent mother had made sure to pass along more than just DNA to her only son. At times he had to catch himself, recalling the differences between the guttural Mexican slang and proper Spanish like his mother spoke. Four weeks into the operation, the local version came much quicker and was now almost automatic, causing him less fear of a stumble amongst the native speakers.