Infiltration. Janie Crouch
siblings.
He knew he was starting to make some progress in the case; there were talks of taking Cameron to the DS-13 main base, wherever that was. That’s what Cameron wanted. That’s where he would meet the man who ordered his partner’s death. And as soon as Cameron could link him with that or any other felony, that bastard was going down.
Oh, yeah, and Cameron would recover Ghost Shell, as ordered.
Cameron didn’t take the orders about the technology acquirement lightly. He would get it. But he would bring down the bad guys while he was at it.
And then Cameron could get out of undercover work for a while and try to find himself. Get away from lies and filth for an extended period. Try to remember why he started this job in the first place.
As the SUV pulled up to an abandoned warehouse in a suburb far outside of Washington, Cameron got his head back in the game. No point whining about how hard this job was; he’d known that for a while now. Five years to be exact. Cameron immediately pushed that thought out of his head. This wasn’t the time or place to think about her. Or any of the disasters that had happened since.
Opening his car door, Cameron stepped out. “All right, ladies, everything should be in the back office, upstairs. Use the east entrance since it’s least visible.”
The driver, Fin, was the leader of the group. Cameron walked around the car to him. “How do you want to set up security, Fin?” Cameron knew it was important to make Fin feel as if he was in charge.
“Yeah, let’s leave someone at the back door outside and someone walking around inside, just in case.”
Cameron nodded. “Great.” He knew there would be no raids by authorities or attacks by a rival organization—thanks to Omega Sector—but nobody else knew it. As a matter of fact, nobody but them should be around this area at all. “You’re coming in with me, right? So we can get it all counted and tested?”
Cameron was the one who had set up this sale, in an attempt to prove his usefulness, again, to DS-13. The men inside the warehouse—bad guys in their own right—were business associates of Cameron’s. They were going to buy the weapons, ones Cameron had gotten for DS-13 at a hugely reduced price, thanks to them actually coming from the Omega Sector armory. All in all, DS-13 would make a nice little profit for very little work. Cameron would come out looking like the golden boy and would hopefully be one step closer to meeting the man in charge.
Nobody in DS-13 would ever know that the scumbags buying the weapons would be picked up by local law enforcement a few miles down the road after leaving here. The weapons would go back into government lockdown.
Fin barked orders to the rest of the men then walked with Cameron up the outdoor stairs to the second floor of the building. Inside was an office that looked down on the expanse of the warehouse, except seeing through the windows was nearly impossible due to years of cleaning neglect.
Cameron introduced the buyers to Fin and then stepped aside to let Fin talk to them so the guy could feel as if he was in charge. Cameron walked over to stand by a window that looked out onto the road. He rubbed a tiny bit of the filthy pane with his finger so he could see out, all the while keeping his ear on the conversation between the buyers and Fin, making sure Fin didn’t screw things up.
Looking out his tiny hole, Cameron noticed a car moving slowly from the warehouse next door toward them. He cursed silently. Nobody was supposed to be in this area at all except for them. Omega Sector should’ve seen to that.
When the car got out of his line of sight from that window, Cameron casually moved to another window. He leaned back against the wall for a few moments before turning nonchalantly to the window and once again creating a little peephole in the dirt. Cameron was careful not to make it look as if he was studying anything. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to that car.
Sure enough the vehicle stopped right in front of the warehouse. Cameron cursed under his breath again. He hoped Marco, the man Fin had left as guard, didn’t see the car. Maybe he wouldn’t. The minions tended to be a little slack when Fin wasn’t watching. Marco may be out smoking by the SUV or something. Cameron desperately hoped so. The last thing he needed was some civilian caught up in this mess.
“Isn’t that right, Cam?” Fin called out to Cameron.
Cameron racked his brain trying to figure out what they were talking about. He needed to be paying more attention to this sale. Cameron wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t want to let on that he hadn’t been listening to the conversation when he was the one who had set the whole thing up in the first place. Cameron decided to take a chance.
“If you say it, then it must be true, Fin.”
Both the buyers and Fin burst out laughing, so Cameron figured he had said the right thing. He watched as Fin began showing the weapons to the buyers.
When he turned to the window again, the driver had gotten out of the car. He couldn’t see much, but it looked as if it was a lone woman.
Damn.
Cameron knew he had to get down there and try to divert disaster before it hit full force.
“Fin, I’ve got to take a leak. I’m sure there’s a can downstairs somewhere. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Fin and the buyers barely looked up from their exchange. Fin shooed in Cameron’s general direction with his hand. Normally this lack of regard would’ve irritated Cameron, but now he was thankful for it. He headed out the door leading into the main section of the warehouse.
He hoped whoever was in the car was just some poor idiot who had gotten lost and would soon be on her way.
* * *
SOPHIA REARDON WAS lost and felt like some poor idiot. She rolled her window down farther and took a few deep breaths of air, trying to refocus.
Was this warehouse really the place? All of them looked the same. If she could read her own handwriting that would help. Of course, if people would do their jobs correctly in the first place she wouldn’t have to be here at the corner of Serial-Killers-R-Us Street and Shouldn’t-Be-Here-Alone Avenue.
Sophia looked down at the napkin where she’d scribbled the address. Yeah, that was definitely an 8 not a 3. Which meant it was this warehouse she was supposed to be at, not the just-as-scary first one she’d gone to.
All Sophia needed were a few pictures of the interior ceiling frame and doorway of the warehouse to help finish a computer rendering of the building. This warehouse was identical to one that had burned down in an arson case two weeks ago—the work of a serial arsonist who had hit buildings in four different states. The FBI had been called in to help local law enforcement.
Sophia muttered under her breath again as she grabbed her camera gear and purse. She put her FBI credentials in her pocket, in case some poor security guard needed to see them. She pushed open the door to the warehouse and walked in slowly, giving her eyes time to adjust. She cursed her office mate, Bruce, who had begged Sophia to take these pictures.
“‘The new girl at the coffee shop said yes to lunch, Sophia,’” Sophia said in her best mimicry of Bruce’s voice. “‘But today’s our only chance this week. Please, please, please go take pictures at the horror-film warehouse for me. I’m worth getting mutilated for.’”
Sophia sighed. Bruce owed her. Big-time. Sophia hated this cloak-and-dagger stuff.
Sure, she worked for the FBI, but would be the first to tell you she wasn’t an agent. She didn’t even do CSI stuff usually, although she was part of the forensic team. She was a graphic designer, for goodness’ sake. She designed brochures and fliers and posters. Safe in the comfort of her office in DC, not in some warehouse in Scaryville.
As the door closed behind her, Sophia took a deep breath and reminded herself there was plenty of air in this building and nothing to be afraid of. She was not trapped back in that car like during the accident five years ago. Sophia went through a couple of the mental exercises Dr. Fretwell had taught