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An officer came over to her and asked her to move to the other side of the table so he could handcuff her. She did, moving slowly, like she was in shock. Which she had to be.
Four years.
As the officer turned her so he could cuff her, Hayley’s eyes met Cain’s. He took a step toward her, unable to help himself.
He expected tears, or terror, or even hatred to light her eyes as she looked at him, skin across her cheekbones pale and drawn.
But her eyes were dead, emotionless. She looked at him as though he were a stranger.
Then she turned from him completely and was led away.
Chapter One (#uadf18358-466a-5201-840a-a1d1a7a3e0e7)
Four years later
Cain often dealt with the worst of humanity as part of the Omega Sector Protection and Recovery Division.
Crisis management and bodyguarding were a regular part of his job. He and his team also dealt with hijackers and kidnappers on a regular basis.
But his mission right now was to rescue not a person, but the entire Critical Response Division of Omega, which was being hijacked in its own way.
They had a psychopath on their hands, set on destroying the team one by one—by killing their loved ones. And someone on the inside was helping the madman in his quest.
Cain was currently watching a video of Damien Freihof—said psychopath—who had slit the throat of Omega psychiatrist Grace Parker last week.
Freihof and his cohort within Omega Sector had decided it would be fun to send the murder as a live feed to all active Omega Sector agents—forcing them to watch as Dr. Parker died without them being able to step in and do anything about it.
So now Cain was able to watch it over and over. Watch as Grace’s eyes dulled in death. Watch as Freihof’s eyes had filled with something akin to joy as the doctor—a beautiful woman in her fifties, and an integral part of the Omega team—died sitting right in front of him.
Freihof had made it no secret that he wanted Omega Sector’s Critical Response Division to pay for the death of his wife, Natalie, years ago. That he blamed the elite law enforcement task group for her untimely demise in a bank hostage situation.
He was determined they would feel the pain of losing loved ones like he had.
Grace Parker had been just one of those loved ones Freihof had gone after. For the past five months he’d been the mastermind behind attacks on nearly a dozen Omega Sector agents or their friends and family. Grace had died last week. Two other Omega agents were in the hospital after an explosion.
And Freihof was reveling in it all.
Freihof had to be stopped. But just as importantly, the mole inside Omega—the one who was feeding Freihof information that was allowing him to be so successful in his attacks—had to be stopped. Steve Drackett, director of the Critical Response team, was unsure who could be trusted.
That’s why Cain was here, brought from a different division of Omega, to help catch this traitor.
Cain watched the death of Grace Parker again, hoping to notice something this time that maybe he’d missed before. He hadn’t personally known the woman, which allowed him to look at the footage more objectively, see things others—people who had cared deeply about the psychiatrist—might miss.
Cain was known for his ability to separate emotion from the job. It was how he’d risen to assistant director of Omega’s Protection and Recovery Division when he’d barely reached his thirtieth birthday.
Because he got the job done, no matter what.
He’d proven that four years ago.
Cain studied the footage again, pushing all thoughts of Hayley Green aside. Right now he needed to understand as much as he could about Damien Freihof. Because anything Cain could find out about him would hopefully lead to information about the mole.
In a way—as psychotic as Freihof was—he was easier to understand. The man wanted vengeance. Sure, he may want vengeance for something that Omega Sector wasn’t actually responsible for, but at least his motives were clear.
What did the traitor want?
There couldn’t be much money involved in helping Freihof. Maybe a little, but not the sort of big payoff someone was usually looking for in order to risk their reputation and/or life.
That left a lot of other factors. It could also be vengeance; maybe Freihof had found a kindred spirit also looking for some sort of revenge for something Omega had done. Maybe the person had a desire for control, or was some sort of political zealot, planning to bring down Omega Sector from the beginning.
Or maybe Freihof had control over the man—or woman—and was blackmailing him or her in some way.
The motive didn’t really matter to Cain in terms of justifying why the traitor was behaving the way he was, but understanding motive always provided information in an unknown suspect.
Cain sat in a private conference room attached to Steve Drackett’s office. It was one of the few places Steve had assured him there was no way the mole could have any type of surveillance devices.
While Cain trusted Steve completely, he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Cain had his own countersurveillance device that allowed him to know for certain that no one was recording or transmitting visual or audio data from this room.
Files of every employee—agent or not—of the Critical Response Division sat in groups on the large conference table. Cain had already been in this room for more than eight hours going through the files.
He had four distinct groups: cleared, unlikely, unknown and suspicious.
People like Steve Drackett, whom Cain had known for years and who had spent most of his life fighting people like Freihof, were in the cleared category. Other agents also, like the various members of the Omega SWAT team who had been injured or nearly killed by Freihof over the last few months. Employees who had joined Omega very recently were also cleared, as well as those who had no access to the type of information that had been given to Freihof.
But that still left a hell of a lot of people in the unlikely, unknown or suspicious categories.
Long-term operatives and agents were in the unlikely category. Cain rubbed the back of his neck as he walked around the table looking at the files. The thought of the culprit being a colleague who had been involved with Omega Sector for years churned like acid in his gut. He drowned those thoughts by taking a swig from his now-cold coffee mug, the only substance he’d had today. He wanted to move these agents to the cleared list, but he couldn’t.
Emotion had no place in solving crimes. No matter how much Cain wanted someone to be innocent, he knew firsthand that wasn’t always how things panned out.
He looked through all the unknown files again. People with a background in computers who would be able to get Freihof the information he wanted without being detected. The one thing they knew for sure was the traitor was highly skilled in computer usage.
But a number of people were skilled in that area. Even people who had jobs not involving computers or intel could still have the prowess needed to be the mole.
Cain picked up a file for John Carnell. The guy was a genius; his damn mind worked like a computer. Abrupt and sullen, he was often difficult to work with, but almost always the smartest person in the room.
Cain slid Carnell’s file from the unknown to the suspicious pile. There it joined half a dozen others. Two from people who had filed complaints with the head Omega office in Washington, DC, when they were bypassed for promotions—maybe one of them had an ax to grind and had become the mole. SWAT wannabe Saul Poniard’s file was also in the pile; he had such a perfect record that it bugged Cain.
And Lillian Muir, a member of the SWAT team. Cain didn’t like putting her name in the suspicious pile, especially since she’d been one of the people injured in an explosion a few days ago at Freihof’s last known place of residence. A wooden projectile had lodged itself in her shoulder. A painful but non-life-threatening injury.
But Cain could not deny that Lillian’s past—and how well hidden she’d kept it—made her a suspect. Someone who had gone to the lengths she had to hide her past was someone who had something to lose.
When Steve Drackett walked in the door, Cain slid Lillian’s file under another one. He knew Steve was too emotionally involved with his inner team to objectively consider the possibility that one of them was the traitor.
“How’s it going in here?” Steve asked.
“I’ll admit, I’d rather be out enjoying your beautiful Colorado mountains than stuck inside this windowless room.”
Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “I keep saying you need to transfer from the DC office out here. Quality-of-life clause.” Steve’s eyes flew to the screen where Cain had paused the recording of Grace Parker’s death.
Cain walked over and shut it off. Steve had seen the murder footage enough times; he didn’t need to see it again. Steve gestured toward the files on the table. “Any luck?”
“I have my theories. My categories of suspects. I have to be honest with you, Steve, it’s probably better if you just don’t even know who I’m really looking into.”
Cain wouldn’t tell him anyway, but he hoped the other man wouldn’t ask. Cain respected Steve, had known him for a lot of years. He didn’t want to let this drive a wedge—professional or personal—between them.
But he would if it meant catching the mole.
Steve rolled tense shoulders. “I don’t like it, I’ll be honest. But I like even less the thought of a traitor walking among us every day. Of more of my agents getting hurt or killed.”
“I know,” Cain said softly. “We’re going to get him, Steve. Get them. Freihof and whoever this mole is.”
“Do you have any particular direction you’re following?”
“Some. Based on profiling and what might be considered suspicious activities. Or even particular skill sets. But what’s really going to help me catch this person is the computer stuff.”
“That’s why you’re going to Hayley Green.”
He could still see the way she’d looked at him that day in the courtroom. How dead her eyes had been. That had been the last time he’d seen her. He’d tried to visit her multiple times the first year she’d gone to prison, but she’d always refused to have anything to do with him. So then he’d stopped trying.
Although he’d never stopped thinking about her.
“I don’t have the skills to find this person, but she does.”
Steve’s eyebrow raised. “You know Hayley is a convicted felon. You made sure of that.”
His gut tightened at the thought, like it did every time. “But she’s also the best at hacking a computer system.”
“Are you sure she will help you?”
Hayley had been paroled four months ago. Cain knew the exact date she’d gotten out. He’d been surprised when she moved back to Gainesville, Georgia, upon release. The place she always said she wanted to get away from.
They both had wanted to get away from it. Heaven knew they had spent enough time during their relationship in high school talking about getting out. But maybe she had decided that familiar was better.
“Cain?” Steve repeated. “Are you sure that Hayley will help you? After everything that happened?”
Cain forced himself to release the tension in his shoulders. “Hayley was guilty. She’s now out of prison and I’m sure she’s ready to move on.”
“But moving on and helping the man who put her in prison are two different things.”
Helping the man who used his relationship with her to put her in prison.
Steve didn’t say the words, but he didn’t have to. Both of them were thinking it; Steve had known Cain when it happened. They both knew that was much more difficult to move on from.
Cain ignored it. He’d done what he had to do four years ago, even though it had gutted him. But the law had been on his side. He tried to remember that.
And he’d had no idea the judge would be so hard in his sentencing of Hayley. But that hadn’t changed the fact that she was guilty.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle Hayley,” Cain finally said. And he would. He couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t help him catch a murderer, no matter what had transpired between the two of them in the past.
“If you say so.” Steve wisely didn’t say anything further.
“I’m going to have to go completely dark from Omega.” Cain began stacking files. Many of them would be coming with him to Georgia. “Hayley can’t work anywhere within the Omega system.”
“Completely dark?” Steve asked. “That could be dangerous. You won’t have much backup if you need it.”
“Until we know how deep this goes, have a better idea of who the mole is and what sort of capacity he or she has for obtaining information? I can’t work within the Omega system. If this mole is as good as we think, he’ll realize it if I’m inside.”
The last thing either of them wanted to do was cause the traitor to go to ground. They’d never be able to catch him then. And that would make apprehending Freihof that much harder.
“The only people who will know what I’m doing will be you, Ren McClement in the DC office and me.”
Steve nodded. They both wanted to trust more people but keeping this circle as small as possible was the best scenario. McClement worked in the highest levels of Omega Sector, bringing together multiple departments when needed. The man was all but a legend. Cain trusted Ren just as much as he trusted Steve.
With his life.
“You just be careful,” Steve said. “Going dark can have some hard consequences.”
“I’m willing to pay that price if it means we get this traitor out of our midst.”
“I know you are.” Steve studied him. “But sometimes we are not the only person to pay the price. Hayley might have been guilty of whatever crime she committed years ago, but dragging her into this could be even worse.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect Hayley.” Believe it or not, even if she couldn’t see it, he’d always been trying to protect her. From the day he met her in high school until today. “I’ll make sure it’s cleared through the state so that she won’t be violating her parole by helping us. I won’t let anybody hurt her.”
Steve moved toward the door, nodding. “I hope she sees it that way.”
So did Cain.
Chapter Two (#uadf18358-466a-5201-840a-a1d1a7a3e0e7)
Hayley loaded the dirty dishes and wiped down the booth that had just been vacated by Bluewater Grill patrons. She slid along the soft gray leather of the seat to wipe a far corner of the table. She swiped at a few strands of dirty-blond hair that had escaped her long braid with the back of her hand, then hoped the moisture left on her forehead wasn’t cleaning solution.
She almost moaned in relief at how good it felt to be off her feet for just a second as she wiped. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. She’d already been working six hours and still had another eight to go. Just like yesterday.
And the day before that.
It was the only way she could make ends meet when she earned only minimum wage. Less than that, actually. But she didn’t argue, because at least she had a job.
Not many people were willing to hire a convicted felon, she’d found when she left the Georgia Women’s Correctional Institution four months ago. She’d been fortunate that the restaurant she worked at in high school part-time, still owned by the same family and now managed by their son, Timothy Smittle, a high school classmate of Hayley’s, had been willing to take a chance on her.
They hadn’t let her wait tables, explaining that they couldn’t allow an ex-felon to interact with customers or handle money. But Timothy had graciously offered to allow Hayley to bus the tables, wash dishes and clean the entire restaurant.
The same Timothy who was looking over at her now, eyebrow raised, since she was no longer wiping the table, just resting. Hayley quickly jumped up, not wanting to risk another lecture about how lucky she was to have a job at such a respectable establishment.
Hayley didn’t think too hard about her future. About the fact that she was twenty-eight years old, had no college degree, was an ex-felon and would probably still be working fourteen-hour days at the Bluewater twenty years from now.
Or the fact that she might have to start running for her life as soon as she was legally able to access a computer.
As she carried the bus pan back to the dishwashing area—thankful that some customer had come in and cut Timothy off from the route that had led straight to her and a lecture—she tried to count her blessings.
