Page 111 of Three Steps Behind

“May I?” Grey asked for it, once again sliding on gloves.

“Please.”

He took it to his computer and the equipment he needed to read it. They all gathered around behind his chair.

“Tracey was a journalist in the region,” Harper said. “Maybe it contains part of her story, but what could be so important that it was worth—”

Deck glanced over at her. “What is it?”

“She told me it was important.” Tears stung her eyes, and she didn’t bother swatting them away. “That last night before they came for her, she told me not to let her story die. She said I was strong, and she knew I’d make it out and not let her story die. I thought she just meant about what we experienced, and I briefed both the military and the government on that, but what if it’s a more specific story?”

“We’re about to find out.” Grey pulled up the files, and they all leaned in.

She frowned. “Andres Xavier? I don’t understand. Why hide a story about a great humanitarian? Unless the rebels didn’t want his work against them to get out . . . or . . .” She tilted her head. “Or he isn’t the great humanitarian he claims to be.”

This could not be happening. She exhaled a quivering breath. So much was rushing back. The crates the rebels had with markings burned off. Their yelling about where something was as they took Tracey.

She reached for the necklace. She’d had it all along. Through her escape from rebels, the break-ins and the surveillance.

They read through the article and scrolled through the photos—Andres, the great humanitarian who was short-changing villages for profit and, worse, supplying the rebels with arms, ammunition, and supplies to keep the war going. All for blood money in his pocket.

Deck looked back at her when they were done. “Well, how do you want to handle this?”

“Go get that tux.”

Forty-Five

BRISTOL SHOWERED, dressed, made a cup of Earl Grey, then stood staring at the door. She had to face him. Might as well get it over with. She glanced at her watch. And she’d best hurry before Dalton showed up.

Taking a deep breath, she headed across the hall, praying this wouldn’t be as humiliating as she imagined. And what was up with her praying? She didn’t believe in God, right? She’d given up on Him when He hadn’t protected her and her siblings from their parents’ schemes. Tears burned her eyes. Her siblings . . . She kept tabs on them. She wondered if they ever thought of her.

The door opened.

“Are you going to come in?” Aubry asked, decked out in black dress pants and a hunter green button-down shirt that brought out the flecks of green in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, studying her.

“Yep. Only had one cup of tea, not enough caffeine consumption.” Which was true.

“Come on in. Coffee’s on.” He stepped back, allowing her passage.

Two steps in and she stilled. Great. Agent Baxter.

“Bristol.” He greeted her with a nod.

“Baxter.” She did the same.

“I hear we have a surprise today.”

She shifted her gaze to Aubry, who was in the midst of pouring her a cup of steaming coffee—its aroma tantalizing.

“We have to be prepared to pivot fast should the surprise be in more than one place or—”

“Or,” Aubry said, “if it goes bad.”

She took a sharp inhale. She understood that was a possibility—probably a far bigger one than she wanted to think about.

“I got your mics in place.” He handed her the still-steaming mug, then moved to the end table by Baxter’s chair. Lifting the necklace, he brought it over to her mid-sip.