Page 2 of Nothing to Fear

“Everyone has been polygraphed,” Gideon Stone said, flipping a switch to tint the conference room’s glass walls opaque, “and put under surveillance.”

“We still have nothing.” Strain leaked into Maddox Kinkade’s voice. Their team was undermanned and overwhelmed, stretched to the breaking point. “We won’t win playing this long game.”

Maddox was right. This approach was only working to the advantage of their mole.

Gideon sat at the touch screen table and brought up the final autopsy report, swiping through the digital pages. Conclusive results indicated homicide. A fast-acting poison that mimicked natural causes had killed Aleksander Novak, one so rare it was missed on the first toxicology panel.

Someone in his unit, someone they trusted with their lives, had murdered the one person capable of helping them discover the identity of the traitor—right under their noses here in the ultrasecure facility.

The obscene moxie that must’ve taken made Gideon’s blood simmer.

“We need to get up close and personal with each suspect.” Maddox looked around the table. “Run this to ground as quickly as possible.”

Only the six people sitting in that room had solid alibis for the estimated time of death and could be relied on without question. They were a close-knit crew and had been through the thick of it together.

“Let’s deal with Dad first,” Maddox said.

Slim odds that Bruce Sanborn, director of the Gray Box, was guilty of treason and murdering a suspect in custody. Dad, as they called him behind his back, cared too deeply about his people to endanger them. Still, they had to do their due diligence and investigate everyone who had access and opportunity, including the boss.

“Dad keeps secrets locked up tighter than gold in the Federal Reserve Bank,” Gideon said. “And he’s the best at tradecraft.”

“Who has balls big enough to take him?” Maddox asked.

“I think it’s safe to say I have the biggest pair.” Castle Kinkade, Maddox’s brother, dragged a hand across his bald brown head. Nobody laughed. He’d proven his mettle often enough in the field, putting his ex-Navy SEAL experience to use. “But to make it fair, whoever is left last without a target should get the headache of taking Sanborn.”

Across the table, Alistair Allen clucked his tongue. “Nice try, Elephant Balls.” His posh James Bond accent clashed with his hipster haircut and grunge attire. “As Sanborn’s protégé, you’re the best choice to get close enough without triggering his Spidey senses.”

Steel-toe boots clubbed a vacant chair as John Reece threw his feet up into it. “I’m all for fair, but that’s a valid point. I think you’re stuck with the short end of the stick.”

Castle folded his thick arms over his linebacker chest. “All right, the hot potato is mine.”

“You can handle the heat.” Maddox fiddled with her new engagement ring. The massive rock must’ve cost her fiancé a kidney. “Next, Sybil Parker. Her epic fail is the reason we’re here.”

Parker’s position as insider threat monitor was protected. The ITM and her henchmen were watchdogs, blessed with unfettered access to mission details and the authority to surveil any computer system and phone line to prevent insider threats—to catch spies. The irony.

Complicating this shitshow, the director of national intelligence had hired the ITM three-pack, and only he could fire them, making the lot untouchable without irrefutable evidence.

“I’m up for the challenge,” Reece said.

“Got a death wish?” Maddox snickered. “That praying mantis will eat you for a midday snack. It won’t be easy to play Parker. She’ll anticipate it.”

Reece tugged down a ball cap that read I’m Your Huckleberry. “No worries. I got this. I’ll approach her with serious concerns,” he said, using air quotes, “about her nemesis.”

“No love lost between her and Sanborn,” Sean “Ares” Whitlock said. The guy had dark eyes, dark hair, and an even darker presence that’d make the average man wet himself. “That’s catnip Parker won’t be able to resist. Guess you’re not an insult to our profession after all.”

Reece grinned and flipped him off. “And I’ll try to dig deeper into her minions.”

Stand-up guy taking one for the team. Gideon gave him a two-finger salute.

“Maddox,” Ares said, his voice full of grit and gravel, “you should take Doc.”

No secret the man had a thing for their resident CDC scientist, Emily “Doc” Duvall, but she avoided Ares as if he had a communicable disease. Ares obviously didn’t intend to let the hound dogs he worked with sniff around the one lady he wanted and couldn’t have.

“Doc is dying to be BFFs.” Maddox winced. “But it gives me the perfect in. Okay.”

No one would deny Ares a favor. Going along was sure as heck easier than opposing him.

“At the top of the list after Parker,” Maddox said, “is Willow Harper.”