Page 105 of Lethal Deceit

Caleb’s frown grows even more before he yawns. “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.”

Her mouth twists, and she pouts. “You’re right. I’ll leave the action to you guys. Speaking of, Silas wants me to fill you all in before I send this off to the FBI.” Her eyes scan the faces peering back at her, and she pulls a face. “Yikes. You all looked better in night-vision green.”

Caleb snorts. “We’ll wash the war paint off later. What did you want to tell us?”

She taps away, looking down at her screen before answering. “The data breach was bigger than I first thought. It wasn’t just one. There were two separate, but linked, attacks. What’s really bad is that the attackers were employees of WayBridge Government Solutions, a subcontracting company.”

A document flashes up on screen, and we all shift closer to examine it. “It’s a shell corporation. It doesn’t exist. But—and this is the kicker—it ties back to an American-owned company, and our nasty senator is a whopping great big stakeholder.”

That explains where they got the American weapons from. I’m sick to my stomach. Every single person who risked their lives today must be feeling the same level of betrayal I am.

Caleb’s phone rings, and he glances at it before answering me. “I’m not comfortable with handing Samantha over. She’s injured, and we need to get Ben involved.”

“Ben?”

He holds up a finger and presses the phone to his ear. “Where are you?”

Reese answers my question while Caleb steps away. “Ben Harrison. Hightower’s lawyer.”

I give him a nod of thanks and make small talk, all the while trying to keep one eye on the room Brooke disappeared into and one on the phone call Caleb is having.

Finally, he nods, shoulders sagging slightly. His gaze tracks the direction Brooke and Adena took Samantha, and he lets out a long sigh. “Done.” His eyes shift to Reese. “How soon can you get us in the air again?”

Reese steps toward the exit. “We can be wheels up in twenty. Fifteen if Verity helps me.”

I look at Caleb as concern starts to gather in my midsection. Last I heard, Samantha would receive medical treatment and we’d head straight to the local FBI field office. Something has changed, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

“You think jerking the FBI around is a smart move?” I say to Caleb.

His eyes zero in on me, and there’s a glimmer in them I’m not sure I want to question. “At Hightower, we do it God’s way, or we don’t do it at all,” he says.

Samantha

It feels like déjà vu as I hobble into the room and find Alice—the same nurse who treated me earlier—waiting for me. To preserve what’s left of my dignity, she’s set up a privacy screen and laid out a cot with a clean gown.

I’m too sore and exhausted to protest, so I nod when Verity offers to help.

Like before, Alice moves with calm efficiency, directing Verity to ease me out of my soaking clothes and assist as she examines my injuries. Verity offers quiet smiles and winces while the nurse wipes away blood and has me lie down to check my abdomen. I dig my nails into my palms, bracing against the pain—afraid if I cry out, Mick will come rushing in.

Not that I’d mind seeing his face.

I’m wrecked—physically and emotionally. And the more time I spend around these women, the more confused I feel.

Adena is talking to Brooke on the other side of the room, checking if she’s okay. I try to follow their voices while Verity hovers nearby, her face drawn with concern. Alice shakes her head and murmurs to Verity, “Are they all dead?”

I blink, thinking I must’ve misheard.

“Mick left one alive for the FBI,” Verity replies quietly. “The other three are dead.”

There were two others? I never even saw them.

Alice shudders. “Thank the Lord you got to them in time.”

She glances at me and gives a soft smile. “God sent His angels with you for your first operation.”

I don’t argue. I don’t understand it, but for the first time in my life, I want it to be true. God is the only thing that makes sense. Two days ago, nothing—absolutely nothing—could’ve made me risk my life for anyone. Especially not strangers.

My throat tightens, and it’s not from being half-strangled. “What’s happening to me?”

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