Disavowed(17)
He tore another strip and overlapped the previous piece with it. Then another, and another, until he’d completely covered the bandage. “There,” he said, tossing the tape back into the kit and zipping it shut. “That’ll keep it dry for the shower. Take it off when you come out though, so it can breathe. Schroder said he gave you a shot of antibiotics but you should still take precautions to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
“I know.” It came out way grumpier than she meant it to.
His expression shuttered and he stepped back. “Take your time. I’ll grab us some food when you’re done.”
Briar turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it and scrubbed herself clean. It was bliss, even if her side was throbbing like hell and she felt bruised all over. Simple pleasures like hot showers and clean beds were things most people took for granted but they were luxuries she looked forward to most when she returned home from an op.
When she was done she toweled off and used the motel hair dryer to dry her hair. She put her bra back on but tossed her blood-stained panties and put on the clean clothes. They smelled like fabric softener and the same soap she’d detected on DeLuca. The black T-shirt hung to mid-thigh and she had to roll the waistband of the pants over four times to keep them from falling off her hips, then roll up the cuffs twice. When she emerged from the bathroom she found DeLuca looking through a phone book.
“There’s not much in the way of restaurants here. I’ll send one of the guys to pick us all up something. You okay with soup and sandwiches?”
“Sure.” Her stomach rumbled.
He set the phone book down and she was struck again by how attractive he was. “Any preferences?”
“As long as I don’t have to eat organ meat, I’m good.”
His lips twitched. “No organs. Roger.”
She noticed the edge of what looked like a laptop sitting in his open duffel. “Is that thing secure?”
He followed her gaze. “Secure enough.” He looked back at her. “We’re supposed to go Stone Age, remember?”
“I need to check something. Lily needs to know we’ve been delayed and I can reach her through someone else.” And she needed to reach out to her old friend to see if she’d heard any chatter about the Ramadi op yet.
He raised an eyebrow. “Someone you’re willing to trust with your life?”
“Yes.”
The blunt answer seemed to surprise him. After a second he got up and brought the laptop to her. He booted it up, seemed to be teasing her when he turned the screen away and tapped in his password, his gaze on her. “There,” he said, turning it back to her. “You’re not going to hack anything, are you?”
“No, I just want to see if anything’s shown up in the press or not.” Hacking wasn’t her specialty anyway. That was one of Trinity’s many talents.
He pushed it toward her. “Be my guest.”
He stayed on the edge of the bed while she checked some news sites, and dammit, when he was this close she found it hard to concentrate. Pretending her body wasn’t buzzing with awareness, she clicked from one site to the next, relieved when nothing about Ramadi showed up. “Nothing’s been leaked. Yet,” she added before accessing one of her e-mail accounts. It was encrypted and registered to an alias, and only two other people knew about it.
Her heart thudded when she saw that Trinity had left a flagged message for her.
Saw this and had to check with you. Did you hear about it?
The time stamp was dated nine hours ago. Briar had gone dark two days ago and hadn’t been able to access any media since. She clicked on the link.
Suspect Linked to Ibrahim Ramadi Dies
Surprise flashed through her, followed by dread when she saw the picture below the headline. Instant recognition flooded her. Jerry. A company asset and Iraqi-immigrant informant she’d been in contact with prior to the op. He’d been the one to give her Ramadi’s location and tell her when he’d be at the cabin.
She quickly read the story, her alarm growing by the second. Jerry had been driving home on the highway from his job as an IT tech outside of Boulder when his vehicle had slammed straight into the concrete supports of an overpass, killing him instantly. Police blamed high speed and believed he’d been drunk, as his blood alcohol levels were three times the legal limit. Preliminary reports suggested his brakes might have malfunctioned, exacerbated by the reduced reaction time from the alcohol.
Except Jerry was a devout Muslim who would never touch a drop of alcohol, and he’d just picked up his car that afternoon from a tune-up at the shop.
Cold settled in her gut. Had someone drugged him and cut his brake lines?