Chapter 4
4
QUILLON
T he glass walls of the EDS meeting room made me feel like a specimen under a microscope, but at least they offered a full view of our surroundings. York sat across from me, tapping on his phone with a deep frown on his forehead. With his dark hair peppered with gray and thoughtful brown eyes, he looked every bit like a math wizard lost in his own world.
The door swung open with a purposeful bang, and my boss strode in with a fortysomething guy in a suit on his heels. Ah, the FBI had entered the building. The gravity of his presence dialed up the intensity in the room. York put down his phone and sat up straight.
"This is Special Agent in Charge Coulson Padman." Remington gestured toward the newcomer. "He's from the Washington, DC office. He'll be briefing us on the latest updates regarding the threats."
From DC? Why on earth had he gotten involved? On top of that, he was a special agent in charge rather than some lower-level agent. My stomach roiled. This was not good.
Padman's handshake was firm. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Quillon. Your reputation precedes you."
"Thank you, Agent Padman."
"Coulson, please. I'm not big on formality."
Well, that was a check in the plus column.
"York Coombe," York said. "I'm?—"
"I know who you are." Coulson's tone was friendly. "And I appreciate you working with us and taking the time to meet with us. I know you have other things to do."
Okay, I was starting to like this guy.
We took our seats again while one of the secretaries brought in coffee and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Coulson waited until she had left the room, then looked at me. "Your background check has cleared. You have the necessary clearance to be fully briefed on this case. Your military record and subsequent experience make you highly suitable for the role of Dr. Coombe's protection."
A surge of pride knotted in my chest—the FBI didn't hand out validation like candy at a parade. "Thank you. I'm ready to do whatever it takes to keep him safe."
Coulson's gaze landed on Remington with the precision of a laser. "Unfortunately, that clearance does not extend to you."
Remington seemed to be taken aback for a moment, but then his face lit up with understanding. "You can't discuss the case in front of me."
"No, and we won't request that level of clearance either," Coulson said. The man was a straight shooter, and I appreciated that. "This is top secret and on a need-to-know basis. Unfortunately, it's been determined you don't have the need to know."
Remington held up his hands. "No need to apologize. I understand. Can you give me a broad overview as far as you're allowed? Other than that, I trust Quillon to handle it. He's my most senior and experienced operator."
"I'm glad to hear that." Coulson took a moment to put some sugar in his coffee and stir it. "All I can tell you is that we have a credible threat that people are trying to get their hands on Dr. Coombe's invention, probably by kidnapping Dr. Coombe. And we have evidence that suggests an internal leak here at EDS."
"York, please," York said. "Dr. Coombe makes it feel like you're talking about someone else."
"York," Coulson acknowledged with a small smile.
"Gotcha." Remington rose from his chair. "I'll leave you to it, then. Please let me know if there's anything you need from me, Coulson."
"I will. Thank you for your cooperation."
"Anytime. I've always been proud to work with law enforcement in whatever capacity."
Once Remington had left the room, Coulson leaned forward. "Let's proceed." He opened a thin manila folder. "The situation is more intricate than we initially suspected. Based on the first chatter we picked up, we thought it was a matter of corporate espionage, a rival company that wanted its hands on your patent, York."
"It's not a patent yet," York said. "I can't file for one in this stage because it involves classified information. We're working with the copyright office on how to circumvent that."
"My apologies." Coulson appeared not in the least perturbed by York's correction. "Is invention a better term?"
"Invention works."
"Perfect. Anyway, we discovered that our initial assessment was off, and that's when we recommended Anderson Security. We now have credible evidence that a terrorist cell operating with the full approval of a foreign country wants their hands on this information."
York swallowed. "Friendly or hostile?"
"Officially, neither, but that's all I will say until we have confirmation. I'm in charge of the counter-terrorism unit based in New York, and we're doing this in close cooperation with other federal agencies."
I'd been right. The CIA was involved.
York sat with his spine straight, hands folded on the table—every inch the picture of composed brilliance, except for the muscle ticking in his jaw. "Why are they sending you?"
"What do you mean?" Coulson asked.
"If you're in charge, you could've sent agents who work for you. Why didn't you?"
Coulson smiled. "The short and sweet of it is that we're keeping as many people out of the loop as possible. There's a leak, either at EDS or within the FBI or another federal agency, and until we've found it, we're flying under the radar."
"Why not have him protected by the FBI, then?" I asked. "Or even the Secret Service?"
The second I asked the question, I knew the answer. Of course. "You're using York as bait."
"Bait?" York paled.
Coulson took a sip from his coffee. "We've been tracking this group for two years, but so far, we've been unable to find any concrete leads. This is the first time we're aware of them being after something specific, and letting this play out could help us find the leaders and shut this cell down. If we're lucky, we can tie them to their government and use that as diplomatic leverage. It's the most effective way to draw them out." Coulson's fingers laced tight enough to blanch his knuckles. "They want York, which makes him our best chance at stopping them before they strike again."
My muscles tensed as if readying for a fight I knew was coming but couldn't yet see. The revelation didn't just raise the stakes. It catapulted them into a new stratosphere. York was now the prime target of a group of extremists with only god knew what kind of capabilities.
"So you can't have federal agents protect him because that would alert this group that you're on to them."
"Correct." At least Coulson wasn't trying to bullshit us.
"But how do I keep him safe? I'm only one man, and adding to his security detail would also alert them."
Coulson took a bite from his cookie and chewed slowly. "That's what we need to figure out. I can have agents in the background shadowing you both, but they'll have to stay at a safe distance, or they'll be made."
"That'll be hell in Seattle." My mind raced. "There are too many variables, too many ways someone could go unnoticed. And too much ground to cover. We'd be sitting ducks in an open field."
Coulson nodded. "We need more control over the environment. Somewhere quieter, less conspicuous." He turned to York. "I recommend you relocate to Forestville. We know that's where you grew up, so it won't arouse suspicion. It's small, manageable, and much easier for us to control."
"Forestville?" York's voice cracked like thin ice underfoot. His chair scraped back with his abrupt stand, the screech grating on my nerves. "I can't just abandon my life here. My work, my—everything."
Coulson remained unfazed, an immovable force as he leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. "I understand your hesitation, York, but Seattle is a labyrinth. Threats go unnoticed easily in the chaos of the city. People can hide in the crowds. The rhythms of a small town are easier to predict and control. There, we can safeguard you more efficiently."
As much as I understood York's protest, I agreed with Coulson that Forestville was a lot more attractive than staying in Seattle. I'd never lived in a small town, but residents would notice an unfamiliar face. Plus, York had his roots there, which meant connections, allies, friends.
"Small towns have their own kind of shield," Coulson said. "Familiar faces, predictable patterns, a fortress built on community. In a town where everyone knows each other, an outsider sticks out like a sore thumb. We can use that to our advantage."
"Less traffic, fewer places to hide." I was warming to the idea. "It puts us in a position to be proactive rather than reactive."
"The downside is that I won't be able to post agents without them standing out. And the same would be true for more than one bodyguard. We'd have to figure out how to get more people in without drawing attention. We may have to work with local law enforcement. Without briefing them, obviously."
He was right, but that wasn't a reason not to do it. If we were in a contained environment I could control, I could do the job alone for a while. "Understood, but I can make it work in the meantime."
York was pacing the length of the conference room, his steps measured and deliberate. I could almost see the internal war raging within him—the man of logic battling the man of emotion. "I hate the idea. I don't want to hide away like some?—"
"Like someone who values their life?" Coulson's tone was softer now, almost coaxing. "We're not suggesting you hide, York. We're proposing a strategic retreat. In Forestville, everyone knows each other. Anything—or anyone—out of place will stick out."
"Anonymity is impossible there," I said, hoping to tip the scales. "It's a double-edged sword, but right now, we need that edge."
Emotions played over York's face. Something else was at work, something more than not wanting to disturb his routine or hating the idea of hiding. He didn't want to go back to his hometown. Why? Did he have bad memories there? "Your parents still live there, right?" I asked.
His face grew tighter. Bingo. "Yeah. But we're not close," he said. "They won't be much help."
"No, but it'll give credence to the reason for moving back," Coulson said.
Watching York's face was like watching the gears turn in his head, each calculated thought casting shadows across his features. Coulson had made his pitch. Now, it was a waiting game.
"Fine," York conceded after a long pause, his voice heavy with the weight of a decision he didn't want to make. He looked like a man stepping out into a storm without an umbrella, knowing he had no choice but to get drenched. "I'll do it. I'll move back to Forestville temporarily."
A collective exhale eased the tension. Coulson nodded, his expression sober as if understanding the gravity of what we were asking of York. "Thank you. Now, we need to establish a plausible role for Quillon. The less attention we draw, the better."
York sighed. "He can pose as my boyfriend."
"What?" My heart skipped a beat, not expecting the request—or was it that York was looking straight at me when he said it? A fake relationship with York. A mix of adrenaline and something far more dangerous coursed through my veins. He must've picked up on me being gay, which was a bit surprising. I usually flew under people's gaydar, but then again, this was York. Not exactly an average guy.
"It would explain why a stranger is staying with me for an extended period without raising suspicion," York said.
"Pardon me for the inappropriate question, but aren't you straight?"
He shrugged. "As far as everyone knows, yes, but I have a group of queer friends and acquaintances in Forestville, including Fir, my best friend. No one will be shocked if I show up with a guy."
"Okay," I agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly. The idea sparked something within me, curiosity or maybe excitement. "I can do that. We can do that."
"If Coulson agrees," York said with a bit of bite.
"Sounds like the perfect cover to me," Coulson said.
"You don't have an issue with it?" York asked. "‘Cause federal agencies aren't known for being gay-friendly."
He was sharp, and I loved him for it.
Smiling, Coulson retrieved his wallet, pulled out a picture, and put it on the table. The photo showed a good-looking man with bright blue eyes and a sexy smile. "That's my husband, Seth." He set another picture beside it of the cutest little girl with the same bright blue eyes and blond hair. "And that's our daughter, Tory. She's almost two."
Coulson's whole face had lit up with his love for them.
York picked up the picture of the little girl. "She looks very smart."
I repressed a smile. What a typical York thing to say.
"She is. She's the joy of our life. Anyway, I take it that covers your question?"
York nodded. "More than. Thank you."
"I suggest you start working on your backstory." Coulson put the pictures away.
"Agreed. We need to get our facts straight, like how we met." I was already preparing for the role I'd need to play. Protecting York was my job, but pretending to be his boyfriend? That was uncharted territory.
"What do you suggest?" York asked, a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes. Fear. He was scared, and I couldn't blame him. I was scared for him. The idea of using York as a lure for terrorists clawed at my insides, igniting a protective fury. I would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe.
" Star Wars convention." I followed a hunch, playing to his geeky side and the soft blanket I'd found in his bedroom. From his surprised chuckle, I'd hit the jackpot.
"You think you can pull off being a Star Wars fan?"
I grinned. "Hey, I can shoot first with the best of them, Han Solo style."
His smile widened. "I see. In that case, lead the way, Obi-Wan. You're our only hope."