Exposed in Darkness Read online

  “No.” I removed the Sig from my pocket and slammed it on the coffee table. “You have thirty seconds to tell me what you want. Then I want you to leave.”

  “The director wants a report.”

  “I don’t work for the director.” I walked back to the door and started to open it. “But thanks for coming.”

  Mike placed his hand flat against the door, preventing me from opening it. “Brooke, he’s willing to give you information in return.”

  I lifted my head, keeping my back to Mike and Carlos—who had yet to speak—and spread my own fingers against the coolness of the door. “What information?” I asked softly, anxiety forming like a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. I struggled to take in a breath just thinking about what the director might tell me—what information he could possibly have that would make me work for him.

  “He said you’d know.”

  I closed my eyes. Forced myself to take in a breath. Now the director was finally going to tell me the truth about Teddy’s death? “What does he want from me?”

  “The fusion center out of Frankfort intercepted reliable intelligence that an unidentified group is planning an act of mass violence in Lexington on or around May thirteenth.”

  “The second Saturday in May,” I whispered, then faced Mike and Carlos. “The Bluegrass Derby.”

  “That’s right.”

  I leaned against the door. Mike and Carlos just stood there, staring at me. And for some annoying reason, Declan popped into my head. He and more than a hundred and fifty thousand others would attend the Bluegrass Derby that day along with Governor Truman Spencer. “What kind of an attack?”

  “That’s where you come in.” He handed me a thick envelope. I immediately felt the outline of my service weapon—a Glock 23—as well as an extra clip. “In there, you’ll find the details of the intercepted intelligence as well as information about your reinstatement as special agent, along with your cred pack.”

  “I don’t need a job.” Though the idea that my FBI badge was inside the envelope ignited a fire somewhere deep inside me.

  “The job is non-negotiable,” Mike said. “As a reinstated FBI special agent, you’ll be given access to the SCIF in Frankfort.”

  “Wait, I thought the fusion center and the SCIF”—the Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility—“went away with the state-run homeland security offices.”

  Mike gestured to Carlos.

  “All funds to the state departments of homeland security were severed. However, the intelligence community felt that intelligence-gathering fusion centers and certain SCIFs were still important enough to keep around.”

  “So the secured facilities to process information were kept in place,” Mike added. “But access is restricted to federally approved employees with proper security clearance. The secret clearance you held as an FBI agent is still in effect.” He nodded to the envelope I was now fingering. “You’ll have to go to the SCIF for the classified information, but the redacted version here will give you a sense of where the investigation is headed.”

  “So the assassination of the lieutenant governor and the threat to the governor was enough to draw us into the fusion center?”

  Carlos tilted his head side to side. “When the intelligence community learns of an impending terrorist attack on a group of people in the United States, law enforcements tends to get a little twitchy. It’s nice to have the fusion center as a place to process intelligence.”

  Does the governor know about the information you’re providing me?” I asked.

  “Not at this time.”

  “He deserves to know the details.”

  “This is a federal case, Brooke. You know the drill. We share classified intelligence and sensitive case information based on placement, access, and need to know. The governor doesn’t need to know until the director says he does.”

  I thrust the envelope back into Mike’s chest. “Sorry. Can’t help you.” I’d already promised the governor I would share information.

  Mike’s eyes widened. Carlos sighed.

  “Brooke,” Mike said. “You need the information the director is offering.”

  “How would you know what I need?” I spat.

  Mike shifted uncomfortably and threw a fleeting glance over his shoulder at Carlos, then refocused on me. “Just because we lost touch, doesn’t mean I haven’t been concerned for you. I know you’ve suffered since Teddy died. I’ve watched you drown yourself in wine, vodka, you name it.”

  My hands shook at my sides. “You have no right to spy on me, let alone judge me.”

  “Maybe not, but it doesn’t change the fact that you need closure. I need closure. The director has promised this information to us both. But you have to help with this case.”

  “One job? That’s it? No other strings attached?”

  “Read the contract.” Mike nodded to the envelope again. “If you don’t like the terms, call the director. You’re going to have to talk to him eventually.”

  “Are you going to tell me how Declan O’Roark fits into all this?”

  “It’s all in there. But in a nutshell, O’Roark comes from a family with ties across the globe. He’s on friendly terms with very powerful people, not all of whom are friends of the United States government, and because he recently purchased the largest privately held scientific laboratory in the world, he has access to chemicals and pharmaceuticals, many of which have been used in bioterrorism.”

  “Including tacin?”

  “Not sure. But we suspect so, based on what we know about the previous owners of the lab.”

  “Why hasn’t FBI searched the lab?”

  “The government is in the process of making ownership of tacin illegal, but it’s not illegal yet. Up until recently it was simply a strong fertilizer. So we lack just cause to search Declan’s lab.”

  I studied Mike. “You couldn’t get a warrant. You couldn’t convince the director or a judge that you had enough information to search Declan O’Roark’s lab.”

  He rubbed his beard, and his jaw hardened. But he nodded.

  “And what am I supposed to do?”

  “You appear to already be getting close to Declan O’Roark. We want you to get even closer.”

  “Why? I don’t think he committed these crimes.”

  “Maybe not, but we think someone close to him did. Declan O’Roark may well know the person responsible for threatening the Bluegrass Derby.”

  I pulled up to the farm gates, each decorated with a wrought iron “S.” A man in a tuxedo approached my window. He had an electronic device in his ear, and judging by the bulge under the right side of his suit jacket, he was armed. “Good evening, Miss Fairfax. Declan is expecting you. Please proceed.”

  I narrowed my eyes. How did this man know who I was? I looked around for the guardhouse, and didn’t see one, but I was sure there was a surveillance camera somewhere, pointed directly at me.

  The gates opened inward.

  “Thank you,” I managed, then pulled through.

  The blacktop drive was lined with flowering pear trees and landscape lighting that appeared to be just as much for aesthetics as it was for security.

  As I neared the main house, I discovered quickly what a “small gathering” meant to Declan. Three or four parking attendants stood ready and waiting.

  “Now this is a party,” I muttered to myself, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel of my Mini Cooper. A woman got out of the Mercedes convertible in front of me. She wore a floor-length charcoal gray, shimmery dress and had legs for days. Her red hair was swept to the side; curls snaked around her neck and hung down her chest, covering more cleavage than the slinky dress did.

  One of the attendants opened my door. “Good evening, miss.”

  I swung both legs out of the car and, leaving the car running, stood. “Thank you,” I said when he handed me my parking ticket. I was wearing a vintage cocktail dress I’d brought with me from Virginia and a lovely pair of Christian Louboutin
pumps. Like the lady who had arrived before me, I wore a floor-length dress, though I doubted she was wearing an ankle holster to hold her concealed firearm.

  As I took the steps toward Declan’s front door, I was suddenly nervous. My fingers trembled on the clasp of my clutch after I placed the parking ticket inside, next to my phone and lipstick.

  “Good evening, Miss Fairfax. You look lovely.”

  Snapping my clutch closed, I glanced up to find Declan’s driver opening the front door. Although he was smiling, his expression revealed a slight annoyance. Maybe because he had failed at his earlier mission to dress me in a garment of Declan’s choice.

  “I’m so pleased that you could join us this evening.”

  I nodded. If he only knew how much I’d rather be at home curled up in my pajamas under an oversized down comforter with a mystery novel. “Thank you for inviting me,” I said as I passed him and entered a foyer that was tastefully decorated in a contrasting yet sophisticated mix of rustic farmhouse and fine equine art, with a touch of contemporary flair.

  Soft music came from inside the house somewhere—a single piano. My heels clicked against the hardwood floor.

  “Miss Fairfax,” Declan’s driver said behind me. I flinched, having not expected him to follow me inside. “Declan would like you to join him in his study.” He gestured with an open palm toward a hallway on the right.

  The room in the back of the house was teeming with people dressed in cocktail attire. Servers carried trays of champagne, red and white wine, and shorter glasses with what I guessed was bourbon, judging by the rich shade of amber and by the fact that Declan owned his own distillery. I was surprised he would serve bourbon after nearly a hundred and fifty people were murdered with it the other night. Other servers carried hors d’oeuvres, and my stomach growled at the sight of the food.

  “Since you know who I am, do I get to know your name?” I asked as I followed the driver.

  He turned his head to glance at me over his shoulder. “David, ma’am. I am Declan’s personal assistant.”

  So he did more than just drive the megalomaniac around, answer his door, and hand-deliver strange messages. “It’s nice to meet you, David.”

  I stopped when we reached a doorway to a room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves of dark, polished mahogany. A large-screen television hung over a mantel of raw wood that contrasted with the bookshelves but somehow worked in the rugged, yet perfectly decorated room. A dozen or so people were staring up at the screen, which showed a replay of today’s feature race. Declan was huddled on the other side of the room with the redhead I’d seen exiting the Mercedes.

  “Can I get you something to drink, Miss Fairfax?” David asked.

  “No, thank you, David. I won’t be staying long.” And I needed to keep a clear head. It was hard enough being around Declan, who made intimidation an art form.

  “Very good, ma’am.” David turned and left.

  A man who was watching the replay pumped his fist in the air and cheered as On Liam’s Watch crossed the finish line. Again. “Bluegrass Derby, here we come!” The others around him joined in, laughing.

  Declan lifted his eyes from what appeared to be a very intense conversation. That was when our eyes met. He started toward me. The redhead stared at me, sighed, then stormed past Declan, nudging my shoulder as she pushed past me and out the door.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Declan said as he reached me.

  “Really? Your gatekeepers thought otherwise.” I recounted how neither the guard at the farm entrance nor David had seemed the least bit surprised to see me.

  His lips twitched. “Well, I’m glad you came.”

  I lifted my head and motioned over my shoulder in the direction the pretty redhead had gone. “Isn’t she a little young for you?”

  “Hmm,” he said in a non-answer. “Come, let’s get you a drink.”

  He placed a gentle hand on my elbow and led me back toward the central living room where the main party was happening. There had to be a hundred people gathered there, but the oversized room’s grand expanse easily accommodated the crowd.

  “Declan, brother,” a dark-haired man yelled in a Scottish accent. He held an amber drink in one hand and gave Declan a one-armed hug with the other. “Congratulations on the big win today. Looks like you’re all set for the second Saturday in May.”

  Declan one-armed-hugged him back, but appeared slightly uncomfortable. Not a hugger, I thought. “Looks that way,” Declan answered. “Thank you. Enjoy yourself. I’ll find you later.” He steered me through the main room to a makeshift bar in the back corner. “What will you have?”

  “Water,” I said.

  He faced me, his eyes narrowed—analyzing me, it seemed. Then he said without looking at the bartender: “The lady and I will each have a glass of the merlot that arrived today.”

  I crossed my arms. “Declan… I came to this party against my better judgment,” and because I needed my job back in order to spy on Declan, “not because I had any desire to be ordered around by—”

  “I apologize,” he interrupted. “I meant no disrespect. You just seem a bit tense, and I thought we could have one drink to celebrate our victory today.”

  Mike’s words haunted me: I’ve watched you drown yourself in wine, vodka, you name it.

  “I’m tense because this is not the sort of party I usually attend.” I was lying. I’d been to parties like this often enough, but it had been a while, and I didn’t prefer them. I also didn’t like the way he was reading me.

  He stepped closer. His hand went to my waist, and that simple touch sent an unwelcome thrill somewhere deep inside my belly. Ever since I’d first laid eyes on this man, my body had reacted in a manner that I hadn’t experienced in a while. It also dredged up way too many feelings of guilt—guilt for betraying a husband that was no longer here.

  “Please have one drink with me. If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have won today. I’d like to share the victory with you.”

  A tremor moved through me, and by the way his lips curved at the corners, he knew the effect he was having on me. I studied his blue eyes, then looked over his shoulder at the glass of red wine that I really wanted. “One glass,” I said.

  “Great.” His eyes sparkled in triumph, and I knew I was in more trouble than I could handle. He grabbed the two glasses. “Come. You can tell me why the FBI is so interested in me.”

  Chapter 11

  Declan led me toward the grand staircase. I quickened my step and grabbed his elbow. “Where are we going?”

  He turned to me, started to speak, when a couple approached.

  “Congrats on the wins today, Declan.”

  “Thank you.” Declan lifted one of the wine glasses as a toast to the couple. “And thanks for coming. Enjoy.”

  He stepped closer to me. “We’ll be interrupted every five seconds down here.”

  I glanced up the stairs. Declan followed my line of sight, then returned his gaze to me. He angled his head. We were standing so close that I could feel the heat from his body.

  “What’s got you so nervous, Brooke? The fact that I know you were FBI once upon a time? The idea that the feds think I was involved in contaminating my own bourbon? Or could it be, dear Brooke, that you’ve figured out that I am seriously attracted to you?”

  I glanced up the stairs again, where I knew his bedroom must be. My pulse sped up, and a very familiar feeling of nausea came over me. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the unwelcome sensation.

  I opened my eyes when I felt Declan’s arm circle around to my back. He was now holding both glasses of wine in one hand, and his other was pressed into the small of my back, forcing me close. He leaned in, his lips next to my ear. “Relax. I am not a danger to you, and I have no interest in seducing you until you’ve decided my innocence for yourself.” He drew back slightly; his breath feathered across my cheek. “I would like, however, to talk to you in a more private location.”

  I studie
d his eyes, trying to decide for myself if I was putting my life in danger by ascending those stairs. After several beats, I finally nodded, and as I followed him up the stairs, I knew one thing for sure: I was definitely at risk of losing something—but I didn’t think it was my life.

  At the top of the stairs was a hallway that looked over the foyer and extended to both sides of the house. In the very center was a set of double doors. Still juggling the two wine glasses, Declan opened the doors and gestured for me to enter.

  Behind the doors was an office, decorated with traditional furniture: a desk, a dark leather sofa, and two matching club chairs. To one side of the room was a dry bar, and on the other was an open door that led to what looked like a full bathroom. Along the back wall was a stunning arched window.

  Declan kept the lights dimmed, making it easier to see out. After eyeing him sideways, I skirted around the desk and looked out onto the back patio of Declan’s home. People were socializing around a swimming pool and an outdoor fireplace. A tennis court was off to the left side of the yard. “Nice place you have here,” I said without turning.

  “It is. You can’t see the best part.” He touched my arm. When I turned, he placed the wine in my hand. He stood beside me and pointed out the window, past the expansive patio and pool areas, to the darkness. “I came to Kentucky and purchased this land for many reasons, but the view of the land when the sun is setting is at the top of the list.”

  “What do the S’s on the front gates stand for? I didn’t see the name of the farm when I entered.”

  “Shaughnessy Farm. It was my grandfather’s name, and the name of his thoroughbred farm in Ireland until he died and my father sold it.”

  “Hmmm,” was all I said. There was more to that story. Maybe a story for another time.

  I squinted, trying to see more of the land beyond the patio below and trying to envision the sunsets Declan described. I’d seen that kind of beauty before, but it had been a long time since I’d lived somewhere like he was describing. Not since I’d gone off to boarding school at the age of fourteen.