Chapter 3: Alpha’s Mission: Chapter 2

I sit in the L.A. office which I mostly share with National Resource Division employees. My direct boss works out of Langley, so I’m the only security professional here, and like Charlie, I’m entirely self-supervised.

Which gives me the means and time for personal investigation projects. I’ve been working on one since last October when I tried hacking into my own personnel records and came across my father’s instead. Which was strange since my father never worked for the CIA.

Or so I thought.

And his records were sealed. All I saw was he was killed in the line of duty in El Salvador. That part matches what my family was told at the time. My father was a Major in the Marines who had been shot in El Salvador while on security detail for a high-level government official.

Supposedly.

So, what was he really doing in El Salvador for the CIA? Spying? Was my father an active agent? It appears so. I try for the thirty-fifth time to get in some backdoor to find the information. I have a degree in IT, and my ten years working for the CIA has taught me quite a bit about the department’s info security system.

But I’ve been trying to hack this for months without much luck. It might be time to attempt a more direct route for information. I pick up the phone to dial CIA Director Edward Scape, my boss’s boss. He’s worked for the CIA for over forty years which means he would’ve been around when my father was here. He might be able to give me some kind of information.

I get the guy’s secretary. “I’m sorry, Director Scape isn’t available, may I take a message?”

I tap my fingernail on my keyboard, certain he’s not going to call me back unless I give him a compelling reason. “May I have his voicemail, please?”

She hesitates, then says, “Sure. I’ll send you there now.”

Of course, anything on voicemail is going to be recorded. I have to think about what I’m going to say. “Hello, Agent Scape, this is Agent Annabel Gray from the Los Angeles office. I’m not actually calling about my current job detail, I’m calling about something personal. I came across information confirming my father, Major Jack Gray was a CIA agent in clandestine services. I was wondering if I could have access to his file or if you could fill me in on what he did here? You can check my security clearance. I won’t let the information out anywhere. It’s only for… personal reasons. For closure. I was just a girl when he died, and I had no idea we shared a career interest. I’d love to know more about him.” I leave my phone number and thank him and hang up.

Then I tap my keyboard some more. He’s probably not going to call.

I find Frangelico in Tucson, of all places.

It seems a strange coincidence since the pack of wolves I followed last month are headquartered in Tucson. I’m not really the kind of guy who believes in the universe guiding your moves or anything, but it does scream an opportunity.

I could go and talk to Jared about what I am.

But even as I think it, I reject the idea. I’m not the kind of guy who asks for help from others, and I definitely don’t want to align myself with these people—creatures—whatever they are. They’re into questionable legal activity—cage fighting and who knows what else.

Do I want to know what happens when the moon is full? Do they hunt and kill like I did? And is their prey something far more significant than a rabbit? These are questions I’m not sure I want the answers to, not when I can barely accept what I am—what I’ve become.

Then again, keeping myself in the dark seems like a particularly stupid move, too.

Frangelico booked a room in a resort on the west side of town—Marriott Starr Pass. I head up there and swipe a key card from a housekeeping cart to get into his room.

Bugging the place is easy work but probably not that useful. I drop devices into the hem of his clothing and under the inner sole of his shoe. Really, though, I need to get the guy’s phone. That’s the best place for a bug and the most difficult to get.

Hearing a keycard slide into the lock, I slip out onto the balcony and press my back against the wall. It’s my dumb luck, he comes straight my way. Maybe he saw the curtain move, maybe he just wants fresh air. Either way, I need to disappear. I drop over the side of the balcony, hanging by my fingertips as he stands there, sniffing.

Yeah, I can hear him sniff. My hearing has amplified since I first shifted under Jared’s command last month.

I draw in a breath through my nose, picking up his scent as well. My sense of smell has increased, too. Frangelico smells odd—not at all like a person. More like a cold, earthy smell. It’s… wrong.

I walk my hands quietly around the corner of the balcony and drop softly onto the balcony directly below. I sense rather than see Frangelico leaning over the side like he heard my movement, but I dart back into the shadows.

The guy is definitely on high alert. I jimmy the lock on the balcony door and slip out through the room below. I need a better plan to get to this guy, and I’d better think it through. He may not be surrounded by security, but the guy is cautious, maybe even paranoid. Which means he’s definitely into something illegal.

I move quickly through the halls of the hotel and down to the front desk. Using one of my many fake IDs, I book a room for the night—right down the hall from his.

“Ms. Gray? This is Director Scape.”

I sit up taller, surprised. “Yes, Director Scape. Thank you so much for calling me back.”

“So, you want to know about Major Gray.”

“I do. Did you know him?”

“I did.” He lets the words settle, and a queasy feeling turns in my belly.

“I’m sure things are classified, but can you tell me what he did for the CIA? How he really died?”

The director is silent for a moment. “Ms. Gray. Sometimes it’s better not to know things about the deceased. The story you heard is probably a better one than anything I could say. Why not remember your father as a military hero?”

I don’t like the implication. Is he saying my father a military hero?

“What are you telling me, Director Scape?”

“I’m saying, your father was an agent. You’re an agent, Ms. Gray, but you’ve never worked in the field.”

“No,” I say faintly. Where’s he going with this?

“Field agents make tough decisions. Sometimes they go rogue, let their own agendas affect their actions.”

I suddenly can’t breathe.

My father was a agent? He did something wrong? Something bad?

“I’m a handler for field agents,” I say tightly. “I know the things we might ask of them.”

“Yes, and sometimes, agents go off the rails, Ms. Gray. They take actions that weren’t part of the directive. Mistakes happen. That’s what I’m saying. Your father’s files are redacted. I’m not going to give you access to them, and I’m telling you if I did, you wouldn’t like what you found. Forget about your father’s last mission. Remember him as a hero, the way you always have. That’s my advice to you.”

My stomach is tighter than a drum. “I see,” I say faintly.

“Ms. Gray?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How did you discover your father was an agent?”

My pulse picks up speed. I can’t tell him I hacked the CIA’s database. I’ll lose my job. “I, um, found a journal of his. It’s cryptic—he wouldn’t have recorded government secrets—but I, I recognized some code words.” Oh my God, I’m the worst liar ever.

Scape is quiet for a moment. “That journal is government property. I need you to return it to me as soon as possible.”

My mind casts about wildly. “I already destroyed it.” I’m proud of how even and confident my voice sounds. “I know these sorts of things shouldn’t exist.”

“I see.” I’m not sure he believes me. “Well, I want you to forget about this. Stop looking, stop asking questions. Understood?”

The knot in my stomach unwinds a fraction of an inch. There’s something off about his directive. “Yes, sir.” I lightly tap my keyboard again.

“That’s all.” He hangs up without a goodbye.

I stare at my screen for a long time without seeing it. I’m tempted to call my sister, to ask her if she remembers anything, but she’s not going to. My father wouldn’t have been careless. If I know nothing, then surely my sister knows just as little. And we’ll never know what our mother knew because she died last year of ovarian cancer.

My father’s death involved something ugly. That’s the only conclusion I can draw from my conversation with Director Scape. He wouldn’t have warned me off the whole thing if there wasn’t some big secret the government doesn’t want anyone to know.

I consider his words.

I want to know if my father did something awful? Something immoral? Something possibly related to innocent lives being lost?

I tap my keyboard—a nervous habit I should really stop.

Well, I’m not the kind of person to hide her head in the sand. If my father did something morally repugnant, I still want to know. Believing in a lie won’t make my life any better.

Of course, finding out the truth could make it worse.

But something about the way Director Scape spoke to me has me on the defensive. Now, I want to know just because he warned me off. I’m stubborn like that. And he is an idiot if he thinks a CIA agent trained to dig up information is going to stop searching just because he tells her to. Especially, when he essentially confirmed there’s something to find.

I get the tracking device into Frangelico’s phone using the old jostle and pickpocket method when we pass by each other in the bar, returning it a few moments later when I emerged from the men’s room.

By the time I get back to my room to get it online, I find the bug is dead.

Which probably means I’ve been made. Maybe I was made back on the balcony. The guy definitely seems to have a sixth sense.

A thought occurs to me that sends goosebumps prickling up my skin.

Could he be one of…

? Ugh. I can’t believe I’m even saying But there’s no denying it—I’m a monster like the rest of them, a man-beast who can’t control his own urges.

Jared seemed to know I was a wolf by my scent. I haven’t refined my new senses enough to distinguish anything, but suppose this guy Frangelico could? Suppose he scented or heard me out on his balcony?

I can smell the difference between male and female now. Hell, I’m fairly certain I can smell the scent of arousal on a female. That thought shouldn’t bring the image of the lovely Annabel Gray to mind, but it does.

I’ve met with her before—dozens of times. But this last time, maybe because of my enhanced senses, everything seemed so vivid. The color of her long thick hair—dyed dark auburn and pulled back from her face with one single lock hanging down across her cheek, the smoothness of her skin, those big black eyeglass frames she wears that give her the sexy librarian look.

And her scent.

Really, I think that’s what did me in.

She smelled like… heaven.

I had to snatch her ice cream out of her hand because if I didn’t, I was going to try to devour The big bad wolf eating out his sexy handler.

I wanted to untie that halter top and let the scrap of fabric covering her breasts fall to the sand and see how pink her nipples are against that moon-pale skin. And that thought has me picturing what I’d have to do next—run the tip of my tongue between her breasts to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.

The next jumble of images that crowd my brain raise a snarl in my throat. Annabel on her hands and knees with me behind her, riding hard. Her hair wrapped around my fist like a leash.

Jesus, fuck. I’m not that guy. I’m respectful to women. I don’t throw them down and take what I want like some kind of… beast. Fuck. But I am a beast now, aren’t I? And the urges are only getting stronger.

Is that what my father did to impregnate my mother? Did he force himself on her? Was that why she was always scared of him? Christ, I wish I could talk to her. Ask her about what happened, but she thinks I died in combat ten years ago. The government faked my death and gave me a new identity. I can’t show up like a ghost and demand answers.

I consider texting her now just to report my current situation, but that’s stupid. I won’t report until the job is done, and it sure as hell isn’t complete yet.

In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ve fucked it up. Which means my life is in danger.

But that’s nothing new.

What’s new is thinking people are something more than people, something different from human. The mind-fuck of finding out I’m a werewolf has me doubting every reality I’ve ever known, thinking my mark might be some kind of paranormal.

That’s stupid.

He’s a criminal who knows I’m after him. Just like any other marks. I just need to figure out another way to bug him.

I follow him out of the resort to the parking garage. And I totally lose him. I mean, he vanishes, completely. No cars start up, I hear no sound of footsteps.

But he’s gone.

Dammit.

My boss, Lucy Tentrite calls me at work the next morning. Her voice is tight. “Annabel, I heard you called Director Scape.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s true. It was for a personal matter.”

“Yes, your father’s death. Listen, I’m going to level with you as your boss and as a friend. I don’t know what you’re poking into, but between you and me, they don’t like it. I’m giving you a direct order—drop the investigation. Are we clear?”

“Wow. Okay.”

“You know the business we’re in. We trade in secrets. There’s some secret there, and it’s above your pay grade. It doesn’t matter if it involved your father. They don’t want you to see it.”

I don’t say anything because really… what do you say to that?

“You’ve been searching internal records—ones you shouldn’t have had access to. I could have your job for that. Hell, I could have you for it.”

I catch my breath.

“Leave it alone.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’s the word on Lucius Frangelico?” She changes the subject abruptly.

“Our operative is still in play.”

“What’s taking so long?”

I’ve wondered the same thing. I’ve had no check-in from Dune although that’s not unusual. He won’t call until the job is done. “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”

“Do that. And update me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Because I’m shaken, not because I like to reach out to the hunky agent, I text a message to Dune. “Headquarters wants an update.”

To my surprise, he calls immediately. “Secure line?”

“Switching.” I reroute his call to a burner phone I keep for talking with agents. “Go ahead.”

“What are you holding back about this guy?”

I pause to cover my surprise. Quickly, I open the Lucius Frangelico file and scroll through it for clues. I tap my finger lightly on the keyboard as I read.

“Annabel?”

He used my first name again. I shouldn’t love it so much.

“I’m here, just trying to figure out what you mean.”

“Every bug I’ve dropped he’s destroyed within minutes. This isn’t an ordinary target.”

“Okay. I see he has a propensity to disappear without a trace. Questionable comings and goings. Possible murders in which the victims may have been shot at close range death.

“So, how were they actually killed?”

“Unknown. Their brains are usually blown out. In one case, a man was decapitated.” I fight a wave of nausea as I flip through the photos. And guilt. Because I should have researched this case deeper myself before I sent Dune. I guess I was too wrapped up in my personal research.

“Does the organization actually know what they’re after here, or is it a mystery investigation?”

“Unclear.”

“Permission to terminate suspect if engaged?”

A prick of fear creeps up the back of my neck. I try not to worry about agents getting killed—especially because I’m the one sending them out, but a foreboding chills me. Dune knows he’s in danger. Still, I give the only answer I can. “They want him alive.”

Dune curses softly. “I need different technology. He sweeps for bugs. Everything I’ve dropped on him has been destroyed.”

“I’ll contact R & D.”

“In the meantime, I’ll stay on him personally.”

That chill of foreboding returns. “Have you been made, Charlie?” Now I’m using first names, too.

He blows out a breath. “Possibly.”

Again, ice cold fear, like fingers squeezing my heart. I speak without thinking. “Come back in. I’ll reassign it.”

“The mission’s not lost yet.”

“Get back to L.A. That’s an order.”

Dune makes a noise that sounds like and says, “Copy that.”

I end the call, trying to shake the bad feeling I have. I’m not one to believe in intuition, but it seems like something’s telling me Charlie’s in danger.

Which makes me think of my dad’s death again. I’ve been mulling it over, and I remembered an old family friend, Sean Flack. He was a Marine, like my dad, but when I applied to the CIA, my mom said I should call him because he’d gone on to become the director of the agency. I hadn’t called because I don’t believe in using personal favors to get a job.

Sean was at my dad’s funeral. I remember him standing in his crisp suit, comforting my mom. After I joined the CIA, he left and become a politician. He’s a senator now.

I search for him in the CIA database.

Status: Retired. File redacted. Just like my father’s. No surprise there.

Would he talk to me? I don’t even know how I’d get through to him, but maybe he was good enough friends with my dad, he’ll give me a few minutes of his time.

I call his office. “Yes, this is Annabel Gray, daughter of Major Jack Gray. My father and Senator Flack were Marine buddies. I really need to speak to Senator Flack about my father’s death. Would you have him call me?”

“I will relay the message and see if the senator is available.”

“Thank you.” I leave my number and hang up.

If this lead gets me nowhere, I don’t know what other tree to bark up. I guess I keep trying to hack the system. Or make a personal visit to Langley to break into the paper files.

Yeah, right. Like I know anything about stealing things in person. I’m a desk jockey, nothing more. Something like that would require field agent skills.

Charlie Dune’s skills.

Maybe I’m ready to call in that favor after all.

A message blinks on my screen. Agent down in Tucson. Lucius Frangelico suspected of the murder.

Holy shit. It could’ve been Charlie.

Thank God, I called him back.