Page 65 of Lock ’N’ Load

Keeping his eyes and the muzzle of his Glock trained dead center on the guy’s chest, Matt picked up the creds and gave them a quick glance.

Mitchell Hentz. Central Intelligence Agency. An operative, no doubt. To all outward appearances, the creds appeared legitimate. He recognized the agency hologram, which was virtually impossible to replicate.

He threw the creds at Hentz’s chest, then holstered his gun. “Pozor.” Sheba’s body relaxed some as she shifted into guard mode. “When did you get here?”

“About fifteen minutes before you.” Hentz reached down and pocketed his creds.

Matt was well aware that agency operatives were trained for all kinds of deception. Even so, he stared at Hentz, searching for signs of duplicity on his face and in his body language. But there were none. Besides, if Hentz had killed George, he wouldn’t stick around.

Unless he was searching for something.

But the place hadn’t been tossed. The reporter’s laptop wasn’t on his desk, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in a drawer or a briefcase somewhere.

Where the hell is Trista?

Light footsteps sounded, and he readied his gun, uncertain of whom it was and hoping like hell it was Trista. He exhaled with relief when she burst back into the room. At the sight of George’s body, she swallowed. “Is he really dead?”

“Looks that way.” He nodded, returning his attention to Hentz.

The next thing he knew, Trista’s arms went around Matt’s midsection, and she pressed her body against his. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”

Still keeping an eye on Hentz, he wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders, surprised at the potent rush he experienced knowing she was worried about him. “We’ll have to call the police,” he said to Hentz, knowing the guy wouldn’t like it and not giving a shit.

Hentz cleared his throat, an annoying smirk growing on his face. “Sorry to interrupt your little reunion, but if you’re gonna call the cops, I need to be gone when they get here.”

“Why’s that?” Matt wanted to wipe the smirk off Hentz’s face with his fist.

“Because I was never here, and if you’re smart, the two of you were never here, either.” He made a move to get up but jerked to stop when Sheba lowered her head and growled. He flinched, banging his head on the wall. “Sgt. Connors, I realize, as a uniformed officer, you’re accustomed to responding to incidents with formalized police procedure, but try to understand the other side of the house. The world I work in is different. The world she works in is different.” He indicated Trista. “It’s gray because it has to be. I don’t know exactly what you two stumbled into, but whatever it is, it’s big and it’s tied in with national security. Do you want to be responsible for fucking up our nation’s safety?”

Matt carefully considered Hentz’s words. He knew both CIA operatives and analysts worked behind the scenes and under the radar, but that didn’t mean he could automatically let the man walk or that he’d lie to the local PD to cover for Hentz. But he did agree that he and Trista had stepped into something deep, dark, and dangerous. Add to that, something was sure as hell off with how Trista’s supervisors were handling the entire situation.

He wasn’t about to let this fucker go without asking a few more questions. “You said you didn’t kill him and that you came to check on him.” Matt nodded to George’s body. “You also said you got here fifteen minutes before us. What have you been doing during that time?”

“Following orders,” Hentz said. “Looking for his laptop and any other computer hardware and storage devices. Did either of you see any before you came up here?”

“No.” Matt looked at Trista. She shook her head, but there was a subtle gleam in the way she was eyeing him, the same one he’d seen when she’d lied about filing her incident report. She’d found something and was keeping it to herself. Atta girl. “Do you know this guy? Says his name’s Mitchell Hentz?”

“No.” Again, she shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before, but I don’t normally interact with operatives.”

“How’d you get the shiner?” Matt asked, gesturing to the discoloration beneath the man’s left eye.

“Got coldcocked the minute I stepped into the room.” He touched a finger to his swelling eye. “When I came to, I was alone with a dead body.”

That would explain the open kitchen door. When he and Trista arrived, they’d probably interrupted the other intruder, who’d escaped into the backyard.

Matt had been prepared to cuff the guy and arrest him as a material witness, but right now all he wanted was to separate Hentz from Trista and find out what she’d swiped. That, and there was logic in not calling the police right away.

The Russians could have connections anywhere, and the last thing he wanted was for Trista’s name to come up in another police report, leaving a trail of bread crumbs for whoever was trying to kill her.

“Get out of here.” He hooked a finger at the door.

Casting one last wary glance at Sheba, who sat panting with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, Hentz slowly got to his feet and held his hand out to Matt. Not to shake it, Matt understood. To retrieve his weapon. Reluctantly, he handed it over. “You’re lucky I let you go without turning you over to the locals.”

Pressing his lips into a firm line, Hentz made for the bedroom door with Matt following to verify he left the house. On the way down the stairs, Hentz turned. “I’ll have to tell them she was here.” Then he was gone.

Matt returned to the bedroom and rested his fingers on George’s carotid. He adjusted his fingers, still not feeling a pulse. The man was definitely deceased, but the cause of death eluded him.

Next, he hustled Trista down the stairs. “Did you touch anything down here?”