Chapter Four
Agent Bale tapped his pencil on the desk as he stared at the computer screen.
Aura was supposed to plant webcams on the ship, but so far…no feed.
Kingsley, their shamanic computer programmer, had confirmed that she got the private wifi hookup to Department 13’s military satellite activated. So where were the feeds? How could he protect her and the mission without eyes on the ground?
He picked up his cell to check for a text. Nothing.
Shit. He should have gone on this mission himself. He’d wanted to, but his team had convinced him to send Aura instead.
She’d hesitated to accept her last undercover mission with the witch coven, but he’d never discovered why. In the end, she’d done her job, but since her cover had been blown, they’d all noticed changes in her. She’d become defensive and combative, eager for a chance at redemption, even though no one blamed her for the botched undercover operation. He’d assured her of that multiple times.
The day they’d discovered the crate holding the Tyrfing sword was missing, he’d worked closely with Kingsley, Aura, and a couple of agents from the occult division to pinpoint a potential location for the relic.
After seeing Aura’s tenacity to retrieve the sword, he’d realized his team’s assessment was correct. Although he didn’t think she had done anything wrong in the Savannah witch coven, Aura did. He had to give her this chance for redemption in her own eyes.
But now he was staring at a blank screen where at least three webcam feeds should be, and she wasn’t answering his texts. His relationship with the Sea Dog crew had been tenuous at best since they’d tried to pass off a forgery of Pandora’s box to him, almost allowing the original relic to fall into enemy hands, but they hadn’t been violent—at least not toward him. Their history suggested they wouldn’t physically harm an agent working for him.
Maybe she was just busy running scenarios with Greyson and rehearsing their backstory for the undercover op. It had to be that.
“Excuse me, sir?” He looked up to find Agent Hector Garcia in his doorway.
David set his pen on the desk. “Did you find the file?”
“Yes.” Agent Garcia stood about six feet tall, graying around his temples, and was probably in his mid-fifties. David wasn’t good at gauging ages, since he’d stopped aging himself after the Kennedy assassination. Garcia cleared his throat. “Should I follow up on the lead?”
“No. I’ll take it from here,” David said, taking the file. “Thanks.”
Agent Garcia left him alone, and David opened the folder.
A photo of Agent Henderson in her NYPD uniform was clipped inside. He removed the photo to compare it with her Department 13 intake picture. Her skin was paler, her cheeks sunken. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t look emaciated. It was more that she was…hardened.
He’d never gotten a clear picture from her of what had happened in the NYPD that had led her to his division. She’d mentioned an interest in paranormal activity and a belief in other dimensions. Her impressive record for solving difficult cases as a detective made her a perfect candidate for the elite agents of Department 13.
But he wished he knew her better.
If he could figure out what caused her to be willing to give up everything to protect Americans from threats they’d never believe were real, he might understand what she could be going through on the ocean with a crew of immortal pirates.
Every person in his department had secrets. Paranormal gifts, unexplained experiences with the supernatural. He’d joined the ranks of Department 13 after the Kennedy assassination in 1963.
David had lost his own father to an assassin as a boy, but the more he’d investigated, the more twisted and unbelievable the reality had become, until he’d found himself being offered a position within a secret division of the United States government. He had a hunger for answers, even when they were out of the conventional box that most people considered to be reality. These were all qualities that made for good Department 13 agents.
Eventually, as new agents settled into their new role, they found a family here. A safe place where they would be believed. But Aura had not.
She’d worked with him for five years now, but she still didn’t trust him.
He skimmed her intake file again for any clues, but nothing jumped out at him.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. She was probably fine, just behind schedule. He picked up his cell phone and sent one more text.
The webcam feeds aren’t working. Let me know if the tech is bad. I can be on a helicopter in fifteen minutes if you need me.
He shouldn’t have sent her alone. If anything went south on this mission, the blame was on his shoulders. The intercom buzzed, and Kingsley’s clipped English accent filled the void.
“I received an email from Agent Henderson.”
“Good.” David leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “What did she say?”
He cleared his throat. “‘Greyson is a dick.’ Sir.”
David chuckled and stared up at the ceiling as relief washed through him. “See if she needs help with the webcams.”
“Will do.”
David closed the file and slid it into the top drawer of his desk.
This was going to work. It had to.
Chapter Five
Aura had to admit, One-Eyed Bob could cook.
This wasn’t going to be a week of canned sea rations. She’d learned over dinner that he owned Bob’s Seafood in Savannah and enjoyed catering their voyages these days. She caught herself looking forward to tomorrow.
After dinner, Colton assigned the crew to their posts for the night shift.
Greyson was on duty, which meant he’d be sleeping during the day. If he kept the same schedule for the remainder of the journey, she might be able to avoid contact with him, other than preparing for the mission, which suited her fine.
She’d enjoyed chatting with Harmony and Char more than she had expected. The computer hacker and the history professor seemed like they’d have nothing in common, but the two women finished each other’s sentences like sisters.
Maybe that was part of being a crew.
She rubbed her chest, bottling up the emotions churning in her heart. How many years had it been since she’d last talked to her sister? God, don’t do the math. She hopped to her feet and started helping Bob clear the table while the crew reported to their posts.
“You’re going to be bad for my waistline on this trip,” she said as she dropped a pile of plates into the garbage can in the corner.