The Guardian
Chapter 14

Delia had no idea she was going to speak until the words had already stage-dived past her lips. Under any other circumstances, she’d steer far, far away from rocking the boat. Even now, logic dictated that it was risky as hell; after all, the last time she’d made a big, bold move, she’d gotten assaulted for her efforts. But Matteo was right. There was something suspicious happening here. Something wrong.

And if she could help bring that to light, then she needed to get brave and do it.

“Delia,” Matteo began, but she shook her head before she could lose her nerve.

“You need access to her laptop, right? If Peyton’s behind all of this and she’s working with Nicky, that’s where the proof is.”

“Yes,” Capelli said. “Even though she’s covered her tracks by deleting the transactions within Cromwell’s system, the activity still leaves an electronic trail on the machine from which it originates. It’ll be difficult to replace since she’s also created an anonymous account. But with access to her laptop, I’d be able to tell you everything she’s done on it.”

Delia’s mind spun, but she reached for the facts and ordered them accordingly. “So, I could be an informant. That’s what you call it, right? I could go looking for whatever it is you need and give it to you once I replace it, and then it would be legal.”

“That’s not how it works, although I admire your grit, too,” Ms. Kingston said over speakerphone. “Being a CI doesn’t give you free rein to go all Mission Impossible on private property.”

Matteo blew out a breath, his dark eyes so unreadable, Delia wanted to squirm. “We’ve been trying to get something on Nicky Bianchi for ages. Yeah, we stumbled on this, and yeah, it’s legally thin right now. But we’ve got a chance to break open a case against a major mob player who’s likely doing a hell of a lot more than laundering money. We can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

Both Detectives Maxwell and Hale nodded in agreement, but Ms. Kingston didn’t give in so easily. “I get that. I really do. But if you don’t do this the right way—and I mean, to the letter—then anything you replace is going to be inadmissible.”

Determination rose in Delia’s chest. “There must be something I can do to help get enough for a warrant. I know exactly what to look for in these accounts. Plus, I have easy access to every part of Cromwell A&M’s office space and their online systems.”

“You’re also a risk,” Detective Hollister pointed out, although his expression was apologetic. “Whoever’s behind this already tracked you once. Chances are, they’re doing it again—especially if it’s Nicky.”

“You think he’s still spying on me?” The thought plucked over Delia’s spine in cold, clammy fingers.

“Probably on your machine,” Detective Hollister said, and Capelli nodded in agreement.

“That’s what I’d do. Monitoring your online activity to be sure you’re not interfering again is a smart fail-safe. And if we do replace more spyware and remove it, they’ll definitely know you’re up to something.”

Sergeant Sinclair said, “Maybe. But it doesn’t mean we can’t use you inside.”

“It doesn’t?” she blurted. Honestly, she’d been ninety-two percent sure that Detective Hollister’s (unfortunately sound) observation had just submarined her chances of helping on this case. Even Matteo looked surprised, but he caged it after a quick second in favor of listening to his boss elaborate.

“Not necessarily. While Hollister’s right—using you as an informant in the traditional sense really is too risky—we might still be able to make this work on the ground.”

“How?” Ms. Kingston asked over the phone line, and Matteo straightened a beat later. “You want to go undercover.”

Delia could barely hear Sergeant Sinclair’s answer over the chorus of oh, holy crap ringing in her ears. “If Captain Hughes signs off on an undercover op, we’d be well within protocol to go in and access the network from the inside. Delia has firsthand knowledge of the system, as well as access to the building. If we put Maxwell inside as a maintenance guy or, better yet, a security guard, and Delia tells him exactly what to look for with Capelli in his ear, walking him through a hack…”

“Then we’d get exactly what we need to nail whoever’s behind this,” Maxwell finished.

Delia frowned, trying to process it all. “If Capelli has the know-how, why don’t you just send him?”

Rather than get frustrated with her (admittedly) nosy question, Sinclair simply said, “Because as knowledgeable as Capelli is, he’s not a detective. He hasn’t been trained to go undercover like the rest of the team has.”

“Sending Maxwell would work from a legal standpoint, if Captain Hughes authorizes it,” came Ms. Kingston’s voice, “but if you replace anything implicating Bianchi, the FBI’s going to want jurisdiction.”

Sergeant Sinclair’s jaw hardened, and Delia made a mental note to never piss the guy off. “They’ll have to share it. I’ll loop Agent Peterson in as a courtesy, and I’ll keep him updated, but this was Intelligence’s replace. We’re working it until the brass tells me otherwise. Capelli, talk to me about logistics.”

“Tough but not impossible,” he said, sitting back in his desk chair. “Whoever’s making these transactions is covering his or her tracks incredibly well with that anonymous account. We’ll have to get past the keycard requirement to access the laptop, search the hard drive for presence of the second account, and download the transaction history once we replace it. Oh, and then we’ll have to cover our tracks to make sure no one knows we were there.”

Delia swallowed past her quickening pulse. “So, how are you going to ‘access’ Peyton’s laptop, exactly?”

“We’ll need access to Kent’s, too,” Matteo said, and okay, that didn’t help calm her heart rate. But Delia’s panic must’ve translated on her face, because Detective Hale leaned in with a kind smile.

“We’re not going to steal them or anything. Don’t worry. Maxwell’s just going to do some routine patrols of the office space. No big deal, just doing his job. Keeping everyone safe.”

“Of course, this will just so happen to occur when Peyton and Kent are in meetings,” Isabella put in, and Maxwell took up where she left off.

“And of course, security guards have keys to locked offices, so getting in won’t be a problem. I’ll slip in, access the laptops, have Boy Wonder, here, walk me through bypassing security over comms, then I’ll run the search program he’s no doubt already writing in his head as we speak”—he paused to let Capelli grumble for a second, and wow, they really did know each other that well—“after that, I’ll download all the files we need and cover my tracks, then I’ll slip out and melt into the woodwork, no harm, no foul. No one will even know I was there.”

“How can you be sure you won’t get caught?” Delia asked.

“We can’t be one hundred percent sure,” Capelli said matter-of-factly. “But I’ll have eyes on both Peyton and Kent—and, of course, on Maxwell—via the building’s security feeds, so we’ll have a pretty good idea of where they are most of the time they’re in the building. There are bound to be some blind spots, but we’ve done this a million times. Figuratively,” he tacked on.

“I could help,” Delia said. Okay, so this was a step above telling the team what to look for in the files. But whoever was behind this had had her assaulted just for poking around. Who knew what they’d do if they caught someone hacking into a laptop red-handed. “If you put, um, comms on me, too, and you could see and hear what I was doing? I could help keep tabs on Peyton and Kent, or even distract them if they try to go to their offices while Detective Maxwell is in there.”

“That’s too risky,” Matteo said, at the same time Capelli said, “That’s a good idea.”

“What?” Capelli asked in response to—whoa—Matteo’s death glare. “She’ll already be helping us walk through the system. She’s got a perfect, well-established reason to be right there in the office, no cover needed. And she won’t be lifting any data, directly, so it’s not like she has to be a detective, or even a cop. Having her help on the ground is smart.”

“Not if Bianchi already suspects her,” Matteo bit out. “He already had her attacked once.”

Placing her elbows on her desk, Isabella said, “So why not use that suspicion to our advantage? If he and Peyton are looking at Delia, they won’t be looking at Maxwell. Plus, Delia’s right. She can help. It seems stupid not to use eyes and ears we already have in place.”

“You want to use her as a decoy?” Matteo asked, as if the word tasted bitter.

But Sergeant Sinclair gave up a slow nod. “I like this. Bianchi focuses on Delia, who will be doing nothing but her job—at least, online—and we slide in and get what we need. Capelli will have her on comms and Maxwell will be in the building with her, so she’ll be well-monitored for safety, just in case.”

“Delia, are you sure you want to do this?” Matteo asked, and even though her heart thumped faster at the thought of potentially putting herself back in harm’s way, she didn’t hesitate.

“I am.”

Matteo didn’t hesitate, either. “Then it needs to be me.”

“I’m sorry?”

He kept his eyes—God, a stare that intense should be illegal—on her for just a heartbeat before turning to look at Sergeant Sinclair. “Undercover, as the security guard. I know Maxwell is normally our undercover guy, and I don’t dispute his skills.” He gave the other detective a nod to hammer the sentiment home. “But you said it before. This is my case. If Delia’s going to do this—if this is what she chooses—I should be the one inside, keeping her safe.”

“Alright,” the sergeant said slowly as Delia’s pulse rocketed to make up for it. “I’ll call Peterson at the FBI and get him up to speed.” To the team, he said, “Let’s get everything else in motion. I want Delia signed on and Garza in that building no later than first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Copy that,” Matteo said. Everyone in the room began to move with brisk purpose, and the sudden flurry of activity made Delia’s head spin.

“So, I guess this is really happening, then,” she said, and wow, this was nothing like Dateline.

Matteo dropped his voice just low enough to reach her ears and no one else’s in the fresh din of noise filling the room. “Only if that’s what you want. I mean it, Delia. You can change your mind at any time.”

“No,” she practically blurted, then steadied her breath. “I mean, I won’t be doing the dangerous part. Plus, you’ll be right there with me in the building, and everything.” She paused. “Right?”

“I will. And whenever you use your earpiece, we’ll be able to hear each other, too.”

“Like, just me and you, or…?”

“The team,” he confirmed.

A bubble of nervous laughter escaped from Delia’s mouth. “In that case, I should apologize in advance. I have this habit of talking to myself when I’m working out complex mathematical equations, and…well, let’s just say I hope none of you have PTSD from high school calculus.”

One edge of a smile kicked at the corner of Matteo’s lips, just barely, but it was enough. “I’ll try to survive.”

“Oh, good,” Delia said, grinning through her adrenaline. Big, bold move, girl. “After all, I’d hate to lose my partner on the first day.”

How on earthten hours could feel like a thousand, Delia had no idea. But now that she’d made it through not only the meeting at the Thirty-Third, but a crash-course in Confidential Informant 101, a debrief of the team’s plan, and—oh, yeah, BTW—a full day’s worth of work so she didn’t rouse suspicion, Delia was exhausted. Curling up on the couch in her apartment, she grabbed the remote, fully intending to lose herself in an episode or two of Dr. Who (season five, because despite what anyone else said, Matt Smith was the best Doctor. On this, she stood firm). But before she could manage it, a familiar ringtone sounded off from her phone.

Happiness Delia hadn’t quite realized she’d been missing surged through her chest. “Dad!”

“Hi, Starshine.” Her father’s voice, so close and yet so far away, doubled the ache behind her breastbone. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to call you properly before now. You know how I feel about texts.”

Delia pressed a smile between her lips. No matter how often she’d pointed out the convenience and ease of texting, her father insisted it wasn’t the same as an actual conversation.

He continued. “We’ve been so busy capturing data at night, then trying to analyze it all during the day. It’s been a bit chaotic here.”

“Believe me, I know the feeling.”

She’d muttered her reply before she could clap it back, and, of course, her father could read her like a textbook. “Oh? Has work been busy, then?”

Damn it. This was why she’d been glad they’d been texting over the past week and a half. Her father knew her better than anyone in the world, and she wasn’t terribly crafty at keeping her emotions under wraps, anyway. Delia had known that all it would take was one conversation for him to know something was up with her.

But since it was something she couldn’t tell him—or anyone, really—she went for Plan B, fast. “Work is always busy. But I want to hear about Puerto Rico.” Okay, this was good. At least she wasn’t lying. “Tell me everything.”

Thankfully, he did. Her father chattered away about everything from the facilities and telescopes to the data he and his team were collecting and how it would impact his studies. Delia guided the conversation along, keeping the focus on him and letting his excitement soothe her as much as it could. When they said their goodbyes nearly thirty minutes later, her heart felt the tiniest bit lighter.

For all of two minutes.

Exasperated, Delia stood, pacing around her apartment restlessly. She didn’t have a huge family or network of friends (okay, so it was her dad and Camila and that was pretty much it). But she wasn’t used to all this cloak and dagger stuff. Not telling her father she’d stumbled across evidence of a huge crime, been assaulted, and was now working with Remington’s most elite unit of detectives, on what could potentially become an FBI-led investigation, had made her antsy, the lie by omission feeling like a boulder in her belly. It was the same reason she’d avoided phone conversations with Camila this week, too, although Delia had kept up with regular texts so Camila didn’t call her out for acting strangely. Delia understood the necessity for high-level discretion—she was far from stupid, and besides, the agreement form she’d signed today held her legally bound to the strictest silence. No talking about the case, not even to her closest family members or most trustworthy friends.

Not even to admit that, despite the Intelligence Unit’s preparedness and experience, she could still hear those footsteps in that alley. Still feel the rough grab, the stark, white-hot terror of thinking she might die.

She couldn’t confide in anyone. She couldn’t tell anyone that she was still scared.

Flipping her phone in her hand, Delia stopped mid-pace to scroll through her rather short list of contacts, stopping on Matteo’s name and number.

If you feel unsafe for any reason, I want you to call me.

Delia sent a nervous laugh into the too-quiet space of her apartment. Certainly, he hadn’t meant she should call him for things like this. There was no reason at all for her to even be scared anymore—the assault was over and done, and her part in helping the Intelligence Unit would keep her way on the outer boundaries of any further danger. Matteo had given her his number in case she found herself in a truly dangerous situation. Not so she could call him because she couldn’t call her friends.

But they felt like friends. Or…something. Despite his gruff delivery the other night, Matteo’s apology had been kind, and the way he’d brought her that cake after she’d made a comment about it being her favorite had made her feel…well, seen. That k!ss had made her feel a whole host of other things (hot things. Tingly things. Such. Good. Things), but Delia was nothing if not logical. Finding Matteo as attractive as ever was twisty territory with this case. They both needed to focus on the job in front of them—the job that was so important to Matteo that he always put it first, no matter what.

The job he was good at. No, excellent at. He’d be safe. He’d keep her safe.

Fibonacci sequence. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8…

The memory of those footsteps, heavy and ominous, thudded off to their own rhythm in her mind, stamping out the numbers that always calmed her, and her finger pushed the icon on her phone without permission from her brain.

“Delia?” Matteo’s voice scraped over the line, tinged with concern, and ugh, great. She couldn’t even hang up and claim a butt-dial now. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, not wanting him to worry, even though her heartbeat worked fast enough to make it a lie. “Well, nothing major. It’s stupid, really, but…” Oh, screw it. “I guess I’m just a little rattled by all of this stuff that’s going on and I can’t talk to anyone I’d normally confide in, and you said that I should call you if I needed to. And I don’t need-need anything—like, no one is lurking around my door or anything. At least, I don’t think anyone is.” Her bare feet froze to the floorboards at the thought, and God, she never should have called him. “You know what? I’m just going to hang up now. I’m really sorry I bothered you.”

“Don’t hang up,” Matteo said, so quickly that she didn’t.

“Okay,” Delia said. Silence stretched over the line, growing thinner and more awkward by the heartbeat, and of all the galactically bad ideas she’d ever had, this one had to be the most embarrassing.

“Matteo—”

“I want you to do something for me.” The words bumped into hers, but she was shocked enough to let him fill the silence. “Tell me the story of how you adopted Al.”

She laughed by default. “What?”

“Come on, I know there’s a story there,” Matteo said. “And, hey, let’s do this. Switch me over to FaceTime.”

Surprise burst through her, but as soon as she tapped the icon and saw his face, her nerves took a backward slide. “Oh. Hi.”

If he noticed her spectacular blush, he was too polite to mention it. “Hi. So, you. Al. Adoption. Go.”

“You’re always this bossy, aren’t you?” Delia asked, half joking, but half wanting to know.

“Yes.” He settled onto what looked like his couch, then gave her an expectant look. “I’m waiting.”

Delia padded over to her favorite chair and propped her phone against the stack of books on the end table beside it, her brain switching gears the whole way. “It’s actually a good story. Well, it had a good ending, at least,” she amended. “I’ve been volunteering at the animal shelter in Remington for years. Walking the dogs, feeding the cats. Giving the animals human interaction if they’re well enough for it. That kind of thing.”

“That’s nice,” he said, and his eyes said he truly meant it.

“It really is,” Delia said, her mind fully on the story now. “But it’s also hard sometimes, because so many of the animals need homes. Logically, I know I can’t keep them all, so I made myself promise I wouldn’t get attached to any of them, just in the name of fairness.”

As if on cue, Al hopped onto the chair, swishing his tail and meowing softly before plopping directly into her lap.

“I take it Al had other plans,” Matteo said, gesturing to the fluffy attention hog.

Delia laughed. “He did, but not in the way you think. When he came in to the shelter, he was nothing like he is now.” She shuddered, thinking back on how scrawny he’d been. How terrified. “His previous owner neglected him terribly, and although we were never sure, all signs pointed to him having been abused, too.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes taking on a dangerous shadow Delia could see even on the screen. “There’s a special place in hell for people who do that.”

“I hope so,” she said, giving Al an extra scratch behind the ears for good measure. “Anyway, this little guy responded to my voice and would always perk up when I went in to see him, despite how hurt he was, and we formed a quick bond. It took weeks of coaxing to get him to come out of his shell and get healed up, but by then, he had me suckered.”

“Looks like a good match to me.”

Delia raised a brow at Matteo’s image, although she was too relaxed now to pin the gesture with any heat. “You’re very good at your job, you know.”

Oh, that gorgeous, unreadable expression. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Isn’t there some cardinal rule that we’re not allowed to bullshit each other now that I’m part of this case?” she asked, and she must’ve figured out how to put at least a little fire in her frown, because Matteo gave in.

“Okay, fine. I wanted to distract you by getting you to talk about something that makes you feel comfortable. But I didn’t do it because it’s my job.”

Suddenly, Delia felt like she was chock-full of butterflies. “Oh. You didn’t?”

“No.” He looked away from the camera. He stayed quiet for long enough that she nearly let it go, but then he said, “Look, you’re right. You can’t talk about what’s going on with anyone else. But this case is a big deal, and you were assaulted less than two weeks ago. You’re well within your normal to be rattled by that. Hell, even my normal gets rattled by that sometimes. And if you need a little distraction to help you get back to good…” He lifted one shoulder, letting it drop before looking at the camera again. “I’m okay with giving it to you. We’re friends, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember,” she whispered.

“Good. Now, are you comfortable? Because I’m a pretty decent detective, which means I can ask you questions all night long, if necessary.”

Grinning, Delia grabbed the blanket from the ottoman and snuggled in tight. “I’m comfortable, Detective Garza. Hit me with your best shot.”