Delta Force Defender - Carol Ericson

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about Denver.”

      “You’ve been thinking about this.”

      “It’s more than just the emails.” Martha waved her hand at the passing waitress. “Another round, please.”

      Cam cocked his head and took in Martha’s empty wineglass and flushed cheeks. She’d downed that pretty fast. Although even in low heels she stood taller than most men, she was as slim as a reed, and the booze seemed to have loosened her tongue and her attitude toward him. He’d take it.

      “More than emails?” He wrapped both hands around his bottle.

      She looked both ways in the crowded bar and hunched forward, wedging her chin in the palm of her hand. “I’m being followed.”

      “The guy on the subway platform.”

      “I don’t know.” She drew back from him...and her earlier pronouncement, and tucked a lock of silky hair behind her ear. “Nobody has ever made physical contact with me before. That push could’ve killed me.”

      The fear in her whiskey eyes plunged a knife in his gut. “Maybe it was just a warning, maybe a coincidence after all.”

      “You don’t believe that.”

      “How do you know you’re being followed?”

      “I can feel it, sense it.”

      He rolled his shoulders and thanked the waitress as she brought them their drinks. Maybe Martha was just paranoid. She’d been dwelling on those emails, and he didn’t blame her. They’d started a firestorm.

      “And then there’s the skull and crossbones.”

      He coughed and his beer fizzed in his nose. “You mentioned that before. Someone put a skull and crossbones on the emails?”

      “Not the original messages. Someone sent me an email, just this afternoon, with one of those animated gifs of a skull and crossbones—blinking eyes and chattering teeth.” She took a gulp from her new wineglass, and Cam placed his hand over her icy cold one.

      “Why is someone sending you threats? You obviously took the intended and hoped-for action. You turned over the emails and got Denver in a heap of trouble. Why the harassment?”

      “I—I do have an idea.”

      “I’m all ears.” He curled his fingers around her hand in encouragement. Why would anyone threaten Martha Drake, a by-the-book CIA translator worker bee who’d reacted exactly as the sender thought she would?

      “It might be because I copied all of the emails from my work computer to a flash drive, and now I have them at home.”

       Chapter Three

      Cam Sutton’s warm hand tightened around her fingers for a second. “Whoa. I bet the emailer wasn’t expecting you to do that. Why did you do that?”

      How could she explain it? She’d never done anything against the rules in her life. “I don’t know exactly. There was something about those emails that didn’t sit right with me.”

      “You said before that they might’ve been written by a foreigner.” Cam tapped his temple. “You’re a smart woman.”

      “I think it was the sentence structure and the word choice. Too formal or... I don’t know what.” She squared her shoulders and slipped her hand from Cam’s. “When I first reported the emails, I tried to tell my supervisor about my suspicions, but he brushed me off.”

      “I take it nobody at the CIA knows what you did with those emails?”

      “N-no.” She pulled her bottom teeth between her lips and traced the stem of her wineglass. Farah didn’t count, did she?

      “You seem unsure. Did you tell anyone you forwarded the messages to yourself at home?”

      “I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

      “If someone’s been following you and sending you poison-pen emails, somebody knows. Otherwise, they would’ve left you alone after verifying you’d turned over the messages.”

      “I don’t see how someone could know I have the emails.”

      He hunched forward, and his energy came off him in waves and engulfed her, sweeping her up in his world. “You seemed hesitant before. Do you think your supervisor might suspect you?”

      She snorted and took another swig of wine. “No way. If he did, he would’ve just reported me to security and gotten me fired...or worse. He wouldn’t be hiring people to shove me onto the train tracks.”

      “You’ve got a point.” He rubbed his hands together. “It has to be the party who sent the emails, the people who wanted to bring down Denver.”

      Her gaze dropped to his fingers drumming on the tabletop. “You’re glad someone’s after me.”

      “Wait. What?” He smacked his chest with the palm of his hand. “That’s dumb. I don’t want to see anyone hurt over this.”

      “No, but you tracked me down because I’m the one who initiated the fall of Major Denver, and you probably expected some CIA drone that you could bully and instead you’ve discovered a chink in the story, a new twist you weren’t expecting.”

      He cocked his head, and a lock of hair curled over his temple. He shoved it out of the way like a man accustomed to a military cut and whistled. “Are you sure you’re just a translator and not an analyst?”

      “Just a translator? I know four languages in addition to English.” She ticked off her fingers. “Russian, German, French and Spanish.”

      “Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “You also have a big chip on your shoulder.”

      “I do not.” She crossed her arms, covering her shoulders with her hands. “I’m just sick of being underestimated.”

      “Clearly.” He leveled a finger at her. “And that’s why you stole those emails.”

      “Are you sure you’re just a Delta Force grunt and not military intelligence?” She held her breath.

      He opened his mouth, snapped it shut and hit the table with his fist. Then he laughed, and what a laugh he had. A few heads turned at the loud guffaw.

      “Shush.” She kicked his foot under the table.

      “Did those spies pick the wrong CIA drone to mess with or what?” He shook his head. “Why do you think they targeted you?”

      “Honestly? I think they picked me because I have a reputation for following the rules. Everyone at work knows that.”

      “That’s kinda scary.”

      “What? Following rules? You’re in the military. You must do a lot of that.”

      “Not the rule-following, but the fact that the people who sent the emails knew that about you.” He rubbed his knuckles across the sandy-blond stubble on his chin. “Inside job? Some kind of bug?”

      “A few minutes ago you called them spies. Do you think this is some foreign entity or worse, a foreign country?”

      “I don’t know.” He tapped her wineglass. “Are you done? I want to see those emails.”

      “You mean, at my place?” Her heart fluttered. It was one thing talking to this hunky military guy in public, but bring him back to her town house?

      “You still don’t trust me?” He slumped in his seat and finished off his beer. “What can I do to remedy that?”

      “It’s not that I don’t trust you...exactly. I’m just not comfortable bringing strangers to my place.”

      He rattled off her

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