Grave Secrets (Manhunters 1)

As the director of the Joint Interagency Task Force, Gianna led a group of agents from various law enforcement departments on tenuous black-ops missions. She reported directly to the director of the NSA and the president. And she used the Manhunters when critical missions needed finesse, raw power or went awry—like one of her undercovers getting killed under suspicious circumstances while hunting a counterfeiter.

“Liam,” Roman greeted.

“Roman.” Liam took the closest available seat. Then glanced around the table with a nod to the others. “Heller, Slaughter, Shaw.”

When Liam’s attention returned to his boss, Gianna, Ian, and his teammates shared a silent glance, confirming the new tension in the room.

Gianna pulled a file folder from her briefcase and tossed it on the table with a slap. Papers and photos spilled out.

Ian homed in on the images first—the gruesome photos from the remnants of a plane crash. He reached for one showing a charred piece of the plane’s tail, and every shred of joviality he’d been feeling just moments ago fled.

“Flight one-twenty-one?” He lifted his gaze to Gianna. “The seven-forty-seven that went down in New York last month?”

“Killing all three hundred and thirty-four people on board and one hundred ninety-eight people on the ground,” Gianna confirmed, “including one of my colleagues. Tens of millions in damage to a city that’s already seen too much tragedy.”

Sam and Everly had also pulled several photos from the melee, documenting the carnage.

Ian asked what everyone wanted to know. “What does that have to do with this mission?”

“We just received confirmation that the terrorists who blew up this plane are linked to the smuggler distributing passports from here—this little dot on the map,” she said. “The four terrorists’ passports have identical flaws in their printing and the same hacker’s code in the RFID chip. And all four passports originated from employees working for Bishop Mining.”

A shock wave traveled the length of Ian’s spine. His teammates wore equally surprised expressions.

“After checking with Interpol,” she said, “we’ve confirmed that the same errors were seen in passports used by terrorists who have attacked across the globe—London, Paris, Brussels.”

This op just got very interesting.

Everly shot him a sassy I-told-you-so look.

“Just to clarify,” Ian said. “The terrorists manipulate Canada’s soft spot for refugees and immigrate there, then search out like-minded men—if not men from their own terrorist cells—and open themselves up to recruitment by Bishop for cheap labor in the work-visa program? After a year in the mine, they grab a US passport and hit the road?”

“They also crash planes, blow up buildings, and target large venues with modified semiautomatic weapons,” Gianna added.

Ian raised his brows, shook his head, and tossed the photo back into the pile. “That’s fuckin’ devious.”

“And fuckin’ terrifying,” Everly added as she scowled at a photo.

“The media know something is up,” Gianna said. “We’ve managed to keep a lid on the details, but I don’t know how long that will last. The public is petrified, and the media is fueling the fear with speculation a little too close to home.”

A heaviness settled on the room. Everyone there knew that when a country’s sense of safety and security was threatened, the economy plummeted. People canceled travel plans. They stopped spending their money at cinemas, restaurants, and malls. They avoided crowded arenas like concerts and sporting events. And they held everything dear very close—including cash. Add to that an angry public demanding answers for the horrific loss of life, and you had the perfect storm for every politician.

And the politician breathing down Gianna’s neck happened to be the leader of the free world.

“Is there any sign of the ledger?” Gianna wanted to know. “It just went to the top of our priority list.”

“No,” Ian said. “We search

ed both offices at the sheriff’s station and Bishop Mining top to bottom and inside out. Whatever ledger Mason was talking about isn’t in either office.”

“We’ll search and wire up both homes,” Roman assured her. “We haven’t gotten anything from the bugs in the wife’s home, but Ian’s made positive inroads with both her and son.”

“Good,” Gianna said, focusing on Ian. “Once the divorce is final, she won’t be able to hide behind spousal privilege when she’s on the stand. Having someone she can trust and lean on now might be a treasure trove of information.”

The conversation had just gone off the rails. “Wait. What?”

“Dig,” she told Ian. “If we’re not getting anything directly from the Bishop men, mine the ex-wife for dirt. Messy divorces always yield valuable fruit. Use the information to flip Hank or Lyle or both. I want that ledger. I want Lyle and Hank Bishop. I want everyone who had anything to do with Mason’s death and the counterfeiting, even if they only knew about it and didn’t disclose. Everyone within reach is going down. Hard.”

Her phone rang. Gianna picked up her trench and her briefcase and strode out of the office, answering her phone with a crisp “Bliss.”