Dirtiest Secret (SIN 1)

"Give me the details when we're inside." He nodded at the gate that surrounded the ten acres nestled in the foothills. "Might as well give me a few more minutes before I get really pissed off."

A single push of a button on the Rover's console opened the gate, and Liam blasted through, kicking up dust as he went from the asphalt to the dirt road. From this distance, the house was hidden from sight by a line of trees, but Dallas knew it well enough. His father had purchased the five-bedroom stucco house with the familiar red tiled roof when Dallas was only a boy.

He'd bought it from his dad a dozen years ago, and had made a point of bringing various models and D-list actresses to the property at least twice a year, just to keep up the illusion that the house was now his own private love nest. But in reality, it was so much more than that. Over the years, Dallas had transformed the interior into a state-of-the-art operations center.

It was one of the crown jewels of Deliverance's operational holdings, and just seeing it again--stately, well-camouflaged--made Dallas smile. He'd spared no details in putting together Deliverance, and that care and planning showed in the results.

They'd get results with Mueller, too. He was certain of it.

They parked on the graveled drive that formed a semi-circle in front of the house, then passed through the functionally landscaped front yard. The house was well-secured, though not obviously so, yet easy enough to enter with the proper access codes. They were inside within seconds, stepping into the terra-cotta tiled foyer of what appeared to be a vacant home.

Dallas shifted his duffel so that it hung more comfortably on his shoulder and then headed for the kitchen. Not massive, but well-equipped.

Right then, Dallas had no use for it. He passed the stove and fridge and headed straight to the broom closet. The back wall was covered with a series of hooks on which hung coils of rope, extension cords, copper wiring, and spools of tape.

Dallas took hold of the empty middle hook, turned it ninety degrees, and then pushed. The entire back wall opened on a hidden hinge, and he and Liam slipped through into a second room that, at first glance, appeared to be an electrical closet and storage space.

Here, Dallas opened the electrical panel, flipped three breakers in combination, and turned

to see the final door open at the back of the room.

This time he followed Liam, who was already halfway down the stairs by the time Dallas had closed the small metal door that covered the breaker switches and retrieved his duffel from the floor. He eased over the threshold, shut the secret door behind him, and followed his friend down the dimly lit stairs.

The heart of Deliverance's South American operation was two stories down beneath a false basement floor. It was always a shock to the senses to go from the murky yellow basement lighting to the bright, high-tech glow of the main conference area.

Quince stood at one of the map tables poring over what appeared from Dallas's perspective to be an electrical schematic.

"About bloody time," he said, peering at Dallas from over the top of the half-frame reading glasses he wore only when he was focusing intently on a project. He had a lean, hard face and deep-set eyes. Women called him ruggedly handsome, but that was all about the attitude. Most of the time, Quince just looked like a badass.

Now, the badass broke into a smile. "Beginning to think you'd decided to come by carrier pigeon." He came around the table and caught Dallas in a hug, coupled with a hearty slap on the back. "Good to see you, mate."

After Liam, Quince had been the second man Dallas had recruited into Deliverance. His boarding school roommate had risen high in British intelligence, and was currently an active MI6 agent. Dallas had never intended to recruit him--too damn risky. But then Quince had confessed that he'd waited in the dorm for a while, but then decided to follow Dallas that night. That he'd arrived in time to see the kidnappers drag him and Jane into the back of an unmarked van. And that he'd never felt more powerless in his life than he had at that moment.

Dallas had taken a chance. He'd told his friend the truth. And Quince had insisted he join the team. He'd been the riskiest addition, because he'd made clear that he wouldn't come on board without authorization. Dallas had debated for three months then finally given the okay.

Now, one man--and only one man--in the British Secret Intelligence Service knew that Quince worked with Deliverance. The trade-off had seemed fair. Dallas acquired Quince's very unique skill set, and British intelligence acquired certain limited information regarding human trafficking rings and terrorist activity uncovered by Deliverance.

But if it all went to hell, Quince was on his own. He'd be completely disavowed.

It was a risk that Quince had willingly accepted.

Now, Quince shot a quick glance toward Liam. "He brief you?"

"About Ortega? Yeah. I got the memo. Makes the one in the box all the more important," Dallas added, referring to Mueller.

"So are you really planning to have a go at him?" Liam asked Dallas. "Is that why you came?"

"It's why I came," he admitted. And he wanted to--wanted to go in there, grab hold of the hair at the back of Mueller's head, and smash his ugly face down onto the table. He wanted to tie his legs to the chair and jam his heel into the guy's crotch until his balls spewed out his nostrils.

He wanted to make the guy hurt. He wanted to make him pay for what he did to Ming-hua, the scared little boy who was finally back in China with his family. For what he did to every child he'd kidnapped. Every innocent that he'd harmed. That he'd scarred.

Wanted to, but he wasn't going to.

Because Mueller had information about Ortega's jobs, his life, his contacts. Information that might lead to the Jailer. And extracting that information was a job that required certain skills that, thanks to the British government, Quince had acquired.

Dallas would trust his friend, his colleague. He'd take a backseat and let his people do what they were trained to do.

"Dallas?" Liam pressed.