Web of Shadows Read online

  Look what people are saying about Susan Sleeman’s

  Agents Under Fire series…

  “Web of Deceit is a must read for any fan of suspense.”

  —Gail Welborn, Seattle Examiner

  “Seriously! Oh my goodness! Full of suspense from the very beginning! I loved every minute of it! Every character was fully developed, their feelings, their emotions, and their realness totally believable.”

  —Julie Graves, My Favorite Pastime Blog

  “Don’t bother bringing a beverage to drink while you read because you will forget it is there, the story is that intense. Ms. Sleeman batted a thousand on this one. I highly recommend it.”

  —Victor Gentile, TheSuspenseZone.com

  “Susan Sleeman has done it again!! She has got to be one of my top three suspense writers, and Web of Deceit just goes to show how well she can write.”

  —Charity Lyman, Giveaway Lady Blog

  “A fast-paced, hard-hitting suspense novel that is one of the two or three best I have read in the past two years. Highly recommended.”

  —Suspense Author, Donn Taylor

  “This book is unputdownable and will keep you on the edge of your seat! I can’t wait to read the next book in the series.”

  —Romantic Suspense Author, Elizabeth Goddard

  Also by Susan Sleeman

  from Bell Bridge Books

  Agents Under Fire Series

  Web of Deceit (Book 1)

  Web of Shadows

  Book 2 in the Agents Under Fire Series

  by

  Susan Sleeman

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-691-8

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-674-1

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2016 by Susan Sleeman

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design: Deborah Smith

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Woman (manipulated) © Mariematata | Dreamstime.com

  Landscape (manipulated)© Joe Klune | Dreamstime.com

  :Eswa:01:

  Dedication

  For my family. Ever supportive. Ever patient. And ever understanding of the crazy life of a writer. Without all of your support, none of my books would see the light of day. Thank you!

  Chapter One

  WILEY LIKED THE dark—liked the way the cool, silky night settled over Oregon’s Columbia River Gorge. Clinging to the rocks. Cloaking him. Hiding him. Letting him slide through the fading light without detection and evade those who would harm him.

  But tonight was different.

  He wasn’t in control. The elements were. The sinking sun all but ensured he’d take a nosedive from the winding path into the yawning crevice. Didn’t matter. He’d take the risk.

  Breathing deep from the climb, he turned to check on his buddy Kip. Great, the guy was peeved. Huffing and puffing up the trail. Scowling as he planted his hiking pole on the packed dirt.

  “Dude,” he said, trying to get a full breath. “This’s crazy. Even if we get to the cache before dark, we’ll never make it down again. We need to turn back before we both break our necks.”

  Wiley shook his head. “Not an option. Not when we’re this close.”

  “Close?” Kip’s voice shot up. “It’s still a mile up to Triple Falls. More than that to get back down. It’ll take us ninety minutes at least. That’s if we find the cache right away.” Kip looked at his watch. “The sun sets in forty-five minutes.”

  Figures Kip would wimp out. He was just like the others. Making Wiley’s life difficult. “You can turn back, but I’m going on.”

  “Man, come on, Fagan. Don’t make me feel like a jerk for bailing on you.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’m good to go alone. You can go back to the car.”

  “Yeah, right.” Kip rolled his eyes behind large glasses. “You can’t go alone. That’s what all the stranded hikers say after they’re rescued and interviewed on TV. Don’t become one of them, man.”

  Wiley ignored Kip’s warning. As avid geocachers, they used GPS coordinates to find hidden caches and often hiked over rugged terrain like this. Kip might be a coward, but after a stint in prison, Wiley could handle this or anything else by himself.

  “I’m going.” He turned to head up the narrow trail flanked with trees on one side, the deep gorge on the other.

  “Go ahead, risk our lives for a stupid geocache,” Kip muttered from behind.

  Seeking to keep his temper in check, Wiley fisted his hands. Didn’t work. He’d had enough drama for a lifetime. Not only with Kip’s whining and complaining. That was bad enough. But his life in general sucked. Big time. Wasn’t his fault if he let off some steam now, was it?

  He grabbed Kip’s plaid wool jacket that likely came from a thrift-store grab bag and slammed him against a pine tree. “I’ve told you like a million times, dude. My life sucks. No one will give an ex-con like me a job. People see my scars and cringe. Lila dumped me, and if that’s not enough for you, I still have nightmares from prison. So I need something—anything—to get my mind off it. At least until I’m able to pay that loser FBI agent back for getting me the max sentence.”

  Kip shrugged free. “I get it man, but—”

  “Get it?” Wiley’s voice screeched through the immense divide, echoing off the steep-walled river canyon and sending birds flapping into the descending darkness. “How could you? Not until you spend two years in prison. Two years of nothing to do. Hearing sounds in the night that you wished to God you hadn’t heard. Sights you hadn’t seen. Knowing they were coming for you. Always coming.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Oh yeah?” Wiley ran his fingers over the scars crisscrossing and running down his face into the heavy beard he wore to hide some of them. “Do you get how it felt to have a homemade shiv slice through my skin? Slash after slash splitting open my face. Almost bleeding out on the shower floor. Then feeling nearly every inch of my face jerked tight with stitches. Or maybe you get how it felt to see Lila take one look at me and bolt like she’d seen Freddy Krueger.” A spray of spit followed his words, but he didn’t care. He was on a roll. “You’ve got a charmed life, man. A good programming job. Money to burn. An apartment. So don’t tell me again that you get it.” He poked Kip in the chest. “Understand? Never again.”

  Kip nodded, his long pointy nose resembling a bird’s beak as he took a lurching step back.

  He was afraid. Good. It was a long time coming. Wiley had to pay them back. All of them. He’d wanted to blow up at the dude for weeks. Felt amazing to let it go.

  He ran the back of his hand over his mouth. “I don’t care if you come with
me or not. I’m going on.”

  He took off at a clip fueled by anger, keeping an ear out for Kip should he decide to stop him from reaching his goal. The steep incline would soon force Wiley to slow down, but he’d do his best to power through it. He heard Kip’s footsteps pounding on the packed trail behind him. Fine. He’d decided to come along. Honestly, Wiley didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care about anything except making people pay. Big time. Especially that freakin’ FBI agent, Nina Brandt. He would get her when the timing was right. Just like the prison psychiatrist. Fool. Claiming Wiley was paranoid. Putting him on medicine he didn’t need, dulling his senses.

  They weren’t dull now. He ached to do Brandt in, but first he needed to come up with a sound plan that didn’t put him back behind bars. Until then, he’d settle for beating everyone else to this prize.

  He forced his aching muscles to work harder and picked up speed, passing moss-covered trees and ferns that made the place look like a rain forest. They’d summit at Triple Falls in another mile, then cross a fallen log to the cache.

  To the prize.

  Motivated, he pressed on hard until he rounded a bend and heard the first sounds of water surging over the basalt rock. He stopped to catch his breath and prepare for the next challenge. He’d often hiked this trail with Lila. Hiked many of the gorge trails with her in their three years together. But he’d seen the last of her three months ago when she’d picked him up from prison on his release day, then dumped him on Kip’s doorstep like trash. Maybe Lila needed to pay, too.

  Maybe. She deserved it. Like all of them did. Always watching. Waiting to pounce. To do him in.

  Huffing loudly, Kip caught up and pointed across the steep ravine. “There’re the falls. Now let’s find the stinkin’ cache and get out of here. It better have been worth it.”

  Geocaches didn’t usually offer anything of value. It wasn’t about the prize at the end. Cachers liked the hunt and the challenge of the search. But this one was different. Someone posted it on Hacktivists, a Portland geocache group he and Kip belonged to. The listing promised a prize every computer nerd would love.

  Kip held a hand over his eyes to peer into the distance. “I don’t like the looks of the log we have to cross. It’s wet. That means slippery. I don’t recommend doing this, man.”

  Wiley didn’t care. He wanted this cache. Wanted it bad enough to ignore their safety and head into the gorge minutes after he’d seen the post. He hoped others in the group were big babies like Kip and had waited until sunrise before setting out. Wiley would score the cache before they rolled out of bed.

  “Don’t be such a wuss.” Wiley dug out a battery-powered headlamp, turned it on, and snapped the elastic around his head.

  “Yeah, why worry, right?” Kip’s sarcasm accompanied the curl of his lip. “We’ll only fall into the river and take a nosedive into the falls.”

  Wiley was ready to push the guy over the edge himself, but he shoved his hands in his pockets instead. Kip was the only person who hadn’t abandoned Wiley during his prison stay. Plus Kip let Wiley sleep on his couch while Wiley got his life together. He would cut the guy some slack. For now.

  “Maybe it’s best if you wait on this side,” Wiley suggested. “Just in case something does happen.”

  Relief flashed on Kip’s face. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Coward.

  Wiley marched up to the log and shrugged out of his backpack. His boots felt solid on the fallen log at first, but as he moved out over the water, the tree vibrated with the fury of the raging water below. One false move and he was a goner. He’d plunge sixty-plus feet to his death. He doubled his concentration, tuning out other sounds and watching his feet.

  Step. Slide. Step. Slide. Rinse and repeat. Over and over until he reached the far side. He jumped down, his feet firmly planted on the water-soaked ground.

  At the weatherworn intersection of two logs, a dark object caught his eye. He hurried over, his heart kicking up higher when he located the waterproof case.

  Ooh, ooh, ooh. He found it. The prize. Before anyone else. Oh, yeah.

  “Got it,” he yelled above the gushing water, and dropped to his knees. The frigid spray instantly soaked his jeans. So what? He was pumped. He was the first to open the container. He had to be.

  With cold hands made clumsier by gloves, he pried the lid open.

  “It’s a laptop,” he shouted as his heart sank. “I thought it’d be some state-of-the-art hardware, but it’s a laptop. I risked my life for a stinkin’ laptop.” He stood. “It’s an ultrabook, but I don’t know if I even want it. It’s probably broken.”

  “Hey, bring it anyway,” Kip yelled. “You need money. Parts for an ultrabook could fetch a few dollars.”

  Kip had a point. Ultrathin computers were expensive. Not that Wiley actually needed cash. Anytime he did, he could find a hacking job without trouble. But he could dismantle this one and easily score a few bucks from the parts on eBay.

  Okay, so he’d take it.

  Rules said he should record the find on the cache log and leave something else behind, but he ignored the log and zipped the computer into his jacket, leaving his arms free to balance on the return trip. Adrenaline fading, he moved with more caution and eyed the river, expecting it to rise up and wash him off. With the way his life had been going lately, it wouldn’t surprise him if he did fall. Maybe it wouldn’t even be a bad thing.

  It would end all of his problems.

  But then Agent Brandt would get away with ruining his life. That was unacceptable. She couldn’t destroy him, then go on as if she’d simply smashed an irritating mosquito.

  Revenge first. Then maybe a dive into the waterfall to end it all. Who knows?

  He neared the log’s end and took a leap to the spongy moss. He’d beat the odds. Made it. Beat nature. Beat the universe that kept pushing him down. Maybe it was a sign things were starting to look up and he shouldn’t be so quick to consider ending it all. Especially when he could still look forward to paying Agent Brandt back in the most heinous way he could think of.

  Chapter Two

  NINA BRANDT’S cell chimed a text from her nightstand, pulling her from a restless sleep. She fought through hazy brain fog and glanced at the clock. 11:45. Still Sunday night.

  Three hours, really? She’d only gotten three hours of sleep. Not quality rest either. Visions of terrorists had her tossing and turning. Not surprising. A local terrorist threat against Bonneville Dam had her and her fellow agents at the Portland FBI on high alert status for two solid days, and she was plum worn out.

  She turned over and snuggled deep into sheets soft from many washings. Grandmother Hale’s reproving face came to mind. Nina groaned.

  Ugh! Drat her Southern roots. She’d never disrespect her grandmother’s teachings. She was thirty-two. Self-sufficient. Successful. And one thought of her grandmother repeatedly warning her never to shirk her duties had her swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

  She grabbed her phone, then thumbed to the text from FBI analyst Jae Starling. Nina had left Jae monitoring the internet for terrorist chatter about Bonneville.

  Chat room buzzing with activity. Need your approval to continue. Good stuff. I’d hate to let it go.

  Activity related to Bonneville? Nina typed, then trudged to the adjoining bathroom for a glass of water before Jae’s reply came in.

  Could be. We have someone looking to sell data. Info too vague to link to BD, but seller says it’s hot. Needs your review.

  That meant going into the office. Now.

  Nina caught her reflection in the mirror and sighed. She had bags under her eyes as big as Granddad’s old steamer trunk back home in Mobile.

  A yawn slipped out, and her brain struggled for clarity behind layers of fog. She needed sleep. Needed it badly. She could have Jae call in fellow C
yber Action Team members Becca and Kait, but they were lead agents on the investigation and needed sleep more than Nina did.

  Besides, Kait and Becca were good friends. If they found themselves in the same situation, they’d let Nina sleep. They had each other’s backs in everything.

  Nina poked one of the puffy dark circles and frowned. Tired or not, she was going in.

  Keep monitoring. Be there ASAP, she typed, then slogged to the kitchen to start a travel cup of her favorite dark-roasted chicory coffee brewing. She doubted she’d be coming home before her workday started, so she showered and selected a navy suit and long-sleeved white blouse from the perfectly bland agent attire lining one side of her closet. As she dressed, she looked longingly at the other half, filled with bright, bold-colored clothing she saved for her free time.

  “Right,” she mumbled as she settled her holster on her belt and her FBI shield on the other side. “What’s free time?”

  Grabbing her purse and keys, she stepped outside. The air was chilly and humid as usual for February in Portland. Hazy fog hung at ground level, and a fine mist dampened the air in her pin-drop quiet neighborhood.

  As she locked the door, the skin on her neck crawled, sending goosebumps rising up to meet the softness of her collar.

  Something was wrong. Someone was watching her.

  At least it felt that way. Nothing concrete. Just a gut feeling she’d had for days. After five years in law enforcement, she’d learned to pay attention to it. Even when it made sense only to her. Might be something. Might not. But she wouldn’t ignore it.

  Swallowing hard, she settled a hand on her sidearm and turned to watch and listen, staying fully alert for anything, anyone that didn’t belong. Streetlights filtered through the haze, mixing with fingers of fog creeping along the road, obscuring tires on the many cars parked on her street. An eerie sight, but she found nothing amiss

  She turned to search houses that had been built so close together in the twenties that she could almost reach across the driveway without leaving home to borrow a cup of sugar from one of her neighbors for one of her famous Southern desserts.