Page 80 of Lock ’N’ Load

Despite his claim to the contrary, the CIA operative the agency sent to George’s house—Mitchell Hentz—could very well have murdered the reporter. Then Hentz and an FBI agent had dropped in on the Berkeley County Sheriff’s Department. Together. Why?

There was only one reason the CIA and the FBI would be working together. After what he’d just read, this was an international conspiracy involving Canada, the Russians, and U.S. government officials. But the CIA wasn’t authorized to conduct investigations on domestic soil, therefore they needed an agency that could. Enter the great and powerful FBI.

Matt had known Trista’s bosses were holding something tight to the vest, but this was beyond his wildest imagination. You can’t make this shit up. His gut told him government officials were in it up to their eyeballs, and the fog of suspicion surrounding all of them was thicker than an Afghani sandstorm. He’d bet the U.S. government damn well knew the identity of the he in that chat room.

He stopped pacing. Only one thing was clear. Trusting any of them with Trista’s life…not gonna happen.

The stairs creaked, and he guessed she was coming down. He wasn’t looking forward to their next conversation. Awkward didn’t begin to describe how things would be. There was no way in hell he’d ever let someone else protect her. Which meant she’d have to stay here with him.

The front door opened, and the security alarm began beeping. He jerked his head to the monitors. Trista was heading out the door, a plastic bag in one hand, Poofy in the other. “Shit.” She was leaving. Where she was going without a car, he had no idea. Guess she wanted to get away from him badly enough that she’d walk or hitchhike, even. “Fuck. That.” He clenched his fists and began to turn toward the door when another monitor beeped as three black SUVs raced up his driveway.

His blood ran cold as he turned and bolted for the front door. “Trista, wait!”

He raced to the open door and flew outside to see a man in a suit gripping her roughly by the arm. Poofy and the plastic bag she’d been holding were now abandoned on the grass.

She struggled in the man’s grasp, twisting and pulling, but he held fast. “Let me go,” she cried.

Matt leaped off the front steps, running at top speed, and tackled the shithead dragging Trista to one of the SUVs. They both hit the ground, with Matt on top. He pounded his fist into the guy’s face, hearing bone crack. Blood spattered, and the guy cried out.

Hands pulled him off, and he spun, plowing his fist into the next suit, knocking him to the ground. His buddy got in a shot to Matt’s jaw, sending him staggering but still standing. Breathing heavily, all he could think was that he’d kill anyone who tried to take Trista from him.

He charged at the suit who’d gotten in a lucky shot, barely registering three other men standing nearby. Again, he hit the ground and pummeled the guy until he stopped moving. He bolted to his feet, preparing for another attack, when the other three suits tackled him, pinning him to the ground.

Using his elbows and knees, he incapacitated one of them, hearing more bone crunch amid screams of pain. He nailed the next guy in the jaw, taking satisfaction at seeing blood spurt from his nose. He rose to his feet, readying to take down the latest asshole now holding Trista, when his arms were grabbed from behind and the muzzles of three guns were thrust in his face.

“No!” she screamed.

“Anderson!” a man shouted as he got out of one of the SUVs. “Let her go or Sgt. Connors will beat the shit out of you.”

To Matt’s satisfaction, the guy released Trista, and she ran toward him. Ignoring the fact that his arms were pinned, she flung herself between him and the weapons trained at his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Trista, get back!” His heart lurched with fear that one of these bozos would fire off a round and drill her through the back.

“Don’t hurt him.” She hugged him even tighter. “Please, don’t hurt him and I’ll go with you.”

“The hell you will.” He struggled against the three sets of hands restraining him.

“Sgt. Connors,” the man who’d gotten out of the SUV said. With the tinted windows, Matt hadn’t noticed the seventh man sitting in one of the front passenger seats. The fucker must have been watching the whole thing from his air-conditioned SUV. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He held up a black leather cred case. “Resident Agent in Charge Max Fenway, FBI.”

“Since when is the FBI in the business of kidnapping women?” He glared at Fenway, wanting to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face.

“This isn’t a kidnapping.” Fenway approached closer. “You two have stumbled into something bigger than you could have imagined.” He refocused on Trista, who still held him tightly around the waist. “And you, Ms. Gold, just couldn’t stop digging. We have a wiretap on several of the Arlington Sentinel’s phones, including that of Martin Denis, whom you recently spoke to. Someone inside your own agency recognized your voice.”

Matt frowned. He hadn’t known she’d made that call.

“Sgt. Connors, I’d like to release you. But before I do, I need you to promise not to beat up any more of my men. I can’t afford to have my team decimated.”

Matt glared at the three other men he could see, all of whom had blood dripping down their faces. “What the fuck do you want?”

“What I want is more men like you on my team.” He arched a brow at his battered men. “Clearly, the FBI could use a man of your skills. If you ever want to jump ship, I’m sure I could arrange it. But seriously, I’m under orders to bring you in for a meeting, and for the sake of my team’s health, I’d sure appreciate it if you both came willingly. Let him go.” Fenway tipped his head to the men restraining Matt.

“Why the hell would we do that?” He wrapped his arms around Trista’s shoulders. “You haven’t told us shit about what’s going on here or who this meeting is with.”

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Poofy bolting back inside the house. From the kennel, Sheba’s constant barking told him the dog knew he was in distress and was probably clawing at her enclosure to get to him.

Fenway shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell, but you’ll have answers to all your questions soon enough. Suffice to say, these orders come down from the highest levels of both our agencies. I don’t want to, but I’ll tase you if I have to. You have my word that we’ll return you here in time for dinner. It may not seem that way, but we really are on the same side. Consider this an official request from above.”

Matt gave an angry snort. “Most requests don’t come at gunpoint.”

“I do apologize for the show of force. Now we really need to go.” He nodded to the SUVs.