Chapter 8

Despite all the activity of the night before—of all kinds—Gus was up at six the next morning, too jittery to stay in bed. He showered and dressed as quietly as he could, tucking the covers around Anya's chin and brushing a kiss across her forehead before heading for the kitchen. In sleep her face was unguarded and vulnerable and his heart ached for what she was going through. When he found the son of a bitch who'd sprung Branson they'd have a hard time keeping him from taking the guy apart with his bare hands.

It still amazed him that so much had grown between him and Anya since the night she'd called him, frantic for help. Her story had made his gut burn,with anger at people like Branson who were nothing more than flesh peddlers. She'd been the key to unlock the case he'd been trying to build against Branson, an unexpected gift dropped into his lap.

And out of that had come a relationship that reached into the darkest corners of his soul and gave them light. It had taken a lot of patience to build her trust, and even more to teach her that erotic love in all its forms was pleasurable to participants. Anya had been sexually uneducated and frightened to death after her experience with Branson. But they'd come so far now.

Thinking about last night he smiled to himself, remembering the feel of her mouth around his swollen cock. Gone was her shyness, replaced by a woman whose appetites had grown to match his own. With the unpredictability of his job, not to mention the darkness he worked with constantly, he'd never expected to have this kind of relationship. And he was going to make damn sure nothing happened to her.

A freshly brewed carafe of coffee stood in the machine on the counter. John Randolph came in through the back door just as Gus finished filling a mug for himself.

"Everything okay out there?" Gus asked

John nodded. "Quiet as a tomb. How's our girl?"

"Sleeping. I want to give her as much rest as possible. Any word yet from the boss?"

"He called about an hour ago." John filled his own mug. "Said they have a lot of loose ends but nothing concrete. He sent a team to the prison to interview everyone up there. Especially the people in the infirmary. And he's got Jimmy working on the people in the visitors' logs."

"I'd like to kill the asshole myself," Gus muttered. "Branson and whoever helped him." He took a long swallow of the hot liquid. "Want some breakfast before you turn in?"

"Sure, if you're cooking."

"Keeps me busy." Gus told him, and foraged in the cupboard for pans.

He had just cracked eggs into a bowl when his cell rang. Tossing the eggshells in the sink he unclipped the phone from his belt and held it to his ear.

"D'Amato."

"It's Jimmy."

"Got anything yet?" There was a long pause, enough to make Gus nervous. "Jimmy, that's not a hard question. Just a yes or no answer."

"Not exactly." The man's voice sounded strange. "Are you alone?"

Gus looked over his shoulder. John had disappeared somewhere, maybe to check the camera feed. "For the moment. What the hell is wrong?"

"I came across some stuff while tracking down the visitors from the logs." Another pause. "Gus, something isn't tracking right here.

"What do you mean?" Gus tensed, leaving the eggs for the moment.

"The names on Branson' s log? None of them are real."

Gus nearly dropped the phone. "What the fuck? What do mean they're not real?"

Jimmy was almost whispering now. "I mean, there are signatures on the logs and even some video footage, but the names lead to nothing. They're all phonies."

Gus tightened his grip on the cell, nearly crushing it. "If that's true, this is more than a couple of Virgil Branson's thugs figuring out a way to break him loose. You know that."

"Roger that. It means there's a bad apple at the prison."

Gus swallowed back a surge of bile. "Or at the office."

More silence. "Gus, I'd hate to think the latter is true. We put our lives on the line every day with the people we work with."

John had come back into the room now and was looking at Gus questioningly. "Problems?"

Gus shook his head. "Nothing we don't already know. Or to be more exact, more things that we don't have answers for. Breakfast will be ready in a few if you want to grab a shower first."

When John headed for the bathroom, Gus turned his attention back to the call. "Jimmy, if you're right, that means we can trust each other and that's it."

"Not even Dean," Jimmy agreed, "although I don't think our fearless leader is on our suspect list."

"Right now, much as I hate to say it, everyone's on that list. You'll keep digging, right?"

"Yeah. I'm going to review the visitors' tapes myself as well as call the warden. And start looking at everyone here in the office to see if I can find a connection to Branson."

"Keep your head down," Gus warned him.

"I actually decided to go home and work from there. I can get into the files I need from my computer."

"Jimmy, don't hack the system," Gus warned. "They'll find your cyber fingerprints."

"Trust me, buddy, I know what I'm doing. And getting caught at anything isn't on my agenda. But if someone in our office is connected with Virgil Branson, that means we didn't really get the whole story out at his trial."

"True enough," Gus agreed. "We never found out how he gets his so-called clients here under the radar and how he gets the women out. Or moves them around."

"Right. We just focused on the operation here in San Antonio. All right. You watch your back, okay?"

"Same goes."

Gus disconnected the call. Replacing the phone in the holster on his belt, he turned his attention back to breakfast. John would be out of the bathroom shortly and Gus needed to pull himself together to make sure he didn't let anything slip, do or say anything to give John a hint of what was going on.

He thought about asking for a replacement on the night watch but knew that would look too suspicious. He'd just have to figure out how to handle that when he was asleep. Too bad he couldn't have Jimmy here but the other agent had work to do. Without him Gus might never figure out how this thing had blown up in their faces.

If there was one person he trusted it was Jimmy. They were friends from college who'd applied to the FBI together, gone through training at Quantico together, and managed to get assigned to the same field office. But it pained him to think that any of the other men and women he worked with could be mixed up in this. Especially his boss, Dean Barton. But he'd learned a very long time ago that people were often not what they seemed. Right now the only people he trusted were Jimmy, Anya and himself.