Delta Force Defender. Carol Ericson

up the remote and aimed it at the TV.

      The reporter mentioned Martha’s name, and Cam jerked his head toward the TV. A picture of a young Martha with thick glasses and braces stared back at him next to a picture of a gray-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. He tuned into the reporter’s words.

      “In a bizarre twist to this story, the owner of the town house is none other than the daughter of convicted stock trader Steven ‘Skip’ Brockridge, who’s currently serving twenty-five years in federal prison for his role in a Ponzi scheme that bilked investors out of millions.”

      He twisted his head back toward Martha, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched. She raised one hand. “That’s me, Martha Brockridge, daughter of a convicted felon.”

      Cam swallowed. “That’s your father, not you. Obviously the CIA already knows about your background. A name change isn’t going to throw off the Agency.”

      “I never tried to throw them off. I was up front about my father. They knew. I think they even believed that my father’s criminal behavior had influenced me to follow the straight and narrow path, and they were right...until now.”

      Her voice broke at the end, and he jumped up from the chair and took her by the shoulders. He dug his fingers into her tight muscles. “This situation is completely different.”

      “Maybe, but do you think anyone’s going to believe me about the emails now? A convicted felon’s daughter?” She shook her head, and the ends of her hair tickled the backs of his hands.

      “I doubt the patriot went through all this trouble to discredit or warn you, and the CIA already knows about your father. It didn’t stop them from believing you the first time you turned over those emails.”

      “I don’t know what to think. It’s hard for me to believe there’s no connection between my online conversation with the patriot and the death of Congressman Wentworth.”

      He blew out a breath. “I don’t believe that, either. I don’t believe in coincidences, but I can’t wrap my mind around his motives.”

      “You think there might be another reason?”

      He smoothed his hands down her arms and released her, stepping back. “How long has Casey been living with you?”

      Martha blinked her long lashes. “About eight months.”

      “You received the emails four months ago, right?”

      “You’re not implying Casey is involved? That ditz?”

      “It could’ve all been an act. The people who sent you the emails needed someone on the inside, and it would’ve been too hard to get one of your coworkers to cooperate. How’d that virus get on your laptop? I’m sure the CIA must drill computer security measures into your head and you didn’t just click on some random link in an email. Who does that anymore?”

      Martha chewed on the edge of her thumb. “I thought maybe he’d used Dreadworm again to get to me.”

      “How’d you meet Casey?”

      “Through one of those roommate finders. She had the money up front—first, last and insisted on a larger security deposit than I’d asked for.” She smacked her knee. “I should’ve trusted my instincts. I thought she was a little too eager.”

      “Something else about her choice in boyfriends.” He straddled the desk chair again just to keep from touching Martha. It felt...manipulative to use her distress to get close to her. She didn’t need any more distractions in her life right now, and neither did he.

      “Congressman Wentworth?”

      “Remember I told you last night I knew him from the House Intelligence Committee? He must have a lot of information on Denver.”

      She lowered herself to the bed as if in slow motion. “So, this is a twofer for Casey. She moves in to keep an eye on me, and she dates Wentworth to keep an eye on him and Major Denver.”

      “It makes sense that a lot of that stuff about Denver came from an inside source.” Cam’s anger at the injustice of Denver’s situation burned in his gut. He crouched to grab the sodas from the fridge, cracked one open and took a long swig from the can. He held the other out to Martha, and she shook her head.

      Tucking one leg beneath her on the bed, she said, “We’re just guessing. How are we going to prove any of this?”

      “Let’s start with Casey. Where was she when you left?”

      “She was still with the police.”

      “She’d admitted to the affair?”

      “Of course. What other explanation could she give?”

      “It’s odd.” Cam smoothed a hand across his freshly shaved jaw. “Why risk such public exposure? If Wentworth had served his purpose and they wanted to get rid of him, and maybe scare you in the process, why do it so publicly? They could’ve killed him without dragging Casey into the picture.”

      “You’re asking me?” She jabbed a finger at her chest. “I still don’t even know what the patriot wants of me, and I hate calling him that since he’s clearly not one.”

      “I think he wants you to stop thinking about those emails for one thing and delete them. He wants you to drop your investigation.”

      “It’s hardly an investigation, but I’m not dropping anything. People can’t just get away with things.” She pointed to her laptop case propped up against the wall by the door. “I called a computer repair place, and the guy told me to bring the laptop in today.”

      “You know this tech guy?” Cam stood up and stretched.

      He didn’t know how much longer he could be cooped up with Martha in this small room, anyway. He always had these instant attractions to women, and those never ended well, although Martha wasn’t his usual type so maybe he’d learned a few lessons.