Ghostwalker 08 - Street Game

slow breath, her breasts heaving. Mack just kept his head close to her body, his mouth pressed against her belly button. She could barely think with the roaring in her head. “I don’t think he was ever in prison, Mack. I think someone else was taken to prison, probably this man . . .” She caught his head in her hands. “I’m going to need the computer.”
    “Then take off your top.”
    “You want me to brief you topless?”
    “Yes.” He stepped back slowly, his eyes moving broodingly over her face.
    “Will you remember what I tell you?”

    222

    “Every damn word,” he said, “will be etched into my brain.”
    “Well, then.” Jaimie drew her top over her head and set it aside.
    Kane, I need some time down here alone, Mack reached out to his second-in-command.
    You got it, boss.
    “Your bra,” he prompted.
    She let the bra straps slide down her arms and she placed the lacy scrap on top of her shirt. She heard his indrawn breath and found herself smiling as she turned to her computer, her fingers flashing across the keyboard to bring up a picture of a young, earnest-looking man with dark hair and scared eyes. “This is Thomas Matherson. He was an aide to Phillip Thornton, who happened to be CEO of Donovan Labs a couple of years ago. Matherson disappeared right after Thornton was arrested. Everyone thought he was involved and that he ran. The rumor is, he was paid off and is living the high life in Costa Rica.”
    Mack ran his finger down the side of her breast, but his eyes stayed on the screen.
    “But you think he’s in a mental hospital as Phillip Thornton.”
    “Absolutely I do.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “There are tons of documents with Bartlett’s signature, Mack. There’s no picture of him, but his signature is everywhere.” She brought up a document and enlarged the signature at the bottom. “Earl Thomas Bartlett” had been signed with a flourish. “Now look at Thornton’s signature. Our brain-dead Phillip Thornton.” She placed a second signature beside the first.
    Mack walked right up to the large screen and studied the two signatures. “You ran them both I take it and there’s no mistake?”
    “Numerous times, Mack. The signature was really the only consistent thing I had to ID him with, so I ran it against every single person that had a past with Whitney.
    Thornton worked for him, with him, for years. They went to the same school together.
    He was implicated in Whitney’s supposed murder.”
    “You think he helped Whitney disappear and that he’s assumed a new identity and is now providing Whitney with everything he needs to stay gone?” He turned away from the screen, his gaze moving possessively over her body.
    Jaimie faced him, very conscious of the fact that he was fully clothed and she was half naked. There was something very sexy and exciting about having a man look at her the way he was, his gaze hot as it moved over her. “Yes, I absolutely believe he’s the man covering Whitney’s butt. I think he tipped off Whitney that there was a conspiracy to kill the GhostWalkers. General Ronald McEntire was assigned to the National Reconnaissance Office, building spy satellites. He was a major influence in the Donovan Labs getting government contracts. He went to school with Thornton and Whitney. They were all thick as thieves for a while.”

    223

    Mack sank into a chair, rubbing his shadowed jaw as he looked at her. “Are you wearing panties, Jaimie?”
    “Is that relevant? What exactly are you doing?” Now he was making her nervous.
    “Looking at what’s mine.” He crooked his finger at her. “You’ve really dug deep, haven’t you?”
    She took two steps toward him. “I had to. Thornton has been Bartlett for years.
    Some of the documents have been around for years. He’s got a lot of clout, Mack.”
    Mack pointed to the spot in front of his chair. “How in the world did you find his new identity?”
    “He’s been in the shadows for so long, getting away with his Bartlett act, simply because the agency covers his ass. He switched identities with his aide. Someone had to have been paid off at the prison to make the switch in the first place, and he had to create a third identity. Which isn’t all that hard when you work for the CIA.” She took the last few steps until she stood in front of the chair. Her knees felt weak.
    “His signature,” Mack guessed. “You nailed him through his signature.”
    “I have Thornton’s prints from