It was getting dark outside, and she knew that night would drop like a curtain, and they had no flashlight or candle. A mosquito buzzed, and she swatted it. “Ugh.” She wiped the sticky carcass onto a piece of wood.
She had another drink of water, pacing herself because there was no way she was going to the creepy toilet with the creepy guard in the middle of the night. Not unless it was part of an escape plot.
“We should probably try to protect ourselves as much as possible from getting bitten. You take the blanket—”
“No.”
“But—”
She shook her head. “Don’t give me special treatment because I’m female. I need to pull my weight whenever I can. We’re not in the nice, polite world anymore. We are partners fighting for survival.”
Quentin’s lips twisted. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about sharing a bed given what’s happened over the last couple of days and the fact you’ve been raped in the past. I don’t want to trigger PTSD or some sort of flashback.”
“Oh, my god, Quentin.” Haley gave a short laugh, even though she’d never talked about what had happened to her. Not outside her family and regular therapy sessions. But more than twenty years had passed, and she was able to handle it better now. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as considerate as you.”
He pulled a face. “Pretty sure the people who work for me wouldn’t say the same.”
She didn’t believe him. Not for a moment. “Sleeping with someone has never triggered PTSD in the past. I know it doesn’t guarantee I won’t have nightmares in the future, but I have never felt safer than when I’m with you.”
He met her gaze with his dark chocolate eyes full of contrition and remorse for things that weren’t even his fault. If other men were half as good as he was, the world wouldn’t be the mess it was. He looked away, clearly uneasy with her faith in him. “I’m going to try to get a few hours’ rest.”
Haley moved the almost empty bowl of crickets to the end of the cot and offered him the water, which he took.
Then he eased down carefully, telling her that while he might be pretending the beating hadn’t hurt, in reality he was sore. He edged over to one side, and she lay next to him. She draped the gray blanket over both their legs and drew it up to their chests. It smelled musty, but it was all they had, and she was grateful for it.
She lay on her back and tried to get comfortable without hogging the available space.
It was impossible.
“Lie on me,” he said after five minutes of her fidgeting.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she protested.
He raised his arm and she not-so-reluctantly adjusted herself so she lay against his chest, being as careful as possible of any injuries he might not have told her about. She slipped her knee over his, searching for a comfortable position.
He pulled the blanket over her, even covering her hair, making it hard for the mosquitoes to find exposed flesh. “Tell me if you start to panic. About anything.”
“I’m beyond panic.” But she knew what he meant. Her hand formed a fist on the center of his chest. She didn’t know the last time she’d simply slept with a guy. Probably Chris Baylor when they’d been dating. That relationship was a record for her. She’d had others that had theoretically lasted longer but they’d been long distance, so she’d spent less time with them. Alex said she always picked the losers and users. The thought reminded her of the horrors of last night.
“I think they shot the man you saved before the roof collapsed yesterday. I knew him a little. He was a former Marine who was excellent at close protection work. He spent a lot of time in the Middle East, and I tried to tempt him to join our firm a couple of years ago.” If he’d worked for them, he wouldn’t have been at the conference, and he wouldn’t be dead. “Do you think Chris survived?”
His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know. He might have heard the terrorists come back and hidden himself.”
She wondered about Tricia Rooks and the other person she’d rescued. Had they survived? Without Quentin’s intervention, Haley knew she would most definitely be dead. Maybe that’s why she felt such a strong pull to the man—except she’d felt it even before the terrorist attack, before they’d had sex.
It hadn’t diminished.
The sounds of the villagers going about their daily business continued as the darkness thickened. Apparently, the rumble of a volcano wasn’t that unusual. The sound and scent of cooking tainted the air with wood smoke. She didn’t think she’d ever smell smoke again without thinking of the victims who’d been murdered last night. And now she and Quentin were surrounded by the people who’d done that to their fellow humans.
She couldn’t afford to forget that. These sons of bitches were rapists and killers. They’d have no mercy.
“How’d you and Chris get together?” Quentin asked, murmuring in the blackness. Maybe he could feel her heart racing.
“We met in D.C. He was very charming, until he wasn’t.”
“Sorry.” The way he said it sounded like he thought it was his fault.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because when we were in the Army together, I didn’t beat him to a pulp every time he cheated on a girl.”
A bittersweet huff of air burst out. “I only found out he was cheating after I discovered he was trying to break into my computer to steal company secrets.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
She felt him try to meet her gaze, although it was too dark now to see his expression. “I wish.”
“I can’t believe it.”
She stiffened.
“I don’t mean that I doubt you, just… What did you do? Press charges?”
“No, my partners devised some misinformation about a contract we were both bidding on that meant his company lost a lot of money underbidding. Then Alex infected his computer system with a virus that shut down his company financial system for two weeks. We didn’t want to compromise boots on the ground, but I was fine with Chris sweating a little. Ugh. I suspect that isn’t strictly legal so forget I told you about it.”
“It was an asshole move on his part.”
It had been.
“You two met in the Army?” she asked. She wanted to know more. Not about Chris but about Quentin. If things didn’t work out the way they wanted, she might have all the time in the world to explore his personal history, or she might have none at all. She didn’t want to think about that.
“Bootcamp. I wanted to get my GI degree so I could apply for the FBI. It was the only way I could afford to go to college.”
“You always wanted to be an agent?”
She felt him laugh and then wince.
“Yes. Seems like a stupid thing for a kid to aim for.”
“It isn’t stupid,” she assured him. “It’s pretty admirable.”
“Right now, I’m wishing I’d gone for high school math teacher.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “High school seems almost as dangerous as war zones these days.”
“Don’t remind me.” He hugged her closer, and she didn’t even know if he realized he was doing it. It didn’t scare her, didn’t even feel sexual. It felt good and safe and comforting.
Not that she didn’t find Quentin attractive. He was hot on so many different levels, but here in this rickety hut with the disgustingly scary guard outside? She couldn’t even begin to think about sex and was glad he didn’t either.
“So you and Chris are BFFs? Must have been nice to catch up with him at the symposium.”
“We were tight for a long time but drifted apart. There were three of us back then, another guy called Nick Karlovac.”
“I know Karlovac.”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
She shrugged, still keeping tucked close to Quentin’s chest despite the humidity. He smelled good—not squeaky clean, but good—and the feel of his arm around her was even better. “We’re competitors so we generally don’
t hang out for brunch.”
But it was more than that. Karlovac and Baylor were both in-your-face alpha males who thought it was okay to try to intimidate her. Hadn’t taken long for them to figure out she wasn’t easily intimidated, especially with Alex Parker and Dermot Gray as her partners. “I have a hard time seeing you with them, if I’m honest.”
“The Army is a melting pot of personalities. I was used to that sort of male-dominated situation—I have four brothers—and I made friends easily. To be honest, I needed that familiar shit-talking bonding when I first left home. We were young and stupid. I like to think I grew out of it but…” His voice grew serious. “I hope Chris made it out okay. Then I’ll kick his ass for you.”
“I hope he made it out alive too, but I don’t need you to kick his ass. We dealt with it. It’s over.”
“Let’s try to get a few hours’ sleep,” he murmured again, sounding tired.
She wasn’t surprised.
One part of her was terrified to let go and surrender to the darkness, but the other part of her was barely hanging on to consciousness. She’d hardly slept in the last two days and needed to be rested and cognizant for whatever came next.
“Thank you,” she said. “For having my back.”
He didn’t reply. She was pretty sure he was already asleep.
The mountain rumbled again, quietly, like a hibernating bear rolling over.
Chapter Fourteen
Later that evening, Eban walked through the busy corridors of the hospital in Jakarta where the survivors were being treated. Getting here from the airport had been the usual mind-scrambling exercise of too many people, gridlocked traffic, and insane motorcycle riders and rickshaw drivers slipping through the interstitial space. Even inside the hospital waiting area, it was loud and chaotic and the last place he would want to find himself injured or sick.
The rest of the FBI team had stayed out on Nabat Island to help process the evidence, including the dead, but he needed to interview the survivors ASAP.
He asked directions to ICU and had to show ID to get past armed security. A good sign. The locals were taking the threat seriously as the FBI had been urging them to.
Eban had spoken briefly to Grant Gunn, the man who’d gone for a few beers and, by some miracle, missed the massacre. Gunn claimed he hadn’t seen any of the attackers. Only the carnage left behind. The task force was investigating his background, and Eban had urged the man to head back to the States on the next available flight.
Chris Baylor was being treated on this floor for logistic reasons and not because he needed intensive care. The guy was lucky to be alive and, if the terrorists found out there were witnesses to the atrocity, who knew what they’d do. The attackers had been careful not to leave anyone alive. Not that Chris Baylor or Tricia Rooks might be able to tell them anything useful in identifying these bastards, but then again, they might get lucky. You never knew.
Eban was directed down a corridor with lots of side rooms with big glass viewing windows.
A tall, black guy stood staring into one of the rooms with a scowl on his face. Eban glanced through the window as he walked by and stopped. Turned back. The woman lying in the bed inside the room had bright blue hair, but apart from that she looked like the photograph he had for Tricia Rooks.
He stepped closer to the window, and the tall guy watched him in the reflection of the glass.
“You a relative of the patient?” Eban asked.
“Who’s asking?” American accent. Operator eyes. The man maintained a bland expression that didn’t fool Eban one bit. He was pissed.
Eban pulled his creds from his jeans pocket, held out his ID. “FBI Supervisory Special Agent Winters. I’m looking for two patients, one of whom is Tricia Rooks.”
Eban wasn’t dressed for business. He was dressed for travel and working a crime scene. The smell of smoke still clung to his clothes. He should probably have stopped to change, but he wanted to blend into the environment for this investigation, something wearing a suit and tie would make impossible. Plus, he couldn’t stand the idea of wasting even a moment until he’d figured out exactly what had happened to his boss.
“That’s Tricia Rooks.” He pointed at the unconscious woman who was intubated. “Who’re you?”
The man relaxed. “Sean Logan.” The guy retrieved his passport out of his back pocket and showed it to Eban. “I work with Tricia at Raptor. You figured out what went down yet?”
“Still working on it.” Eban would never discuss an ongoing investigation with someone outside the Bureau. “I was hoping to interview Ms. Rooks about the attack.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Sean slipped his passport back into his pocket. “The doctors induced a coma to help her heal. We’re trying to get her on a medivac home tomorrow, if she’s stable.”
Eban pressed his lips together. “I really need to talk to her about what happened last night. See if she can give me any information about the attackers or the sequence of events.”
Sean nodded. “I understand, but her health is our first priority.”
Eban looked away. He totally got that. It was his concern that there might be live hostages that increased his sense of urgency, but he wasn’t about to tell a stranger his suspicions about Quentin and Haley Cramer. For all he knew, they were two of the many corpses being pulled from the wreck of the hotel. Until he knew for sure, he wasn’t going to stop looking for them.
“Any clue how she got out alive when so many others didn’t?” Eban asked.
Sean shook his head. “But she’s a hell of a smart and determined person. If anyone could survive, it would be Tricia.”
Room had been full of smart, determined people.
“When she wakes up, call me.” Eban handed the man his business card. “Any time, day or night. We need to catch these people before they attack anywhere else, and Tricia might know something useful.”
Sean’s brown eyes were determined when they met his. “Personnel at Raptor are ready and eager to help.”
Eban nodded stiffly. “Appreciate that. This is a top priority case for the FBI.” He hesitated. “Is there any group you know of who might have gone after this particular conference?”
A mirthless smile sliced Sean’s face. “No, sir, but I can guarantee they made a serious error in judgment when they did so.”
“That they did.” Eban went to turn away.
Sean’s next words stopped him cold. “If the Feds don’t catch these bastards, then one of the private military contractors who lost people will. I can guarantee every one of us has operatives working the data and leveraging our contacts in the region.”
If Quentin was alive and some gung-ho private army went in, guns blazing, not realizing captives were being held in the camp, his boss wouldn’t stand a chance. The same hazard existed if the US military or Indonesians went in hard and indiscriminately. Eban needed to figure out if Quentin was alive ASAP so they could strategize his rescue, not carpet bomb the militants.
“The US government appreciates any information anyone uncovers, but private organizations going vigilante will not be tolerated,” Eban warned sharply. “American hostages are being held in this region and there’s every chance they’re being held by the same people who attacked the symposium.” He could say that much without revealing he thought Quentin might be one of them.
“I guess we’ll see what happens.” Sean crossed his arms over his chest, clearly reserving judgment.
Eban stared past him to the woman who lay unmoving on the bed. She was lucky to be alive. He thought about his boss. All the unanswered questions with zero leads…
“I’d appreciate you keeping me updated on Tricia’s condition. We need to talk to her. It’ll be faster if she allows that rather than us having to go through official channels or take her into protective custody…” He held the man’s dark eyes, because that was a warning. The FBI did not fuck around. Speed in getting answers was vital. Cooperation was vital.
Sean seemed to remember
they were on the same team and nodded. “I’ll let you know when she’s awake.”
Eban said goodbye and walked farther down the corridor, shoes slapping the vinyl tiles, too loud for this space full of seriously ill people.
He turned the corner, saw a man in a room at the end of the hallway, sitting up in bed, furiously texting into a smartphone.
He recognized Chris Baylor, co-owner of Bay-Kar Inc., another major private security firm. These terrorists couldn’t have picked a better target for their rage and revenge.
Had they planned it? Of course, they had. With help from someone on the inside? Is that why the Indonesian foreign minister left when he did? Eban needed to get other agencies involved, or perhaps the legat had connections they could leverage. Although, it wasn’t exactly diplomatic to ask the host nation if they were complicit in a terrorist incident against Americans.
Indonesia was a complex country. Peaceful and amiable for the most part, with small pockets of violent hardliners. Same could be said for most places these days.
Chris Baylor glanced up as Eban got closer. At least sixty CEOs or high-level managers had been killed yesterday. Someone from almost every major private security company in the world. The grief and indignation were no less acute for them being in the security business. If anything, it was worse, asking how the hell this could have happened to such a savvy group of professionals.
“Mr. Baylor?” Eban asked, holding out his hand.
“Who’s asking?” Chris Baylor looked suspicious as he shook hands.
“My name is Eban Winters. I’m an SSA with the FBI’s Crisis Negotiation Unit. I need to interview you about what happened last night.”
Chris’s eyes widened a fraction. “Take a seat.” He indicated the chair beside the bed.
“You have anyone here with you?” asked Eban.
“Nah. I told them not to bother coming. I have a gash on my leg, a concussion and a minor gunshot wound but apart from that, I got off easy. I feel like a fake being here.” He pulled up the edge of his hospital gown sleeve and revealed a white bandage on his arm.
Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 12