She pulled a face. “Would you have sex with someone who’d been degraded the way I have? Who jumps at the slightest noise and lashes out even at people who are kind?”
If he told her the truth, she’d run a mile, so he kept his mouth shut.
She huffed out a breath and turned away. “Thought so.”
He shifted so they couldn’t be overheard. She held herself stiffly.
“Ask me again when you’re ready to start thinking about that part of your life. In the meantime, don’t be in any rush to have sex with men who probably don’t deserve to be in the same room as you, let alone in your bed.” His voice was a little firm, but he meant every word. “Give yourself time to heal. Be kind to yourself because you deserve it.”
She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret, and then her gaze shifted onto the southern horizon behind him. “Where are we going?”
The dark silhouette of an island started to grow on the horizon. Her green eyes latched onto it and widened, then her gaze shot to his. “We’re going back to the island.”
Her nostrils flared, and she started to shake her head and back away. “I’m not going back there. I can’t…”
“They can’t hurt you anymore.” He took her hand. “I swear I won’t let anyone hurt you again, Darby. I swear it. And neither will the US Navy.”
She stopped fighting him and simply crumpled against his chest as if someone had snapped the strings that held her up. She was sobbing so hard, Eban couldn’t bear it. He picked her up, and she buried her nose against his shoulder as he carried her back to the sickbay, passing curious and pitying stares she would have hated if she’d spotted them.
Inside her room, he closed the door and went to put her down, but she clung to him. Instead he turned and sat, still holding her in his arms.
He rocked her until her tears ran dry, and the shudders stopped racking her body. Slowly she recovered her composure, but he held her in his lap, feeling the beat of her heart slowly settle and the soft heat of her body relax.
Her hand rose and cupped his chin, and he looked down at the reddened eyes and tearstained cheeks.
“Will you kiss me so I have one good memory to think about when all the bad ones crowd in?” Her eyes started to panic as soon as she asked. “Oh, my god. Of course, you don’t want to kiss me, you’re here to babysit me not be my personal sex therapist.”
She tried to sit up, but she was off balance, and he decided that wasn’t a bad thing.
“I’m so sorry. That was such a stupid thing to suggest—”
He leaned down and very, very softly touched his lips to hers. Just a brush of sensation. Just a stroke of tenderness. Then he pulled away and smiled into her shocked eyes.
“Try to remember that in the darkest times, Darby.” Then he set her beside him on the bed and left the room, because the last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
* * *
Haley spotted Quentin arriving back on the ship now anchored off the island where they’d been held hostage. Even from a distance, he looked grim. She wanted to go to him but was aware he had a very important job to do whereas she was doing nothing of significance. She’d spoken to her assistant, Jane Sanders. Jane, who was the girlfriend of one of Haley’s favorite operatives, had taken over running logistics for the firm. Jane had assured her she had everything under control and urged Haley to take some time to recover from her ordeal, but she was already bored.
Haley made her way down to her room, wondering if Darby wanted some female company and maybe Eban, some respite. She found him on sentry duty outside Darby’s door.
“Is everything okay?” Haley asked.
He nodded, but his eyes looked worried. “She fell apart a little when she realized we were back at the island where you were all held captive.”
Haley reached for the door handle but paused when a commotion started at the other end of the corridor. Someone was being stretchered into a room and a whole squad of men, including Quentin, crowded into the hallway. She and Eban went to see what was going on.
“Is that Alice Alexander?” Eban asked.
Haley recognized the name.
Quentin nodded, but he didn’t look happy. “She’s alive. Barely. Her husband was shot dead as he shielded her with his body.”
Quentin’s dark eyes held hers. They were black with emotion. His now cleanly-shaved jaw clenched.
“They were held captive in the same place we were?” Haley asked.
He nodded. “A hut between the plantation house and the latrines. In the jungle off to the east.” He looked torn up over the admission.
“You can’t save everyone, Savage.” This from the shorter bullish man, Montana, who was as always dressed in black tactical gear.
Quentin shot the guy a death glare. “I didn’t even try.”
“You had your hands full getting two female hostages off the island, one of whom was in clear distress.” Montana’s low voice boomed. “You couldn’t have known for sure the Alexanders were there. You did what you could, just like you did at the hotel when you and Miss Cramer pulled the few survivors out of the burning building. Without you they’d all be dead.” He slapped Quentin on the back and went back to talk to his men.
Quentin’s eyes returned to hers before turning to Eban and the third negotiator who’d appeared out of nowhere.
“Darmawan Hurek was not found amongst the dead. I suspect he escaped on the yacht.” Quentin was clearly angry about what he had seen. “Justice won’t be fully served until Hurek is captured. Darby will never feel safe until all those bastards are dead or behind bars.”
“What’s the next move?” Eban asked.
Quentin glanced at Haley, and she was reminded she wasn’t an agent. He surprised her by saying quietly, “Everyone on that island was slaughtered, including all the women and children. Why?”
“Retaliation? For the hotel attack,” Eban suggested. “Maybe Hurek ordered everyone killed to take the pressure off. After all, most of the terrorists who attacked the hotel are now dead,” Eban suggested. “Maybe he thought that would appease the US and Indonesian authorities?”
“Well, it won’t appease me,” Quentin said through gritted teeth.
“And it won’t appease me,” Haley agreed.
“Or just to shut them up?” The other hostage negotiator, Max something-or-other put in. “No witnesses.”
“Or perhaps you were kidnapped to order and whoever wanted you alive didn’t believe Hurek when he told them you’d escaped?” said Eban.
“Seems a bit extreme,” Max put in.
“Everything about this is extreme,” Quentin bit out. “Someone took advantage of the fact they knew where I was going to be at a certain time and everyone else was collateral damage?” The idea clearly horrified him. He shook his head. “Why? And who?”
“Someone with connections. Most people can’t pick up a telephone and dial the local terrorist to help with a kidnapping,” said Eban.
“Did Cecil Wenck talk to investigators yet?” Haley asked.
Quentin shook his head. “They rescheduled for later today. Wenck was still too ‘shaken’ to be able to meet with them.” His words dripped condescension.
“Or he was waiting to hear back about whether or not any of the terrorists survived this attack?” Haley mused.
Quentin frowned. “He showed no signs of recognition that night on the balcony. And I can’t see a clear motive for him attacking the conference or him wanting me taken alive.”
“Maybe he contacted them after he bonded with you on the balcony. Decided to keep you alive. His leaving when he did is highly suspicious.” Haley crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to talk to him.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking permission.” She smiled at the idea. Federal agent or not, lover or not, he didn’t get to tell her what to do. And if he wanted to, then better to find out now and end this thing before either of them got too emotionally involved.
Quentin stared at her l
ong and hard. She wondered what exactly he was looking for. A crack in her resolve? Not likely.
“What do you want us to do, Boss?” Max was clearly amused by her defiance.
“We could detain Ms. Cramer for questioning,” Eban suggested with a glint in his eye.
“Don’t even think it,” the two of them said together.
“They want the three of us back at Quantico ASAP. Crisis Negotiation Unit is short-staffed,” Quentin added, clearly contemplating his options.
“We’ve been kind of busy,” Eban argued.
“No kidding.” Quentin smiled. “Thanks for coming to find me.”
“Nothing was stopping me from being here.” Eban clasped a hand on the back of his neck and looked away as if embarrassed by the depth of his emotions. “I’m just glad we found you alive.”
Quentin appeared to come to a decision. “Eban, I want you to accompany Darby and Alice Alexander until they are safely back in the States. When Alice is able to talk, I want you to get a statement. Hopefully we can arrange a transport back to the States for all of you today. Max, you head back to Quantico on the first available flight.”
“I don’t mind staying.” The tall, black man tugged on his ear.
“You’re way overdue leave, and now all the hostages are accounted for. The legat can handle anything that arises in Jakarta should Alex Parker dig up anything there. Go home. Take a short break then get back to the grind.”
“What are you going to do?” Eban asked.
One side of Quentin’s mouth curved up in a smile. “I’m heading back to Quantico.”
Haley shuffled her feet and tried to hide her disappointment.
He shot her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Via Darwin.”
She closed her eyes as relief shot through her. Wenck’s attack had been a major trauma at the time but had paled after what had happened next. But she’d have been lying if she’d claimed she wasn’t nervous about confronting the man alone.
“Between the two of us, I think we can get Wenck to reveal what he knows,” said Quentin.
“Even if he’s responsible for mass murder?” Eban said dubiously.
“Yes,” Quentin countered. “He thinks he’s untouchable. We just need to give him enough rope so he can hang himself.”
Chapter Thirty
Cecil Wenck’s mansion was in the Fannie Bay area of Darwin in Australia’s Northern Territory, a classically beautiful home largely hidden behind tall garden walls and massive security gates.
Quentin pulled up in the rented Mercedes and pressed the intercom. “Quentin Savage to see Mr. Wenck.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure Cecil will want to talk to me. Tell him we met last Saturday night.” If nothing else, Quentin was betting on basic human curiosity getting him through the door.
Thirty seconds later, the gates opened, and Quentin drove in before anyone could change their mind.
The gardens were green and lush, the landscaping elegant with a large stone fountain the centerpiece of the lawn area, gurgling away despite a recent drought. Quentin parked in front of the five-car garage.
Wenck came to the massive double door of the mansion, trailed by the bodyguards Quentin had seen in the bar the night of the attack. Quentin got out of the car but left the front windows rolled down. Haley had agreed to wait in the backseat so Quentin could try to establish a rapport with Wenck. The rear windows were tinted, and she was hidden from view. If they needed to shake the mining billionaire out of his comfort zone, she could confront him later. Right now, Quentin was happy she was safely out of sight.
She’d told him about the recording of the attack before they’d left the ship. He’d asked if the FBI could get a copy to add to the file they were building on Wenck. Even though it had to be deeply personal and upsetting, she’d agreed, as long as the recording was copied with Alex Parker present, and shared only with her express permission, excepting judicial proceedings. She’d had her lawyer draw up the agreement, and the DOJ had signed for expediency’s sake—especially as no one had been able to access her phone data in the meantime.
Alex Parker strikes again.
Wenck’s face lit up when he saw him. “Mate! Good to see you. I thought you were a goner.”
They shook hands. Quentin searched for some artifice or deception in the man’s ugly, round face but he was either an exceptional actor or genuinely pleased to see him alive.
“They told me everyone from the hotel died.” The man gave a visible shudder. “What a bloody nightmare.”
Authorities had told the media that there were no survivors in order to safeguard them until the perpetrators of the violence had been captured. The fact Wenck also seemed to believe it was interesting, assuming the reaction was genuine.
“I managed to escape the hotel, but the gunmen captured me. Took me to a remote island where I eventually managed to get away.”
Wenck’s eyes were huge, and he looked entranced. “You should get a movie deal out of that. I know people in Hollywood. I’ll set you up.”
The fact Wenck wanted to commercialize an event where so many people had died sickened Quentin, but he could see why some people might like the guy if they took him at face value. It was one of the things that made serial predators so dangerous.
“Maybe when I retire.” Quentin raised the sunglasses he’d bought that afternoon when he and Haley had resupplied themselves at a mall in the city. They’d caught a ride here on a private jet with the men Alex Parker had hired to help bring them home.
Quentin’s laptop had been his biggest practical loss from the hotel attack, but mainly in terms of the amount of paperwork it would generate from the admin back at headquarters. Not to mention his creds and wallet and all the other things he didn’t even want to start thinking about. He didn’t even have keys to his condo.
“Is now a bad time to talk?” Quentin was actively fishing for a “no” response. “No” made people feel safe and secure. It gave them the confidence to hear someone out.
Wenck regarded him for a long moment and then seemed to relax. “No, mate. Come on in.”
He led them through the white marble entrance, straight through an entryway and out into an area with a patio and a large pool.
“I’m assuming they sent you to get a statement about last Saturday night?” Wenck settled into an outdoor sofa and indicated for Quentin to join him. The bodyguards faded into the shadows.
“I’m not here in an official capacity, although obviously I am an officer of the law.”
That surprised the guy.
Quentin only lied to people who were about to get the sharp end of a tactical assault.
“I was curious because when I was escaping my room via the balcony, I first jumped over to your room to urge you to come with me, but there was no one there. FBI officials informed me you flew home before midnight.”
A male staff member brought out two glasses of ice-cold sparkling water. Quentin wondered if the wife knew Wenck had grabby hands when it came to the female gender and kept temptation to a minimum.
When the server left, Wenck said, “The timing looks pretty suss, huh?”
“The timing?” Quentin mirrored.
“You know, me packing my bags, and then the hotel getting attacked.”
Quentin held the man’s gaze. “A little.”
“It’s not what you think. I didn’t have anything to do with those bastards attacking the conference. They’ve caused me a major headache.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah.” Wenck took a long gulp of water and immediately signaled for more. It was hot outside, even though it was officially winter here. A fine mist began to appear around the bushes, the sprinkler system adding to the overall humidity and causing Cecil to wipe sweat from his brow. Quentin was goddamn roasting, but it was cooler here than in Indonesia, and he had deodorant now so that was a win.
“I went there to get more compe
titive bids on a security contract that’s up for renewal at the end of October. But with all those execs dying last week and the heightened threat to Westerners in general most of the bids have been withdrawn as the companies regroup. I’m gonna stick with the firm I already use, for now. Less hassle.”
The selfishness of the man was mind-blowing, but Quentin had to ignore that and instead make the man feel understood. Quentin paraphrased and repeated Wenck’s words back to him to show him he was being heard. He summarized Wenck’s position and ended with, “So the fact that so many security contractors died actually had a negative impact on your business dealings?”
“That’s right.” Wenck nodded eagerly.
Bingo.
“It all seems so unfair that you had to go back to the drawing board on something you thought was almost completed, and I’m sure something you want to make sure is taken care of properly. Security is obviously very important to you and your company. I can see why this would be frustrating for you and cost you a lot of time and money.” Labeling and tactical empathy.
“Yeah, exactly. My costs have skyrocketed because of the increased threat. Those security guys take home a lot more than most miners for a lot less graft, that’s for damn sure.” Wenck spoke as if he wasn’t the person paying the wages.
The man drained his second glass of water, and Quentin also accepted a refill this time. “How was it you came to leave so suddenly that night, or had you always planned it that way?” Rape and run?
Wenck scratched his face and huffed out a deep breath. “I’m not gonna lie.” That usually meant someone was going to lie, but Quentin heard him out anyway.
Wenck looked around nervously as if someone might overhear and leaned closer. All the better for Quentin’s cell phone to pick up his words. “I don’t usually go in for all that divine intervention bullshit, but now I’ve got to wonder if someone up there isn’t looking out for me.”
Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 26