by Misty Evans
Joe faced him. “Is that so?”
It was only then, when they locked eyes, he realized it wasn’t a man.
The mustache was high quality, but a fake. The woman had darkened her eyebrows, and wore a wig. Her glasses were heavy framed.
He almost went for his gun, but then she smiled and muttered, “Did the camel drink the water?”
He glanced down the hallway, making sure Ted and Tony were out of sight. The partners had disappeared and he faced the fake maintenance man who happened to be Samantha’s mother. “I almost shot you. I thought you might be an assassin.”
A grin, and she fiddled with the overhead light. “I am, or was, but you’re safe, kiddo. I promise.”
He chuckled. “Our camel did, indeed, drink the water.”
She paused a moment and nodded. “I’m so relieved. Now we just have to keep her at the well.”
“Doing my best.”
Val used a screwdriver to reattach the cover, and climbed down. “Does she know about the house? Where you got it?”
He could see the relief now, and also the worry. “She’s curious, but I avoided getting into it.” They’d had a lot of other things to talk about. “When the time is right, I’ll fess up.”
Val busied herself with her toolbox. “She’ll guess before you tell her.”
“Give me some credit here. I can handle her.”
A rewarding smile. “Thank you. I owe you big for watching out for my girl. She’s means everything to me.”
“Me too.”
“One day, I hope you’ll forgive each other.” She nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
He watched her leave before letting himself inside. Sam’s mother was as unique as she was. The house was the least of it. Val had known her daughter would never reach out to her when everything went down, would never put her in danger or make herself an easy target. Val knew better than to contact him directly, as well. Somebody somewhere was always watching. Listening. That was her take on life.
But she was as cunning and street-smart as Sam—no wonder Sam was so good undercover. Long before all this had happened, she’d given Joe a set of directions and they’d made backup plans in case anything happened to her, him, or Samantha.
Thank goodness they had. While they’d never anticipated this scenario, the old spy’s strategy had come in handy.
He tossed his keys on the breakfast bar, unloaded his weapon, and saw the light blinking on his answering machine.
The message was from his brother, and when Joe heard it, he checked his cell. Sure enough, Caleb had called three times last night, and unable to raise him on that, tried his landline. Joe was going to the Bondsman Brothers office next, but first he had a little digging to do on Alison.
The place seemed too quiet, too empty, without Sam and Jack-Jack. Funny how he’d never gotten used to her absence to begin with, but after having her back, even for such a brief time, it was if the place sighed with the same relief he’d felt. Now, it felt forlorn all over again.
In the bedroom, he opened his nightstand drawer and withdrew a photo of them from a secret compartment Sam had purposely built into it. Normally, he kept the picture out, but after the bombing and her name becoming mud, he’d made sure to put any personal items of hers away. His only hope at helping her had been to appear completely neutral, if not antagonistic, toward her.
Yes, he was bait, but he had to make it as realistic as possible. They would have never let him go after her if they knew he still had feelings for her.
And he suspected somebody had been through his condo. No doubt they were checking all his calls and keeping tabs on the landlines at the office as well, on the off-chance Sam reached out to anybody who could get a message to him.
She hadn’t said a word about their make-out session last night, and he was damned disappointed. He’d hoped they might do it again this morning. It had been a long dry spell since she’d left, and he was still helplessly in love with her.
He’d pulled out all the stops, flashing as much skin as he could, making her favorite breakfast, giving her the password to his computer. He’d even allowed her continued access to his go-bag, and did as she asked, placing it covertly under the back porch.
Knowing Sam, she probably had several places where she’d buried treasure. Not because she was a criminal, but she’d grown up with parents who’d taught her every spy trick in the book, and created a world where Sam always had multiple contingencies for any situation—no matter how extreme—to get away, stay under the radar, or do what needed to be done.
If the go-bag was in the bedroom and someone came through the front door while she was in the kitchen or bath, she’d have to leave it. If she put it by the back door and someone came in that way, ditto. She’d taught him long ago it was always good to have emergency supplies stashed outside the home, just in case.
It wasn’t just about someone coming after you, but even in the case of fire, or a natural disaster. Having a minimum of supplies off-site sounded like an extreme survivalist way of living, but for Sam, it was normal. It’s what helped her to sleep at night.
“God, you’re so fucked up,” he said to her picture. “And I mean that in the best way possible.”
On the drive back to San Diego, he’d mentally reviewed various scenarios about Kyle, Jimmy T, and the slim thread that connected a series of six bombs in the past year. None of Sam’s theories were that far out of the ballpark. The FBI was well known for former Director Robert Hanssen, who’d been selling secrets to Russia for years before someone finally blew the whistle on him.
There were plenty of conspiracy theories circling the world, and others that never saw the light of the day, that were based in absolute truth. He’d seen and heard more in the FBI than he cared to think about.
While he was able to compartmentalize most, continuing to believe in the moral and ethical people who populated the Bureau and Homeland, that five or ten percent who were borderline criminals themselves, if not outright threats to the country, occupied Sam’s mind night and day. She was all about taking down terrorists, from within or without.
Returning the photo to his hiding spot inside the drawer, he grabbed a handful of jerky strips from his pantry and an energy drink. If he was going to be bait for everybody, he might as well do a little himself.
On his computer, he called up a search engine and went looking for Alison. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, he found her within thirty seconds.
“There you are,” he said, clicking on the link to Lifeline Investigations.
Alison was a lead investigator for a PI firm these days, her bright shiny face looking back at him from the company’s employee page. It was a decent size organization, with a variety of investigators handling everything from messy divorces to employee theft and other more serious crimes.
She looked older than he remembered, but the photographer had done a good job touching up wrinkles and coaxing a smile from her. Joe was pretty sure he never saw her smile the whole time he was in the FBI.
It took him a minute to mentally write the script of what he was going to say in his head, and another to get his mind in the right place to pull this off. He had to be as convincing as possible, and the idea of playing on her cougar advances to him made him ill. But he needed to rule her out for sure. Needed to ease his mind that she wasn’t behind all of this.
She’d been a formidable person inside the San Diego branch of the FBI. She’d hailed from Los Angeles and was supposed to fix a handful of issues when she arrived in town. Her immediate boss was still in Los Angeles and reported to Dupé, and from what Joe had surmised during his time, she planned to rise up the ranks all the way to the top.
Before he called, he texted Caleb to tell him everything was cool. His brother was still unhappy and let him know it, but Joe promised to stop by as soon as he was done with his call.
A receptionist answered and he had to wait an additional minute and a half before Alison came on the line. “Joseph Cah
ill,” her voice purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Joe forced himself to smile in order to convey happiness through the line. “How are you, Alison? Looks like you’re doing well for yourself.”
“My skills and talents are underserved here, but I’m working on something bigger. For now, this will do. Are you looking for a private investigator?”
“You know what happened with Sam, right?”
There was a pregnant pause, as if Alison were choosing her words carefully. “Doesn’t everyone?” A hard edge entered her tone. “Surely, you don’t expect me to help you find her? Although that would be a coup for me, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t believe anyone’s gonna find her. Actually, I was hoping we could get together over drinks. There’s a lot of water under the bridge, but I’d like to clean some of it up. There are occasions when my brothers and I need a private investigator. I can’t think of anyone more qualified.”
“You want to have drinks to talk about collaborating?” She chuckled. “I know you better than that, Joe. What’s this really about?”
This was where he had to make sure he came across believable.
Reluctantly, he took himself back to New Year’s Day. Remembered the argument with Sam, the way she’d left. Everything in him wanted to freeze up, block it out, but he forced himself to breathe and let it in. “Look, Sam suckered all of us, especially me. I was hoping we could get past what happened when I was at the Bureau. I won’t lie, I have a thing for smart, strong women, and I realize now I may have let one of the best get by me.”
He was talking about Sam, but Alison didn’t realize it. “If you’re looking for absolution, you came to the wrong person. That bitch got me fired, ruined my career.”
“We have that in common. I quit because I thought she was my perfect mate. Turns out, she was using me. I don’t need absolution, but I would like to see you.”
Another pause, one that held a scale. Alison was weighing his arguments against her own deep-seated distrust of him. He needed to play this carefully.
“You’re right. This is a bad idea,” he said, trying to sound regretful even as he imagined strangling her. “You don’t owe me anything, but I do want to apologize for any role I played in Sam’s quest to take you down.”
That perked her interest. “That little bitch wanted my job from the beginning. Thought she could do things better than I could.” He heard her shift the phone, the sound of her chair squeaking softly as she rocked in it. “Tell you what, I will meet you for drinks. If nothing else, we could both use it to vent over her.”
He slowly released a mental breath. “I have a dinner engagement tonight, but I’m free afterwards? You game?”
“Absolutely.” She was back to purring, offering her cell number. “Text me the details and I’ll be there.”
The line went dead and he slid the phone onto his desktop leaned back, trying to relax his tense muscles.
He purposefully shook off the revolting feeling in his stomach. This was why Sam did the undercover work. He was better at straightforward interaction, not this covert game of pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
The rest of the afternoon he spent checking in with his brothers, reading the analysis on Kyle that Harris emailed him, and updating both him and Walsh about some bogus tracking he’d supposedly been doing on Sam.
The tox screen was the most interesting thing of all of it. While Homeland and the FBI had no intention of releasing the information to the public, Sam was right.
Kyle Dunmire did not have an allergic reaction or food poisoning from the sushi.
He’d been deliberately poisoned.
15
Carlsbad
“Take off your shirt.”
Joe was picking out a pair of dress pants to wear and flashed her a lazy grin. “You wanted me to put it on this morning, and now you want me to take it off?”
It was nearly seven and he was due at the Harris residence for dinner. Sam had spent all afternoon on his computer, following minuscule leads, and trying to identify who poisoned Kyle. “I’m putting a wire on you, whether you like it or not.”
Jack-Jack lay sprawled on his side on the bed, watching and listening, his one visible eye moving back and forth as they argued.
Joe shook his head. “No dice. I don’t need it, you’re not listening, and besides, knowing Harris, he probably has some kind of radar detection and would discover it.”
Sam fiddled with the tiny microphone and receiver. “I need peace of mind. You’re also wearing an earbud, so if I hear anything that sparks a question, I can feed it to you.”
He withdrew a pair of gray slacks. “I’m not going bugged. I’m trying to get him, Walsh, and Dupé to trust me. If they find out I walked into this dinner meeting”—he emphasized dinner —“with a wire and earbud, what little trust they may have goes up in smoke. Because why else would I have it unless you weren’t listening in?”
She held up a hand. “No one has your back, except me.” She’d stewed about this all afternoon, and this was the best way she could find to insert herself into it and make sure she covered him. “We already believe Harris is suspicious, and his taskforce is using you to get to me. Tonight will either confirm or refute that. There’s no way he’ll know you’re wearing a wire. It’s supposed to be a friendly dinner, and I’m guessing, all he wants is to figure out your emotional status when it comes to me.”
Joe ran a hand over his face. Since he’d rushed in a few minutes ago, she’d suspected he was keeping something from her. The only thing he’d shared with her throughout the afternoon was the fact the tox screen confirmed the poison in Kyle’s body. “Exactly. My emotional state is fine, and I know how to bluff about you.”
Without waiting for her argument, he turned on his heel and stomped into the bathroom. Sam grabbed the wire and medical tape, then followed.
She startled him when she threw open the door, walked in, and hefted herself onto the vanity countertop. “I’m not letting you leave unless you wear it.”
She said it smugly, as if she could actually prevent him from going out the front door.
Calling her bluff, he dropped his jeans and went to work putting the slacks on. “I’m not scared of you, Sam. As I recall, you’ve tried to keep me from doing things before. How did that work out?”
Was he keeping score? “Okay, sure. There may have been a time or two, but you did worse. You kidnapped me.”
He threw his hands in the air. “That was one time. I was trying to get you to relax. I hardly believe kidnapping you in order to take you on a weekend getaway qualifies as forcing you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
He sort of had her there. Their weekend vacation in the hills of Northern California had been a treat, even though at first, she wanted to kill him for tricking her into believing they were just going out for dinner.
She’d spent the entire weekend without her laptop or the charger for her phone. He’d insisted on forty-eight hours with no connection to the outside world, and after she’d finally admitted she was at his mercy, it had been an awesome weekend.
He went to the double closets between the bedroom and bath. He slid through several hangers and pulled off a button-down shirt. He came back into the bathroom, tossed the fresh shirt at her, and peeled off the polo he was wearing.
She sighed, his beautiful chest and flat stomach trying to sidetrack her like always. The rest of him was as well, thighs muscled from daily runs, a tight ass, slim waist…
Focus. “Look, I know you plan to charm your way through this dinner, but Harris will be looking for any chink in your armor. Won’t it help if you know I’m listening and can guide you with questions or comments that you might need help with?”
He looked at her as if he didn’t understand what her problem was. He balled up the shirt and threw it in the laundry basket. “I’m stupid, but pretty, is that it? Plus, I have a great personality, right?”
He wasn’t really angry, she could te
ll by the sarcastic tone. “You’re extremely smart, the charm and beauty add to the total package.”
She was going to say something else but he stalked across the floor and came to stand right in front of her. He needed the dress shirt she held, but he didn’t reach for it.
Instead, he leaned forward, putting his face in front of hers, his big hands on either side of her thighs. “A total package you walked away from.”
She was sorry about that, and if the situation were different, she’d reconsider her stupidity. She didn’t have many regrets in life, but leaving him was one of them.
Now, however, she was a wanted fugitive on the run. She had no one and nothing. Not even her brains, or her training, could guarantee she’d get out of this one.
Reaching up, she touched his cheek. “I was an idiot. Pretty, but stupid.”
She gave him a sad grin.
He leaned in and kissed her, and she let him. She realized this afternoon the safe house, the food, even the hot showers were perks, but the real reason she stayed was because of Joe.
The kiss went from hot to scalding instantly and Sam dropped the shirt. Joe grabbed her hips, scooting her toward him. Their bodies slammed together, pelvis to pelvis, and she sucked in a breath.
She ran her hands over his naked chest, down his arms, up to his strong neck. His tongue plunged in her mouth and he pushed her back so far, her head was nearly touching the mirror behind them.
She couldn’t get enough of him, running her fingers in his short hair and groaning as she pressed her breasts against his chest.
Strong fingers held her in place, his obvious erection teasing her through his slacks and her yoga pants. The thinnest of materials, but the hottest of needs. Wrapping her legs around him, she moaned as they fit together perfectly and that heat made her nearly orgasm on the spot.
His hands rose, fingers brushing her ribs until they found her breasts. As he kissed her chin, and trailed his way along her jawline, he teased her nipples, drawing small mewing sounds from her. She forgot who she was, where she was, what she was running from. Time and space meant nothing—she was Joe’s.