“Where are you, Farah?” Cam poked her in her sore ribs. “A-Are you home now?”
“No. Scott treated me to a hotel suite. I was so out of it, he thought a nice spa day tomorrow would make me feel better. Isn’t that sweet?”
Martha gritted her teeth. “He’s still married, Farah. You need to get out of that relationship.”
Farah giggled. “Shh. You’re on speakerphone and Scott just heard that. That’s just Martha, baby. You know this suits me just fine.”
A chill snaked up Martha’s back. She knew whose idea it was for Farah to broadcast this call.
Scott shouted from the background. “You’re totally right, Martha. Maybe Farah and I should end this relationship—for good, but we’ll enjoy ourselves for now. I’m not going to hurt Farah, and she’s free to leave me whenever she wants—after I pamper her for a few days.”
“Aww, see what you did, Martha? You let me worry about my own affairs...and you can concentrate on that handful of man you have. By the way, did Cam ever find his phone?”
“He did, thanks.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you later.”
“Be...have fun.”
“We will.” Farah ended the call on another giggle.
Martha cupped the dead phone in her hands. “That call was a message to us. Farah is safe...for now, as long as she doesn’t discover his true motives.”
“He can’t keep her at that hotel forever.”
“Two days. I think she’s taking a few days off this week for Thanksgiving, and as long as he has her there, we can’t call the police.” She tucked her hands between her bouncing knees. “He as good as threatened her.”
“Do you still want to consult that attorney?”
“I have to.” Her voice shook, and she shot a sideways glance at Cam to see if he noticed.
He reached over and pinched her chin. “I’m sorry you lost your glasses.”
“I have contacts at my mom’s.”
By the time they reached her mother’s house, it was past midnight. Martha’s knees trembled as Cam opened the front door for her, and it wasn’t due to the aches and pains racking her body from the tumble out of the car.
Would she and Cam share a bed again tonight? Would they make love? The clicking clock on their time together echoed in her head, marked her every breath.
Once she contacted Sam and came clean, she might lose her job, she might go to jail, but none of that mattered as much as the looming threat of losing Cam.
Could a member of Delta Force ever be involved with a spy, a federal criminal?
Cam tapped the alarm system. “Arm it, even though our guy will be spending the night somewhere else.”
“Unless he drugs Farah again and sneaks out.” She punched in the code for the alarm system and tossed her purse into a chair. “How long does he expect to buy my silence by holding a threat over Farah’s head? Once I go to the authorities and tell all, Farah will know everything.”
Cam walked to the kitchen with a hitch in his step and reached for a glass.
“I didn’t even ask if you were okay.” She followed him into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. “You took the brunt of that tumble from the car.”
He lifted his broad shoulders. “I took it like a football tackle. I know how to fall and roll.”
“With a gangly woman attached to your body?”
He threw back the water and kissed her mouth with wet lips. “That was the best part. Should we undress each other slowly and inspect our bodies for injuries?”
“Is that a new line?”
“I don’t know. Will it work?”
“You don’t need any lines to get me into bed, Cam Sutton.” She skimmed her hands across his face and flicked his earlobe, which sported a spot of dried blood. “But I do think we need a soak in the bathtub first to clean all our boo-boos.”
“Is that a new line, ’cause I gotta tell you, discussing my...boo-boos is a total turnoff.”
She rested her head against his chest. Her lips formed a smile, but a tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she sniffled.
Drawing away, he wedged a knuckle beneath her chin and tilted back her head. “I’m sorry. Boos-boos are a turn on. Gives me a chance to take care of you.”
She sniffed, but he coaxed a bigger smile from her. “When I’m in federal prison sharing a cell block with my dad, will the army forbid you from fraternizing with an enemy of the state?”
He snorted. “I just might be in the next cell block over.”
“What do you mean?” She wrinkled her nose. “You haven’t done anything wrong?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Really? I have knowledge about your theft of those emails and failed to disclose that intelligence. I helped you clean evidence off your computer. I stumbled upon a murder scene and didn’t report it. I could go on, but I’m sure your attorney can fill you in.”
Her chest tightened as she dug her fingernails into Cam’s biceps. “I can’t do it. I can’t do that to you.”
He scooped his hands through her hair. “You do what you have to do to stay safe, Martha.”
“Not if it’s going to put you in jeopardy.”
He pulled her head down and kissed the top. “Let’s talk to that lawyer first...but not before we take a bath and check out each other’s bodies.”
She took the glass from his hand and drank the rest of the water. “Deal.”
Just in case Cam thought she was kidding about the bath, she threw open the door of the master bathroom and cranked on the faucets for the sunken, oval tub while he prowled around downstairs, securing every door and window in the place.
By the time he joined her upstairs, Martha had a tub full of steaming, scented bubbles and candles.
He hung on the doorjamb and whistled. “I should’ve brought up two glasses of wine.”
“That would probably put me to sleep, and I’m still trying to get the taste of that other wine out of my mouth.”
Two steps took him into the room, and he slid his hands beneath her robe and squeezed her shoulders. “Do you still think he put something in your wine?”
“He sure put something in Farah’s.”
“But you feel okay? No strange aftereffects?”
“I’ll feel better once I crawl into that warm water.” She dropped her phone on top of a basket full of rolled-up towels and dipped her toe past the bubbles and into the water. “It’s perfect.”
He slipped the robe from her shoulders and kissed the side of her neck. “You’re perfect.”
Cam shrugged off his clothes, they shared a long kiss before sliding into the tub together. Despite Cam’s size, the cavernous bathtub allowed him to stretch out. He settled her between his legs and ran his hands gingerly across her back.
“You’re going to have a few bruises back here.”
“I’m glad that’s all. I expected some broken bones.” She scooped up a handful of bubbles and scattered them with a breath from her pursed lips. “Do you think Farah’s okay?”
“He doesn’t want to harm her. He doesn’t want to harm you.”
“Cam, why do you think he’s still here? He planted the emails with me, or an associate did, he took care of his loose ends by killing Wentworth, Casey and Tony. What more does he want? He knows, or at least he thinks he knows, that I’m not going anywhere with the info I have. Where would I go? Implicating him implicates me.”
“He’s still looking for whatever Casey left behind.” Cam’s hands made waves in the water pooling over her belly. “He knows you don’t have it, and he wants to find it before you do.”
“We searched through her stuff. There’s nothing there that implicates him or anyone else. What could it be?”
“Maybe it was just his identity, and now that we have that—or at least who he’s pretending to
be—he has Farah. I guess he believes that will stop us from turning him in.”
“Well, he’s right, but how long can he keep her? Like you said before, he can’t make her stay in that hotel forever. She’ll have her spa day tomorrow, and another few days, but what then?”
His hands floated toward her breasts, and he cupped them. “You’re safe. Farah’s somewhat safe, and you’re going to talk to your father’s attorney tomorrow. There’s nothing left for us to do tonight. Let me make you feel better.”
She succumbed to the sweet kisses and gentle caresses that slowly stoked the embers of her passion, so different from the fiery explosions of last night.
By the time they returned to her bedroom, Cam had to pour her limp body onto the sheets. He whispered in her ear, “You’re still going to need some ibuprofen tomorrow.”
She burrowed under the covers. “Bring it on. I feel ready for anything right now.”
The bed dipped as Cam snuggled in behind her. His arm draped heavily across her midsection, and his leg hitched over her hip. She felt engulfed by him, and she soaked up the feeling, trying to drown out the thought of his departure that echoed in her head like a hollow drumbeat.
The buzzing of her cell replaced the dirge, and her lids flew open. “It has to be him.”
Cam bolted upright and made a grab for her phone. He squinted at the display. “It’s not Farah. Unknown number.”
“It’s him.” She snapped her fingers, and Cam held out the phone to her. She tapped in her password and swiped open the text.
“Is it Scott?”
Tilting her head to the side, Martha blew a wisp of hair from her eyes as she read the text. A cold fist squeezed her heart, and she dropped the phone with a gasp.
Cam snatched it up. “Is it him? Is it that bastard?”
“No. It’s a text from a dead woman.”
Chapter Fourteen
Martha’s pale face stood out in the darkness of the room. Cam fumbled with the light switch on the wall to turn on the ceiling fans above the bed, and brought the phone close to his face.
“Casey? Is it from Casey?”
“H-how can that be?”
The letters on the display swam before Cam’s eyes, the words they formed, nothing but gibberish to his brain. “What did she write? What does it say?”
“Read it.” Martha had folded her hands together, her knuckles as white as the sheets beneath them, seemingly incapable or unwilling to take the phone from him.
He made another pass at the jumbled words on the screen, and then shoved the phone between her wrists. “I can’t, damn it. I can’t read it, Martha.”
His words shocked her out of her stupor, and she picked up the cell and read aloud the words from Casey. “‘Martha, it’s me, Casey. If you get this message after I’ve disappeared, I locked myself out. I’m sorry.’”
“Locked herself out?” Cam tipped his head back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. “If she locked herself out, she’d get the key from the zippered cover of the lawn chair, but we already looked there. She must be referring to the message she left you about Tony.”
“Did she even send that message, Cam? How? How do we know it came from her?”
“She scheduled the text to be delivered at a later date. She obviously knew she’d taken a step too far, knew her life was in danger.” He folded one arm behind his head. “Why wouldn’t it be from her? You and she are the only ones who know about the hiding place for the key, right?”
“I never told anyone, and as flakey as she was, I don’t think Casey did, either, well, except Tony.”
“Another reason is that Scott would have no need to send you a message like that. Why would he want to further pique your curiosity or provide you with any more evidence to bring to the authorities that Casey was anything more than a suicide?”
Martha had been panting, sipping in short spurts of air. Filling her lungs, she closed her eyes. “I guess Casey really wanted me to talk to Tony.”
“Do you think that’s it?”
“What do you mean?” Martha asked.
“Maybe there’s something more. Maybe this is what we’ve been waiting for, what Scott has been looking for.”
“We looked in the cushion and found the key with the note. Are you saying there’s something more?”
“It’s a big, square cushion. You shoved your fingers into the zippered opening, found the key and the note. We didn’t look for anything else. We didn’t know there was anything else.”
“The phone?”
“If we found that phone and it contained instructions from Scott, aka Ben, regarding Congressman Wentworth and the emails, we’d have some real proof against this guy. You wouldn’t even have to admit to taking the emails. Your roommate died, you got this message from the grave and you found the phone. It all smelled like yesterday’s fish, and you did your duty as a citizen and CIA employee and turned it over.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions. Maybe she did just want me to contact Tony. It could be nothing more than that.”
Cam flicked off the light and slid back beneath the covers. “Or a whole lot more.”
The following morning while they ate breakfast, Martha called Farah. When she ended the call, she picked up her fork and poked at the eggs on her plate. “She sounds fine, happy.”
“Was she suspicious that you were calling her?”
“A little. I don’t know if you heard, but I told her I wanted to check on her because she didn’t sound well last night.”
“As long as you didn’t spook her and didn’t spook Scott.” Cam rinsed off his plate and stacked it in the sink. “He’s keeping your silence today by holding on to Farah, but what about tomorrow and the days to follow?”
“Maybe he plans to leave the capital and isn’t worried even if I do report him. Is Farah ever going to believe Scott drugged and kidnapped her? As far as she’s concerned, he’s treating her to a spa day. What about your friend on the police force?”
“I called him this morning, but I can’t get the glass to him until tomorrow. I could just hold on to it and turn it over to the FBI once we report our suspicions about Farah’s boyfriend. And your father’s attorney? Have you called him?”
“While you were in the shower. He wants a video conference with us later this afternoon.” She held up her plate to him and he took it.
“Everything has to wait until we go back to your place and search that cushion for further evidence.” He loaded the rest of their breakfast dishes from the sink into the dishwasher.
“You got a text.” Martha held up his phone.
Cam dried his hands on a towel and hunched over the counter, holding out his hand for the phone. Martha dropped it in his palm and he opened the text.
“D-do you need any help reading it?”
He glanced up, a warm flush creeping up his neck to the roots of his hair. “Last night was just because of the stress of the situation. I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s all right. I’m glad you asked.” He held his phone under the light and read the text. “It’s from one of my teammates, Joe. He’s asking about my progress.”
“Is he in the States?”
“Just arrived. He’s taking leave for Christmas.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“The truth. That we’re onto something and the emails were a setup, just as we suspected—not that we ever believed anything else.”
“We’d better get going. If we find further evidence in that seat cushion linking Scott to the murders, we’ll have something more to discuss with Sam.”
On the drive to Martha’s town house, Cam texted back and forth with Joe. He wanted to warn him, just as Martha kept pointing out to him, that even if they could prove some foreign entity planted the emails imp
licating Denver, there was still the rest of the evidence against him. They wouldn’t be able to clear his name right away, but this had to be a start.
The reporters had cleared out from the front of Martha’s town house. Another Washington scandal had already diverted their attention, and Martha hadn’t been around for days.
She pulled her car up to the curb. “I might as well collect my mail while I’m here and water some plants.”
“First things first.” Cam looked up and down the street. A few pedestrians walked to and from their cars. One with a dog waved to Martha and she waved back. Nobody looked suspicious, but then Scott was guarding his pampered captive.
Martha unlocked the front door, and Cam nudged her aside to walk in first. “Anything out of place?”
“Not this time, but I’m going to check Casey’s room again.” She bounded up the stairs ahead of him, and his heart pounded as he followed on her heels.
“Wait.” He stopped her before she opened Casey’s door. Holding his breath, he pushed it open.
The neat row of bags and the suitcase they’d packed up the other day greeted him, and he blew out a gust of air. “At least nobody’s been back.”
“I’m sure changing the locks helped.” Martha placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. “Incredible I haven’t even heard from Casey’s mom yet.”
“Do you know if they’ve made arrangements for her body?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Martha wandered to the window and pressed her nose against the glass. “The patio furniture’s still where we left it.”
“Let’s go take it apart.”
They went downstairs and out the back door. Martha crouched beside the same chair.
“It wouldn’t be in the other one?”
“We always used the same cushion for the key.” She pulled the zipper back. This time she shoved her whole hand into the cover, wrinkling her nose. When most of her arm disappeared into the cushion, she squeaked. “I got it. Cam, it’s a phone.”
His pulse jumped. “It must be the phone she used for contact with Ben.”
Martha pulled out the type of phone typically sold as temp phones, and framed it in her hand. She pressed and held a button. “It’s dead.”
Delta Force Defender Page 16