Deadly Intent (I-Team Book 8)

by Pamela Clare

  Mia sat across from him, careful to keep her upper body still, a little smile on her lips. “Is this what it will be like when we’re old—both of us moaning and groaning?”

  “Are you saying you want to grow old with me?”

  Mia looked into Joaquin’s eyes, smiled. “Maybe.”

  The next six weeks were among the best Mia could remember. No, the exercises she had to do for her arm every day weren’t fun, and she still had to sleep in the recliner rather than in bed with Joaquin. There were nightmares, and there was pain. Still, every day felt like a treasure to Mia.

  They were alive, and they were together.

  They spent their time talking, playing video games on Joaquin’s Xbox, watching entire series on Netflix, and going for short walks in the park. After a couple of weeks of involuntary abstinence, they figured out that if they were careful and Mia was on top, they could have sex again. With all the time in the world, they did a lot of that, too, though the condoms were growing old.

  A month to the day after the shooting, they paid a visit to the women’s clinic, where they both got tested and where Mia had an IUD inserted.

  “In twenty-four hours, we won’t have to use condoms again,” she said as Joaquin drove the two of them home.

  The sheer lust on his face made her laugh. “I can’t remember what that feels like.”

  “I have a vagina handy if you’d like to find out.”

  “God, yes—but I’ll probably come in a minute flat.”

  To their mutual delight, he lasted much longer than that.

  They were able to handle longer walks now, so one morning Mia took him on a tour of the Botanic Gardens, showing him her favorite garden beds, which, she had to admit, weren’t much to see right now.

  Mia waved to one of her co-workers. “You have to use your imagination.”

  “Okay.” Joaquin glanced around at bare ground, which was punctuated with tufts of dried grass and bare shrubs.

  “This is Bouteloua gracilis—my favorite grass.”

  “You have a favorite grass?” He seemed to find this funny.

  “Its flowers—what you might call tufts or seed pods—look like eyelashes. See?”

  Joaquin bent down. “They do.”

  “One day when I have a yard of my own, I’m going to have tufts of Bouteloua gracilis growing here and there.”

  “You want a big yard?”

  “One day when I can afford it.”

  In the evening, they often had visitors—family or friends who came by to check on them. One evening, Officer Petersen stopped by in a T-shirt and jeans. He wanted to apologize, but neither Mia nor Joaquin would let him. He surprised them with the news that he was leaving the police force.

  “My wife couldn’t take it if I went back out onto the streets.”

  Mia couldn’t blame her. “Thank you, sir, for all you did to try to keep us safe.”

  “I wish I had succeeded.”

  Their last two weeks of leave seemed to fly by, the precious time slipping through Mia’s fingers.

  “I’m selling my condo,” Joaquin said over breakfast one morning.

  “What?” Mia hadn’t been expecting this.

  “Every time we come up the elevator, I see what it does to you. I don’t want you to live someplace that reminds you of Meyer. I think it’s time to start over, pool our money, and find a place that we own together, a place with no bad memories.”

  “But this place is so you.”

  “It’s who I was before I met you. Let’s find a place that is us.”

  The following Monday, they both went back to work, Joaquin at the newspaper and Mia at the Botanic Gardens, where she was placed on light duty, her arm still in a sling and her chest not yet fully healed. The staff welcomed her back with cake and a beautiful arrangement of living orchids to take home.

  “Thanks, everyone. I’m so happy to be back.”

  “You’re a valued member of the staff, and we’re so glad you’re here with us again,” Kevin said, speaking for the group.

  Michael, the head of security, pulled her aside to tell her they had changed their security protocols in light of what had happened and now checked any large bags or backpacks that guests wanted to bring into the gardens. “If we had done that, maybe we would have caught that bastard long before he had the chance to aim a weapon at you.”

  “Thanks, Michael. That means a lot to me.”

  Then all the men’s heads turned, their jaws dropping, even Michael’s.

  Holly crossed the room, wearing a black leather biker jacket with a gray beaded skirt and crazy leather boots. “Hey, Mia, do you have a second?”

  “Sure.” Mia stepped outside with her. “What’s up?”

  “Cobra International Solutions—that’s where I work—has close ties to the Pentagon going all the way up the flagpole. I told my boss what you shared with me, and our organization went to work on it. We had a few conversations with key people in the Department of Defense. Frank lied to you. Army brass buried what happened at Tell al-Sharruken, but the documents were never classified. Frank just wanted to silence you. There’s some talk of congressional hearings, so it’s going to come out sooner or later.”

  Mia stared at her, stunned. “Not classified?”

  She handed Mia a heavy manila envelope. “I want you to have these. The story should be yours to tell.”

  23

  Joaquin sat with Mia and Cate in the conference room, Mia’s folder of documents in her hands.

  “You two are living together now?” Cate asked the question with a smile, but there was an undertone of acid to her sweetness.

  “We’re house hunting,” Joaquin answered.

  “Nice.” Cate gave him a fake smile.

  Tom stepped into the conference room and closed the door, notepad and pencil in hand, another pencil behind his ear. He shook Mia’s hand. “Ms. Starr. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.

  He sat, glanced around at them. “What’s this about?”

  Mia pushed the folder, which held copies of the originals, across the table to Tom. “Everything I’m going to tell you is included in these documents, which are files dating to 2013. I was told they were classified, but that was a lie. Now that I know the truth, I can share them with you.”

  Tom opened the folder, glanced through the pages, then looked up at Mia again, a hint of surprise on his face. “I’m listening.”

  Mia told Tom what had happened, starting with Powell’s sexual harassment and verbal abuse and continuing through events at Tell al-Sharruken and the subsequent cover-up. “Andrew Meyer blamed me for the fact that he couldn’t get disability benefits, even though I had nothing to do with that decision. He wanted to kill everyone he thought had played a role in his discharge and lack of benefits, and then he planned to kill himself.”

  “Did the cops know all of this?”

  “Of course, they did,” Cate blurted. “This must be what my source had heard. It’s why they fired her. You knew, didn’t you?”

  Joaquin nodded. “Yes—but I wasn’t going to land Mia in legal trouble by giving away supposedly classified information she had shared with me in confidence, not even to my own newspaper.”

  “Irving’s guys knew, and I assume the FBI and other alphabet soup agencies knew as well.”

  “Yes, sir, but they thought Powell was the perpetrator. They believed what I believed, at least until the end—that Andrew Meyer was missing.”

  It was time for Joaquin to tell Tom the truth. “I did tip off a police detective to warn him that someone on staff was going to steal the files that Chief Irving was getting from the Pentagon.”

  Cate glared at him. “I knew it!”

  “I had promised Mia that if she told law enforcement what had happened, she wouldn’t have to worry about facing charges. She trusted me. I wasn’t going to let you land her in hot water—or prison.”

  “You cost me a story.”

  “Now, I’m dropping that same story in your lap.�
�

  Cate turned to Tom, her face red with rage. “Aren’t you going to fire him?”

  “I didn’t fire you, and you broke the fucking law.”

  “He betrayed this newspaper—and me.”

  “Your ambition betrayed you,” Joaquin fired back. “You would have burned an innocent woman. All you wanted was a byline and a—”

  “Fuck you!” Cate got to her feet, started toward the door.

  Joaquin reached under the table, took Mia’s hand in his to reassure her.

  “Ms. Warner!” Tom’s voice boomed through the room. “If you walk out that door, you’re off the I-Team.”

  Cate stopped for a moment, then opened the door and disappeared.

  Tom drew a breath, then glanced through the pages and asked a few questions. “You’re saying Powell, the alleged rapist, was the looting ringleader?”

  “Yes.”

  Tom closed the folder. “May I keep these?”

  “Yes. Those are copies.” Mia’s chin went up. “I haven’t talked to any other newspapers. I wanted Joaquin’s paper to have the story first. But I did tape an interview with Laura Nilsson that is scheduled to air tomorrow night. She has all the same information that you have.”

  “How is Nilsson?”

  Laura had worked on the I-Team until Tom’s firing of Holly had prompted her to walk off the job. She was now one of the most beloved news anchors in the nation with a weekly news hour watched by millions around the world.

  “She’s great. Her husband, Javier Corbray, helped uncover the truth about these files so that I could tell this story.”

  Tom nodded. “The interview airs tomorrow night? Fair enough. That gives us until deadline tomorrow to pull together a story. Thank you, Ms. Starr. We’ll do our best to tell this story right and nail these bastards to the wall.”

  He stood. “Ramirez, we need to talk.”

  Mia’s gaze met Joaquin’s, and he saw that she was worried.

  He leaned down, kissed her cheek. “I’ll be right out.”

  Tom waited until she was gone. “I thought you weren’t sleeping with her.”

  “I wasn’t—at the time.”

  Tom rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what to say. I trusted you. We all did.”

  “Mia trusted me, too. If Cate had gotten those files, it would have been my fault because I convinced Mia to trust the police. I was forced to choose between the woman I love and my job. I made my choice.”

  Tom nodded, his blue eyes seeming to measure Joaquin. “In the end, it was for the best. Cate would have landed the paper and herself in a lot of hot water. What bothers me most is that you didn’t trust me. If you’d told me what was going on, I would have reined Cate in. Have I ever thrown an innocent person under the bus for a headline?”

  “If you want to write me up, fine. If you want to fire me—”

  “Stop!” Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you, Ramirez. I could never replace you. You’re the best photojournalist this paper has ever had.”

  In that case…

  Joaquin decided to take a chance. “I’m sick to fucking death of working on-call and doing bullshit news assignments. I want more challenging work.”

  Tom nodded. “Okay. Fine. I’ll have Syd take you off the on-call schedule, and you and I can talk about the kind of assignments you’d like.”

  This had turned out better than Joaquin had imagined.

  “Tell Hughes to get in here. I’m giving her Cate’s seat—and this story.”

  Anna was finally getting her spot on the I-Team.

  “You got it.”

  Mia sat in the living room of the great house up at the Cimarron, children of all ages running everywhere, people talking and laughing. All of Joaquin’s I-Team friends were here with their families. Marc and Sophie. Julian and Tessa. Reece and Kara. Zach and Natalie. Alex Carmichael. Matt. Anna Hughes, who had interviewed Mia for the story that was in today’s Denver Independent. They’d come together to catch up with Laura and Javier—and to watch Laura’s interview with Mia on the big screen in the Wests’ home theater.

  Jack and Janet had laid out a spread for them, as always—everything from bacon-wrapped figs to a dozen varieties of cheeses with baguette slices to olives and charcuterie. There was even popcorn, tortilla chips, and salsa.

  It felt like a party.

  “Are you nervous?” Laura, with her pale blond hair and Swedish beauty, managed to look glamorous in blue jeans and a Nordic sweater.

  “I’m not nervous about the interview. I am a little worried about the aftermath.”

  Laura reached over, gave her hand a squeeze. “I understand.”

  Mia knew she wasn’t just saying that. Laura had told Mia before their interview how she’d been kidnapped, held captive, and repeatedly raped by the leader of an al-Qaida splinter group until Javier, who had been a Navy SEAL at the time, had rescued her and helped her start her life over again. She had wanted Mia to understand that she wouldn’t exploit her situation. She just wanted to tell Mia’s story.

  “Based on my interviews for a follow-up story, I think you can expect a lot of support from the military community. You’re what an Army officer should be, and everyone in uniform knows that.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “More wine?” Jack asked.

  Mia shook her head. “No, thank you. It’s a good thing you have a big house.”

  Jack glanced around, grinning. “Chaos. I love it. There was a time after the death of my first wife when this house felt too big, when I was the only one here. Then Nate came home, badly wounded. Those were hard times.”

  Mia could understand that kind of loneliness. Oh, yes, she could.

  “My son met Megan, and she brought him back to life. She brought this motley crew with her. There isn’t a day when I’m not grateful.”

  Janet must have overheard. She leaned down. “He loves having friends over—the more, the merrier. Nate and Javier served together. Did you know that?”

  “Joaquin told me on the way up.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ve got it.” Megan went to answer.

  She returned with Kat, whom Mia had met at the newspaper, and her husband Gabe, together with their two preschoolers and their three-month-old baby girl, who had been born during the holiday party hostage crisis.

  “She’s tiny!” Mia peeked at the precious face poking out of the blanket. “What’s her name?”

  “Noelle Yanaha. We call her Yana. Yanaha means brave in Navajo. Everyone was very brave for us the night she was born. Joaquin stayed beside me and held my hand the whole time. He tried to get me out, tried to get the terrorists to release me. I couldn’t have gotten through that night without him.”

  Then Kat introduced Mia to her husband, Gabe Rossiter. A tall, dark-haired man with the raccoon tan of a skier, he kissed Mia on the cheek. “It’s good to meet you, Mia. I’ve heard so much about you. Hunter and Darcangelo won’t shut up about you.”

  Mia recognized Gabe from the series of photos Joaquin had taken of the cartel shootout. He’d been giving Zach CPR. “I’m a member of their fan club, too.”

  Gabe turned to Joaquin. “So, I leave for eight weeks, and you go and get yourself shot? What the hell?”

  “Did you miss the part where I took out the bad guy?”

  “I heard that. Thank God.” Gabe hugged Joaquin. “I’m just glad you’re okay, man. It saves me having to kick your ass.”

  Mia could tell Gabe was moved by what had happened to Joaquin, even if he tried to hide his feelings behind humor.

  “I’m glad those two clowns were able to help.” Gabe motioned with a jerk of his head toward Julian and Marc. “I think they’re having a marital spat.”

  The two stood out on the deck drinking beer and pretending to argue about something. The door was closed, so she couldn’t hear, but they looked angry as hell, and yet she knew they were enjoying themselves.

  Men.

 
“It’s about to start,” Javier said, beer in hand. “Mia, you’re the guest of honor.”

  Tessa went to get Julian and Marc, while Mia followed the others down the hallway. Kat and Sophie took the children into the playroom, while the adults found seats down the hall in the home theater.

  “Sophie just can’t handle this right now,” Marc said for Mia’s ears alone.

  “You don’t need to explain. I understand.” Since meeting Joaquin, Mia had read about the terrorist attack on the Palace Hotel and knew what Sophie had gone through. If that had been Mia, and terrorists had taken Joaquin out to execute him…

  Mia sat between Laura and Joaquin, her pulse picking up.

  Joaquin took her hand, whispered in her ear. “Relax. It’s going to be okay.”

  A car commercial. A beer commercial. A soft drink commercial.

  The program started, the introductory music quite dramatic.

  Laura leaned over. “I’ve asked them to remake that, to make it more newsy and less like the Olympics, but no. They want trumpets and fanfare.”

  Then Laura appeared on the screen, looking polished and beautiful. “Tonight, we bring you the disturbing story of a military officer who was harassed, abused, and almost murdered for daring to report crimes committed by members of her own company, including her commanding officer. This is the first time Mia Starr has shared her story in its entirety, and what she told us will shock you. This story includes graphic images of injury and violence. Viewers are urged to exercise discretion.”

  Mia watched, listening to herself speak, seeing the photographs of stolen artifacts and skin blistered by mustard agent, watching some of the worst memories of her life unfold on the screen. Images of shattered glass and bloodshed. Footage of Powell’s arraignment. Andy’s sister standing at his graveside, in tears.

  As the program came to a close, Joaquin beside her, her new friends surrounding her, Mia realized those memories no longer owned her. They were the past. Joaquin and his big family and his crazy group of friends—they were her life now.

  In the second week of April, Joaquin and Mia closed on their new home—part of the urban redevelopment of Denver’s old airport. Antonio and his crew had built the house and let Joaquin know about it so that he and Mia could put an offer on it before anyone else did. The place had four bedrooms, an unfinished basement, a study, a big kitchen, a wrap-around front porch, and lots of room for friends and family. Joaquin loved the modern feel of it and all the space. But Mia loved the yard—if you could call a half-acre of mud and weeds a yard.