No One But You

by Maureen Smith

  He found himself reflecting on those words now, which, of course, only made him think about Althea.

  He swore under his breath, forgetting he had an audience this time.

  “What’s on your mind, Little Man?” Garrison asked quietly.

  “What isn’t on my mind?” Damien grumbled darkly as he slowed for a traffic light. Although the streets were mostly deserted, he figured he wouldn’t push his luck this time.

  “I heard about the kidnapping while I was in San Antonio.” Garrison blew out a long, weary breath. “The first thing I thought was: Damn, not again.”

  “I know,” Damien murmured.

  “The timing, man. Almost eight years to the day. I don’t like it.”

  “Join the club.”

  “Imani called me, then Eddie. Please tell me someone’s been able to talk some sense into Althea about not working on this case.”

  Damien said nothing. His jaw was clenched too tight.

  “Damn it,” Garrison growled. “She’s even worse than Imani. We argued for over an hour when I told her I planned to hire a bodyguard to look after her and the kids until this nutcase is found and locked up. She didn’t mind hiring someone for Little G and Soraya while they’re at daycare, but she objected to her routine being altered and having to worry about a bodyguard following her around campus and into her classrooms. I told her I’d rather inconvenience her a little now than plan her damn funeral later.”

  “You did the right thing,” Damien said grimly. “The hard, cold truth is that she was targeted by a deranged psychopath eight years ago, and for all we know, she could be in danger again. Until we’ve got the perpetrator behind bars, we can’t afford to take any chances.”

  “I killed that bastard,” Garrison muttered, the old fury edging his deep voice. “I put a bullet between his eyes. This isn’t some horror movie, where the killer keeps coming back to life after being shot, burned, drowned and electrocuted. I watched Anthony Yusef die, then personally attended his funeral just to make damn sure he was buried six feet under. As far as I know, he had no living relatives, no mentally unstable children who could have crawled out of the woodwork after all these years to avenge his death.”

  “We’re exploring all possibilities, running the gamut of theories,” Damien said.

  As he drove home, he brought his brother up to speed on the investigation, telling him about the interview with James Odem, Althea’s blackmail theory involving Suzette Thorndike and her ex-husband, and the cryptic note from the kidnapper, the latter of which induced a string of harsh expletives from Garrison.

  Damien smiled wryly at his brother’s language. “I hope Imani and the kids are already in bed,” he drawled.

  “They are. Damn it, that note sounds like something Yusef would have left behind.”

  “I guess that’s the point. But my suspicion is that whoever took Claire wants us to know he’s smarter than Yusef, more cunning and elusive. I think it would be a mistake to label him a copycat and assume we’ve got him all figured out. Althea thinks he’s going to follow a pattern, and that’s a good starting point for us to work from. But my gut tells me this guy has something entirely different up his sleeve, something we may not see coming until it’s too damn late.”

  Garrison heaved a long, ragged breath, resigned to the truth of his brother’s words. “Is there any way you can convince Althea to lay low for however long it takes to find this lunatic?”

  Damien scowled. “I already tried. She flat-out refused. Unless Balducci reassigns her, she isn’t going anywhere, and he has no intention of removing her from the case. Why don’t you talk to him? He’s your best friend and your son’s godfather. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

  “I can definitely try. But I know where he’s coming from. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Althea’s a good agent, one who happens to bring a unique perspective to this investigation that could be invaluable. If Eddie removes her from the case because he’s worried about her, people will accuse him of treating her differently because they’re friends. But if this goes bad and Althea winds up getting hurt or killed, Eddie will be crucified for not doing more to protect one of his agents when he knew she was in danger. He’s damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t.”

  “Cry me a river,” Damien said mockingly, unsympathetic.

  Garrison let out a short, grim laugh. “Don’t be like that. You know Eddie and I made a lot of enemies when we got promoted to head the Baltimore and Washington field offices. We’re only forty years old. Most agents don’t climb through the ranks as fast as we did, and there are many who believe we only got this far because Louis Pritchard is good friends with Director Grayson, and to repay us for finding his niece, Pritchard put in a good word for us. I mean, let’s face it. Althea’s abduction was a high-profile case, and the Bureau received a ton of positive publicity after everything went down. Eddie and I were awarded merits of honor and treated like heroes for months afterward, which still makes me cringe just thinking about it. The point is, we’re both under a lot of pressure to prove we legitimately earned our positions. There’s not a lot of room for missteps. So cut Eddie some slack.”

  “Sellout,” Damien groused.

  Garrison laughed good-naturedly. “Be kind to your boss. He always has nothing but good things to say about you.” He paused, a note of sly insinuation creeping into his voice as he added, “Wanna know something interesting he told me yesterday when he called?”

  “Not particularly,” Damien muttered, although he already had a pretty good idea.

  Garrison said, “He told me how strange you and Althea were acting yesterday morning when she showed up at his office just as you were leaving. To quote Eddie, ‘It was like being in a room with two people who couldn’t wait for you to leave so they could tear each other’s clothes off.’” He snickered. “Something you wanna share, Little Man?”

  Damien shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “Yeah,” he grumbled irately. “Tell Balducci it’s inappropriate to speculate and gossip about the personal lives of his agents.”

  Garrison laughed. “You told him you and Althea met for the first time on Friday night. You were at the club celebrating your birthday, weren’t you? Is that where you met Althea?”

  “Maybe.”

  Garrison chuckled, enjoying his brother’s discomfiture. “Maybe I should be talking to the fellas instead. What do you think they’d tell me if I asked them about that night? Hmm?”

  Damien said nothing, mentally kicking himself for letting it slip that he and Althea met on Friday night. He hadn’t been thinking clearly because he was so shocked to see her again.

  In an amused voice, Garrison said, “Don’t worry, I won’t pry. You and Althea can keep your secret, whatever it is. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you what a pleasant surprise this is. In all these years, it never occurred to me or Imani that you and Althea might hook up one day. And considering what a shameless matchmaker my wife is, that’s pretty amazing. I guess it never occurred to us because Althea lived all the way out in Seattle and, quite frankly, we didn’t believe she’d ever return home.”

  Damien frowned. “Based on the way this case is going, maybe she shouldn’t have.”

  “Maybe not.” Garrison hummed a thoughtful note. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and Althea come over for dinner on Thursday? I know you’re both going to be pretty tied up with the investigation, but a few hours off one night isn’t going to make or break the case.”

  “I don’t know, man. If this is your way of playing matchmaker—”

  “Actually, I was thinking this might give us the perfect opportunity to share our concerns about her involvement in the case.”

  Damien made a face as he turned onto his quiet, residential street. “I don’t think she’d appreciate being ganged up on like that. She might feel like she’s the victim of an intervention.”

  “In a way it is,” Garrison said with quiet gravity. The soft murmur of a woman’s voice
could be heard in the background. Garrison’s answer was muffled as he covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

  He came back on the line a moment later, a smile in his voice. “My wife says it’s time for me to come to bed.”

  Damien grinned. “I know what that means.”

  Garrison chuckled, low and wolfish. “Don’t be jealous. Anyway, dinner at our house. Thursday night at seven. You and Althea be there. Besides, I have to give you the souvenir I brought back from San Antonio for India. Don’t make me have to call her and tell her you’re keeping her from receiving a gift.”

  Damien shook his head in mock disgust. “Blackmail, coming from an assistant director in the FBI. Tsk, tsk.”

  Garrison laughed. “Just bring your ass over here. Later.”

  “Later,” Damien said.

  No sooner had he disconnected than the phone rang again. His pulse kicked. He hoped it was Detective Mayhew, calling to tell him about a big break in the case. But one glance at the caller ID dashed that hope, while raising another.

  “Hey,” Althea said softly when he answered.

  “Hey.” His voice was without inflection.

  “Are you at home?”

  “Just pulled up.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated uncertainly. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier. You were only expressing your concern for me, much like everyone else has been doing, and I was rude to you. What I said was uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

  Damien waited a beat. “Okay.”

  “Okay what? Okay you accept my apology? Or okay whatever?”

  “Okay, I accept your apology. No hard feelings.”

  “Good.” Her relief came through the line. “We have to work closely together on a daily basis, and I think it would be counterproductive for us to be at odds with each other.”

  “Is that the only reason you apologized?” What the hell are you doing? his mind shouted. Are you asking her if she meant that whole “one meaningless night ” remark? Don’t play yourself like that, man! Let it go before she starts thinking you care!

  Althea let out a slow, measured breath. “No, that’s not the only reason I apologized. After you left the office earlier, I realized that certain things I said might have, uh, offended you. And, uh, that wasn’t my intention. All right, maybe it was. But only because I was angry, and my aunt always taught me that you should never say things you might regret when you’re angry.” She paused. “Am I making any sense?”

  Damien felt a smile tugging at his lips, but he kept his tone impassive. “Yeah, sure.”

  She hesitated again, and he imagined her frowning into the phone, wishing she could read his expression.

  The silence stretched between them.

  He patiently waited it out.

  “I’m on my way home from the office,” she volunteered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I stayed late to catch up on some paperwork since I was out most of the day. I’ve got a few updates to share with you, and I thought we could go over the text message transcripts from Claire’s cell phone, which I commandeered from Detective Mayhew as soon as the fax arrived from the phone company. There are pages and pages of them.”

  Damien frowned. “What about the MyDomain transcripts?”

  “Tomorrow morning, I was promised. By nine A.M. our time, not theirs.” Althea hesitated for a moment. “I was thinking about ordering a pizza when I get home, if you’d like to join me.”

  Damien went still. “Are you inviting me over for dinner?”

  “A working dinner,” she clarified. “We can work while we eat. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  He glanced at the dashboard clock. It was nine-thirty.

  “Thanks for the offer,” he said, “but I think I’ll have to pass. It’s been a long day, and we need to be up early.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Her disappointment was palpable.

  “I can call you back when I get inside the house and get settled, and you can give me your updates. I’ve got a couple of my own anyway.”

  “All right. That’s fine. Talk to you then.”

  Damien clicked off, shoved the phone into his back pocket, and cut off the ignition. But instead of climbing out of the SUV, he sat in the still darkness, staring through the windshield at his three-story brick townhouse with its manicured front lawn and neat, colorful flowerbeds planted and maintained by his mother. He’d bought the townhouse a year after the divorce, wanting to give India a nice place she could call her own whenever she stayed with him. He’d chosen a quiet, tree-lined suburb on the outskirts of Baltimore in a good school district—just in case Angelique ever changed her mind and decided that India belonged with him. He’d allowed his mother and Imani to paint and decorate, transforming his cold, empty bachelor pad into a warm, inviting home. But there was just one problem. The bright new décor declared to all visitors that this was a place meant for a family, and to Damien, the absence of one often served as a painful reminder of his failed marriage and his inability to retain custody of his daughter.

  And now, as he sat alone in the SUV contemplating the dark, silent house, he thought about the three-day-old leftovers in his refrigerator, the cold emptiness of his large bed.

  Before he could stop himself, he reached for his cell phone and dialed Althea’s number. She answered halfway through the first ring, sounding a little breathless and—unless his ears were deceiving him—hopeful. “Yes?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 17

  Althea had just stepped out of the shower when she heard the doorbell, signaling the arrival of Damien or the pizza delivery guy—neither of whom she’d expected for at least another fifteen minutes.

  Hurriedly she threw on an old Stanford T-shirt and a pair of pink sweatpants with no underwear. Halfway to the front door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a wall mirror and realized she was still wearing her shower cap. She snatched it off her head and hastily combed her fingers through her hair before continuing to the door.

  When she glanced through the peephole, no one was there.

  Frowning, she unlocked the door and opened it enough to poke her head through. She peered up and down the corridor. It was silent and empty. Yet she felt a cold draft, a whisper across her skin, as if someone had just walked past.

  Someone did, silly. Whoever rang your doorbell.

  Shaking her head at herself, Althea ducked back inside her apartment and closed the door, sliding the deadbolt into place. Someone had probably wandered onto the wrong floor and rang her doorbell by mistake, she decided. The apartment building’s twenty-four-hour front desk attendant and intercom system were supposed to alleviate security concerns by controlling visitors’ access to the property. But Althea had noticed different people entering the building by following tenants inside, and none of them were ever stopped by the attendant, whose nose was usually buried in a newspaper or a paperback novel. She’d been meaning to bring this up to the building management, but she’d been too preoccupied with the case to remember.

  But suddenly she felt jittery, and she was reminded of the cold sensation she’d felt yesterday evening when she looked out her office window. She’d felt as if someone was lurking in the shadows of the parking lot, staring up at her apartment. Watching her.

  She’d promptly dismissed the feeling, telling herself she was just edgy and out of sorts because of the kidnapping investigation, and because she’d been trying to stave off dark, sinister thoughts about the past ever since her plane touched down in Maryland. She didn’t believe someone evil had been watching her last night any more than she believed that same person had just rung her doorbell.

  So why are your hands so clammy?

  Frowning, Althea wiped her damp palms on her sweatpants and started across the room to build a fire. She’d just taken three steps when the intercom buzzed. She let out a startled cry, nearly jumping out of her skin.

  A moment later she swore under her breath, feeling like an idiot. A parano
id idiot.

  She retraced her steps to the door and pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “It’s me. Damien.”

  She mentally berated herself for the surge of relief that swept through her at the sound of his deep voice. She buzzed him in, then rushed around picking up after herself. By the time he rang the doorbell, the living room was spotless and a sedate fire was crackling in the fireplace.

  Her pulse quickened at the sight of him in her doorway. The five o’clock shadow he’d been sporting that morning had darkened, and his deep-set eyes were hooded, as if he’d been struggling to keep them open on the way over. He looked bone-tired, but that didn’t detract from his handsomeness. If anything, Althea thought, he looked even sexier.

  Stop it! You’re not supposed to be noticing things like that! You made it perfectly clear to him today that you’re not interested in sleeping with him again. But how in the world can you convince him of that if you can’t even convince yourself?

  Althea was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn’t realize she was blocking the door until Damien arched an amused brow and drawled, “Are you going to leave me standing out here?”

  An embarrassed flush stole across her cheeks. “Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly, opening the door wider.