Cold Light of Day

by Anderson, Toni

  “How’s he doing?” he asked gently. Ideally, he’d hypnotize the woman to try and calm her down, but somehow treading on her civil rights seemed wrong. She’d already been through so much.

  “Not good. The knife nicked his liver.” She covered her face and her shoulders shook, though no sound came out.

  Frazer used the opportunity to get closer and lay a supportive arm on her shoulder.

  She pulled away. Eyes wide and furious. “Don’t touch me.”

  He backed off. “Look, I don’t have much time to do everything I need to do and I need your help.”

  “Why would I help you?” She began pacing with her arms crossed, so wound up he didn’t know if she’d be capable of helping anyone.

  “Because Scarlett tried to plant an electronic listening device in the office of the Russian Ambassador last night and now someone is trying to kill her.”

  “What?” Susan Stone stopped pacing and sank to a chair. “No. Oh, no. Why?” She shook her head in denial, then glared at the cell phone in her hand and then at the sign on the wall that said cell phones couldn’t be used. She gave a watery laugh. “It seems I’m the only member of this family who knows how to follow the rules. I can’t even bring myself to call her from here. I have to go out to the coffee shop every single time.”

  “Please give me a few moments to explain.” Frazer sat beside her. Close. Closer than strangers usually did. He needed to establish a sense of trust, fast, and he didn’t want anyone overhearing what he had to say. “She’s fine, but please don’t let anyone know that—no one at all. There are hopefully only seven people in the world who know she’s alive and you are one of them. My team members are the others. Keep trying to reach her on her cell. Keep being upset and loud and irritable when she doesn’t answer.” She glared at him. “But please know she’s okay for the time being.”

  Susan searched his face, looking for something worth trusting. Finally she nodded. “I guess I don’t have much choice but to believe you.” Her face hardened. “And she can’t know about her father if she’s in danger. She’ll come here if she does, and then they’ll know how to find her. Whoever ‘they’ are?” she said bitterly, clearly not expecting an answer.

  “Right now the people trying to kill her think she’s dead. I want it to stay that way. The agents guarding her will keep her safe, but I can’t guarantee they won’t tell her about her father if they think she has a right to know.” They were already lying about Angel LeMay. He pulled the photograph out of his pocket. “Do you remember this photograph? I found it in Richard’s cell.”

  She took it with a smile on her face and nodded. Then she turned it over and frowned at the date. “That wasn’t written on it before, and it isn’t Richard’s handwriting.” She ran her finger over the faded ink then turned it back over. “It used to sit on Richard’s desk. It went missing out of the frame on the day Richard was arrested. I assumed…” She frowned. “I don’t know what I assumed. That the FBI had taken it? There were so many people in and out of the house that day. A group of kids were over, playing outside after school. I remember having to call their parents to come and pick them up, even as the FBI executed their search warrant.” Her laugh sounded strangled. “I had another copy of the photograph made from the negative—digital cameras were new back then and we didn’t have one. This was in Richard’s cell?” she asked.

  Frazer nodded. He’d send the photograph to the handwriting specialists in Questioned Documents and see if they came up with anything. Unlikely but always possible.

  “I think someone took something personal from him, something from inside your house, to prove they could get to you any time they wanted. He kept it under his pillow to remind himself why he was there.”

  He looked up. Found Susan Stone watching him carefully, but she didn’t jump all over him with thanks. Too many years of no one believing their story had done serious damage to the Stones’ faith in the system.

  “I need your help with something else.”

  “What could I possibly help the FBI with?”

  He didn’t blame her for her skepticism. He checked the surroundings. No one could see as he carefully drew Richard Stone’s notebook out of his suit pocket. “I took this from your husband’s cell today.”

  She took it from his fingers and flipped open the first page. Her eyes widened at the unintelligible scrawl and understanding dawned. “Why would I help you?”

  He held her gaze. She was a smart woman. More intelligent than the reports indicated—don’t bother with the wife, she’s a crackpot—or maybe there was a reason for that, or maybe he was reading too much into every little detail now. “I think your husband may have been set up. I believe whoever did it is, or was, another FBI agent. I think they arranged to have him killed today because they are scared that even after all these years their secrets might come out.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “Am I supposed to be grateful that someone is finally doing the job Richard was so good at?”

  “No, ma’am.” The silence was heavy and condemning. “I don’t expect gratitude. But I do believe this book might hold vital clues, and I don’t have time to go through official Bureau channels, especially when I don’t know who I can trust. So I need your help because I believe you know the key to this code and I know you want your husband to get out of prison.”

  “If he survives,” she said.

  Frazer was well aware of his failings. He blew out an angry breath. Not anger at her or her husband, but at the bastard who’d set this up so convincingly. “Will you help me? If you won’t, I need to know now so I can try another avenue.”

  It took a few seconds for her to lose her stiffness. She sank back in her seat and put her hands over her face. “Yes,” she said tiredly. “But we need the copy of To Kill A Mockingbird from my house.”

  He raised his brows. “That’s the key?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll organize it.” Then he frowned. “I didn’t see the book in your husband’s cell.”

  She started pacing again. “He memorized the code. He and Scarlett have those annoyingly perfect memories. I need the book.”

  It would take hours to get the book out here. Who did he trust? Rooney and Parker were stuck in West Virginia going through the evidence in the case files to see if they missed anything, trying to find a link between the LeMays and Dorokhov, trying to link the Russians to the kidnapping, shooting or bomb by monitoring the police and federal investigations. Shit. Too much for them to handle alone. They didn’t have enough people on this, but he couldn’t risk asking for more because then whoever was the real villain would figure out they were onto him. And the last place Lazlo should take Scarlett was the Stone family home—he had to assume it was being watched. Under normal circumstances he’d turn to Jed Brennan, but the agent was still recovering from a gunshot wound and even the dinner last night had tired him out. The guy wasn’t fit for cloak and dagger maneuvers, not yet anyway.

  He paused. There was one guy, but he didn’t like owing the spook any favors. Right now he didn’t have a choice. Hopefully Patrick Killion was near DC.

  “Would a photocopy do?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to need permission for someone to break into your house.”

  “There’s a key in the peg basket in the garden shed.”

  His friend from the CIA wouldn’t need a key. “You don’t think that’s a little lax with security?”

  She shrugged. “Scarlett might be super smart with a great memory for facts, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t forget her keys on a regular basis. I got into the habit when she went to college, forgot about the spare key until just now. Tell whoever it is that the book is in my bedside table. There’s a photocopier and fax machine in Richard’s office.”

  Fourteen years in prison and the guy still had an office at home. Frazer pulled out his cell phone, but Susan Stone pointed to the sign forbidding its use.

&nb
sp; “Fine.” He had one of Parker’s gizmos with him so he should be safe from electronic eavesdroppers when they were outside. “But I want you to come with me. In fact, we stick together everywhere except the restroom until I can arrange a bodyguard for you. You’re in danger. I need to keep you safe.”

  “Unbelievable—or maybe I finally went crazy and I’m imagining all this, huh?” One side of her mouth curled up in a sad smile. “If my husband ever recovers I think he might like you, ASAC Frazer.”

  “Let’s hope we get the opportunity to find out.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Matt washed up in the restroom, grateful he was wearing a black shirt and the blood didn’t show. He scrubbed his hands and forearms with soap, watched the dirty, brown water circle the drain. The memory of blood smeared on Scarlett’s skin was not something he wanted to dwell on. There was a very real possibility it could be her blood if he didn’t figure out exactly what was happening.

  He didn’t know who in his organization he could trust. He needed to talk to Frazer ASAP, but the guy’s cell went straight to voicemail.

  He dried his hands and shoved the crumpled paper towels in the trash. Inside the store, he loaded up with sandwiches, bottled water, chips, wipes, Band-Aids, dental floss. Browsed the t-shirts and found matching his-and-her tourist numbers, a couple of quilted lumberjack shirts, a pair of thick hand-knit socks that might keep Scarlett’s feet warm.

  If he could quit picturing her bare legs he might be able to get the image of her naked and under him out of his head, but so far no dice. He found a travel blanket. That would help—as long as she was the only one under it. He glanced at the TV in the corner and saw the news was on. The camera panned to a shot of Quantico Harbor and in the corner of the screen was a picture of him in his dress blues. Matt wore a cap in the photo and right now he was wearing shades so he didn’t think the girl on the register was going to ID him—not that she’d looked up from her cell phone.

  “Can I get a coffee and hot chocolate too, please?” Something to warm both him and Scarlett that didn’t involve friction.

  He paid with cash, grateful again to Alex Parker for bailing him out in his hour of need. He went back to the car and climbed in.

  Scarlett took the drinks and smiled gratefully as she placed them in the cup holders. “Roofie-free, I presume?”

  He sent her a doleful look.

  She grinned. Her hair was a mess, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to the way his blood heated whenever he saw her—like his body was wired up for her, and her alone. Why did he have to be interested in this woman? She was ten years too young and more complicated than the IRS. He leaned over and placed the bags on the back seat. Noticed a squad car pull in beside them in his peripheral vision.

  Matt didn’t know if the cops had linked this car to the shooting incident. Rather than hurry away like a guilty suspect, he took Scarlett’s face gently in both his hands and kissed her.

  The sensation hit like a thousand volts and blew every fuse in his body. He’d been wanting to do that since they’d met, but she tasted like nothing he’d ever experienced.

  Heat flooded him. Her sweetness overwhelmed him. She didn’t pull away. Instead she blew his mind by opening her mouth and sweeping her tongue hungrily across his. If he hadn’t been sitting down he’d have fallen over. He slid his hand into her soft hair and angled the kiss deeper. Dammit he wanted her, and she wanted him, if her parted lips and rapid breathing were anything to go by. The urge to drag her against him was huge. He ignored it.

  He pulled back. Her pupils were wide and dilated, giving her the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. The expression in them was a mixture of arousal and wariness.

  Dammit. He didn’t want to be the asshole responsible for hurting her this time around.

  Her jaw tightened and she got a determined look on her face that replaced the uncertainty, and the desire. It told him she was ready for whatever happened next in the fight to clear her father’s name.

  And maybe that was what it was about her that got to him, her unswerving, unwavering loyalty. Nothing had shaken her belief in her father. Not a confession, not a conviction. It was a little humbling when he was the one who was supposed to fight for justice.

  The cops had moved inside the store so he ignored the fact his heart was trying to punch its way through his ribcage, and drove calmly away. He didn’t know if Scarlett had seen the police and damned if he was explaining his reasons for kissing her when all he could think about was the way she’d responded, and the knowledge that if they ever got the chance he’d like to take it a hell of a lot further than a kiss.

  Frazer had warned him, but he’d thought he could handle it.

  She drew her knees up to her chest, and he couldn’t help looking at her bare legs.

  Christ. Sweat broke out on his brow. He cleared his throat. “It’s hot in here.” He adjusted the heater.

  She drew in an audible breath. “It is now.”

  He huffed out a rueful laugh. Some of the tension that had gripped him let go. They had other things to deal with. His libido would have to wait.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  He saw the sign for a picnic area up ahead. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

  She rolled her eyes but looked relieved. “You’re such a guy, Lazlo.”

  “Hey, I am a guy.” If she needed proof all she had to do was kiss him again.

  He drove another mile or so out of town, pulled up in a small gravel area off the main highway. Judging from the trickle of people and pooches heading down a nearby pathway, it appeared to be a popular dog walking spot.

  He grabbed the shopping bags from the back seat and handed her the wipes.

  From the smile on her face you’d think he’d showered her in diamonds.

  “Thank you.” She ripped them open and set her foot on the dash as she cleaned every inch of skin.

  Fuck. Shit. Perfect.

  He was definitely a guy, and so hard it was a wonder he didn’t pass out from lack of blood to the brain. Now he understood why women weren’t in the SEAL teams. All it would take was one look at those legs and all the guys would be standing around drooling like idiots.

  Which was a dumb ass reason to penalize women, he realized.

  Women were on the firing line of every conflict in history so maybe they should all have combat training. Then, when war broke out, or the psychos got busy with their knives, they’d have a better chance of survival.

  His gut churned just thinking about it. Bad enough his best friends being in the firing line. The thought of Scarlett being hurt…the idea made his trigger finger itch.

  When she was finished wiping her legs and then very carefully cleaning her hands, he passed her the travel blanket, which she spread over her knees.

  Hallelujah.

  “Thanks.” She stroked the soft wool and he did his best to get his mind on the problem at hand. Not think about those hands on him. Obviously he needed some down time. Or sex. Lots of sex.

  Or a cold shower.

  He swallowed and looked away.

  This wasn’t like him. He didn’t go gah-gah over women. Sure, in the old days when he’d gotten back after spending months in stinking hellholes with nothing but hairy guys and the constant threat of death for company. Then he’d obsessed about getting laid. But lately?

  He figured he’d matured. Judging the gutter depths to which his brain had sunk, not so much.

  She handed him the pack of wet wipes and he used them on the steering wheel and gear stick. Then again on his hands and face before he reached back for the sandwiches. He was starving. “Ham or turkey?”

  “Festive sandwiches. Awesome.” But her tone lacked enthusiasm.

  “Yeah.” He grew somber. Damn. “Sorry, this is a pretty crappy Christmas, huh.”

  “It’s my own fault.” Her lips drooped sadly. “At least I have company.” Then she looked away, but not before he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

&nbs
p; Ah, shit.

  He unhooked his seatbelt, pushed his chair back as far as it would go, undid her belt, and pulled her across his lap. Her shoulders started to shake as she tried to fight him, but he wasn’t letting her go. Huge great keening cries came out even though she tried to keep it all inside. He thought of what she’d been through over the years, and all the stress of the last twenty-four hours, culminating in finding Maidstone bleeding out in his living room and the idea that someone had finally started to believe her story.

  He hoped the guy made it. There was a good chance Maidstone would tell them everything they needed to know, now that he was on Marlon’s shitlist. He rubbed his hand up and down Scarlett’s back, feeling the hard ridges of her spine, knowing she needed to de-stress and let it all out.

  “I’m so sorry for getting you caught up in this.” She hiccupped. Her hands gripped his t-shirt so tight she was going to rip out the few chest hairs he possessed. He didn’t care. “I’m sorry you aren’t with your mom for Christmas the way you should be.”

  Another bout of tears had him holding her tighter. The weight of her in his arms was insubstantial, fragile and delicate, but he knew it to be deceptive. She was as strong as a spider’s web and had entangled him in her life just as effectively. And she was super smart, which he found to be a total turn on. Obviously his inner high school geek was in heaven.

  Her legs were cold. He grabbed the blanket and spread it over her, resting his chin on top of her hair as he rocked her. It took a few minutes for his heat to warm her through and she burrowed closer. Shock, probably. The desire he felt for her wasn’t going anywhere, but right now he was content to hold her until the tears subsided.

  “I always hated Christmas Eve.” He felt her focus on his words and not on her own misery, so he carried on. “I tend to give the impression that my dad was never a part of my life, except he showed once on Christmas Eve.”

  “What did you do?” Her fingers had eased their iron-man grip on his shirt. He was going to have marks.