by Rachel Grant
Palea’s answer was to fix Mara with a suspicious stare, but since she had been the one nearly shot in the head, the FBI agent’s suspicions of her had no traction with Curt.
“Do you want me to arrange a flight?” Palea asked.
“No. Anything through government channels will be traceable. I have a plan. I just need to make some calls.” He nodded to the Honda. “But we do need a new car. The flight I arrange probably won’t be ready until tomorrow, and her car is known to the shooter.”
“Take my Bureau car.”
“That’s risky. It’s got a tracking device?”
Palea nodded. “All government vehicles do. Lay low until you’re out of here, and if anyone asks, I’ll say the Bureau car broke down. If they don’t know you have my car, they won’t have a reason to activate the device.”
It was the best they could hope for under the circumstances. “Mara wants to talk to Jeannie Fuller, and I’ve got a few questions for her myself. Can you arrange that?”
Mara let out a surprised gasp. Curt had thought about this at length on the long, silent drive from Waikiki and had decided to hell with the State Department’s rules. They needed answers, and Jeannie Fuller was more likely to open up to Mara than to Palea or him.
“She left the island early this morning,” Palea said.
“Is she a suspect in Roddy Brogan’s murder?”
Mara stiffened. “No way—”
“Now isn’t the time, Mara.” Turning to Palea, Curt repeated, “Is she a suspect?”
“Yes.”
“Jeannie wouldn’t—”
“Save it for later.” Curt turned again to Palea. “Where did she go?”
“Her flight landed in LA several hours ago. We don’t know where she went from there.”
“What about Evan Beck?” he asked. “Have you found him?”
“No. He could have caught a Raptor flight off the island. We have no way of tracking him.” Palea fixed Curt with a stare. “I know you think Raptor is involved, but this could be nothing more than an ex-boyfriend with too much technology at his disposal and a grudge against the woman who dumped him.”
Curt had expected this, but still, it rankled. “That’s not what’s happening here.”
“Beck may be Brogan’s killer, but that doesn’t mean this is part of a bigger Raptor conspiracy.”
“Dammit, you’re on this case because I trust that you won’t cave if powers-that-be try to shut down an investigation into Raptor. Don’t let me down.”
“I’m not caving. I’m just saying this may not be the break you’re hoping for. Even if Evan Beck was the gunman, you won’t have shit against his father.”
“Your job is to gather evidence against the operatives—starting with Evan Beck. It’s my job to connect it to the CEO.”
“You better know what you’re doing, brah. If you fuck up, my career tanks with yours.”
Silence stretched between them. Curt knew Palea had legitimate reason for concern. If Curt failed to gather the evidence he needed, Robert Beck could use his influence to destroy them both. But he refused to back down in the name of self-preservation. And he had no respect for the prosecutors before him who had.
MARA LISTENED TO the exchange with interest. The notion Jeannie was a suspect sickened her. Impossible. Jeannie wouldn’t hurt anyone. On the flip side, she wished the notion Evan had killed Roddy didn’t ring true.
Evan. Son of Raptor’s CEO, coworker, ex-lover, and mercenary in every sense of the word. They’d spent five months together, and she’d ended the relationship when she learned he was capable of anything, so long as he was following orders. Murder was just another item on the mercenary-fieldwork continuum.
Curt believed Raptor was after her, and given the—oh holy shit—half-million dollars in her account, she had to admit he had a point. And Curt didn’t even know about the bomb.
She climbed into the passenger seat of Palea’s Ford sedan with the gruesome scene from her kitchen in the forefront of her mind. Had Evan done that? Nausea threatened. “Find your happy place, find your happy place,” she muttered.
“Does that work for you?” Curt asked.
“No, but I figured it was worth a try.”
“Maybe your problem is the place. Where is your happy place?”
“When I was in North Korea, it was Hawai’i. Today? It’s anywhere but Hawai’i.”
He chuckled. “You and me both.”
Talking proved effective and nausea receded. “What about you? Where is your happy place?” she asked.
He was silent. He rubbed his hand across his chin, now sporting a day’s worth of sexy stubble. Finally, he spoke. “The courtroom.”
“Seriously?” His answer startled her, yet it shouldn’t have. Hell, it was clear his work was his life. Good for him if he enjoyed it. She’d been the same way until two months ago.
“Nothing is like matching wits in a courtroom. Nothing challenges or invigorates me like proving a case. It’s a chess game.”
“I can’t stand chess. I’m terrible at it.”
“That’s because you’re impulsive. You don’t think before you act. Like fleeing Roddy in North Korea.”
“But being impulsive has merits. If I hadn’t left the jet on the Marine Corps Base, I’d be dead.”
He flashed a wry smile. “Well played.”
She leaned back in the seat. She’d be more satisfied with her victory if their lives weren’t at stake.
AT LAST THEY were heading south to the marina where Curt could make the necessary calls to get them a flight away from here. As he drove, the sun dropped below the mountain ridgeline and dusk descended with tropical speed.
Holy hell, night was falling and he was still on Oahu. Part of him still hadn’t come to grips with the situation. It was inconceivable that he was five thousand miles away from the federal courthouse in DC the night before the trial was to start.
He was anxious to get to the boat, but they both needed food. Given that Mara had lost a lot of blood and had barely slept or eaten, he didn’t know how she remained upright but had to respect her grit.
He pulled off at a roadside shrimp shack to pick up dinner. As they waited for their food, she leaned against him, clearly at the limit of her strength. He draped an arm around her in the sultry darkness, struck by a need to protect her that was almost primal. A seventh-degree black belt, he knew how to send out serious she’s-mine-don’t-fuck-with-her vibes. Wearing the skintight T-shirt, a day’s worth of stubble, and standing in his most intimidating stance, there was no way in hell even his closest colleagues would recognize him right now.
“What day is it?” Mara suddenly asked.
“Here?” Leaning against him as she was, the top of her head rested against his chest, and he enjoyed the way she fit against his side.
“No, in Iceland.”
He chuckled. “It’s a reasonable question. It’s Tuesday in North Korea.” He glanced at his watch. “And Tuesday in DC, but here, it’s still Monday.”
“Meaning it was Monday when I woke up in North Korea, and it’s still Monday. I’m starting to wonder if this day will ever end, or if I’m trapped forever on the day of my execution.”
He pressed her closer to his side. “You get maudlin when you’re tired.”
She huffed and looked up at him. “I get maudlin when things start blowing up, I get shot at, and my only ally is the man who wants to send my uncle to prison.”
“What, you’re not milking the firing squad anymore?” He couldn’t stop himself from tracing her lips with his finger. Damn, he must be tired. His control was slipping.
Those soft, tempting lips widened in a weary smile. “I’m saving it for the next time you revert to your unpleasant jerky self. Why play my best card when you’re being civil?”
“I’m sure you won’t have to wait long.”
“So am I,” she said dryly. “When does the trial start?”
He startled at the question. He hadn’t realized she didn�
��t know. But then, she hadn’t even known what day it was. “In eight hours.”
“I’m sorry, Curt. I had no idea.”
He shrugged. “I’ll miss the first day of jury selection. That’s all.”
“This is the biggest trial of your career, isn’t it?”
He nodded. Truth was, it would be the biggest trial of any lawyer’s career. But what surprised him the most was that she mentioned the trial without trying to convince him he was going after an innocent man or accusing him of destroying her uncle for personal gain. They had reached a truce.
Alarm trickled down his spine. Given the coming sleeping arrangements, he’d be better off if they were still at war.
The mouthwatering aroma of butter, garlic, and spices filled the car as they headed south again, and hunger eclipsed other worries. Adrenaline had dissipated, and suddenly he was starving. Mara fed him a garlicky bite as he drove, and the taste only made him ache for more.
But his other worries returned when she licked the buttery sauce from her fingers in a manner that made a different form of hunger roar to life.
From the age of sixteen, he’d played by a very stringent set of self-imposed rules. He had goals that required discipline and had learned the hard way that emotional involvement was dangerous to his control.
He’d vowed then to never again be led by his dick. Deeper emotions weren’t allowed to enter into his liaisons. Ever. Making him the damned king of restraint.
He realized now that in the twenty-plus years since he’d chosen his path, he’d never been truly tested. Any relationship that threatened to break his emotional embargo was ended without regret. And now his lofty goals were finally within reach. If—when—Stevens was convicted, Curt was all but assured to be named the next attorney general of the United States.
But there was something about Mara Garrett that made him want to forgo control, to forget hazard.
And he couldn’t place her on the next flight off the island and be done with her.
Stevens’s niece was the last person he could get involved with. He’d be compromising his case, his role as prosecutor, and his career. Plus he’d known from the start there was the possibility she’d asked the North Koreans to make him the envoy. She could be the reason he was stuck on Oahu and would miss the start of the trial.
And right now, with the hum of desire running through his veins, he couldn’t muster the outrage to give a damn.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE SMALL FISHING boat was moored at the end of the long pier and was a welcome sight to Mara at the end of what was quite literally the longest day of her life. The small vessel rocked as she climbed aboard, the swaying motion nearly knocking her off her tired feet.
The corners of Curt’s eyes crinkled with warmth as he boarded. “This is perfect, Mara.”
She quickly opened the padlock securing the cabin hatch. “It’s small,” she warned.
He followed her inside. The cabin was so tiny she had to climb onto the V-shaped bunk just to make room for him.
Five feet across at the widest point, the cabin quickly narrowed to the apex of the bow. From bow to hatch it was maybe nine feet—three feet of cramped kitchen on one side of a narrow center aisle, the door to the tiny head on the other. The aisle was a short rectangle of space that ended at the foot of the six-foot-long, V-shaped bed, which filled the bow from starboard to port. She and Curt would have to share the small bed. There was no other option.
They ate sitting across from each other on the bed. “Ohmygod,” she said through a mouthful of food. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.”
“You know, earlier you said the same thing about Spam.”
She laughed, and her cheeks warmed at the reminder of her behavior.
He cocked his head to the side. “Did they bring you a last meal in North Korea?”
“Yes, but for some strange reason, I couldn’t eat it.”
“I wouldn’t mind strangling the person who decided not to tell you I was en route.”
“They didn’t tell me anything. Ever.” She’d wondered why, of all the names she’d floated as potential envoys, the dictator had chosen him. “Did the TIME article mention you wanted me to testify in the trial?”
He nodded. “According to the State Department, the ultimatum included the phrase, ‘He wants her? He can come get her.’” Curt paused. “I spent an hour with Kim. The whole time, he grinned and was jovial and very curious about my job. I’m a government employee, tasked with prosecuting politicians and mobsters. He’s the leader of a dictatorship. There is no one equivalent to me in his world, and he was clearly trying to understand how the US can operate when a man beneath the president has the power to destroy him. In North Korea, the only threat to power is their own military. He asked about the headline on the cover.”
“What did it say?”
He grimaced. “‘US Attorney Curt Dominick: Bringing down American Government one Politician at a Time.’”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. No wonder Kim had bit. Given what she’d seen of the anti-American sentiment in North Korea, those words probably made Curt a superstar there.
“We’ll never know his real reason for demanding me, but at the heart of it all, I got the sense his interest was genuine.”
“What did you think of him?”
“I was scared shitless I’d say the wrong thing and end up in the cell next to yours.”
“But the whole world knew you were there; he’d never get away with that.”
“Mara, it’s North Korea. They can do whatever the hell they want.”
“But you were a diplomatic envoy. That would be an act of war.”
“Some would say arresting a former VP’s niece who’d been invited to the country was an act of war, but they weren’t too concerned about that.”
“They justified it. I was found on the edge of the DMZ—”
“And they could have found a way to justify arresting me. The State Department made it clear that by going in alone, there were no guarantees for my safety. The pilots had to stay on the plane to guard it. I was solo.”
Curt was scared? He’d risked his life and freedom to rescue her? Oh shit. She’d had it bad when he was Superman, but now he was mortal, and ten times sexier.
“Don’t look at me like that, Mara. I’m no hero. If there’s a hero in this, it’s you. You survived two months inside the DPRK, and your first words after sentencing weren’t in defense of yourself. You took the blame and defended JPAC. Your words will go a long way toward keeping JPAC operational.”
The garlicky shrimp hit her stomach with the density of a meteorite and twice as hot at his mention of JPAC, the organization she’d loved and the career that was now gone. “Congress tried to shut JPAC down after I was arrested, didn’t they?” And if word got out about the bomb, JPAC’s problems would be exponential.
He nodded. “They’re funded for the next fiscal year, but hanging on by a thread.”
She flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. Every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion. Or maybe it was heartache. Or fear. “I’m a disaster.”
“There is something you can do.”
“Besides hide out on this boat forever? Do tell.”
“JPAC will survive if you show Raptor was to blame. Help me bring down Raptor, Mara.”
Join me on the Dark Side, Luke. Damn lawyer. He wanted her to commit to working against her uncle. She propped herself on her elbows. “I thought it was just Roddy. I didn’t think it was the organization as a whole.” That was the truth.
“And now?”
Her tiredness was so much more than jet lag. It was firing-squad lag, attempted-murder lag, losing-all-sense-of-safety-and-belonging lag. “You’ve made your point.” She met his gaze. “Raptor might be trying to kill us.”
“Might?”
He wanted her to admit her uncle could be behind it all. She couldn’t. Not to herself, and certainly not to him. She didn’t fl
inch from his gaze. Thankfully, his eyes didn’t hold pity. In fact, what she saw could be desire, but the guarded prosecutor was hard to read.
She didn’t understand him. Or herself. Maybe all the forms of lag that plagued her had caused this overwhelming attraction to manifest. Or maybe it was the simple fact that lusting after Curt was an excellent distraction from the horrors of the day.
Of course, lust didn’t begin to describe what she felt. She wanted him. Now. Here. In sixteen different ways, some of which were illegal in more conservative states. She’d survived on little more than adrenaline and fear for months, and her body was craving life-affirming release. Curt was gorgeous, ripped, and proximate.
She was a starving woman presented with steak prepared just the way she liked it.
But he was the last man on earth she should get involved with. “Can you make your calls and get us off this damn island?” she asked.
RAPTOR’S SURVEILLANCE EQUIPMENT probably outclassed that of the CIA, and Curt had carefully considered which of his friends and colleagues would be off Raptor’s grid. Lee Scott was the perfect choice. They’d met at a karate dojo when Curt was the elder teaching assistant and Lee a student, and had been friends for two decades. Curt trusted him completely. A private-sector computer and cell phone security expert, Lee worked outside political circles but knew the important players, he held government contracts that required him to pass high-level security clearance, and his expertise in phone systems ensured their conversation would remain private. Best of all, Lee’s stepbrother had his own corporate jet.
Lee’s perfection, however, did not extend to his attitude when called at one fifteen in the morning to field a request for a jet that didn’t even belong to him. He groused in a sleep-laden voice, “You want me to call JT and ask him to send his jet to Oahu to pick you up?”
“Yes, please.”
“Didn’t the last jet you borrowed blow up?”
Curt grimaced. “Um, yeah.” He paused and launched into his pitch. “You know I wouldn’t ask if—”
“Forget it. It’s yours.”
Lee’s quick capitulation startled him. “That easy?”