by Rachel Grant
“We’ll be at Davis-Monthan in three hours.”
She gasped as her heart hammered. “Really?”
“We’ll talk to Eric Fuller. But that’s all. No matter what he tells us, we won’t go after Jeannie, you understand? That’s the FBI’s job.”
“I know.” She reached across the narrow aisle and grabbed his hand. “Thank you.”
“We wouldn’t take the risk, except Raptor doesn’t have offices in Arizona. Their closest field office is in Texas. We’ll be in and out before they even know we’re there.”
She smiled. “I guess I should stop complaining about you being too much of a chess player and start being thankful for the strategy.”
She expected him to pull away from her touch, but his fingers tightened. “When we’re on the ground, you’re sticking with me like glue. No talking with Eric Fuller in private—not even if he demands it.”
She nodded.
“My job is to keep you safe. I’m not going to fuck it up this time.” His jaw was tight, and his gaze met hers in an unapologetically hot look that somehow slipped past his rigid control. The heat in his eyes stunned her, but then, she’d been on such an emotional roller coaster, she needed to remember he’d been strapped in for the same ride.
She girded herself for another plummet and slowly stood, still holding his hand. Her belly fluttered in free fall as she lowered herself onto his lap. She grabbed the knot of his tie and began to loosen it.
His hand stopped her. “No, Mara.”
“Just the tie. Please?”
Heat shimmered in his gaze, and finally he gave a quick nod. “Just the tie.”
In moments, she had the noose off him, and settled against his chest. His arms closed around her. For the first time since she’d met him, she felt she understood him. He chose his armor and weapons carefully, and his shield could drop only so far when they were alone. When he was in prosecutorial mode, his actions were always calculated. She’d bet he even knew what she was going to say next.
She pressed her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “What’s your favorite chess piece?”
“I like the pawn, because no one sees it as a threat.”
“Tell me everything will be okay.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Tell me I’ll get my life back someday.”
“I can’t do that either,” he said.
“Then tell me you like holding me as much as I like being held by you.”
His arms tightened, and his chin rubbed against the top of her head. “I like holding you. Far more than I should.”
She smiled against his chest. “I want to sleep.”
“Then sleep.”
“I want you to hold me while I’m sleeping, like you did last night. It was the best sleep I’ve had in months.”
His fingertips traced the cut on her forehead. “Then sleep.”
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Her heart beat so loudly she was certain the pilots could hear. “Will you kiss me?”
“No.” Even as he spoke, she felt evidence of his arousal. “Yes, I’m hard, but I won’t kiss you, and I won’t make love to you.”
She relaxed against him. “Yet,” she murmured and closed her eyes.
Curt pressed the recliner button and tilted them both backward. She fell asleep and dreamed hot, sexy, life-affirming dreams that had nothing to do with bombs, imprisonment, explosions, or shootings.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE INTERCOM BUZZED, waking Curt from a light sleep. “We’re thirty minutes out from Davis-Monthan,” the pilot said. “We’ll be on the ground just after midnight local time.”
Mara stirred on his lap, and Curt allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of holding her a moment longer, telling himself he hadn’t crossed any ethical boundaries, but knowing he’d come dangerously close to the line.
Her eyes popped open, and she smiled lazily. The hero worship in her gaze triggered a heady, dangerous feeling, and he fought the urge to kiss her. Since when did he have—let alone need to fight—urges?
Since a five-foot-two archaeologist with long blond hair, blue eyes, and a beautiful pixie face had taken over his life.
She stood and stretched. “How long did I sleep?”
He glanced at his watch. “Two and a half hours.”
“That’s all? Felt like eight. I feel wonderful.”
And she looked tempting as hell. Blood returned to his legs, accompanied by the sensation of sharp pins and needles piercing his feet, but the pain was a small price for the pleasure of holding her. She really might be the one to break his control. It disturbed him to realize how much the idea appealed.
He stood and grabbed his cell phone to call the secretary of state. The man answered right away, but his voice showed he’d woken from a deep sleep. “Curt Dominick, I was beginning to think you were dead.”
The man obviously hadn’t lost sleep over the idea. “Sorry, sir, but calling you was out of the question while we were on Oahu. Even now, our conversation is probably being monitored.”
“Please tell me this means you got off the island safely with the girl.”
Curt glanced at Mara and refrained from saying the girl was thirty years old and every bit a woman. That sort of statement would alarm the secretary of state as much as it did Palea. “Yes, sir. We’ll be in DC by morning.”
“Excellent. We’ll hold the press conference at Joint Base Andrews.”
“A press conference puts a target on Ms. Garrett.” And I have a trial to get to.
“You’re starting to sound paranoid, Dominick.”
He grimaced. He’d known this was coming. “With good reason.” His gaze still on Mara, he said the words he knew she’d hate. “No press conference. She’ll be taken into protective custody as soon as the plane lands.” In a few hours, Mara would be out of his life. Except for when she testified, he’d never see her again.
MARA’S BODY WAS in a frenzy from the different time zones she’d been in over the last few days and didn’t know if it felt like morning or night. All she knew was she was wide awake, wired, and mad as hell.
Curt intended for her to continue being a prisoner. For my own good, my ass. He wants to make sure I don’t take off without testifying.
The jet rolled to a stop, and within minutes, the pilots had the door open and the stairway unfolded. There was no fanfare this time, just a colonel accompanied by a master sergeant waiting next to a vehicle at the end of the runway.
The senior officer introduced himself as Colonel Norris and shook hands with Curt, only greeting Mara as an afterthought. “My orders are to give you whatever you need to get you on your way.” Something subtle in his tone, or maybe it was the ever-so-small curling of his lip, informed Mara he found this assignment distasteful.
“As I told you on the phone, Colonel, we’re here for two things: to meet Senior Airman Eric Fuller and refuel the jet.”
The colonel gestured to the master sergeant. “First Sergeant Boggs has command authority over Airman Fuller’s squadron. He’ll take us to his dormitory.”
“Is Fuller there?”
“As far as we know. He has not been warned of your visit.” The man adjusted his stance to include Mara without directly addressing her. “Ms. Garrett can wait here.” He waved toward the nearby hangar.
“Ms. Garrett stays with me,” Curt said.
The colonel indicated four MPs stationed around the jet. “She’ll be safe. We don’t intend to make the same mistake Marine Corps Base Hawai’i made.”
“No.”
She was gratified by Curt’s firm tone but annoyed at being left out of the conversation. “I need to speak with Airman Fuller.” She crossed her arms and gave Colonel Norris a look that warned against underestimating her because she was small or a woman, a look she’d perfected for dealing with military men during her years with JPAC.
After a moment of silent standoff, the colonel said, “Fine,” and led them to the vehicle. Bog
gs took the driver’s seat while Curt and Mara climbed in the rear.
From the front, the colonel asked, “Why do you want to speak with Airman Fuller?”
Curt flashed a tight-lipped smile and said nothing. Mara followed his lead.
Colonel Norris reddened. Men like Norris were not accustomed to being ignored or denied. “I have MPs standing by at the dormitory,” the colonel said. “If this is a legal matter, on base it falls under military jurisdiction.”
“We’re just going to ask a few questions,” Curt said, unruffled. She had the feeling he was biting back the urge to cite legal precedents that proved the colonel wrong.
“It’s a personal matter,” Mara added. “I’m sorry it was necessary to disturb you in the middle of the night.” She knew her role was to be obsequious when Curt shouldn’t be, maintaining the balance of power in a way that pleased both egos.
They parked in a fire lane and followed the colonel and sergeant inside a tall dormitory building. Moments later, they were in the elevator, and Mara felt a sudden, sharp chill as the doors slid closed.
This is about to go horribly wrong. The elevator doors opened, and she flinched, on edge. A look from Curt conveyed his awareness of her trepidation.
Stepping out of the elevator, she noted MPs stationed at either end of the hallway. The colonel hadn’t exaggerated his desire to maintain military authority.
Dim bulbs in wall sconces illuminated small patches between every second door, giving the effect of a telescoping hall. “Which room is Airman Fuller’s?”
Boggs led the way. “Twenty-three.”
Their footsteps padded softly on the thin carpet. Curt walked beside the colonel while Mara trailed behind. At the door, Boggs paused. “I have the authority to enter his quarters, but I’d rather knock.”
“Is there a back way out?”
“The rooms don’t have fire escapes.”
“Then knock.”
The man’s thick fist met the door. The sound reverberated up and down the silent hall, but no one answered. After waiting a polite interval, Curt said, “Open the door.”
The sergeant’s jaw tightened, but he pulled out his key and complied. The door swung on silent hinges. Mara strained to see into the darkened room between the men’s shoulders.
A sharp metallic smell enveloped her. Her gasp coincided with similar sounds from the men, and the sergeant reached inside and slapped the light switch.
The fluorescent light flickered, then washed the room in stark brightness, revealing blood on the bed, on the walls, across the floor.
Time spiraled, or maybe she did, because the next thing she knew, she was sitting on the floor with her arms clasping her knees. Curt approached, concern stamped across his features. She shook her head, unable to accept comfort, unable to do anything except maybe vomit down the garbage chute.
He knelt in front of her. “Jeannie’s not there.” His voice was low, husky, and filled with regret.
Relief flared, but it was short-lived as the implication became clear. “Eric?”
He nodded, and her heart split open in grief.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CURT’S SMUG ASSURANCE Raptor didn’t have a presence in Arizona shattered the moment the door had swung open, and, if his hunch was right, he was now at least three moves behind a mercenary on a killing streak. He squeezed Mara’s hands and said, “I need you to hold together just a little bit longer. At least until we get away from here.”
He rose, pulling Mara to her feet. Behind him, Colonel Norris said, “You’ve got questions to answer, Dominick.”
“We’ll both answer questions. By phone. Right now I’ve got to get Ms. Garrett out of here. That blood is fresh.” So fresh the streaks were still spreading down the walls. “And she’s a target.” He should have guessed Evan would go after Jeannie. And while they’d been holed up on a tiny boat, waiting for their jet to arrive from DC, Evan Beck had probably already been en route to the mainland on a Raptor jet. Beck had access to credentials both real and fake that would get him on Davis-Monthan without a hitch.
Mara swiped away a tear. “Curt,” she said, a new urgency to her voice. “I need to tell you something.” The pitch on the last word reached an alarming octave.
Those eyes that had captivated him from the start held a new emotion. Guilt. Shame. Utter horror. Oh hell. Oh crap. Oh holy fuck. In one moment, Curt knew with sudden, horrible certainty the rotten truth—his sweet little victim, the woman he’d saved in North Korea, the one he’d missed the first day of the trial for, and the one who’d been steadily seducing him since P’yŏngyang, had been holding out on him.
“What the hell is going on, Dominick?” Colonel Norris asked.
“Not now, Colonel,” Curt said without taking his gaze off Mara.
“If you’re not going to answer questions, then you’re going to get the hell off my base.”
“Agreed,” he said, and grabbed Mara’s arm and pushed her down the hall. Two dozen steps away, he backed her into the wall. He was rougher than he should be, but dammit, he was pissed. “A man is dead. I think it’s past time for you to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Her eyes widened. So innocent. So beautiful. Such a liar. “I’ll tell you. As soon as we’re alone. Back on the jet.”
“You won’t put it off one more fucking second. You’ve had plenty of chances. On the boat, in the car, on the plane. In a box, with a fox. Now, Mara.”
She swallowed and gripped the lapel of his jacket. “I just left one thing out. You’ll understand when I explain.”
“I’ve risked everything for you.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. But these were the type he was immune to. “Please, Curt. I didn’t know who to trust. And I didn’t think—” She swiped at a tear. “I had no idea—”
He cut her off by waving an arm toward Airman Fuller’s room. “Could you have prevented that?”
She shook her head frantically. “No. I don’t know what’s going on. I had no idea Eric would be involved. Believe me. He was a friend.”
“What do you know?”
She pleaded for understanding with tear-filled eyes. “That last morning…the bomb we found…it was a US-made Korean-war-era smallpox bomb.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CURT’S HANDS DROPPED, and he stepped backward, releasing Mara from the cinder-block wall. “Sm—”
She lunged forward and covered his mouth. “Not here. We’ll talk about this on the jet. I’ll tell you everything.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’d better.” His hazel eyes were colder than she’d ever imagined they could be, which was saying something for The Shark. Heading toward the elevator, she wanted to tuck her hand in his, but all the walls between them were back, with no sign of the man who’d held her while she’d slept on the plane.
“I’m sorry, Curt.”
“Save it for the jury.”
She supposed she had that coming, but still, it hurt. “Cut me some slack here. I have my reasons.”
He stopped and fixed her with a cold glare. “I’ve heard that a thousand times, from a thousand different defendants. You’re no different from criminals who say they wouldn’t have shot their dealer if their father hadn’t beat them when they crapped their pants in first grade.”
She almost choked on the fury that surged up her esophagus. Refusing to tell him about a top-secret biological weapon hardly compared. “Screw you,” she rasped. “Go back to DC by yourself.”
His jaw tightened while his eyes flashed fire. “I’m done playing games.”
“And I was never playing games. I was under no obligation to tell you anything. You were the envoy, nothing more. Fly back to DC alone. I’m not your prisoner.”
“I’m a helluva lot more than the envoy. I’ve given up precious days to save your sorry ass. Every attempt on your life also endangered mine, and you still kept that little tidbit to yourself. And you did it to protect your goddamned lying, cheating uncle.”
“I didn’
t—” But she had. She’d worried from the moment she realized Curt was the envoy that if she told him about the bomb, he’d find a way to use it against Uncle Andrew.
“And, Mara, you have to return to DC with me. You’ve been subpoenaed.”
“The subpoena blew up on Oahu.”
His eyes narrowed again. “You were served.”
“I never had a chance to read it. For all I know, it was a recipe for huli huli chicken.”
He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the elevator. “You’re coming back with me. I will get a US Marshal, so help me God.”
She pulled away from him, but those damn muscles that had impressed her yesterday now prevented her from breaking his iron grip. “I am done being a prisoner!”
The lights went out, enveloping them in utter darkness. Mara let out a squeal of surprise, then berated herself for being a damn baby.
Curt’s arms came around her, protectively, as he cursed the darkness. Shouts sounded down the hall.
She gripped his shoulders. “The killer is still here,” she whispered.
She felt his nod. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” He pulled her a few steps down the hall. “The stairs are next to the elevator.”
“He could be hiding in the stairwell.” He. Eric Fuller’s murderer. Her ex-fiancé. Evan.
Curt stopped. “Shit. We can’t move until the power comes back on.” He pressed her against the wall and covered her with his body. Even pissed off, he protected her.
Her heart cracked wide open. Did he have to be so damn…amazing? Of course he did. He was a hero through and through. And she deserved every ounce of his hostility. She pressed her forehead against his chest and said, “I’m sorry,” again.
“We’ll talk about it later.” But his voice was softer now, less angry.
“I trust you, Curt.”
“It’s about damn time.”
The lights flickered, then turned on. She sighed in relief. “Elevator or stairs?”