by Rachel Grant
He nodded and crossed to the prosecution table, dropping into the empty seat next to Aurora. “Sorry for the delay, Your Honor.”
The darkened tooth made another appearance. “Glad you’re okay.”
Ben Sherrod, Stevens’s attorney, called attention back to him with a dramatic sigh. “Your Honor, I believe you were about to rule on the objection—”
“I haven’t forgotten, Counselor. Overruled.” She glanced at her watch. “At this time, we will break for weekend recess.” Judge Hawthorne’s gaze landed on Aurora, not Curt. “Ms. Ames, you may finish questioning your witness when court resumes on Monday morning at nine a.m.” To the witness, she said, “You are excused until then.” The gavel fell, and the courtroom erupted into low-voiced conversations.
The twelve jurors and two alternates filed out, casting curious glances in his direction. Aurora had briefed him nightly, and he identified several from her descriptions. He had a lot of catching up to do, but it could be worse.
For the first time since he’d entered the room, Curt’s gaze landed on Mara’s uncle, who sat at the defendant’s table. The man put effort into avoiding eye contact.
Those dangerous, unacceptable emotions surfaced. She deserved so much more than she’d received from everyone. Including Curt.
Andrew Stevens stood and exited the courtroom at his attorney’s side. No pause, no hesitation, no questioning look about the well-being of his niece. Mara’s mother was a different story. Seated in the first row behind the defendant’s table, she met Curt’s gaze, her own full of worry.
He responded with a slight nod, the barest communication, but he knew the woman caught his meaning because she flashed a wide, relieved smile, so much like Mara’s it hurt.
Aurora jabbed him in the shoulder, drawing his attention away from Mara’s mother, and pegged him with a penetrating look. “About time you got your ass here, Dominick.”
“We need to talk. At the office or over dinner, your choice.”
“Both. Takeout. We’ll eat at the office. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Sam Harder, the AUSA who’d filled in during Curt’s absence, said sotto voce to Curt, “Be careful. You’re up on the dartboard in her office.”
“Again?” He glanced at Aurora, who refused to look at him as she gathered her binders. Curt stacked several legal pads. “What’s her aim been like?”
“Dead center.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
An hour later, carrying a bag overloaded with Chinese food in one arm, Curt unlocked the door to the lobby of the US Attorney’s Office located in the Judiciary Center Building on Judiciary Square, just a few blocks from the Federal Courthouse. His own picture graced the wall above the receptionist’s desk, keeping company with the president, the attorney general, and, because Curt was also the local district attorney, the mayor of DC.
Aurora and Sam followed him inside, each carrying a box of files. “We’re set up in the main conference room,” Aurora said with a nod toward the hall.
In the room, she dropped the box on the table, kicked off her shoes, and brushed them aside with an angry swish of her feet before plopping into the most coveted and comfortable conference room chair. “Spill, Dominick. Where is Garrett?” Her words were sharp little daggers, conveying more anger than she’d expressed during their numerous phone conversations.
“I have no idea.” Which was true. She hadn’t answered the phone when he’d called earlier.
Sam, who had similarly flopped into a chair, sat up straight. “What?”
“I assume you know Evan Beck ambushed us last night.”
“I received your message on my office phone this morning,” Aurora said. “You should have woken me up at home.” Her glare was at full potency. “I’m acting as lead prosecutor on your case, and you left me out of the loop.”
Ah, at last, the source of her anger. He hadn’t called her at home because he would have had to reveal that Mara had fled, and he hadn’t been prepared to discuss the trial implications. But she’d probably guessed that—hence, the resentment. “Sorry, AA, but I was busy dealing with cops, medics, and the fact that a psycho with a gun got the jump on me. Next time I’ll try to consider your feelings.”
“You know how much I hate sarcasm.”
“Sam, did the sense of humor we ordered for Aurora arrive while I was gone?”
“It wasn’t powerful enough to overcome her innate inability to detect nuance. We sent it back.”
Aurora’s glare held the hint of a smile. It was probably all he’d get from her in this mood, but it was enough to loosen the chunk of ice on her back. “While I was dealing with the cops, Mara went to the hospital. She had a severe cut on her leg. She talked her way out of the ambulance en route to the hospital. I don’t know where she is.”
“Did she run because she refuses to testify? We can get a federal marshal—”
“No marshals. She ran from Raptor. She was resigned to testifying, but the FBI wouldn’t promise to protect her.”
“How did she manage it?” Aurora asked.
Curt stiffened. Aurora was going to flip. “She had nine thousand in cash on her.”
Aurora’s fist hit the table. “Of all the stupid… You gave her the money?”
“The money was in my coat, which I had given to her because she was cold.” True, but he’d have given her the money even if she hadn’t been wearing the coat.
Aurora glared at him. “We need to find her. I want her on the stand on Wednesday.”
“No. She’s not testifying.”
He braced for another thump on the table, and Aurora didn’t disappoint. “Shit, Curt. I knew that’s what you were leading up to. Did you fuck her?”
He held his anger in check. Lashing back would only turn a difficult situation into a disaster. “No, Aurora, I didn’t sleep with her. Testifying would be a death sentence for her.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic?”
“No.” Dammit, he hadn’t believed Aurora could be influenced by whispered allegations. He glared across the conference table. “You have no idea what I’ve been through in the last five days.” He stared her down until she flinched.
Finally, with a tight jaw, she said, “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll prove our case without laying the foundation of previous influence peddling. We couldn’t charge him with that anyway.” He straightened his tie. “A week ago, we thought we wouldn’t have Mara to testify because she was a prisoner in North Korea. We go back to the game plan we’d set up then.” He turned to Sam. “Is the press still clamoring to know if she’ll testify?”
“More than ever with the trail of stiffs you encountered.”
“Two is not a ‘trail.’” But, assuming Jeannie’s fate, in all, four people had died.
“According to my tenth-grade geometry teacher, it is a line.”
Curt rolled his eyes. “Monday, I want you to release a statement saying the prosecution has no intention of calling Mara Garrett to testify.”
“Do I give a reason?”
“No.”
“Will the Arizona US Attorney’s Office go after her for the nine grand?” Sam asked.
“How did you know that’s where we got the money?”
“We received an invoice.”
Unease trickled down his spine, but he was safe in DC and had made arrangements at the truck stop to return the SUV to Arizona. “Don’t pay it. I’ve already transferred the money.”
Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “With US Attorney’s Office funds?”
“No. My own. Raptor is after Mara. She needs the money to stay in hiding. I’d give her more if I could.”
“Doesn’t the State Department want to talk to her?”
“I’ve told them everything. Mara is a free woman—if hiding counts as being free.”
“She can’t hide forever,” Sam said.
“We need to nail Stevens so he’ll roll on Raptor. Only then will Mara be safe.
”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARA HEADED NORTH, riding all night and into the following day, stopping, finally, to rest for a few hours when exhaustion and cold made the drive dangerous. She found a hospital in a busy city and tucked herself in a corner waiting room where she slept for a few hours before hopping back on the bike and heading toward the town where she grew up and the one person she believed could help her. It was late afternoon on Friday when she rolled into a parking lot in front of a stately Michigan State University building. She climbed off the motorcycle and stretched. She shivered, not from the frigid air but because it was time once again to remove the helmet.
The stone façade of the research building looked imposing, but she knew this campus and this building. The man she hoped to see today had been a childhood friend. She stiffened her spine and slid the helmet off, then pulled on a knit winter cap she’d purchased at a truck stop and tugged the earflaps forward.
After locking the helmet in the saddlebag, she made her way to the front door, tucking her head down as she passed students on the stairs.
She wound her way through the building, which echoed hollowly late on Friday afternoon. At last she found Michael’s office, and disappointment shot through her when she read the sign next to the door. He didn’t have office hours until Monday. She’d known it was a long shot, but desperation had led her to Michael first.
Now she’d have to hide out in the area for three days before she could see him. Three days would pass in which Raptor could finish replicating the smallpox bomb. Three days would pass before she could begin the hunt for Jeannie. In the grand scheme of things, three days wasn’t much, but given the enormity of what had passed in the previous five days, it felt like a lifetime.
CURT WORKED LATE on Friday night. Aurora quickly thawed and focused her sharp legal mind on the case, and Sam did his best to ease tension while demonstrating his own skill with the intricacies of federal case law. Curt had been hesitant to bring the man on at the last minute, but Aurora had been correct in selecting the hungry assistant US attorney. They filled Curt in on the missed voir dire, as well as the first day of testimony. By the time he drove home through the empty city streets, he felt confident the trial was on the right track and they’d have a conviction against Stevens.
Now all he had to do was protect Mara and stop Raptor from committing a terrorist act on American soil.
No problem. If he were fucking Superman.
Which, despite Mara’s foolish faith in him, he definitely was not.
As soon as he reached his Georgetown condo, he grabbed his phone. Lee had promised him his landline was secure and traps had been set that would alert him if the system were breached. With that assurance, he dialed Mara. As he waited for the call to connect, he eyed his stark bachelor furnishings. He’d never spent enough time here to bother making it feel like home, but now he wondered what Mara would say when—if—she saw the place.
Her home—which she was away from at least half of each year—had been full of knickknacks and treasures, items she’d collected in her travels. Color and warmth had infused the place with a homey feeling, even during a murder investigation.
She’d made her home a special place to return to. He, on the other hand, put in ridiculously long hours at the office, and made his home into a cold, unfeeling place that drove people—especially himself—away.
Oh Christ. He was obsessing over Mara Garrett and her as-yet-nonexistent thoughts on his home décor. He’d officially lost it.
His call rolled to voice mail, which he’d never bothered to set up. Dammit.
He set down the phone. Physically turned his back on it and marched into his bedroom. It had been a week since he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep, but he doubted being home would change that. How could he sleep when Mara was out there, unprotected?
In his bedroom, he had his tie off and was unbuttoning his shirt when the phone rang. He lunged for it. Jesus, he was supposed to be control personified. A ruthless shark. But he couldn’t resist and proved to be all too human when he read the display. Mara.
His heart crashed wildly in his chest and tangled with other internal organs. He hit the Answer button so hard he jammed his finger.
“Curt?” she said.
The smooth alto of her voice took the starch out of him, and he dropped to the bed, clutching the phone to his ear. He might be pathetic, but he was happy. Maybe there was a benefit to this whole emotion thing. “Thank God. Dammit, Mara, don’t ever make me wait that long to hear from you again.”
She laughed. “It’s only been, what…twenty hours?”
“Twenty-three,” he corrected. “Where are you? Are you safe?” He wanted to see her, touch her. Hold her.
“I’m in Michigan.”
His heart picked up speed. “You didn’t return to East Lansing, did you? Crap, Mara, your hometown is the first place they’ll look.”
“No. I’m at a vacation cottage on a small lake. It’s a few hours away, close to Lake Michigan. No one is around because it’s off-season.”
The pounding in his chest eased. Slightly. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.”
“You need to call me every day. If I don’t know you’re safe, I think I’ll go insane.” Jesus. He’d just said those words to his defendant’s niece. And the scary part was he didn’t give a shit.
She huffed out a sigh, and he could picture the rise of her chest at the familiar sound. “Good, because I’m a little freaked out, and I need a friend.”
A friend. Truth was, he wanted much more than friendship from Mara, and now that she wasn’t going to testify, he could pursue her without consequences. “Court is in session weekdays from nine to four. I have a new cell, which Lee has promised is secure, so outside of court, even if I’m in a strategy session with Aurora, I’ll take your call.
“Aurora will love that.”
“I work twenty hour days; it’s none of her damn business who I talk to when I take fifteen minutes for myself.”
“God, you turn me on when you talk like that.”
He chuckled. “And you turn me on when you breathe.” He paused and turned serious again. “I paid back the nine thousand dollars. No one will search for you because of the money.”
“I’ll pay you back. I just can’t access my own money right now…”
“I know, love. Don’t worry about it.” Love. The word had slipped out—naturally. As if it were a word he used all the time.
“What the hell are we going to do about the bomb? And how long will I have to remain in hiding?”
“I’m working on both situations. We’ll find the bomb, nail the bastards, and then you’ll be safe.”
“It’s going to take months, won’t it?”
He hated the distress in her voice but couldn’t lie. “I hope not.”
“I can’t hide forever. I’ll run out of money.”
“Sit tight for now. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
ROBERT BECK POURED himself a stiff drink, drank it in one swallow, and slammed the glass down. Something broke—either the glass or the tabletop, he wasn’t sure which. And he was fairly sure the blood that soaked the glass surface was his, but he couldn’t feel the cut, so it didn’t matter.
His son was dead. Gone. Killed by the bitch who’d ruined everything. He’d heard the allegations and thanked God he had allies who could derail the investigation. But he couldn’t think about that now. Right now all he had was rage.
Mara Garrett had caused his son’s death as surely as if she’d pulled the trigger. He’d been told Evan had turned the gun on himself, but he didn’t believe it. Evan was a fighter, not a quitter. If Garrett didn’t shoot him, then it was Curt Dominick. Regardless, he wanted them both dead. With Dominick publicly gunning for him, he’d have to be careful and bide his time. But Garrett? Well, he had a plan for her.
She would pay for Evan’s death. She would suffer. And then she’d die.
C
HAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MONDAY AFTERNOON, MARA returned to the university building, hoping Michael Reilly would be there. She wore heavy, almost garish makeup and a wig of long, thick, chestnut curls. She’d done the best she could to disguise herself.
Inside the building, a blast of heat enveloped her, causing her chilled skin to burn, providing the perfect excuse to cover her face. Pressing cold fingers to blazing cheeks, she headed down the main hall.
A door banged open in front of her, and she startled; then a sea of students spilled into the hallway. No one paid any attention to her. Her breathing eased as she wound her way through the crowd. Her short stature made it easy to avoid eye contact. She could do this.
She reached his office and hesitated outside the door. In coming to see him, she was endangering him. It was a horrible, awful feeling to know she was risking another person’s life without their knowledge or consent. But the alternative was to let Raptor get away with stealing a smallpox bomb.
Her days as a Star Trek geek offered guidance but little solace. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
She pushed open the door without knocking and felt a rush of relief when her old friend uttered an absentminded “Office hours aren’t until three o’clock,” before he looked up to see her. His gaze was puzzled for a moment, but then turned startled as recognition settled over his features. As she’d feared, the wig and makeup delayed identification for only about ten seconds. But then, Michael knew her better than most.
She closed and locked the door as he said, “The wig really isn’t you, doll.”
She smiled at Michael’s familiar endearment. “It was the only decent one they had at the thrift store.”
“I’d ask why the getup, but I’ve been watching the news.”
She flopped into the chair in front of his desk. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, Michael, but I need your help.”
“Name it.”
“I need you to do something for me. But it’s a secret. And it involves national security. And it’s dangerous.”