by Rachel Grant
Later he’d ask her the important questions, like why she hadn’t confided in him. But right now, all that mattered was getting her out of there. Thank God, Mara was a runner. If anything, she’d be faster than Lee sprinting across the casino floor.
Curt reached the back entrance—a full mile and a half around the building from the front—at the same time the door burst open, and Mara shot through with Lee at her heels. Lee pointed to his gray sedan, and Mara veered in his direction. She yanked open the rear door and tumbled in, Lee right behind her. Curt hit the gas, and they were peeling away from the curb as Lee caught the door and pulled it shut.
He didn’t look back to see if they were followed. It didn’t matter. They had to assume Raptor would hack the hotel security camera to get the license plate. Within the hour, they’d know Lee was helping them.
But at least for now, Mara was safe.
“I THINK,” LEE said, climbing between the seats to the front of the vehicle, “I can hack the camera and erase the footage before Raptor sees it.”
Mara sat bolt upright, still catching her breath, still trying to figure out what had just happened. “You can do that?”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Curt said from the driver’s seat.
Mara focused on Lee, because if she looked at Curt, met his angry gaze in the rearview mirror, she just might fall apart. “How?”
Lee plucked a laptop from the floor, flipped it open, and answered in a stage whisper, as if Curt couldn’t hear him, “He doesn’t know it, but on the drive down I hacked the security cameras of all the major resort casinos. I didn’t know which one we’d find you in.”
“That can’t be easy,” Mara whispered back, impressed.
“It’s not.” He grinned and winked at her.
Curt kept his gaze on the road. Mara had to admit this was a terrible position for him to be in, knowing his friend was breaking the law to protect her. She touched Curt’s shoulder. He stiffened.
She dropped her hand and slumped back against the rear seat, feeling rejected, hurt. “I’m sorry, Curt. I—”
“Don’t,” Curt said, his voice clipped, full of righteous anger. “Don’t even try to justify it to me.”
She didn’t know at this point if she could justify her decisions to herself. Jeannie had sold her out to Raptor. Again.
What would make her bring members of the same organization that had killed her brother to a rendezvous with Mara?
The thought of what it would take to bring Jeannie so low twisted her gut. She had probably been through a hell Mara didn’t want to imagine. “We need to go back. Jeannie needs help.”
“There’s been an APB out on Jeannie for two weeks now,” Curt said. “I called the local FBI office on the drive up and told them to have a team ready. As soon as we knew which casino, I updated them. If Jeannie is smart, she’ll make a scene and won’t leave the casino with the Raptor operatives, giving the FBI the opportunity to take her into protective custody.”
Relief filtered through the heartache. They hadn’t abandoned Jeannie to monsters. She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’ve arranged for a safe house in DC,” Curt answered, his words even colder than before.
This was hardly the reunion she’d imagined with the man who’d been so hot and enticing on the phone. “I thought the FBI wasn’t going to protect me.”
“I just needed time to make it happen.”
“How safe can it be? Isn’t the FBI caving to pressure to blame everything on Evan?”
“There are a handful of agents I’ve known for years and trust.”
“And I’ve known Jeannie for years—”
“I said don’t, Mara. You may have known her for years, but nothing she’s done lately has proven her trustworthy. You’re as blind about her as you are about your uncle, but this time, you almost got yourself killed.” His voice rose. “What if I hadn’t asked Lee to find you? What if we hadn’t gotten there in time?”
“Why did you?” she asked, lashing out like the cornered, wounded animal she was. “Why the hell did you find me? It was my business I was in Atlantic City. Not yours.”
“Curt,” Lee said, “pull over. Let me drive.”
“No. Driving the car is the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now.”
“I beg to differ,” Lee said. “There is nothing sane about the way you’re driving.”
Mara looked at the speedometer and blanched. They were going ninety. Curt hadn’t driven that fast in trafficless, middle-of-the-night Oklahoma. He eased off the gas, and the car slowed.
“Pull over,” Mara said. “I’ll jump out at the next rest stop. I’m not your problem anymore, Dominick.”
“The hell you will. You’re going to DC and the safe house. Period.”
“Get this straight, US Attorney Dominick, I am not your prisoner.” He was as bad as the Korean People’s Army, and she was sick of it.
Curt’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Ms. Garrett, I kindly ask that you take the protection I have gone to great lengths to acquire for you.” The words were spoken through gritted teeth. “I would be ever so grateful, seeing as how I’m doing my best to save your goddammed foolish ass!”
So much for courtship and telephone dates. They had come full circle and were right back where they started. “Fine,” she said through stiff lips. She’d go to the safe house. It would buy her time to think.
She swiped at the stupid, foolish tear that trailed down her cheek before Curt or Lee could see it. What happened to the man who’d wined and dined her with imaginary dates? Where was the man who thought he was falling in love with her?
“MR. SHERROD, IS your next witness ready?” Judge Hawthorne asked.
“Yes, Your Honor. At this time, the defendant, Vice President Andrew Stevens would like to testify.”
Noise in the gallery peaked. Judge Hawthorne gave her trademark look over her glasses to the spectators but didn’t resort to the gavel. Even so, the noise stopped. The crowd had been trained.
“We are nearing the lunch recess and as Mr. Stevens’s testimony should take significant time, we will break. Court will resume at one thirty. The jury is excused.”
Aurora whispered to Curt, “Nice. The reporters will have just enough time to file a noon report.”
Curt wondered if Mara was watching the news. In a matter of minutes, Stevens’s intention to testify would hit the airwaves. What would she think of that?
Anger had crackled between them yesterday when he left her at the safe house. In the end, Lee had stepped outside, leaving Curt alone with her.
She’d been tense, hurt, and defensive. And he had to admit he was behaving like a complete ass. The sight of Mara fleeing that casino, knowing Raptor operatives were in pursuit, had rattled him much more than he’d anticipated.
He’d crossed the living room of the safe house and took her small, stiff body into his arms. “I’m upset because I was terrified. I care about you, Mara. You’re worth a thousand Jeannies.”
“I was trying to find her for you.”
“For me?”
“I was going to convince her to come to DC and tell the FBI or Homeland or the State Department about Raptor. If she told the truth, you’d get your search warrants in a heartbeat.”
“Jeannie’s word isn’t worth spit. She took a payoff from Raptor. She has no credibility. Your word is the only one that will convince a judge to issue a warrant.”
She’d crumpled then, pressed against him, and he’d held her while she quietly sobbed, as he should have done right after they’d escaped North Korea.
Now, a day later, his only hope to salvage a relationship with her when this was over was pinned on shattering her allegiance to her uncle. She was going to hate him when she realized he’d asked Lee to find her so he could drag her here to testify. But maybe, if she knew the atrocity her uncle had committed in selling arms to a war criminal, she’d understand.
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Mara had seen the devastation of war crimes firsthand. She’d excavated mass graves in Bosnia. Her uncle had used her work with JPAC as a cover for illicit meetings with the worst sort of war criminal, and he’d followed that by using JPAC for recovery and theft of biological weapons. By all rights, Mara should despise her uncle, but Curt knew his own actions would cut just as deep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
LATE TUESDAY MORNING, Curt finally got his chance to question Andrew Stevens. He led with harmless questions designed to put the man at ease. A half hour into questioning, he finally got to the heart of the matter. “Mr. Stevens, have you ever been to Egypt?”
Stevens stiffened in the witness box. The bastard didn’t want that line of questioning. Too bad.
“Objection, question on cross-examination goes beyond scope of direct,” Stevens’s attorney, Ben Sherrod, said.
“Your Honor, Vice President Stevens spoke of his travel to foreign countries as part of his work for Raptor,” Curt said.
“Overruled. You may answer the question, Mr. Stevens.”
“Yes. I’ve been to Egypt once. But it wasn’t for Raptor, or as vice president. I was visiting my niece.”
“Objection, witness’s answer goes beyond the scope of the question,” Sherrod said with barely restrained annoyance.
“Mr. Sherrod, he’s your witness. Overruled.”
Curt smiled as Ben Sherrod gritted his teeth. Sherrod hadn’t stood a chance of winning that objection, but he’d managed to remind his defendant to keep his answers simple.
“You weren’t there on a Raptor assignment?” Curt asked.
“No.”
“Then why was Raptor’s CEO, Robert Beck, also present?”
“Objection,” Sherrod said. “Assuming facts not in evidence.”
“I’ll rephrase, Your Honor. Mr. Stevens, did Raptor’s CEO, Robert Beck, join you in Egypt when you visited your niece?”
“Yes. He came along so he could visit his son, Evan Beck, a Raptor operative who worked on a contract basis with JPAC.”
“Did anyone else travel with you to Egypt?” Curt asked.
“Two Secret Service agents.”
“You were no longer vice president, but you still had Secret Service protection?”
Stevens twisted in the witness box and faced the jury on his left. He flashed his friendly, politician smile. “It is allowed for six months for former vice presidents.”
Juror three, a middle-aged school teacher, smiled back for the fifth time since Stevens took the stand.
“When did you stop receiving Secret Service protection?”
“I don’t remember the exact date.”
“Is it safe to assume it was six months after January 20th?”
“Reasonable. It might have been a little earlier.”
“And two Secret Service agents traveled with you to Egypt?”
The man let out an annoyed sigh, and Curt could just bet the former vice president had the jurors in the palm of his hand. That was about to change. “Yes.”
“Did a photographer travel with you to Egypt?”
Stevens finally turned back to Curt. “No. This was a private visit.”
Curt met his gaze. “Photographs of the trip appeared on the AP wire. Who took those photos?” Defendants usually looked away, but not Stevens.
“My niece. Mara has an excellent digital camera and a good eye.”
“Let the record show that the person the defendant refers to is his niece, Mara Garrett,” Curt said.
Stevens cleared his throat. “Yes. Sorry.”
Mara was a heroine to most of the people who’d followed her story in the press. Every time Stevens referred to her in a warm, avuncular way, the jury’s attention level peaked. Sherrod had certainly told him to mention Mara as often as possible under cross.
Aurora handed Curt the first photo they planned to introduce. A familiar jolt ran through him at seeing Mara’s face in the picture. “Permission to approach the witness?”
“Proceed,” Judge Hawthorne said.
Curt left the podium and handed Stevens the photo. “Was this photo taken on that trip?”
Stevens shrugged. “I assume. The background looks right. I visited Mara a few times on different deployments. They blur together a bit.”
“Your Honor, I offer this photo as exhibit sixty-six and ask that it be accepted into evidence.”
“Your Honor, a moment while I review the photo?” Sherrod asked.
“Certainly.”
Sherrod flipped through the proposed exhibit binder and found the photo. After a moment of study, he said, “No objections.”
“Let the record show exhibit sixty-six has been accepted into evidence.”
“May I publish this to the jury?”
“You may.”
Curt approached Juror One and handed him the photo. The man studied it, then passed it to the next juror; they’d gotten used to passing exhibits over the last few weeks.
He returned to the podium and received another photo from Aurora. Equally innocuous, taken later in the day and also one that had been picked up by the Associated Press. Curt went through the same process and the photo was admitted as exhibit sixty-seven without argument.
“Your Honor, at this time I would like to show the defendant a third photo, taken the same day, which only recently came into prosecution’s possession.”
Sherrod shot to his feet. “Objection, prosecution did not supply defense with the photograph during discovery.”
“Your Honor,” Curt said with his most conciliatory smile, “chain-of-evidence will show we only discovered this photograph the day before yesterday, and therefore were unable to provide it during discovery.”
“Sidebar. Now.” Judge Hawthorne didn’t look pleased. Curt calculated the odds of showing the photo to Stevens at fifty-fifty.
“What’s the deal with this photograph, Dominick?”
He handed the judge a copy. “It was recovered from Mara Garrett’s backup hard disk. I want Stevens to look at the picture and tell me if he remembers when it was taken.”
Ben Sherrod looked at the picture. His eyebrow rose. “Obvious forgery,” Sherrod said.
“The chain-of-evidence is clean,” Curt added.
“Mr. Dominick, you can’t ask for a photo to be admitted without authentication.” Judge Hawthorne’s tone was mildly annoyed.
“Stevens can authenticate it. As you can see, he was there.”
Hawthorne paused. Finally, she said, “I’ll allow you to show the defendant the photo.”
Curt’s heart thudded and adrenaline pulsed. When he’d told Mara the courtroom was his happy place, this was what he’d meant. The rush of assured victory. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Sherrod returned to his seat, his movements stiff. He was worried. Very worried.
As he should be.
Curt delivered the photo to Stevens and lingered by the witness box. “Do you recognize this photo, Mr. Stevens?”
He caught the slight widening of the man’s eyes before he got his reaction under control. Having seen what he wanted, Curt retreated to the podium.
Stevens looked to the jury, not Curt, as he gave his answer. “No.”
“Was it taken by your niece?”
To Sherrod’s credit, he kept his mouth closed.
“It’s not possible. The photo is a complete forgery,” Stevens said.
“Your Honor, at this time I ask that the photo, marked proposed exhibit sixty-eight, be introduced into—”
Again, Sherrod shot to his feet. “Objection! Lack of proper foundation.”
Judge Hawthorne glared at the defense attorney. “Sit down, Mr. Sherrod. Your objection is sustained. Introduction of the photo into evidence is denied.” Gavel met sound block, underscoring her ruling.
Curt smiled, having gotten exactly what he wanted. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Sherrod, do you wish to redirect?”
“No, Your Honor.”
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“The witness is excused.”
Stevens returned to his seat at the defendant’s table.
“Mr. Sherrod, do you have another witness?”
“No, Your Honor. At this point, the defense rests.”
Noise rose in the gallery, even among the jurors as they sat straighter, stretched, and looked relieved their odyssey was almost over.
After another glare from the judge, the room settled. “Mr. Dominick, does the prosecution wish to present rebuttal argument?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Disappointed sighs rose from the jury.
“Is your first witness ready?”
Curt looked at his watch. “I can have the witness brought to the courthouse in twenty minutes.”
The judge frowned. She was as anxious as the jurors to end this. “As we are nearing midday, we will recess for lunch. Have your witness here by one thirty, Counselor.” Judge Hawthorne dropped the gavel.
THE FBI AGENT in the vestibule startled her by opening the front door and peeking into the living room. “Ms. Garrett, you have a visitor.”
A visitor? Who the hell knew she was here? “I was told I couldn’t have visitors. Curt said—”
“This visitor was sent by Mr. Dominick.” The door opened wider, and a man she’d never seen before passed through.
Mara instinctively stiffened and took a step backward.
“Ms. Garrett? I’m a federal marshal. I’m here to escort you to the courthouse. You’ve been called to testify.”
Her brain shut down. This could not be happening.
But it was. She was taken from the safe house, led to an SUV parked out front. Two FBI agents waited inside the vehicle, protection for the drive across town.
They wound through the familiar streets of DC, taking her ever closer to a man who’d tried to sweet-talk her into coming to DC, but when that failed, he’d set his hacker friend to finding her.
They circled the federal courthouse and entered the parking garage.
“You’re worth a thousand Jeannies.”
“Jeannie’s word isn’t worth spit… Your word is the only one that will convince a judge to issue a warrant.”