Targeted (FBI Heat)

by Marissa Garner

  Ameen had just lowered the sun visor, leaned back, and crossed his arms behind his head when he jerked upright. The truck roared back to life. Staying low behind the wheel, Ben started his car. Within a few minutes, the truck pulled away from the curb, and the BMW was its shadow.

  Up ahead, Ben spotted the black sedan that had followed Marissa and the terrorists away from the mosque earlier that morning. Her surveillance team, which meant Marissa was ahead of them. He chuckled. A parade.

  The caravan of vehicles traveled to the Interstate 8 East entrance. Ben’s head shifted up and down, side to side, trying to spot the cell’s car that he’d seen at the mosque. Convinced it wasn’t there, he decided an old Chevy truck was leading the parade. Where the hell did that truck come from? Marissa must be in it. Alone or with someone?

  After a short sprint down the freeway, they all exited at Jackson Drive and turned immediately into the Grossmont Center mall parking lot. Ben hung back to avoid detection. After spotting the black sedan and Ameen’s truck, he stopped in a parking space just as Ameen leaped from his vehicle and raced after a woman opening the door to a store.

  She no longer wore Muslim garb, and Ben recognized her instantly.

  * * *

  Marissa found the women’s clothing department. She had about an hour to buy clothes and then drive someplace private to make the call to Juan Gonzalez at noon. Plenty of time. She might as well relax and enjoy her newfound freedom.

  She selected three pairs of dark pants, six long-sleeved blouses, and a black scarf. Spotting a dressing room nearby, she gathered up the items and hurried over. She wasn’t worried about being stylish. The garments just had to fit and provide the proper Muslim modesty.

  Besides, the quiet solitude of the dressing room beckoned. Who knew what new obstacle or problem Juan Gonzalez represented? Did he have something to do with the delivery of the pig? Based on Ameen’s description, she didn’t have a good feeling about the man. As soon as she gleaned whatever she could from the call, she’d contact her handler with an update. Hopefully, intel would flow both ways, and her handler could explain the role of the Mexicans.

  Marissa exhaled slowly. A brief respite from the tension, doing something as mundane as trying on clothes, would be so welcome.

  She chose a cubicle at the far end of the deserted dressing room. After closing the door, she whipped off her blouse and unbuttoned the waistband of her pants. But she stopped abruptly at the sound of heavy footsteps.

  My surveillance team? They’re the only ones who know I’m here.

  She listened for her name. All she heard was more footsteps. Every second step, they paused before continuing. Was someone checking under the cubicle doors for feet?

  A horrific possibility flashed through her mind. Husaam had sent someone to find and kill the fake Baheera. My God, how did he find me so fast? Has he had someone we weren’t aware of spying on the cell this whole time?

  Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Alone, again, with no one but herself to…

  She yanked the Glock from her purse as the cubicle door flew open.

  “Ameen!” she cried and staggered back against the mirrored wall.

  He froze. But he wasn’t staring at her gun.

  Marissa grabbed his arm and jerked him inside so she could shut the door. The small space shrank as maleness filled it.

  Ameen said nothing, just continued to stare. She stuffed the gun back in her purse, hoping he’d been so fixated on her breasts that he hadn’t noticed it, but knowing he had.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally asked to break the spell.

  His admiring eyes rose to hers, and he gulped. “I-I’m sorry, Baheera,” he stammered.

  Her exposure didn’t faze or embarrass her. The lack of a blouse revealed far less flesh than any bikini she owned. She always found the debilitating effect a woman’s nakedness had on a man to be humorous…and sometimes empowering. But Ameen’s penitent expression was strangely seductive.

  “What are you doing here?” she repeated with a smile.

  As usual, she missed nothing, including, in this case, the bulge in his groin. She empathized because a sudden rush of heat had swept through her also.

  “I talked to Juan, gave him your message.” Ameen’s eyes kept drifting downward from her face. “He came to the mosque with a gun. He said his boss wouldn’t be happy about the change of plans.”

  “Too bad.”

  “That’s what I said. I don’t understand what kind of deal Samir wanted to make with a drug gang. Was he planning to sell drugs to raise money for the cell?” His gaze darted down and back up. “Do you really have to make the call?”

  “The only way I can find the answer is by calling. Juan may not even talk to me since Samir seems to have been the only contact. The others apparently have no knowledge of this.” She stepped closer and reached for his hand. “You shouldn’t have followed me, Ameen.”

  They stood dangerously close, so close that he couldn’t look down at her without seeing her breasts. She turned his hand over and traced the lines in his palm.

  He shifted his stance. “Someone else has been watching the cell and is now following you, Baheera. At first, I thought they were terrorists from another cell, keeping an eye on Samir’s group. Then I decided they were Feds, preparing to take down the cell. Now I hope these men are working with you. Tell me, please, if they are.”

  From under the dark fringe of her eyelashes, she studied his intent expression.

  The cubicle was shrinking, overheating.

  “The men you saw are there to protect me. They’re going to be…very unhappy about this.”

  “Too bad.”

  His free hand was suddenly behind her head, guiding her face toward his. Their dark eyes locked, and then his mouth was on hers, pressing firmly, hungrily. Her soft moan encouraged him. The tip of his tongue traced her lips and sought admittance.

  Reason rushed in, unexpected and unwanted. Wrong time, wrong place. She pulled away.

  “Baheera?” he whispered. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers.

  She watched the rise and fall of Ameen’s chest and listened to his ragged breathing.

  Why am I hesitating? She recalled the premonition she’d had while flying to San Diego, about Ian walking out of her condo with his suitcase. Ian and I aren’t together anymore. I broke up with him because I know he cannot love the part of me that craves the thrill of field operations. He’ll be gone when I return…if I return.

  Need rushed in, pushing reason aside. This wasn’t the wrong time, the wrong place. She needed this connection. She needed Ameen.

  Grasping his hand, she pressed it against her cheek and lips. She kissed his palm and then brushed his fingers across her chest and down into her cleavage.

  “Baheera,” he breathed and gulped again.

  She dropped the bra strap down her arm and lowered the cup to reveal her breast. His breathing quickened. He freed his hand from hers. His palm cradled the weight of her breast while his fingers caressed her skin. His thumb stroked her hard nipple until a shiver raced over her.

  When she gasped, he raised his head, searching her eyes. She reassured him with a seductive smile.

  His lean, muscular body backed her against the mirrored wall, the hard, rigid line of his erection pressing into her. His mouth, parted and demanding, captured her lips, kneading, nipping at the lower one. She opened to his insistent tongue, welcoming his invasion, loving the taste of him. She drew a feral groan from him when she briefly sucked his tongue. The kiss swelled with passion, his and hers, a common need, a shared connection.

  Gladly, she gave herself up to all of it.

  And then it was over.

  He released her mouth and breast, grasped her shoulders, and stepped back. Eyes closed, head dropped back, he shuddered once as he restrained his lust.

  “Ameen,” she whispered. “Just hold me.”

  He crushed her to his chest, wrapping her in his strong arms, restin
g his chin on her head. They embraced for several minutes before he spoke.

  “Are you married?”

  She smiled against his neck. “No.”

  “Do you have a lover?”

  “I did. We broke up.”

  “His loss.” He swallowed hard.

  “And you?”

  “No, Islam frowns on it.”

  “So do other religions.”

  His arms loosened, and he leaned back so he could look at her. The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. His eyes returned to her breast, and he bent down until she could feel his hot breath on her skin. He touched the nipple with the tip of his tongue. She gripped his hair to tug him closer. His lips slipped over her nipple, and he sucked it into the warm wetness of his mouth. Her breath caught, and her back arched. An ache throbbed between her thighs.

  She squirmed. A tiny groan surfaced. “Ameen, I want to—”

  His mouth instantly jerked away from her breast and pressed against her lips, the kiss hard and demanding. He growled softly when he came up for air.

  “Please don’t say it, Baheera. I am too weak to resist your temptation.”

  “There is nothing weak about you, Ameen.”

  His dark eyes probed hers. “I feel drawn to you, strangely…connected…even though we barely know each other.” He hesitated. “And aroused in a way that is not respectful. I’m sorry.”

  Marissa closed her eyes and leaned against his chest, loving the feel of his wildly pounding heart. “No, I’m sorry. It’s selfish of me to tempt you to violate your culture and your religion.”

  “This is a world of temptation. It’s my responsibility to be strong and honor the vow of abstinence I swore to Allah.”

  “Abstinence? Seriously?” She stared up at him, aghast.

  He chuckled at her disbelief. “Seriously,” he said, mimicking her tone. “I vowed to abstain from all sex until I defeat the evil of the cell. But that does not mean I don’t want you. I seriously do.”

  He hugged her tightly against him, and she felt the rock-hard part of his body that was as opposed to the idea of abstinence as she was.

  Abruptly, Marissa stepped away and checked her watch. “I have to go.” She fixed her bra and reached for her blouse. “I must buy these clothes and then find a private place to make my call to Juan. I can’t jeopardize the opportunity to gain information by calling late.” She buttoned the blouse in a hurry.

  “I can save you time by taking you to my condo. It’s not far, near the mosque—ten minutes max. You’ll be safe there. And you can rest. You look exhausted. We’ll come back later for your truck.”

  She evaluated the offer. It made sense. “Okay.”

  He grinned. “After you check out, leave the store through the door that leads to the interior of the shopping center, opposite the way you came in. Cross the mall. I’ll pick you up at the opening next to the theatres and—”

  Marissa pressed her index finger to his lips to silence his deep voice when two women, chatting and laughing, entered the dressing room.

  “This should be fun,” Ameen whispered and winked. He leaned in for a sweet kiss before opening the door a crack and peeking out. Then he darted from the cubicle.

  “What are you—” one woman squealed, but he was gone before she finished.

  Marissa waited until the women closed themselves inside cubicles before she scurried out. After paying cash for the clothes, she dashed to the exit. She ran across the mall and stopped next to the theatres.

  Two minutes later, Ameen’s truck barreled out of the parking lot with a hidden passenger.

  Chapter 14

  She’s gone, sir.”

  “How bad was it?” Kevin Rawlings asked, pacing in his office.

  The caller hesitated and gulped. “Unbelievably horrible. I almost felt sorry for her.”

  He listened coldly. What he’d witnessed a few hours earlier at the hospital had made him gag, but he felt no sympathy for the female terrorist. “Look, Jamila, it’s okay to have a humane reaction,” he said in a fatherly tone. “But remember, Baheera Abbas was going to blow herself up to kill innocent Americans and contaminate a major US city with radiation. She knew she was going to die before she arrived here.”

  “Yes, sir, but that would’ve been over in a split second. This lasted days. Before she slipped into a coma, she was screaming every second, even with the max morphine.”

  “I know it was ugly to watch. Maybe this will help. Picture a little kid—at the mall, in a theatre, at a baseball game—he’s all happy and excited, but he gets blown to bits by a dirty bomb, detonated by an al-Qaeda terrorist. Just because it’s fast doesn’t make it better. Baheera’s death in our custody saved that kid. Maybe hundreds of kids.”

  “I can’t help wondering if she was coerced with threatened violence to herself or her children. Why would any woman, any mother, agree to be a suicide…er…homicide bomber?”

  Rawlings snorted. “Are you a female chauvinist, Jamila? Believe it or not, we’re seeing more and more women who are Islamic extremists. Like the one in the San Bernardino attack. The male gender doesn’t have an exclusive right to religious fanaticism. Women can be brutal jihadists too.” He sighed. “Also, if she’d cooperated and told us the radioactive material was inside her, we might’ve been able to save her. You didn’t kill her. We didn’t kill her. Baheera killed herself. She committed suicide, just not in the way she’d planned.”

  A heavy silence lasted several seconds.

  “You’re right, sir. You’re damn right. She volunteered to die, but unsuspecting civilians would have no choice. Baheera could’ve come clean about the plot, about the pig, and saved herself. I tried so hard”—Jamila’s voice cracked—“to convince her that what the cell was planning was wrong, not Allah’s will at all.”

  “You did your best, Special Agent Zafar. Her death is in no way your fault. And you definitely helped save a lot of innocent lives. I want you to remember that,” he said, hoping his bravado masked his own revulsion at the horrific death. “You okay now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The tremor still in her voice told him she wasn’t.

  “All right, Jamila. Where do we stand?”

  “The Hazmat techs took Baheera to one of their sites to do the removal. They don’t really think the leakage outside her body is sufficient to hurt anyone in the time it will take to extract and encapsulate the pig, but they don’t want to take any chances. Two of your men went with them and will take possession once it’s secured.”

  “Good. I need pictures and a detailed diagram of the damn thing. Also a plan on how to secure something similar in San Diego ASAP. When we have that figured out, we’ll contact the San Diego office and get them on it. Next time Panuska checks in…” He took a long, slow breath and said a quick prayer that she would be able to check in. “We’ll explain the doctor thing. No wonder Husaam got pissed off that Baheera hadn’t seen the doctor yet. The bastard knew the pig wasn’t radiation-proof and could kill her even though the leakage wasn’t enough to set off any radiation-detection equipment at the airports along the way. That’s why she was supposed to see the doctor as soon as she got to San Diego.”

  “I wonder if Baheera knew about the leaking radiation before she started getting sick. Maybe Husaam didn’t tell her the pig wasn’t safe.”

  “That’s a real possibility. Remember, he was pretty damn vague when he spoke to Panuska about seeing the doctor. I think he said something innocuous like, ‘It could be dangerous.’”

  “You’re right, sir. I read that in the transcript of the call.”

  Rawlings nodded to himself. “As I said, Husaam’s a bastard. Let’s move on. I’ll contact San Diego Special Agent Wahid Jabbar, who’s been working with us, and tell him he’s going to play doctor with Panuska.” He stopped when Jamila made a strangled sound. “Something wrong?”

  “No, sir.”

  Rawlings waited while she gagged twice. “Are you sick, Jamila?”

 
“I’m fine. I’ve just been nauseous a lot lately,” she said, her voice strained.

  “Understandable with the stress you’ve been under and with what you’ve witnessed. Room temperature ginger ale and plain crackers,” he recommended.

  “What?”

  “For the nausea. Worked for my wife when she had morning sickness.”

  Jamila gasped, then was silent.

  “Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah.” Rawlings began brainstorming the charade. “Doctor Jabbar will need some OB/GYN props, a doctor’s outfit, and a place to operate. I’m thinking a two-room hotel suite, so some of the cell can listen to Panuska screaming in the bedroom.” He stopped talking, but his mind ran through thousands of unplanned details. “I’ll explain what Jabbar needs to accomplish but delegate the planning to him. He’ll be cleared to coordinate through San Diego Counterterrorism ASAIC Alan Carter.”

  “I’ll indicate in the files that you’re assigning the role to…Jabbar.”

  “Right.” Rawlings pinched the bridge of his nose. “And who and where is the real goddamn doctor? The son of a bitch is out there…somewhere. What does Dr. Terrorist know about the cell, about Husaam, about the plot, about Baheera? Since we never caught anything regarding a doctor before the conversation between Husaam and Panuska, is it possible Husaam and his wife were the only ones who knew about the doctor? Could the doctor figure out something’s gone wrong and blow this whole operation to hell? Damn. Get someone on that possibility ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir. Next?”

  He paused. “Jamila, would you like to go home to San Diego?”

  “What?” Her voice cracked again. “Oh, yes. But I feel like I failed you and everyone else in the operation. My interrogation gave us no useful information.”