by Pamela Clare
A wave of despair washed through her, the hope that had held her together unraveling thread by thread.
Kimball moved to stand behind her. He fisted his hands in her hair and forced her head back, pressing the rough edge of the blade against her trachea and carotid artery. “If I cut your throat here, you’ll suffocate, bleed out, die fast. But if I start here,” he said, tilting her head to the side, moving the blade to press against the muscles at the back of her neck, “you might last a little longer.”
Laura’s mind raced as Kimball tormented her with his words, thoughts chasing one another through her mind.
An image of her mother’s and grandmother’s faces. They would never recover from this. Losing her the first time had devastated them.
I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.
She hoped her mother would keep up the fight to reclaim Klara.
Forgive me, Klara. I wish I’d at least gotten to see you, to hold you.
And Javier . . .
They hadn’t been together long enough, not nearly long enough, but she was grateful for every moment she’d had with him. He’d brought her back to herself, made her feel alive again. Because of him, she wouldn’t die the broken woman Al-Nassar had left behind. She would die as herself.
Somehow, that mattered so much in this moment.
I love you, Javi. Be happy. Be safe.
As hard as she fought to hide her fear, a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Kimball noticed, wiped it roughly away with his thumb. “You’re not so tough after all, are you?”
And then she saw him.
Javier!
Wet and covered with mud, he appeared out of nowhere, rifle aimed at Kimball. “Hey, pendejo, who’s afraid now?”
Kimball jumped, the knife blade falling to the floor. “What—”
Click.
The rifle didn’t fire.
“Carajo!”
Javier quickly sidestepped, cleared the misfire, and aimed again.
“Put the weapon down, or I’ll blow this place to pieces!”
Laura looked over her shoulder and saw Kimball backing slowly away, something clutched in his hand.
The detonator.
“I said put it down, or she’s dead!” Kimball’s voice was slick with fear.
Barely able to breathe, Laura looked up at Javier, whose gaze was fixed on Kimball, pure loathing on his face, his dark eyes cold.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Javier fired quick three shots, making Laura gasp.
“No, motherfucker, you’re dead.” Javier walked over to where Kimball lay still and bleeding on the floor, pried the detonator from his hand, and set it aside.
And then he was there, kneeling beside her and peeling off the duct tape that bound her to the chair.
Relief soared through her, leaving her light-headed. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you found me. How—”
“Let’s get you out of here in case this place really is set to blow.” He tore off the tape that bound her ankles, scooped her into his arms, and carried her away from Kimball’s body and out what would have been the back door.
Laura wrapped her arms around him and tucked her face against his neck, some part of her still struggling to comprehend that it was over, that she was safe.
He carried her past one partially built house and another, finally stopping when they reached a concrete foundation a few houses down. He set her down and knelt beside her, his hands searching her body for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine now.” In truth, she was still shaking like a leaf.
He caught her face between his cold palms and traced his thumb over her bruised cheek, his gaze going soft when it met hers. “God, bella, I was afraid I’d lost you.”
“I was afraid I’d lost me, too.” She reached up and ran her fingertips over his jaw.
In the next heartbeat, they were kissing, the rushing of her pulse all but drowning out the approaching sound of police sirens. Or was that helicopters?
Laura didn’t know, didn’t care. All that mattered to her in that moment was the man in her arms, the man who’d just saved her life, the man she loved.
They were still kissing when an unmarked SUV, a big SWAT van, and two Adams County sheriff’s vehicles pulled up beside them, sirens blaring.
Laura heard Zach’s voice.
He stood off to the side. “I want two ambulances—one for whatever is left of Kimball and one for those two.”
Javier ended the kiss. “Kimball is three houses down. Be careful. He had a detonator, and there are fuel cans all over the place.”
“I sure am glad to see you in one piece, Laura.” Zach got on his radio and called for an EOD unit. He took a good look at Javier. “You’re hypothermic.”
“That’s all you have to say, McBride? Not, ‘You did it, Corbray,’ or ‘Way to kick ass, Corbray,’ or ‘You were right, Corbray.’”
“I don’t need to feed your ego when you’re so good at doing it yourself.” Zach grinned and gestured toward his SUV with a jerk of his head. “Come on—both of you. Wait in my vehicle out of the wind. I’ll grab a space blanket out of the trunk.”
It suddenly occurred to Laura to wonder why Javier was wet.
She glanced to her left and felt a hitch behind her breastbone when she realized what he’d done. “You swam across the lake.”
The water must have been ice cold, deathly cold.
“It was the fastest way to reach you.”
He didn’t have to finish the thought. Laura understood.
If he hadn’t done it, she would be dead.
* * *
THE NEXT FEW hours passed in a blur of medical checks and debriefing. The two of them were treated by paramedics on-site and released. Zach drove them back to the Adams County Sheriff’s Office, where they each offered a written statement and then answered questions separately. The U.S. Marshal Service, the Adams County sheriffs, the Denver police, and the FBI—everyone seemed to have questions for them, especially for Laura.
It was dark by the time they found themselves in Zach’s SUV once again as he drove them back to Denver, filling them in on what had happened this afternoon when they’d been busy.
Laura’s car was totaled and now sitting in the marshals’ impound yard, where she could get whatever she needed from it in the next few days.
A deputy had already returned Carmichael’s vehicle to him at the newspaper.
A forensic team had been sent back to Sean Michael Edwards’s apartment to see whether they could gather any additional evidence that might help them understand what had transpired there.
Zach had paid a personal visit to the Al Zahrani home to bring the kid’s parents up to date. “I made sure to tell them that you were the one who first suspected their son had been framed.”
“Thank you, Zach.” It was clear from Laura’s face that this meant a lot to her. “Now they’ll finally be able to mourn him in peace.”
Javier leaned in and kissed her temple, careful to avoid her bruised and swollen cheek. “Your compassion is one of the most beautiful things about you, bella. Have I told you that?”
Her lips curved in a tired smile, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
Javier knew she must be exhausted, but she insisted they stop by the paper.
“They’re going to need to interview me. You can head back to the loft if you want. If you’re in the newsroom, they’ll ask you questions.”
“Don’t worry about me. I think I can handle a few reporters.” He’d almost lost her today. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
“Your name is in the police report. It’s going to wind up in the media again.”
Javier nodded. “I know.”
He’d already called the Boss to tell him what had happen
ed. He’d expected the lieutenant to rip his head off and stuff shit down his neck.
Instead, O’Connell had congratulated him. “It’s not in human DNA to think of water as an avenue of attack. That’s why it always works so well for us. Way to go. I’ll pass the news along to the men. See you in a few days.”
A few days. A few precious days with Laura.
And then Javier would have some big decisions to make.
* * *
SEX WAS THE furthest thing from Laura’s mind when they finally got back to the loft. All she wanted was a hot shower, something to eat that she didn’t have to cook, and the feel of Javier’s arms around her.
They ended up taking a shower together, Laura washing lake water and mud from Javier’s body, Javier washing the scent of horror from Laura’s. But as they smoothed soap over soft skin, Laura felt a need for Javier that was so much more than sexual. Touching turned to kissing until at last Javier backed her against the tile wall, wrapped one of her legs around his waist, and slid inside her.
They made love face-to-face, eyes open, both of them knowing how lucky they were to be alive—and together. It felt to Laura like a celebration of love and life, and when she came, pleasure shimmering through in liquid waves, she couldn’t stop tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Afterward, Laura called her mother and grandmother, waking them to tell them what had happened. They listened, their faces showing Swedish stoicism until she finished. Then her mother insisted on speaking with Javier.
“Thank you once more for saving my daughter,” she said, tears in her eyes.
Laura and Javier made a supper of eggs and bacon together, then snuggled on the sofa, Laura still in her bathrobe, Javier in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Navy sweatshirt, the gas fire burning.
“I feel sick when I think of all the people who died because of him.” Laura couldn’t say his name. “Drew, my cameraman. Nico, Cody, and Tim, my security team. Sabira Mukhari, the safe house director. Ali Al Zahrani. Sean Michael Edwards. They all died because he wanted to kill me, to get back at me for doing my job.”
“Believe it or not, bella, the person he hated most was himself. He wanted to believe he was Special Forces material, when some part of him knew you were right—he was just a loser.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a true sociopath until today. I should have known from that first interview that something was wrong with him. He got so . . . personal.”
“Nah, how could you? You genuinely care about people. He was a manipulator. Hell, that mamabicho used me to commit murder. I thought it was strange that Edwards was laughing, but I never would have thought . . .” Javier’s eyes closed for a moment, and Laura knew he felt remorse. “I wish I’d kicked the shit out of the poor guy instead of pulling the trigger and killing him.”
The conversation drifted, and soon Laura found herself telling him about those last terrifying minutes when she thought she was going to die.
“Random thoughts started running through my mind. How bad I felt for my mother and grandmother that they would have to go through this again. How I hoped they would keep up the fight to free Klara. How much I wished . . .” Laura’s throat went tight. She swallowed. “How much I wished I’d gotten to hold my little girl.”
Javier stroked Laura’s hair. “One day, you will.”
Oh, she hoped so.
“It wasn’t all regrets. I felt so grateful for every moment that I’ve spent with you. It might sound strange, but I was glad I was going to die as myself and not as Al-Nassar’s victim.”
“It makes sense to me.” Javier held her closer. “Strength of the spirit is harder to build than physical strength, and you fought a battle of spirit today. I heard what you said to him. You kept your fear under control. You were a warrior.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“A hunch.”
She listened as he told her how he’d remembered that the dynamite had been stolen from a construction site in Adams County. When Zach had told him the construction site was just to the north of him, he’d decided it couldn’t be a coincidence. Kimball hadn’t had much time to plan and was falling back on something familiar.
“Your hunch was right. Lucky for me.”
“Lucky for us both. When I saw your car . . . Ay dios mio.” He swore softly in Spanish. “I haven’t felt that way since the State Department declared you dead. It hit me in the gut so hard that I . . . All I knew was that I had to get to you. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
He’d never told her he loved her, but Laura knew it all the same. Those words were proof to her. She wrapped her heart around them, held on to them.
“You’ll be leaving on Sunday. I’m going to finish the VA story tomorrow morning, and then I’m taking the rest of the day and Friday off. I don’t care what Tom has to say about it. I want to spend that time with you.”
Javier kissed her temple. “I’d like that.”
* * *
LAURA WENT INTO the paper the next morning and rewrote the VA article, pulling out the bogus interview that Kimball had given her, and left the paper early, telling Tom not to expect her till Monday.
Tom wasn’t happy. “You do plan on returning to work full-time at your full-time job at some point in the near future.”
“Yes, starting Monday.”
“And when Carmichael needs to interview you for a follow-up piece on your abduction and all this shit with Al Zahrani and Edwards—”
“He can call me at home.”
She arrived at the loft to find a surprise waiting for her.
Derek Tower.
The only thing more astonishing than the sight of him sitting on her sofa was the fact that Javier hadn’t thrown him out.
“I didn’t call because I knew you’d say no,” he said. “I came to apologize. I was hired to keep you safe, and I failed. I’ve read the report. I know how Kimball turned your cell into a roving bug. I’d heard of that technology, but never imagined anyone outside federal law enforcement or military intelligence could get their hands on it. I wish I’d taken it more seriously. I’ve already issued a statement to the press retracting my allegations against you and taking responsibility for Tower Global’s failure to protect you. Bottom line, Ms. Nilsson, I owe you, and I’m a man who pays his debts.”
He handed her his card. “Call if you need me.”
Laura was left speechless.
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER had just come back from dinner at the Wynkoop Brewing Company, the restaurant they’d have gone to if the paper hadn’t been car-bombed, when Zach and Petras called and asked to come by.
Zach went first. “Over the past twenty-four hours, we’ve been following Ted Hollis’s trail—that’s Theodore Hollis Kimball—and we’ve been able to piece together a good picture of his activities using his cell phone records, a laptop we found in his motel room, and the information he gave you, Laura. Fill them in if you will, Petras.”
“Kimball has been hiring himself out as a mercenary in the Middle East for some time, using a series of aliases and falsified documents. But after you came back to the U.S., Ms. Nilsson, he began working his way back here. He arrived in Denver roughly four months ago and began planning to kill you. He probably followed you, observed your routine. We know he studied the location of city surveillance cameras.”
Petras told them how Kimball had gotten reacquainted with his old war buddy Sean Michael Edwards, taking advantage of the man’s cognitive disabilities to use him to buy materials for the bomb. Always careful to wear gloves, he’d mixed the ANFO and assembled the detonator at Edwards’s house.
He’d found Ali Al Zahrani’s name on a list of members of the Middle Eastern Connection, a student club, and had followed Ali and learned his daily routine. After that, he began visiting the Al Zahranis’ home when no one was home to plant evidence for investigators. H
e wanted to make the bombing seem like an act of terrorism.
“On the morning of the bombing, he shot and killed the boy when he was on his way to class, stuffing him into his own car, packing it full of ANFO, and rigging it to explode. Careful to avoid streets with surveillance cameras, he drove it to the newspaper, parked, and walked a few blocks away to a coffee shop, which is where he was when he detonated the bomb.”
A cold chill ran down Laura’s spine. “He told me he wanted to hear me die.”
“He didn’t get that chance, did he?” Javier said.
“When the car bomb didn’t work, Kimball waited for another crack at you,” Zach said. “That opportunity came when he heard about your appearance on Channel Twelve.”
“A very ill-advised television appearance, I might add,” Petras said.
Zach ignored him. “We’ll probably never know exactly what went on with Edwards. We believe Kimball tried to get Edwards to hate you—which may explain the photos of you on his wall. Most came from old articles about the investigation that exposed them. It could be that he hoped to use Edwards as a weapon against you, Laura, but that didn’t work. Then Kimball decided to use Edwards in another way. If he could convince police they’d found their killer, your security detail would be called off, and he’d have another chance at you. All the evidence was in place—the traces of explosives at Edwards’s apartment, the firearms Kimball stored there. All he had to do was put Edwards in an incriminating position—and make sure he couldn’t talk.”
Javier finished the thought. “So he groomed Edwards to commit suicide by SEAL, playing games with those replica pellet guns, and then handing him the loaded M1911 with the painted muzzle.”
Laura squeezed Javier’s hand. She knew how much he regretted causing Edwards’s death.
“That’s it exactly,” Zach said. “And it almost worked. You played a key role at a critical moment, Corbray. You both played key roles in this. Laura, your insights into what had really happened with Ali Al Zahrani were vital.”
Petras took over again. “From what we can tell, he planned to go into hiding for a while, but then you called and offered to come to him. He didn’t have much time, so he bought gas—we found receipts for a half dozen gas stations—and used what was actually a garage door opener to convince you he had a detonator.”