by Paula Graves
“I have ideas,” he finally typed.
After another significant pause, another message appeared on screen. “You didn’t supply us with phones. Why?”
Quinn didn’t suppose Owen would buy the idea that he’d just forgotten about phones. So he told the truth. “I didn’t want the two of you to try to contact anyone on the outside.”
Owen’s next message was blunt. “Because you haven’t decided what to do with us?”
Exactly. But Owen had a point. Talking to him on the computer, without the benefit of hearing the tone of his voice, was less than informative.
“I’m coming to see you in person,” he typed. “I will explain everything and we can talk strategies. I’ll be there in an hour. Now get off my computer.”
He waited for a reply, but no more dialogue boxes appeared on his computer screen. He finally turned back to his desk and picked up his cell phone.
Becky Cameron answered on the second ring. “Not a good time.”
“I’m going to go see our guests. Don’t suppose you’d like to join us?”
There was a protracted pause, then a sigh. “Actually, I’d love to. But I can’t. I’m in the middle of something and can’t get away. But I’m very curious to hear your thoughts about the situation. Maybe we could meet tomorrow evening? I was thinking about driving into Whitesburg to try that new Greek restaurant that just opened.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. Becky was an old friend, one of his closest, in fact, but she was almost militantly protective of her private life. He supposed she might see the dinner invitation as just a way to combine work with her need for food, but driving all the way to Whitesburg seemed a little more personal than that.
“I can meet you there,” he said, more curious than he liked to admit. “Seven?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there and you can catch me up.”
She had to know they couldn’t talk about Owen Stiles and Tara Bentley in public that way. So what was she up to?
Despite his reputation for embracing all things enigmatic, Quinn really didn’t like a mystery, especially when it involved one of his closest colleagues.
* * *
“DO YOU TRUST HIM?” Tara managed not to nibble her thumbnail as she waited for Owen’s reply. She’d spent most of her teen years trying to break her nail-biting habit and she’d be danged if she started doing it again now. She might be hiding from both kidnappers and the law, but that was no excuse for bad grooming.
“I don’t know.”
Owen was cleaning the kitchen counters, even though they were virtually spotless. It was his version of nail biting, she supposed, though he generally fine-tuned his computer rather than cleaned the house when he was puzzling over a troubling problem. She supposed the new computer system was too state-of-the-art to provide him quite enough distraction for their current dilemma.
“That’s not reassuring,” she said.
He stopped wiping the counter long enough to offer her a halfhearted grin. “I know.”
“He used to be with the CIA. Which could be a good thing or a very bad thing.”
“The problem with Quinn, in my admittedly limited experience, is that he’s a big-picture guy. He’s going to look out for the country first, his company next and then individuals fall in line behind those two things. Which is why I began to suspect Quinn may think what happened to us is connected to something bigger.”
Such as the symposium she was supposed to be planning. The event so important that she and Robert had planned to postpone their honeymoon until late summer so she could get things done.
Tara perched on the bar stool in front of the counter Owen had resumed cleaning, taking care not to leave fingerprints on the nice, shiny surface. “There’s something I’ve been doing at work that has been my entire focus for months now. Nobody else knows all the details except for me and the company’s operating officers. Now I’m no longer there to do the job. What does that do to the equation?”
“You tell me.” Owen stopped wiping and draped the towel over the edge of the sink. “If something happens to you, who takes over your job?”
“It would have to be one of the three partners. They were very careful to keep all the information about my project secret, with good reason.”
Curiosity gleamed in his bright blue eyes, but he didn’t ask her anything about her project. “So that’s why you postponed the honeymoon.”
“Yes.”
“Could someone outside the company know what you were planning?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. It involves other people outside the company, and any of them could have experienced an intelligence leak. But that’s one reason why the details of the project were so closely guarded. Even if someone found out what was going on, they wouldn’t have the vital details to work with because those details won’t be settled until about a week before it comes together.”
“So it’s an event.”
“Owen, I can’t tell you anything else. I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “Understood. But if it’s an event, then perhaps someone wants to sabotage it in some way. Would that be a possibility?”
She didn’t reply, but Owen’s expression suggested he’d read the answer in her face.
“Maybe that was the point of the abduction,” he suggested. “To get the information out of you under duress. Or am I being too dramatic here?”
“It’s possible,” she admitted. “Without going into details, it’s very possible that someone would like to get his hands on the information I have. I’m a more vulnerable target than any of the directors of the company would be, and nobody else has the information.”
At the time the directors had approached her to run the project, she was over-the-moon delighted about the responsibility, knowing it meant the company valued her organizational and analytical skills as well as her reliability and discretion. While she’d consulted with the directors regularly, they’d allowed her to take the reins as far as planning the logistics of the symposium was concerned. She’d been the point person with all the countries and dignitaries invited, the face of their very prestigious think tank.
But now she was beginning to realize the steep price that such a high-profile position of authority could exact. The job had quite possibly made her a target.
She might still be a target, she realized. Her disappearance and the mystery surrounding Robert’s murder would likely cause her bosses to shore up their already tight security. The kidnappers would have a difficult time getting through their defenses.
But she was still largely defenseless. If Owen hadn’t come to her aid, she probably wouldn’t have been able to escape the kidnappers. But even that situation had been nothing more than pure luck. The kidnappers had underestimated their resourcefulness, and they hadn’t prepared for Owen’s surprise arrival. They’d also been sloppy, binding her hands in front of her instead of behind her. She doubted they’d be that careless a second time.
While she’d been pondering her vulnerability, Owen had put up the cleaning supplies and washed his hands in the sink. He turned to her now, drying his hands on a paper towel, his eyes narrowed. It was his “I wonder what you’re thinking” expression, and she realized that she was far more tempted right now to tell him everything about her secret project than she’d ever been with Robert.
She supposed that was the difference between a whirlwind romance and twenty years of enduring and unbreakable friendship. That fact only made her more certain than ever that she’d made the right choice when she began feeling attracted to Owen. Boyfriends were unpredictable and, in her experience, undependable.
Owen was her rock. It was a mistake to sleep with your rock.
Wasn’t it?
A sharp rap on the door rattled her nerves. Owen tossed the paper towel in the waste bin and headed for the fron
t door. Tara trailed behind him, her heart pounding with anxiety.
Owen checked the security lens. “It’s Quinn. You ready?”
Tara took a couple of deep, bracing breaths and nodded. “Ready.”
Owen opened the door to a broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and intelligent eyes the color of dried moss. He wore a neatly groomed beard a couple of shades darker than his hair and liberally sprinkled with silver. He looked to be in his midforties, but in his eyes Tara saw an old soul, a man whose life had been one struggle after another. The weight of the world was reflected not in lines on his face but in the shadowy depths of those hazel-green eyes.
He was dangerous, Tara realized with a flutter of alarm. But he also seemed like someone who’d be invaluable in a fight, as long as you were on the same side.
He was not an enemy she wanted to make.
“You must be Tara Bentley.” Quinn shook hands with a firm, brisk grip. “I’ve heard a good deal about you.”
“You’ve mean you’ve snooped around my life and uncovered a great deal about me,” Tara corrected, her voice edged with tart disapproval.
“Fair enough.” Quinn nodded toward the sofa. “Shall we sit and talk?”
* * *
TARA SAT IN the armchair, leaving Quinn and Owen to share the sofa. It put her at a slightly elevated angle, which made her feel more in control of the situation. “Do you know why we were kidnapped?”
Quinn’s lips quirked slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes. “I believe it might have something to do with your work at Security Solutions.”
“And why was Robert killed?”
“I don’t know.” His voice softened. “My condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you know about my job?” Tara asked.
“I contacted your company directors and explained my concerns about my cybersecurity director disappearing along with their top analyst. We had an illuminating discussion about the work you’ve been doing.”
“Why would they tell you anything illuminating?” Tara asked, wary of being tricked into revealing more than she should.
“Because I have a security clearance as high as theirs. I’m a security contractor for the government. I know things that few federal employees know about the government’s security apparatus.”
“Do I need to go take a walk so you can speak freely?” Owen asked, starting to rise.
“No,” Quinn said. “Your own security clearance is high enough for you to hear what Ms. Bentley and I have to say.”
“You first,” Tara said as Owen sat again.
The quirk returned to Quinn’s lips, a little broader this time. Definitely his version of a smile, Tara thought. He inclined his head slightly toward Tara before he spoke. “Your bosses didn’t give me the details of the project, of course, for the sake of situational security. But I know that you’re planning a global symposium on new terror tactics and strategies for preventing them from succeeding. You’ve invited over seventy nations to participate. I don’t know where or even when the meeting will take place, but I know it’s going to happen on US soil, and someone very much wants to know the details.”
“Which is why they kidnapped Tara,” Owen murmured.
“Yes.” Quinn looked at Tara, his expression hard to read. “You are the most wanted woman in a lot of terror-sponsoring countries. Any number of groups, foreign and domestic, would love to get their hands on the information you know. Your bosses at Security Solutions don’t know why or how you disappeared, so obviously they’re deeply worried. It’s not just the local authorities who are looking for you.”
“I have to turn myself in, then,” Tara said.
Quinn cleared his throat before he spoke. “That does seem to be the best course of action.”
“I didn’t kill Robert.”
“I know that. And there’s no evidence to connect you to his murder. I think at this point, you’re primarily wanted for questioning, just to clear up why you disappeared and where you’ve been.”
“We can’t provide any evidence of what happened to us,” Owen warned. “All we have is our word.”
“And you’re not a disinterested witness,” Quinn agreed. “But neither of you has any reason to kill Robert. Since no marriage had taken place, there’s no profit motive for Ms. Bentley. There’s not a whiff of conflict between the two of you, according to interviews with Robert’s family and your friends. It’s not like you and Owen are secret lovers who killed your fiancé so you could run away together.”
Tara glanced at Owen. “No.”
There was a flicker of something in Quinn’s eyes as he looked from her to Owen. “Is there anything I need to know about the events of yesterday that either of you haven’t already told me?”
“There is one thing,” Tara said, “although nobody knows about it but Owen and me. I was planning to call off the wedding right before I was abducted.”
“I see.”
“Owen didn’t know beforehand,” she added. “I didn’t tell him until after we escaped.”
“I suspected,” Owen said. “She called me and—”
“The less I know about that, the better,” Quinn interrupted. “If you don’t have a lawyer, Campbell Cove Security can provide one.”
“Thank you. That would be helpful,” Tara said. “How will this work?”
“I think, because of the threats against your life, we shouldn’t schedule the time to turn yourself in. You, Owen and the lawyer will show up unannounced at the Bagley County Sheriff’s Department and ask for Deputy Archer Trask, the investigator in charge of the Robert Mallory homicide investigation. The element of surprise will be your best safeguard against a repeat of yesterday’s abduction attempt.”
Tara glanced at Owen. He met her gaze with an almost imperceptible nod. She looked at Quinn again. “Okay. That sounds good.”
“Tomorrow morning would be best. Get a good night’s sleep, take time to shower, shave and dress in your Sunday best. You’re the victims, not the perpetrators. You need to be confident and at ease. I’ll return in the morning with your lawyer, we’ll go over the case and then we’ll drive you to town.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Owen said with a faint smile.
Quinn flashed that half quirk of a smile toward Owen. “You did well, under difficult circumstances. We will get you both through the rest of this.”
“Thank you.”
She and Owen walked with Quinn to the door. He turned in the open doorway, his features dark and indistinct against the bright afternoon sun. “We’ll do everything in our power to protect you, Ms. Bentley. Know that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She watched, her heart thudding heavily in her chest, as if his words had been a warning instead of a promise.
She was a target. She’d known the possibility existed, but until Quinn had said the words aloud, the notion had been just that. A notion, something possible but not certain.
Now the cloud of threat hanging over her head felt heavy with foreboding, as if she were trapped without any hope of escape.
The touch of Owen’s hands on her shoulders made her jump. She turned to look at him and felt the full intensity of his blue-eyed gaze.
“We will get through this. Tomorrow, we’ll turn ourselves in and the police will protect you.”
“What if they can’t? It’s a small county in a small state. They’re not prepared or trained to provide protection from determined terrorists.”
“Then Quinn will put agents in place to watch your back.” The visit from his boss had apparently shored up Owen’s defenses. He sounded strong and confident, and the firmness of his grip on her shoulders seemed to transfer that sense of strength into her, so that by the time he let her go and nodded for her to
precede him into the hallway, she felt steadier herself.
Maybe everything really would be okay.
* * *
OWEN STOOD OUTSIDE the groom’s room, trying to gather his courage to go inside. On the other side of the door stood the man who was about to take Tara away from him, and he was supposed to be wishing him good luck.
How could he do it? How could he shake Robert’s hand and tell him to take care of the woman Owen loved more than anyone else in the world? How was he supposed to be okay with any of this?
Do it because Tara needs you to. Do it because it’s the only way you’ll be able to stay in her life.
His heart pounded wildly. His palms were damp with sweat. Though he’d met Robert dozens of times since he first started dating Tara, the man had remained little more than an acquaintance. There had always been a wary distance between them, as if Robert understood that Owen would never really be all right with his presence in Tara’s life. And Robert would never truly be comfortable with how important Owen was to Tara, either.
But if they both wanted to stay in her life, they were going to have to create some sort of truce, however wary and fragile it might be.
He took a deep breath and reached for the door.
But a scraping noise from within the room stopped him midstep. The world around him seemed to disintegrate, and he was suddenly lying on his back, darkness pressing in one him, heavy and cold. It took a moment to realize he was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place.
The safe house. He’d been dreaming. Groping for the small digital clock on the bedside table, he squinted to see the time. Only a little after eight, he saw with surprise.
As he rubbed his eyes, he heard another faint scrape of metal on metal. It seemed to be coming from the front of the house.
Tara? Maybe she hadn’t been able to sleep.