by Rose, Karen
‘We’ll make him stop. For now, we’ll tell Joseph. He can keep Robinette under surveillance. He’ll also want to use this information when he questions JH, whoever she is.’
‘All right. But I want to witness her interrogation.’
‘So do I. I’ll ask Joseph to call us when he thinks she’s about to break.’
Clay made the call, leaving a message summarizing what they’d discovered about Todd Robinette on Joseph’s voicemail when the Fed didn’t pick up. ‘There. That’s done.’
‘Thank you.’ Stevie became quiet, but he wasn’t fooled into thinking she’d gone to sleep.
‘What’s happening in your brain?’ he asked.
‘Just . . . playing with the puzzle pieces. Seeing how they all fit together.’ She tried to slide off his lap, but he held her firm.
‘Stay here. Let me hold you.’
‘I wasn’t leaving. I just want to look at your laptop again.’
He guided her so that she sat between his legs, her back to his chest. He gave her the laptop, then locked his arms around her stomach and propped his chin on her shoulder so that he could see the screen, too. ‘What do you want to see?’
‘The security video from your house. Mr Cocksucker and Mr Backpack.’
He found the file for her. ‘Why?’
‘Because Drive-by works or at least worked for Filbert Pharmaceutical Labs. FPL is run by Todd Robinette. That Drive-by was acting on his orders to kill me isn’t a huge leap.’ She ran through the video, freezing the frame at the moment the second intruder’s face was directly facing the camera. ‘There was something about Backpack’s eyes. Creeped me out but I didn’t know why. Now that I know what I’m looking for, it’s obvious to me.’ She toggled the screen, bringing up Filbert Pharmaceutical’s website, clicking on the CEO’s bio page. ‘Do you see it?’
Clay saw a man in his early forties with curly dark hair, a thin mustache, and clear blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The same clear blue eyes that were visible through the ski mask worn by Mr Backpack. The man who’d killed two cops. The man who’d followed them in his Tahoe, shooting at them in front of dead IA cop Scott Culp’s house.
‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘The eyes are the same.’
She went back to Robinette’s bio page. ‘He served in the first Gulf War. Was decorated for saving the lives of several of the soldiers under his command.’
‘My medals. He picked them up, out of the debris on my bedroom floor. Respectfully.’
She scrolled through the pictures of the staff. ‘Drive-by isn’t here anywhere. Damn.’
‘It was unlikely he’d post photos of his assassin on his corporate website.’ He gave in to temptation and nuzzled her neck, her shiver doing wonders for his ego. ‘It’s bad PR.’
‘Yeah, well, a girl can hope.’ She went on clicking through the photos on the website. Then she paused, went back to an earlier picture ‘Huh. Her, I know.’
The woman in the photo was about the same age as Robinette, her short blonde hair giving her a competent air, her easy smile making her seem inviting. Genuine. Trustworthy, even. The wheelchair in which she sat gave her additional credibility.
‘Brenda Lee Miller,’ Clay said. ‘She’s his “Director of Community Affairs”. And a veteran. She was paralyzed in an attack on an armored personnel carrier outside of Baghdad.’
‘She’s also the attorney who accompanied him when I hauled him in for questioning on the murder of his wife eight years ago. What do you want to bet that Brenda Lee served with him?’
‘Easy enough to check. And if she did, maybe Drive-by did, too.’
‘And Mr Cocksucker as well,’ she added dryly.
‘We’ll get his real name. We’ll get all their names. But he’ll still be a cocksucker to me.’
‘I’m with you on that.’ She clicked back to Robinette’s bio. ‘Brenda Lee Miller may not have the title, but she’s his PR guru, too. Look at these pictures – Robinette receiving award after award for his humanitarian work. Brenda Lee is quoted praising him, she’s photographed with him, and she’s the contact for appearances and requests for donations. She spun shit into gold.’
‘We’ll need hard evidence to get close to him,’ Clay said. ‘He’s coated himself in Teflon. It’ll be rough getting a charge to stick on what we have now.’
‘Then we’ll just have to hit him with the pan, won’t we,’ she said grimly.
God, he loved this woman. That she was here, with him in bed, was more than he’d hoped for. But still he wanted more. He wanted to tell her he loved her. And he wanted to hear her say the words back. For now, he’d be content with what he had.
‘Is your brain about done?’ he asked.
She nodded, setting his laptop back on the nightstand. ‘For now. Let’s get some sleep.’
Tuesday, March 18, 7.45 A.M.
For the first time in eight years, Stevie woke up with a man.
And what a man Clay was. He instantly dominated any room he entered. The bed they’d shared was no different. He took up two-thirds of it with his big body, but Stevie had never felt uncomfortable or cold. How could she, when he’d cuddled her close all night?
She’d missed this, the cuddling. Paul had always held her spooned against him, one arm possessively hooked around her waist. How many times had she woken to the feel of his aroused body pressing against her? So many that she’d taken it for granted that he’d always be there.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with Clay. Not for as long as she had him in her life. It was impossible not to make comparisons. Both men were handsome. Paul had had the body of a track star, lean. Honed. Clay was built like a bulldozer. Hard and strong.
Both men were honorable. Stubborn in their own way. And manipulative, also in their own way. Paul had charmed her into acquiescence. Clay simply rearranged the world around her so that his way became the path of least resistance. Paul would have respected that.
And that’s as far as she’d allow the comparisons to go. She’d had a satisfying love life with her husband. She now had the opportunity to enjoy sex again, with a man she equally respected.
And enjoy it, she had. Clay was as powerful, as single-minded in his lovemaking as he was with everything else.
She lifted her head, studying his face in the light that filtered through the drapes. She had never seen him sleep, she realized. The effect was startling. He looked so young. Carefree, even. The sharp angles of his face seemed softer, the ever-present line down the middle of his forehead nowhere in sight. His mouth seemed fuller, the fine lines at the corners almost invisible.
She hadn’t known how much worry he carried. It made her want to carry some of it for him.
For now, though, she’d woken to a man in her bed for the first time in eight years and she intended to make the most of it. Leaning in, she kissed his mouth with the barest of touches. Little brushes, gentle nibbles, she explored. She knew the moment he woke because the kiss came to life, becoming lush and full of movement. His hands skimmed up her sides to capture her breasts as a low growl of approval vibrated in his chest.
He rolled, settling between her thighs as fluidly as if he’d done it a thousand times. He slid down her body to draw one nipple into the warmth of his mouth, alternating between hard pulls and gentle suckling that had her hips seeking, reaching while his hands roamed, touching, enticing, making her want so much more.
She closed her eyes and let herself go, let herself enjoy the way he handled her body, the way he made her feel beautiful. Confident that whatever she craved, he’d more than satisfy.
He switched to her other breast and she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as the seeking of her hips grew more urgent. Until she was twisting under him, grinding her core into the hard bone of his sternum. She nee
ded more. She needed him.
‘Clay, now. Please.’
In the blink of an eye he was looming over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. He was breathing hard, his dark eyes focused . . . on me. Only on me. She reached above her head, entwining her fingers with his, one hand, then the other.
‘Say my name,’ she said, her whisper so soft she couldn’t hear herself.
But he’d heard. His eyes grew darker as he shifted his hips, entering her. She sucked in a breath, needing to grow accustomed to the thickness of him all over again.
‘Stefania,’ he said quietly. Reverently. ‘My Stefania.’ And then he began to move, slowly at first, then surging faster, harder. Held her suspended as his body went wild, driving into her with an intensity that propelled her closer, so close she could almost touch it . . .
And then she did, shattering into a million pieces, hearing her own shocked cry. In a daze she drifted back down, conscious that his body had grown taut, his eyes clenched shut. With a low groan, he came, his erection kicking within her, his body spasming until he finally went still.
His head dropped forward as if he hadn’t the energy to hold it up any longer and he fought to catch his breath. He carefully rolled to his side, bringing her with him so that they lay face to face. ‘I want,’ he murmured, ‘to wake up like this every morning for the rest of my life.’
Just like this, she thought. Exactly like this. Suddenly she needed him to know it. ‘So do I.’
His eyes opened, searching hers for truth and evidently liking what he found. He pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, and she felt his lips move against her skin as he spoke, his words utterly soundless.
Still, she knew what he’d said and yearned to give the words back to him. But it wasn’t the right time. So she held him. The seconds became minutes and Stevie found herself wishing they were simply two normal people, able to lie in bed and hide from the world.
But at this moment they were far from normal. A knock at the door intruded on the quiet, drawing a mild snarl from Clay. ‘Go away,’ he muttered.
‘Our coach just turned back into a pumpkin.’ She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. ‘It’s time to go to work.’
The knock was repeated, louder and longer this time. ‘Open up. It’s Joseph.’
Stevie got out of bed, slid into her clothes, and found her cane. ‘Just a second,’ she called.
But Clay got dressed and got to the adjoining door first. He opened it to a weary Joseph. ‘What’s wrong?’ Clay demanded. ‘You look like shit.’
While she and Clay had slept and indulged in some quality morning sex, it was clear that Joseph had enjoyed neither. His eyes were haggard, his tie tugged loose, his posture worn.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Joseph said and panic speared straight into Stevie’s heart.
‘What’s happened to Cordelia?’ she demanded, grabbing his arm.
‘She’s fine,’ Joseph assured her. ‘Totally fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ve just had a long night.’ He sat at the table, shrugging when neither she nor Clay sat with him.
Stevie was holding herself rigidly, waiting for the bad news she could feel coming. Clay stood behind her, keeping her upright. ‘Is it Robinette?’ she asked. ‘Did you bring him in?’
‘Not yet. I have his home and office under surveillance, but I don’t have cause to bring him in for questioning yet.’
‘What about Drive-by?’ she pressed. ‘Do we have an ID?’
‘Not yet,’ Joseph said again. ‘Her prints aren’t in the system – neither AFIS or the military’s. If she served, she must have requested her prints be removed from the database.’
‘Which means she had an honorable discharge,’ Clay said. ‘If she served.’
Stevie nodded. ‘Makes sense for an assassin to get her prints wiped. What about the gun?’
‘Good news there,’ Joseph said. ‘Ballistics ties it to two other – recent – homicides. Scott Culp from IA and the clerk of the Key Hotel who was killed in what had been assumed to be a robbery. So we can get her for the attempt on your life and two other murders at a minimum.’
This was getting better every moment.
‘Deacon Novak found her vehicle,’ Joseph continued, ‘an old rusted-out pickup truck. She’d stolen it from a doctor who runs a free clinic.’
‘He must have patched her up after I shot her,’ Clay said.
‘He’s denying it, although I didn’t expect him to admit to it. He’s compelled by law to report any gunshot wounds but he didn’t. Novak’s working on getting a court order so we can search the clinic for evidence that she’d been there. While we wait, I’ve got agents going through the clinic’s trash. It’s slow going, since it’s a biohazard.’
‘Did they find anything of hers in the truck?’
Joseph’s eyes grew hard. ‘A cell phone. When we matched it up with the phone we took from Culp’s body and the LUDs from the phone picked up by your stingray system, Clay, we got connections. The second intruder into your house, the one who killed the two cops—’
‘Robinette,’ Stevie interrupted coldly.
‘Probably,’ Joseph allowed. ‘He was called by Culp a few hours before he was killed.’
‘Culp was telling Robinette where to find the safe house,’ Stevie said. Where he would have killed my daughter and me without blinking an eye.
Joseph nodded. ‘Right. But he called a different number several times that afternoon before arriving at your house, Clay.’
‘Were you able to track that phone?’ Clay asked.
‘Not right away. We tried, but it had gone off-line. But then, that phone called the disposable we found in Drive-by’s stolen truck yesterday, right before Emma’s interview. Drive-by received the call while sitting at the bar downstairs, in this hotel. The call came through a satellite service provided by one of the trans-Pacific airlines.’
‘Somebody left the country,’ Stevie said angrily. ‘Shit. Well, what did Drive-by say when you confronted her with all of this?’
‘I haven’t yet. I wanted her to stew in her juices a little longer and I thought you’d like to be there when I did confront her. Plus, I’ve been a little busy.’
‘Your long night,’ Clay said. ‘What happened, Joseph?’
‘There was an attempt to breach the gate at the farm last night,’ Joseph said, rubbing his hands down his face. ‘It was unsuccessful, but we are not without casualties.’
‘Who?’ Stevie asked hoarsely. ‘Emma? Daphne?’
Clay’s swallow was audible. ‘Alec?’
‘No to all the above. I lost two men. Everyone else was unharmed.’
Stevie dropped into a chair, her knees gone rubbery. ‘Oh my God. Joseph, I’m sorry.’
He nodded, his jaw taut. ‘Thanks.’
Clay moved behind her chair, his hands on her shoulders. ‘When did this happen?’
Joseph looked down at the table, his jaw growing tighter. ‘About eleven thirty last night.’
It took a second to sink in, but when it did, Stevie saw red. ‘What?’ She came out of her chair, both hands on the table as she leaned into Joseph’s space. ‘You knew last night when we caught Drive-by in our room. You knew and you didn’t tell us?’
Joseph looked up and Stevie sucked in a shocked breath. His eyes were dead. Dark and dead. He’d lost two men, she reminded herself.
Slowly she backed away until she was in her own chair. ‘Okay. I’ll try that again, more calmly this time. Why didn’t you tell us? I had a right to know.’
‘And what would you have done, Stevie?’ Joseph asked wearily. ‘Jumped in your car and raced to Cordelia to make sure I wasn’t lying and that she was really all right?’
Her chin lifted. ‘Yes.’
Joseph shook his head. ‘Allowing you to
race out there, maybe right into his sights if he was still waiting somewhere along the road? No. It wasn’t going to happen. Cordelia was safe inside the gate. You were safe here. Given the same situation, I’d do it again.’
‘I could have at least called my daughter on the phone,’ Stevie whispered. ‘She must have been so scared.’
‘She was. But Emma was there and once it was all over, Cordelia was all right. She doesn’t know about the lost men.’
‘Of course she does,’ Clay murmured. ‘Her listening skills are the envy of NSA.’ He squeezed Stevie’s shoulders lightly. ‘She’s okay, honey. You sent her there to keep her safe and she is. What happened exactly, Joseph?’
‘Somebody ordered a pizza delivered to the farm, but my agents knew it was a hoax and so did Ethan. Ethan had set up a plan and drilled the troops.’ One side of Joseph’s mouth lifted wryly. ‘He must have been one hell of a Marine.’
‘He was.’ The pride in Clay’s voice was unmistakable.
‘He had Maggie and Alec with him. Paige and Emma stayed with Cordelia. Daphne guarded the downstairs. Ethan deactivated the bolt hole section of fence, went over, reactivated, approached the pizza guy at the gate from behind while Maggie confronted him head-on. Ethan believed he had the situation under control and had subdued the intruder – who turned out to be a real pizza delivery guy, poor kid. Ethan was about to hand him over to my agents, but at that point the alarm detected a second intruder, one who proved to have a rifle and a far steadier hand than Miss Drive-by. Both my agents went down in less than five seconds.’ Joseph swallowed. ‘He shot them in the head.’ Another pointed look at Stevie. ‘The bullets that killed them matched the bullet the ER doc took out of Paige.’
‘I’m not an idiot, Joseph,’ Stevie said levelly. ‘That the shooter was the same man is not a shock. It was probably Robinette, too. I realize he might have been waiting to kill me when I ran to Cordelia. But you have to understand. I’m a mother who put her child into the care of others. You should have told me. I could have at least called her. Let her know I love her even if I couldn’t be with her at that moment.’