by Zara Chase
“Jodie Bisset?”
She nodded. “Last time I checked.”
“I’m Milo Hanson.” He threw a business card at her. She picked it up and saw that nowadays he made his living as a partner in what they called a solicitors’ office on this side of the pond. Unlike Paul, he’d obviously gotten out of the military. “Your brother asked me to come get you out of here.”
“Can you do that?” she asked a little too anxiously.
“Not sure yet.” He waved toward the other guy. “This is my investigator, Hal Lewis.”
Hal offered her his hand, which was more than Milo had done. His grasp was firm, and as his long fingers engulfed her palm the contact sent an unexpected spiral of lust straight to her pussy. Hell, now wasn’t the time!
“Nice meeting you,” Hal said, giving her an up-close view of sparkling white, very even teeth. “Wish it could have been under different circumstances.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and me both.”
“Let’s get started.” Milo pointed to a chair, which Jodie took, and he then sat across from her. Hal sat to his right with a pad open in front of him. “Do you know what they’ve charged you with?”
“Something to do with terrorism?” She shook her head. “They weren’t too specific, and I was too shocked to push them. But you need to know, Mr. Hanson—”
“Call me Milo.”
“Okay, Milo, you need to know I’m about as likely to commit acts of terrorism as your queen is to go limbo dancing.”
Hal’s lips twitched, but Milo didn’t crack a smile. “Then why are you here?”
“Wish I knew.” Jodie shrugged. “Can’t help thinking it might be something to do with my dad. You know about him?”
“We’ve met.”
Of course they had. Jodie wanted to remind Milo that they’d met before as well, but refrained. He was all business, and so ought she to be. This was her freedom at stake here, but she still couldn’t help thinking that Milo was even more devastatingly handsome than she recalled. Hal was, too. Milo was dressed like a businessman, while Hal, in worn jeans and T-shirt, looked like he was heading for the beach. The contrast was mind-blowing. If the two of them went out, hunting as a pack, the girls would flock them like hounds following a scent.
Remember that, and stop acting like a lovesick kid.
“Someone, somewhere, doesn’t want Dad and his radical views elected to the senate,” she said quickly, flushing when she realized she’d been gawping at them. “Can’t say as I blame them for that, but I take exception to them using me as their conduit.”
“Seems a bit extreme.” Milo hoisted one brow in an adorable gesture that only served to heighten his good looks. It also made it clear that he didn’t believe her, which infuriated Jodie.
“Not really,” she replied acerbically. “The entire western world is paranoid about acts of terrorism, given our recent history, so they tend to overreact if they get a tip-off. And a tip is all they would need, isn’t it?”
“Very likely.” Hal leaned back in his chair, legs splayed, like they were chatting about nothing more important than the weather. “Might be tough finding out whom, though.”
Whom? Aw, gotta love the English! “Do we need to do that? Isn’t it enough just to prove I’m innocent?”
“Ordinarily, yes,” Milo replied. “But the powers that be tend to get a bit twitchy if the word terrorism is used. With good reason, as it happens.”
“Do I look like a terrorist?” she demanded.
“Describe a terrorist’s look,” Milo shot back.
“Calm down, children,” Hal said, waving a placating hand. “We’re on your side, honey, but we won’t be much use to you if we don’t get the whole picture.”
“Right, so let’s start at the beginning.” Milo leaned slightly toward her. She caught a whiff of his bodywash, fresh spicy cologne, and hot, sexy male. The aroma was as out of place in this dreary dump as the man himself was. “Tell me everything. If I’m to help you, then I need to know it all.”
“In what respect?”
“What group were you mixed up with when they came for you? What were you planning? The whole works.”
Chapter Three
“Where to start?”
Milo looked up from the papers he had in front of him and sent her a wry glance that said, don’t waste my time. “The beginning’s usually a pretty good place,” he said curtly.
He examined their client closely while she assembled her thoughts. The freckles he remembered still decorated the bridge of her nose, standing out in stark contrast to the pallor of her skin. She obviously didn’t remember him, which was probably for the best. He wondered if she was actually guilty, figuring she was involved to some degree, even if she wasn’t aware of it. Someone like her, young, American, idealistic, and full of naïve fervor to make a difference, would be a prime target for ambitious terrorist groups.
He refused to be impressed by her physical attributes, evident even through her rumpled clothing, and after a night in the cells. Typically, Hal showed no such restraint, and smiled at her with unreserved approval. Under different circumstances Milo might have done the same thing. He and Hal were typically drawn to the same type of woman, and Jodie was definitely their type—physically at least. But as far as Milo was concerned, her philosophy sucked.
He and Hal had seen more than their fair share of war zones, and the brutality that went with those conflicts. He didn’t need crusading types who knew little or nothing about the realities of those war-torn, far-flung countries sticking their oar in, muddying the waters, pretending they knew what was best. Still, she was young, so he tried to remain professional, and cut her some slack. Presumably she was rebelling against her old man, or whatever the hell it was that kids did for kicks nowadays.
And from Milo’s perspective, she was a kid. At twenty-two, she was ten years, and way too many unpleasant experiences, younger than he was. She had to be five seven, and had long, thick, brunette hair, in need of a wash, held back with a colored band. Her face was dominated by a pair of huge brown eyes—eyes that defied her tough attitude and gave away just how scared she was to find herself in this place. Scared was good. It tended to concentrate the mind. Milo ought to know. She had high cheekbones, delicate brows, and a pouty mouth that cried out to be kissed. Don’t go there, Hanson!
“We were planning to stage a demonstration outside the Syrian embassy tomorrow,” she said, pulling Milo out of his erotic reverie.
“Just a minute. Who’s we?”
“A group of us who care about all those displaced people,” she replied passionately. “Someone has to do something.”
Perhaps, but Milo knew a demonstration would make the sum difference of none whatsoever. “How many of you were involved in organizing this protest?” he asked.
“Six.”
“Can you give me their names, and as much information about them as you know?”
“Why?” She shook her head. “None of them are terrorists.”
Give me strength! “Look,” Milo said, leaning in close, invading her personal space. “I’ve had two hours’ sleep, and am not in the mood to be pissed about. If you want my help, then you need to answer my questions. British police get it wrong, just like they do on your side of the pond, but they still wouldn’t have raided that house in Camden Town without good reason.”
“Now just a goddamned minute. Are you saying—”
Milo held up a hand, cutting her off mid-flow. “You really figure someone did this to get back at your old man?”
Her eyes widened. “I already told you that.”
“It’s a possibility,” Hal said. “But this Syrian thing isn’t your only cause, is it?”
“Well no, now you mention it, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing to get involved.”
Milo sent her a probing look. “Yeah, and who spurred your moment?”
“One of the organizers. I know him from other causes.”
“I need their names,” Hal sai
d, pen poised. “That would be a good place to start.”
“They wouldn’t!”
“If you’re right about your old man’s enemies, then someone sure as hell would,” Milo replied. “Either someone inside your group is working against you—”
“Never!”
“Then let’s have their names, and nationalities.”
“Now you’re just being racist.”
Milo smothered a sigh. God save me from politically correct activists. “Do you want my help or not?”
She laced the fingers of one hand through those of the other, folded them neatly in her lap, and expelled a deep sigh. “I’m sorry,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t sleep much either, surprising as it might seem, but I am very grateful you’re here.”
“Okay then, let’s hear it all.”
Milo studied her body language as intently as he listened to the words that spilled from her lips. It quickly became evident that she didn’t know a whole lot about her fellow activists. In some cases she didn’t even know their surnames. That didn’t matter. Milo would be able to extract all that information from the arrest record. He was just curious to discover how deeply Ms. Bisset was committed to her cause.
Very deeply, it would appear. She launched into a lecture about the evils of Sadat’s regime, the dangers of egomaniacs having too much control over the countries they ruled, the plight of displaced refugees…
“Who owns the house in Camden Town?” Milo asked, cutting across her diatribe.
“Oh, Phil and Betty rent it. It’s the hub of a whole lot of activities. People come and go all the time.” She shrugged. “It’s kinda open house, I guess.”
“They are the two who came up with the idea for the protest outside the embassy, and recruited you?”
“No, that was Jeff.”
“Who’s Jeff?” Hal asked, scribbling away.
“We’ve been involved in other causes together, and keep each other informed about what’s going on. There’s a chat room as well, where notices are put up, so like-minded people know what’s happening.”
“Great,” Milo muttered. “Rent-a-demo is all we need.”
“I wouldn’t expect an establishment man like you to understand.”
“You and this Jeff are an item?” Milo ignored the stab of jealousy that pierced his gut. Geez, he really must be tired. Jodie was a babe, but even if she wasn’t a client, he wouldn’t…her ideals, her beliefs, just didn’t jibe with his own thinking. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that.
“No, just fellow activists.”
“Okay,” Milo said, when it became apparent that Jodie had nothing further of interest to tell him. “What do you know about Spectrum?”
“What?”
She showed absolutely no signs of recognition, and Milo had been watching carefully for them. He’d shot the question at her out of the blue, hoping for a reaction. Either she really was in the dark, or she was the best actress this side of Hollywood.
“It’s a terrorist cell operating in this country that the security services have had their eye on for some time.”
Jodie shook her head. “Well, you know more than I do. Hand on heart, I’ve never heard of them, and if I had, I would have steered well clear. I’m into peaceful protest, not blowing up innocent people in pursuit of a misguided cause.”
Milo believed her—at least about that. “Hal did a bit of research before we came over here,” he said.
“I wondered what kept you.”
Milo’s anger won out over discretion. Talk about gratitude! “I’m sorry if we kept you waiting too long,” he said, twisting his lips into a cynical knot.
“You’re being paid to help me, aren’t you?”
Milo merely shook his head, wondering if she could possibly imagine how close he was to walking out on her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, flushing. “I guess I’m a bit on edge. I’ve never been arrested before. It’s not an experience I would recommend.”
It was Hal who broke the tension. “Chill, babe,” he said in his usual laidback manner. “It’s no wonder you’re on edge, but try to keep the anger caged.”
“Just so that you know,” Milo said in an icy tone. “We came to try and help you because a friend, your brother, asked us to. Money doesn’t come into it.”
“Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. Can we keep my big mouth out of it, and talk about getting me out of this shithole.”
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Milo drilled her with a look. “The police found literature in the house they reckon they can connect to Spectrum. Worse, they found details of a planned firebombing of a club in Mayfair. It’s a club that has a lot of rich Syrian ex-pats as members. They support the Sadat regime with money, and other resources.”
Once again Jodie shook her head. A long strand of hair had escaped from her ponytail, filling Milo with an irrational urge to release the rest, just so that he could see it tumble around her slim shoulders. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“There’s nothing more I can add to what I’ve already said. I know nothing about Spectrum, and if anyone in that house does then they didn’t share. What’s more, like I already said, if I had known, I would have walked out. I don’t do violence.” She folded her arms defensively beneath her breasts, pushing them against the fabric of her sweatshirt, giving Milo a clear view of two ripe babies just begging to be sucked—or clamped, or bitten, or…fuck, he had to stay focused here. “I leave that kind of stuff to the men in my family.”
Milo shared a glance with Hal, knowing their thoughts would be running along similar lines. Jodie obviously resented what her brother did for a living, and what her father stood for. Her pioneering causes were her way of fighting back.
“I’ll swear on a stack of bibles, take a lie detector test, whatever it takes to get out of here,” she said on a tone of faint injury.
“How come you’re living in London?” Milo asked.
“I’ve lived all over the world, never in one place for more than five minutes.” Jodie’s expression was resentful. “No friends, no continuity, because we were never in one place for long enough to establish roots. Well, I guess you guys know where I’m coming from.”
“What makes you say that?” Milo asked.
“Come on, you have military stamped all over you.”
“Yeah, okay, I know it can be tough on families,” Milo said, his stance momentarily softening. “Hell, it’s tough on the soldiers, too, but someone has to keep the rest of the world safe.”
“Dad was a diplomat.” She shrugged. “Still is. He left the soldiering to Paul, who toed the family line and did as he was told.”
“Unlike you?”
“Someone has to be the black sheep.” She sent them a brief, wicked smile that did all sorts of strange things to Milo—mainly his cock, which stood up and took a keen interest in the proceedings. “Dad was posted to embassies all over the world, and Mom and I tagged along. Paul’s a lot older than me, and was already in the military by the time I reached the age to wonder about these things.” She stretched and settled into a more comfortable position—if that was possible—on the hard plastic chairs provided. “Dad finished up in London when I was fifteen. I started making career choices so I could decide what subjects to specialize in at school, but suddenly it was time to go back to the States, permanently. I didn’t want to, dug my toes in, and was allowed to stay and finish my education. I went on to university at Cambridge.”
Milo was impressed. In spite of the university system having been dumbed down over the years, Cambridge still maintained high standards and took only the brightest and best.
“What did you read?” he asked.
“History and politics.”
That figured. “And do you have a job here in England? Is that why you stayed?”
“I stayed because I like England. And yes, I do have a job. I’m a researcher for a historian in Cambridge. He never leaves the town, and hates doing his own research. So I find what he
needs, either online or in the great libraries here in London, and send it on to him.”
“And that pays enough for you to live on?” Milo asked skeptically.
“I work part time in a bookstore in Covent Garden, too, and have a tiny studio apartment in Stockwell.”
“Your family has money,” Hal remarked. “Don’t they help you out?”
“Dad wants me to go back to the States.” She shrugged. “I don’t.”
Milo quirked a brow. “So he withholds funding?”
“I don’t need his charity.” She tossed her head. “I can make my own way.”
Milo allowed his glance to rest on the grimy walls of the interview room they occupied and said nothing.
“Yes, well, normally I can.”
“Presumably your academic in Cambridge would vouch for your character,” Milo said.
“I’m sure he would.”
“Okay, that’s something. Now, the police want to talk to you again, and I think you should tell them everything they want to know. I’ll be there, and if I think a question is inappropriate I’ll tell you not to answer it. But, the more open you are with them, the less likely they are to think you’re involved.”
“And if I do that, will they let me go?”
“They have forty-eight hours under the Prevention of Terrorism Act to hold you. After that, they must either charge you or let you go. But, they can also apply to a magistrate for a twenty-four-hour extension so they can question you further. If you don’t cooperate, that’s a good enough reason to apply for that extension, and they would probably get it.”
“I see.”
“Let’s tell them you’re ready to talk, then we’ll see. I think there’s a good chance of getting you out, provided you lose the attitude, and answer them candidly. They have a job to do, same as anyone else.”
“Is he always this bossy?” she asked Hal.