In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3)

by Irene Hannon

  "We can hope"

  "Hot date tonight?" She shot him a saucy grin.

  With an enigmatic smile, Nick pushed through to the lobby in silence and strode toward the interview room. Being single, he was used to such ribbing. But in truth, his hot dates were few and far between. By choice. There were plenty of women who thought dating an FBI agent was exciting and glamorous. He could pick up half a dozen at most bars.

  Thrill-seeking women, however, were not his definition of a hot date. He wasn't in the market for one-night stands or casual romance. A hot date for him would be spending an evening with a woman of substance who had more to offer than her body and whose values matched his.

  As he'd discovered, however, that kind of woman wasn't easy to find. And at thirty-eight, after twelve years of serious looking, he was on the verge of giving up the search.

  No, his Friday night didn't involve a one-on-one encounter with a special woman. Yet he was looking forward to it nonetheless. He might be the odd man out, but fellow agents Mark and Coop never made him feel that way. Nor did their wives, Emily and Monica. It would be a good evening with good friends, a rare chance for the five of them to get together, since Coop and Monica didn't get in from Virginia very often. And it was far preferable to a solitary evening spent rehabbing his house-his usual Friday-night agenda.

  Pausing outside the door to the interview room, Nick adjusted his jacket and grasped the knob. Professional, polite, fast. That was his plan.

  He pushed open the door, and a slim woman who appeared to be in her early thirties rose from her seat at a small table.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting" He shut the door behind him, closed the distance between them, and held out his hand.

  As she returned his firm grip, her slender fingers cold and not quite steady, he did a rapid assessment. Height about five-six. Weight one-fifteen, one-twenty, tops. Shoulder-length brown hair with auburn highlights, parted on the left side. Velvet brown eyes fringed by long lashes her copper-rimmed glasses couldn't camouflage. Classic oval face, pert nose, long, slender neck. Minimal makeup. Her black slacks hugged trim hips, and a gold filigree cross on a slender chain rested against her plumcolored turtleneck.

  A pretty woman.

  Who didn't want to be here.

  It took mere seconds for Nick to reach that conclusion. The uncertainty in her eyes was easy to read, as was the tremor in her fingers when she tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand.

  Trained to pick up such nuances, Nick had learned to use that skill to his advantage. Depending on the situation, he could turn up the heat-or turn on the charm. Whatever best served his purpose.

  In this case, he chose the latter tactic.

  "I'm Special Agent Nick Bradley, Ms. Sutton:" He gave her a relaxed smile. "Why don't we sit down while you tell me how I can help you?"

  For a moment, he thought she was going to bolt. He could sense it in the subtle tensing of her muscles, in the way her throat worked when she swallowed, in the quick glance she aimed at the closed door.

  He maintained a relaxed stance, his smile steady. "Ms. Sutton? Please, have a seat. I'd like to hear what you have to say." He indicated the chair, reaching over to pull it out-and effectively blocking her escape.

  Folding her arms across her chest, she examined the crisp white cuff extending below his jacket. A tiny smile quirked one corner of her mouth. "Interesting technique for corralling nervous subjects. Very smooth" She tilted her head up toward him. "But not necessary. I've come this far. I don't intend to leave without telling you my story."

  She retook her seat and perched on the edge of the chair, her posture taut as she intertwined her fingers on the table in front of her.

  Sharp woman, Nick concluded. Not to mention insightful and determined. Plus, she had a sense of humor. He admired her ability to dredge it up despite her obvious unease. A lot of people couldn't pull that off.

  This might turn out to be interesting after all.

  He took the chair at a right angle to her and opened his notebook. Extracting a card from his pocket, he laid it on the table. "So how can I help you, Ms. Sutton?"

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She had nice lips, he noted. Soft and full and well-shaped.

  "I'm not sure where to begin"

  Clearing his throat, he picked up his pen and forced himself to raise his gaze and redirect his train of thought. "All right. Let me ask a few questions. What specifically brought you here today?"

  She did that distracting lip-moistening thing again, then leaned away from him and lifted a small shopping bag off the floor, holding it gingerly by the handle as she transferred it to the table in front of him. "This"

  His expression impassive, Nick considered the bag. It had passed through the magnetometer and X-ray machine at the entrance to the building, meaning it didn't contain anything overtly dangerous. Yet she was handling it as if it were about to explode. Curious.

  "What is it?"

  "A Raggedy Ann doll:"

  Startled, he bought himself a few seconds by tipping the bag toward him. A battered cloth doll was folded inside, the face sporting a large patch above the right eye, the orange hair matted with dirt, the clothing stained. He felt as if he should put on latex gloves before touching it.

  Letting the bag resettle on the table, he shot her a cautious look. "Why did you bring this to us, Ms. Sutton?"

  She blinked, and her throat worked again as she swallowed, the tension in the room almost palpable. His curiosity was now thoroughly piqued.

  "I found it in a Bread Company parking lot' She named the location.

  He waited, but when she didn't continue, he tilted his head and leaned back, his posture informal and at ease as he rephrased his previous question. "Why did you think we'd be interested in it?"

  She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, opened them. Her gaze met his, and he sensed she was bracing herself. "Okay. This is going to sound crazy. I know that. But it's the truth, whether you choose to believe me or not. I found this doll yesterday at lunchtime, buried in a drift from a snowplow. Except for the orange yarn sticking out. That's how I spotted it. I thought maybe some little girl was missing it, so I dug it out. I planned to set it on the air conditioner next to the building in case her mother was a regular customer."

  She gripped the edge of the table, and her knuckles whitened. "This is where it gets ... weird. When I picked up the doll, I had a ... reaction"

  An alarm sounded in Nick's mind, warning him to proceed with caution. Keeping his expression neutral, he studied her. "Could you define `reaction'?"

  "I felt terror. Danger" Her volume dropped. "And I think I ... could hear a baby crying"

  Oh, brother.

  In his fifteen years with the Bureau, Nick had seen his share of kooks, from the guy who insisted he'd been abducted by aliens, to the woman who claimed God had told her to assist the FBI by acting as his intermediary on difficult cases, to the guy who believed he was J. Edgar Hoover reincarnated and wanted to be FBI director again.

  Now this. At closing time on a Friday, no less.

  What a way to end the week.

  In the silence that followed Rachel Sutton's revelation, he considered her. She might look normal. No, scratch that. She was well above normal in the looks department. Lovely, even. But nutcases came in all sorts of packages. And her story put her in that category, no question about it. Now it was a matter of getting rid of her in a diplomatic way.

  "You don't believe me, do you?"

  Her quiet, resigned words-more comment than questiontook him off guard. Lots of people who relayed bizarre tales to the Bureau became indignant, even angry, if they suspected an agent doubted their story. But the pink tinge on Rachel Sutton's cheeks, the slight tremor in her words, spoke more of embarrassment than outrage. Not the typical reaction to skepticism.

  "I'm not questioning what you experienced, Ms. Sutton" He chose his words with care.

  "But you don't think it's real:"

>   Instead of responding, he countered with a request. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened when you had this reaction?"

  "I couldn't breathe. My heart started pounding. I got dizzy. I could feel my adrenaline pumping. I was terrified:"

  "Has this ever happened to you before?"

  "No"

  "You've never had a panic attack?"

  "No. And I'm not some psychic nut. I don't even believe in that stuff. That's why this experience was so disturbing"

  "But the doll is sitting a couple of feet away from you, and you're fine"

  "It only happens when I touch it:"

  Nick debated his next move. He was already running late for dinner, and prolonging this interview was a waste of time. He needed to get the woman's address and phone number, thank her for coming, and get rid of her. That was the best way to handle this. The way he always handled these cases.

  But Rachel Sutton's earnest eyes sucked him in. She believed her story, whether he did or not. And for some reason he found it difficult to dismiss her tale with his usual quick dispatch.

  He toyed with his pen, turning it end to end on the table. "Why didn't you share this information with the police?"

  "I considered that. But the husband of one of my co-workers is a cop, and she ran it by him for me. She was very diplomatic in passing on his message, but it was pretty clear I'd be the laughingstock of the precinct. No one would take me seriously. I hoped I'd fare better with the FBI:" She drew an unsteady breath. "I guess I was wrong"

  Lifting her chin in what Nick suspected was a last-ditch effort to hold on to her dignity, she unhooked her shoulder purse from the back of her chair and stood, ignoring the card he'd placed in front of her. Taken aback, he rose too. This interview definitely wasn't following the typical pattern. In general, it was hard to shake the weirdos. Rachel Sutton, on the other hand, seemed intent on disappearing as fast as she could.

  "Ms. Sutton, I'd like to get some contact information before you leave:"

  "In case you have any questions about the notes you took?" She sent a pointed glance toward the blank page of his notebook.

  Heat surged up the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure what to write. Your story is very ... peculiar:"

  "I know that" All at once her shoulders drooped. "And I don't blame you for being skeptical, Agent Bradley. If I were in your shoes, I'd have had the same reaction. I just felt a need to follow through. I've done that. Now I intend to walk away. Thanks for your time"

  She turned to retrieve her coat, and Nick pondered his strategy. The smart thing to do ... the reasonable thing ... was let her leave. She'd admitted she would do as much herself. Yet he found himself reaching out, touching her arm.

  "Before you go, would you do one favor for me?"

  She angled toward him, her expression wary. "What?"

  "Pick up the doll:"

  Her complexion went a shade paler and she took a step back. "I'd rather not"

  He pinned her with an intent look. "Ms. Sutton, I'll be honest. I've had my share of tips like this through the years. None amounted to anything. That makes me skeptical. On the other hand, you strike me as an intelligent, rational person. I'm curious to see this reaction you describe. Physical evidence is difficult to refute:"

  She hesitated. Caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Darted a glance toward the shopping bag. Tightened her grip on the strap of her shoulder purse.

  Nick waited her out. If this was an act, she was very good. He'd buy her indecision, her dread-her fear-in a heartbeat.

  At last, wiping her palms on her slacks, she let the strap slide from her shoulder. Setting the purse beside her coat, she took a step toward him. "All right:"

  In silence, he picked up the shopping bag and held it open.

  She walked to the bag. Sucked in a lungful of air. Her spine stiffened, and she reached in and withdrew the doll.

  What happened next was like nothing Nick had seen in all his years of law enforcement.

  The little color remaining in Rachel Sutton's complexion vanished, revealing a faint dusting of freckles across her nose. Moisture broke out on her upper lip. She held the doll away from her, arms rigid, and her whole body began to tremble. Her respiration grew shallow and rapid, and she had to struggle for breath. If he checked her pulse, Nick was sure it would be racing.

  A few minutes ago, she'd described her reaction to the doll as terror.

  She hadn't been lying.

  This was real.

  Nick didn't want to accept that. But he doubted even a superlative actress could fake the physiological reaction Rachel was having.

  Yet it made no sense.

  All at once Rachel's knees gave way, galvanizing him into action. He grabbed her upper arms and backed her into the chair she'd vacated sixty seconds ago, easing her down. Without taking his eyes off her, he tugged the doll from her shaking hands and set it on the table.

  The transformation was immediate-and startling. Her trembling subsided, her breathing steadied, her muscles began to relax. Color crept back into her face.

  It was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen.

  "Let me get you some water" He took a step toward the door.

  "No. I'll be okay." She resettled her glasses with fingers that weren't yet steady and aimed a probing look in his direction. "Now do you believe me?"

  In all honesty, he didn't have a clue what to believe. He couldn't deny what he'd witnessed, but neither could he explain it. Picking up the doll, he examined it, searching for some explanation. But the smiling face offered no answers. Nor did he experience any reaction when he touched it. Only Rachel seemed attuned to its vibes.

  He set the doll back on the table, took his seat again, and picked up his pen. "Why don't you give me some contact information, Ms. Sutton? Let's start with address and phone number"

  "Does that mean you're going to check into this?"

  He thought about spewing the standard line. That all tips were taken seriously and would be given due consideration. Instead, he decided the clear-eyed woman across from him-who he suspected had come here against her better judgment, knowing she faced ridicule-deserved honesty.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do:" He tapped his pen on the wood-grained surface of the table. "I saw your reaction to the doll. It was unsettling. But whether it indicates a third-party crime or just some very idiosyncratic response ... I have no idea. I want to think about it"

  After a moment, she gave a slow nod. "I guess that's fair. What do you need from me?"

  Once she'd answered all his questions, she picked up his card and stood to retrieve her coat. He beat her to it, holding the sleeves as she slid her arms inside. The unusual teal-blue hue caught his eye.

  "Pretty color"

  A brief smile toyed at her lips as she shrugged the coat into position on her shoulders. "Winter is dreary enough. This brightens it up a bit:"

  "Nice thought. I'll walk you out"

  Surprise flickered in her velvety brown irises. "That's not necessary."

  "Where did you park?"

  "Around the corner."

  "It's necessary." Without waiting for her to reply, he crossed to the door of the interview room and opened it.

  She regarded him without moving. "I'm used to taking care of myself, Agent Bradley."

  "And I'm used to protecting people. It's my job:" He gave her an engaging grin. "Look at it this way. It's dark, and the muggers are out in full force. FBI agents aren't too happy when crimes are committed in their own backyard"

  Buttoning her coat, Rachel capitulated with a fleeting smile and a slight lift of one shoulder. "How can I argue with that?"

  "It would be tough"

  The hint of a chuckle escaped her soft lips as she passed him, and he caught a whiff of a faint, pleasing scent. Nice.

  Exiting the building, he motioned toward some slick patches on the sidewalk as they struck out toward her car. "Watch the ice. Those are puddles during the day, but they have a tendency to freeze at night
:"

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than a slippery spot caught Rachel off guard. His arm shot out to steady her, and she quickly regained her balance. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes" Her reply came out a bit breathless as she secured her glasses on her nose. "Thanks for the save. I wouldn't want these to go flying. I'm blind as a bat without them"

  As they continued toward her car, he maintained a loose grip on her arm. Had he not done so, he doubted he would have noticed the very slight hitch in her gait. A permanent handicap, or a recent injury?

  When they arrived at her car, she withdrew her keys from her purse and faced him. "Look ... I'd like to thank you for not laughing at my story."

  "The reaction you had wasn't funny."

  She acknowledged his comment with a dip of her head, then slid into the driver's seat. "Good night, Agent Bradley."

  "Good night" He shut her door, lifted a hand in farewell, and strode back down the sidewalk. A quick glance at his watch confirmed he was already running late for dinner. He needed to shift gears and forget about work for the next few hours.

  But thanks to a lovely woman with a doll, he had a feeling that wasn't going to be so easy to do.

  As Nick Bradley disappeared into the night, Rachel drew a long, shaky breath.

  The last half hour had been tense. Very tense.

  But it could have been worse. At least the FBI agent had given her a fair hearing. If he laughed with his colleagues later, so be it. In person, he'd allowed her to hold on to her dignity despite her bizarre story. He deserved high marks for that.

  She'd give him high marks in other areas too. Her first impression of him when he'd walked through the door had been classic all-American boy. At six-foot-one or two, with sandy hair and a lean, athletic build, he fit that description to a T. But as they'd talked, she'd realized the firm jaw and fine lines at the corners of his eyes spoke of maturity and seasoning, hinting at a toughness not immediately apparent under his engaging smile. The man projected a sense of leashed power and control, and Rachel had a feeling he'd seen his share of rough-and-tumble action, despite his appealing boy-next-door looks. A faint scar above his temple suggested as much.

  It was an arresting combination.