by Donna Young
She heard him start the tap running, and then the door to the bathroom closed. The quiet decisiveness of the sound triggered one simple question.
Just how long would that feeling last?
THE WATER was hot, abrasive. Deliberately so, to keep him focused.
Celeste was starting to trust him. The revelation brought neither anger nor shock—just acceptance. And the knowledge left him vulnerable.
The ring of his phone broke into his thoughts. With a curse he cut off the water, swung back the curtain and reached for his cell where he’d left it on the sink.
But he was too late. Celeste had a cup of coffee in her hand and was already holding the phone to her ear.
“Jon!” Her face went linen-white, her hand trembled. “No, I’m fine. Yes, he’s been…I’m glad you’re…” Cain stepped toward her when her voice died. “Here’s Cain.”
“Celeste!” Cain swore when she turned her back to him and walked away, her hand in the air, telling him to back off.
“Damn it, MacAlister. What’s going on?” The hollow echo of the retort told Cain he was on a speaker.
Cain watched Celeste walk into the bedroom. With jerky movements, she started pulling on her sweats, his white T-shirt.
“From what we could tell, you had suffered an abdominal wound—” Cain told Mercer.
“Not about my injuries, damn it.” Mercer cut him off. “If you’re still angry about Celeste being alive, get over it. I want a status report.”
“I’m sure Roman’s told you—”
“I did.” Roman’s voice boomed from the background. “He wants your version.”
“And Quamar?”
“Still in surgery, Cain.” Roman answered again, the concern in his voice raw. Roman and Quamar’s friendship was rock-solid, dating back to when an Arab rebel unit had targeted Quamar’s tribe. Roman had helped save Quamar’s people and earned the giant’s loyalty. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”
“Tell me what the hell is happening, Cain,” Mercer rasped.
It took Cain less than two minutes to bring Mercer up to date.
“And Celeste—why in the hell did she sound shocked? You didn’t tell her I was alive, did you?”
“No,” Cain’s answer came after a moment, but the anger was there. Live wires snapping in the air.
“You’d better deal with it.” Mercer paused. “Damn it, it feels like my belly’s on fire.” The words came out on a grunt of pain.
“Have you talked to the president?”
“Damn fool,” Mercer answered, his irritation back. “I tried to convince Cambridge to delay his trip to Shadow Point, but some damned idiot named Lassiter promised to release Olivia’s body to the embalmer. The autopsy was simple and to the point. She died from a crushed windpipe. The broken neck came after. They’re waiting for the toxicology report but expect it to come back negative.”
“Cain,” Roman inserted. “Cambridge’s people have already made arrangements for the funeral to take place later this afternoon. Couldn’t get him to reconsider the location either—something about the family plot being sacred.”
Mercer coughed. Swore. Then coughed again. “I didn’t agree, of course. But there’s no talking sense to him this time. Especially since his advisors are pushing the schedule. Figure the sooner the better. So far, they’ve been able to apply some pressure and stopped the press dead in their tracks, but they can only hold them back for so long.”
“If they deal with the situation immediately, there’ll be less damage control later,” Roman added.
“Air Force One is due in Saginaw soon, Cain.” Mercer continued. “All other details are being kept under wraps for security purposes. Even the FBI won’t know when he hits town until he does.”
“No other way to persuade him?” Cain asked.
“Would you listen to anyone if it had been Christel?” Roman inserted quietly.
Cain ignored him. “Jon, Celeste believes Gabriel will make an assassination attempt. I agree.”
“We all agree, damn it,” Mercer bit out. “Did Celeste fill you in on everything?”
Mercer’s question seemed innocent, but Cain wasn’t fooled. Jon was searching for some type of reaction.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“But we can’t use her as a reliable source,” Cain responded, although he’d already planned to provide an extremely detailed report. He wanted the case well-documented with Celeste’s history and current involvement. This time he’d make sure she’d be protected from any future recriminations. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I agree.” Mercer’s sigh was long, weary. “The president wouldn’t listen to her even with evidence to back her up. This is personal.”
“Obviously, the man is not himself,” Roman commented.
“Not himself indeed,” Cain acknowledged, then after a moment added, “Not surprising, considering someone is systematically murdering his family.”
“At least he’s not bringing Mora or the girl, Anna. No sense in putting the First Lady and their daughter in jeopardy too. The only one accompanying him is Vice President Bowden.” Mercer replied.
“Risky.” Cain didn’t like it. Having two heads of state in the same place at the same time was just asking for trouble. Too much of a temptation for fanatics.
“Damned stupid,” Mercer bit out. “And after Robert got over the initial shock that I was alive, I told him that. But president and vice president have been friends for years, and Bowden felt they needed to show a unified front. Terrorist threats or not. He spouted some Southern rhetoric about dignity and courage.” Mercer’s voice hardened. “I didn’t buy it. Personally, he knows it’s a good publicity move if the reporters do get wind of the situation. The man’s as slippery as those damned water moccasins he was raised around.”
“Jon,” Cain said. “Is Cambridge planning to tell anyone that you survived the assassination attempt?”
“No, not until I officially take command again.” He grunted. “Roman’s in charge until further notice.”
“Did Cambridge at least beef up the security, Jon?”
“Yes, but over Bowden’s protest. Besides the president’s permanent attachments, they’re bringing up the Detroit branch of Secret Service.” Mercer snorted in disgust. “The vice president didn’t want any changes that would alert the public to the murder.”
Both Cain and Roman knew there was no love lost between the vice president and the director of Labyrinth. Although he had no proof, Jon had always believed that Bowden maintained his own agenda—one that didn’t necessarily take into consideration the best interest of the American people.
“The problem is, Bowden has a valid argument,” Mercer admitted. “Damned Secret Service tends to trip over themselves during these unplanned stops. If they can’t get their security measures in place a month in advance, they might as well send out an invitation to every crackpot in the country.”
“We added our own little mix,” Roman interjected casually, but Cain wasn’t fooled. “Ian and Lara are on their way,” Roman explained. “They’re posing as Secret Service agents. One on Cambridge, one on Bowden. But even then I don’t know if it will be enough.”
“Lara? She knows you’re alive?” Cain swore. “Who authorized the change in assignment?”
“I did.” Mercer interjected just as harshly. “You shouldn’t have told her I was dead, Cain. She could have been informed. No reason not to trust her.”
“It wasn’t a matter of trust,” Cain argued. He knew that Roman, as Labyrinth’s acting director, had the final say in this decision. “It was a matter of her temper. She’s emotionally involved—wants to avenge her father.” Cain’s jaw tightened. “You felt you owed her this?”
“No. I felt you did.” Mercer’s voice sharpened into finely honed steel, showing the hardened structure of the man beneath, the man who had survived years of jungle warfare. “And she isn’t the only one who’s on a crusade.” He paused, letting his ba
rb hit home. “Or am I wrong?”
“Let’s just hope you’re not dead wrong,” Cain responded tightly.
“Cain,” Roman cut through the tension. “Kate sent you a special present with Ian. She’s says you’re to use it or she’ll come there personally, pregnant or not, and kick your ass.”
A warning edged Roman’s statement and Cain understood it. Kate wouldn’t be the only one doing him physical harm if he caused Roman’s wife undue stress while she was pregnant.
“What’s Ian bringing?”
“Some of Kate’s smoke screens. The ones that filter high winds and stay put.” Roman’s smirk came over the line loud and clear. “And if I know your sister, probably a whole arsenal of other gadgets. Plastic explosives, some acid rope.”
“You two need to be on your guard,” Mercer interrupted. “Whoever wiped the records clean on that prostitute’s phone had high connections. Even Cerberus here,” the older man said, his voice roughening with exhaustion, “couldn’t find them. I’ll expect you to keep me apprised of the situation.”
“Cain,” Roman’s voice came over the phone. “Before we let you go, have you found out anything else on this Sheriff Lassiter? I came across a glitch in his file, as though someone had been screening the data just prior to his move to Michigan.”
“Other than his being suspicious about our involvement in Celeste’s fire, nothing out of the ordinary.”
Cain tightened automatically, finding Celeste sitting on the bed, her delicate features serene. More Diana than he’d seen in the last twenty-four hours. Quietly, she listened, her long, soothing fingers stroking Pan, who lay curled in her lap.
“I don’t like it. I started digging deeper into the files, running a check on everyone who’d be at the funeral. Someone changed information on Lassiter’s file. I missed it on the first check, because of the security path. The method is similar enough to the hooker’s cell phone records to make me suspicious.”
“It’s enough to question him. Get on the phone and have Lassiter detained at his office. We’re on our way,” Cain replied. “If what you say is right, there’s a good chance he could be Gabriel.”
“I want that bastard out of commission before Air Force One touches Saginaw’s tarmac,” Mercer ordered.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“One more thing,” Mercer said, his voice grim. “I’ve put Celeste through hell, all in the name of patriotism. She doesn’t owe me anything, especially loyalty. I don’t take something like that lightly. Anything happens to her, I’ll hold you responsible. Got me?”
Cain’s eyes narrowed as he studied Celeste. “If anything happens, Jon, there won’t be enough of me left to hold responsible.”
If he hadn’t turned away, Cain would have caught her wince.
Chapter Fourteen
The Sheriff’s Department was small, simple in its furnishings. Metal chairs, metal desks. Tan linoleum floor. One window to each wall, some of their blinds at half-mast, most closed.
Nothing to distract from business, except for an occasional plant. Most of these were artificial, Celeste realized when she studied the bent palm tree in the back corner.
Certainly, there were no pictures of family in evidence. Not because the people who worked here didn’t have family, Celeste deduced, but simply because there was no room. Every available space held stacks of papers or hanging bulletin boards.
One lone desk near the door survived the clutter, only because it held a tall, tarnished coffee urn, with enough dents to make her wonder about its efficiency. The heavy scent of burnt coffee grounds hung in the air.
“Can I help you folks?”
Celeste took in the blue suit, matching necktie and white shirt. The guy had Agent stamped all over him.
Secret Service and FBI people crowded the office, some on computers, most on phones. It was hard not to conclude that they’d found a base of operation.
“I need to talk to Lassiter, where have you got him?” Obviously, Cain had pegged this guy as a no-nonsense, by-the-book agent.
“And you are?” The man was in his mid-forties with muddy brown hair cropped short enough to necessitate the use of a barber every week, but not enough to hide the dusting of gray. Tall and lanky, she thought, Jimmy Stewart with a Brooklyn accent. And, by the look from the shrewd green eyes, the man in charge.
“MacAlister.” Cain flashed his identification.
“Sam Garrett. Detroit Secret Service.” The muscles relaxed, just enough to appear comfortable, but the eyes remained sharp. “I’ve been waiting for you, MacAlister. Seems you have some friends in pretty high places.” He turned his piercing gaze on Celeste. “And you are?”
“Celeste Pavenic,” she said with care. It had been a gamble for her to come, but she’d insisted. Her face had never been made public, never reached past the White House. These might be Detroit agents, but within an hour, Washington Secret Service will be all over Shadow Point. By that time, she hoped, it wouldn’t matter.
“I’m Mr. MacAlister’s associate.” Celeste held out her hand, something neither man had done. “I wish we could’ve met under less urgent circumstances, Agent Garrett.”
He grasped her hand firmly, shook once and let go. “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t quite know why we are meeting, ma’am. I was just told when MacAlister here showed up, I was to give him access to Lassiter. But I find myself…curious—”
“Roe, get the hell out of here. Find that son of a bitch, MacAlister. I want answers. Now!” Lassiter’s voice cracked like thunder through the office.
“That would be your friend,” Garrett informed them, poker-faced.
A college kid came out from the back room. Sandy-haired, with a basset hound’s brown eyes, his face flamed in red. “Agent Garrett, the sheriff is pretty pissed—”
“Roe, this is Mr. MacAlister.” He nodded toward the young man. “Deputy Rowan Cash.” Without waiting, he waved his hand toward Celeste. “I believe he and Miss Pavenic would like a short conversation with the sheriff.”
“Not her. Just me.”
Cain caught the stiffening of Celeste’s body and grabbed her arm. He nodded toward a scratched-up door with Lassiter’s name plate glued to it. “Is it empty?”
“Yes,” Garrett answered, his brows raised.
Cain glanced at Celeste. “Stay in there and wait for me.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“You’re not watching this interrogation, Celeste.”
“Try and stop me.”
“Agent Garrett,” Cain addressed the other man, but his eyes stayed locked on Celeste’s. “Miss Pavenic is a civilian with no identification. She is under my protection, most likely from the man you know as Sheriff Lassiter. We believe he might be an assassin whose intention is to kill both her and the president.” His eyes flickered over Celeste at her gasp.
“I’m making a formal request that you keep her under security in Lassiter’s office, with a guard posted at the door until I get out of the interrogation. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.” Garrett nodded toward Roe. “Deputy Cash, stand guard over Miss Pavenic until Mr. MacAlister tells you otherwise.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Celeste turned toward the office, twin blue lasers sliced through him, but it was the desolation behind them that caught his gut. He’d pay for this later, but at least for Celeste, there would be a later.
Celeste slammed the door shut behind her with a tightly controlled shove. Garrett let out a slow whistle between his teeth. “Hell, MacAlister, I just met you, but the parting shot that lady just sent you—well, any other man would be a shriveled pile of garbage on the floor.”
“I’ve handled worse.”
The lift of Garrett’s eyebrow told Cain he doubted it. “If that’s the case…” Lassiter bellowed out another stream of curses. “…your man in there should be a piece of cake.”
When Cain stepped into the interrogation room, he expected Lassiter to lash out at him. What he got w
as a long, dismissive look.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, arresting me?” Lassiter demanded to know, leaning back in a metal chair, his wrists resting on the matching table in front of him.
“Shut up, Lassiter.” Cain’s little inner voice was working overtime. “Tell me why anyone would be messing with your government files.”
“How the hell should I know?” Lassiter glared at him. “Maybe someone doesn’t want me looking at things too closely. Maybe someone wants me out of commission.” Lassiter snorted. “Maybe someone wants you chasing your tail.”
Cain swore, because the comment hit too close to home. “It takes more than just one goddamn phone call to put you in jail, Lassiter. Your files have been changed. At a level too high for me to believe you’re not—”
Cain blinked, running through the facts in his head. Without a word, he turned on his heel and headed for Celeste. When Deputy Cash saw him coming, he quickly stepped out of the way.
“What the hell is going on, MacAlister?”
“I don’t know.” Cain shot his answer to Garrett from across the room. “But I’m going to find out.” He shoved the office door open, knowing before he did that his little voice had been right.
Celeste had disappeared.
Chapter Fifteen
Cain roared when he saw the open window. But it wasn’t until he saw the sapphire ring sitting on the desk that he felt the swift slice of fear.
He snagged the ring, its metal still warm from her skin and swung around.
That’s when he saw it. On the wall—a newspaper photograph of Jim Lassiter receiving an award. A little leaner, a lot more hair, the sheriff stood proudly erect next to chunky brunette Cain guessed to be his wife.
He glanced at the date. Seven years before. “Damn it!”
Cain grabbed Cash by the shirt and shoved him against the wall. “How long?”
“I don’t know.” Roe’s Adam’s apple bobbed—to the point where Cain almost shoved it down the boy’s throat. “I didn’t hear a thing.”