Derek shoved open the door and turned to Elizabeth. “You coming?”
“You’re not going in there.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Derek, please listen to me. This woman has been through a lot. She’s traumatized, and you’re . . . you. How do you know your presence won’t intimidate her?”
He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”
She stared at him, and he tried to read her eyes. Ticked off, yes. Worried, yes. She thought his involvement in the raid was going to trigger a negative reaction, but Derek was betting on the opposite.
Elizabeth glanced at the condo, where her best shot at getting a new lead resided.
“You and I both know you’re not leaving here without this interview,” he said. “What would your boss think?”
“It’s not about my boss. This is a high-priority investigation that’s vital to national security. I want to contribute.”
“I know. I also know you’re competitive as hell, and you’ll use every resource at your disposal, including me. So let’s get this done.”
He got out. She sat there stewing for another moment, and then she got out, too, grabbing her jacket from the backseat. He watched her slip into it and put on her agent face.
The evening air was oven-hot, like Afghanistan in July, only instead of smelling like rotting garbage, it smelled like fresh-cut Bermuda grass. The condo was sand-colored adobe with a tile roof and a two-story entranceway.
“I’ll do the talking,” Elizabeth whispered beside him.
Derek rapped on the carved wooden door. They waited a few beats. The door swung back, and Hailey looked up at him.
“Evening, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant—”
“I know who you are.” She stepped out and threw her arms around his neck. She squeezed him tightly and held on so long he started to get embarrassed. Finally, she pulled back.
He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, this is Special Agent Elizabeth LeBlanc, with the FBI.”
She eyed Elizabeth warily. “Any interview requests are supposed to go through my attorney.”
“We’ll keep this brief. We don’t want to bother you.”
She glanced at Derek, then back at Elizabeth.
“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” Elizabeth added.
Hailey stepped back to let them in. The house was a good thirty degrees cooler than outside, and Derek glanced around as she led them into a living room. A blanket was balled up at the end of the sofa. On the other end was a pillow with a flowered pillowcase that probably matched a bedspread somewhere upstairs. Mugs littered the coffee table, and a TV remote sat beside a pile of newspapers.
“You want anything to drink?” She looked at Derek, then Elizabeth. “I’ve got water, Gatorade . . .” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Chamomile tea.”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Elizabeth smiled. “We won’t stay long.”
“Okay, then . . . have a seat, I guess.” She lowered herself onto the sofa. Elizabeth picked a leather ottoman, and Derek sat down in a striped armchair. Hailey was staring at him. He’d worn a T-shirt, jeans, and boots, thinking civilian clothes would make her more comfortable. But she seemed the opposite of comfortable as she pulled a pillow into her lap.
“How’s the wrist?” He nodded at her cast.
“All right.” She looked at Elizabeth. “What questions did you have? I’m not sure what I can tell you that you don’t already know.”
“Hailey, the SEALs who came to get you discovered some important information in the house where Dr. Lindh was being held.”
She didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“That information’s been analyzed,” Elizabeth continued, “and it leads us to believe this group may be planning an attack. Something stateside.”
Hailey flinched. “You mean here?”
“Somewhere in America, yes. We’re not sure where, exactly. That’s something we need to find out.” Elizabeth paused. “Can you recall hearing anything during your captivity?”
She glanced at Derek and shook her head.
“Maybe a place name?” Elizabeth asked.
Hailey cleared her throat. “My Pashto’s pretty minimal. I mean, it sucks, if you want to know the truth.” She looked at Derek. “I really only know a few greetings and some medical terms.”
“Mine’s bad, too.” Derek leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “But you know, a lot of the place names—American place names—aren’t all that different. Can you think of any words that sounded like something familiar? Maybe similar to English?”
She shook her head.
“Hailey, besides Khalid Rana,” Elizabeth said, “you identified another one of your captors, Omar Rasheed.”
Her shoulders tensed.
“You also recognized photos of two of the guards killed by the SEALs. Can you think of anyone else who might have been there? Besides those we’ve identified?”
“Why?”
“We have fingerprint evidence that someone else may have been staying there in the house, too,” Elizabeth said. “We’re trying to figure out who.”
Hailey shook her head. “Those are the ones I remember.”
“There wasn’t anyone else? Maybe you didn’t see a face, but you heard a voice? Or heard another name being used?”
Another head shake.
Derek watched her, trying to read her body language. “Maybe Khalid mentioned someone?” he asked.
“He didn’t.” She was adamant. “None of them said much of anything to me. And what they did say—it’s all such a blur.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
“Take your time,” Elizabeth said.
She set the pillow aside and stood up, folding her arms tightly against her. He thought she was going to ask them to leave. Instead, she laughed.
“You know, I used to have a good memory. That’s the ironic thing. Now there’re these . . . chunks missing.”
Derek glanced at Elizabeth as Hailey walked to the window and looked out. The sun was sinking over the golf course, casting long shadows across the grass. But he doubted she was thinking about the scenery. More likely she was thinking of how it felt to be held captive by a bunch of filthy, stinking men who would have been happy to slit her throat. And Derek felt like shit for dredging all this up, but they needed to learn what she knew.
“Since I got back, I’ve become a total freak about everything.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m so paranoid all the time, jumping at shadows. Everywhere I go, it’s like there’s people following me. Reporters, stalkers, people watching my house.”
“You’re not paranoid,” Derek said. “People are watching your house.”
She turned around. “What?”
“There’s an unmarked FBI sedan at the end of your block,” he said.
Elizabeth shot him a look as Hailey strode across the room and peered through the expensive blinds covering the windows.
“What the hell? Why are they there?”
“It’s standard procedure whenever one of our citizens spends an extended time with terrorists,” Elizabeth said. “We keep them under surveillance. As a safety precaution.”
She snorted. “Don’t you mean Stockholm syndrome? God, you think I’m joining forces with them now?”
“I don’t think that at all, Hailey. It’s just standard procedure.”
She peered out the window again and returned to the couch. The nerves were gone now, replaced by a hefty dose of pissed-offedness.
“Khalid, Omar, and the guards. Those are the people I remember. But can I be sure? No. I was drugged some of the time, which I’m sure you know from reading my file. Probably some kind of opiate.” She stared down at her cast. “So you think they might be coming here?” She looked up. “That’s what you’re saying, right? If they’re planning an attack?”
“Rasheed’s on the terrorist watch list,” Elizabeth said. “We have his name, his photograph, his fingerprints. It’s highly unlikely he could get in here.”<
br />
“But you don’t have this mystery person.” She looked at Derek. “His name’s not on the watch list if you don’t know who he is.”
“No, you’re right,” Elizabeth said. “We have his print, but that’s all. That’s why we needed to talk to you, see if you might remember something more.”
Silence hung in the air. Derek watched Hailey, watched the tense set of her shoulders and the haunted look in her eyes. He felt a surge of anger over all the crap she was going to be dealing with, probably for the rest of her life.
She stood abruptly. “Sorry. I don’t remember anything else. I’ll let you know if I do.”
And that was it. Interview over. Elizabeth managed to get her to take a business card in case she recalled anything. Thirty seconds later they were out on the sidewalk.
Chapter Five
They walked silently back to the gray rental car. Derek’s pickup was parked around the corner. At the end of the block, a pair of bored-out-of-their-minds feds sat roasting in their vehicle.
Elizabeth’s shoulders drooped and she seemed defeated, but Derek knew that was temporary. She wouldn’t stay down for long.
“Why’d you tell her about the FBI tail?” She looked up at him.
“Girl thinks she’s going crazy. Give her a break.”
She sighed. “She doesn’t look good.”
“Better than last time I saw her.”
“She’s not sleeping.”
Derek glanced at her. “She told you that?”
“Her house told me that.” She stopped at the bumper and looked up at him. “You think she was being straight with us?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked back at the house. “I think she was holding something back.” She pulled open the driver’s-side door and tossed her purse inside.
“So where to?” He rested his arm on top of the door. “How about dinner?”
She gave him a quick half-smile that told him she’d been expecting the question. “I’d love to, but I’ve got a ton of work to do tonight.”
“How ’bout you forget about work and have dinner with me?”
“I really need to report in.”
He nodded. “Report in, and then have dinner with me.”
She cracked a genuine smile now. Then she shook her head. “I thought you had family waiting for you in Texas.”
“They’ll keep.”
She looked away. A breeze whipped up, picking up the loose wisps of hair.
He eased closer. “What are you scared of?”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re afraid to go out with me.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
He stroked his finger down her sleeve and caught her hand. She didn’t pull back, just looked up at him with those clear blue eyes he’d been thinking about. “One dinner, Liz. Then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.” It was a flat-out lie, and she knew it. She looked away again, and a warm feeling spread through him because he knew he had her.
“I’ve got to make a phone call first.” She met his gaze. “I’m staying at the—”
“Marriott by the airport, I know. I saw the tag on your dash.” He smiled and dropped her hand. “I’ll pick you up in thirty.”
* * *
She suggested the sports bar across from the hotel so he wouldn’t have to drive and she could get back to her laptop at a moment’s notice. Sitting in a booth, surrounded by wall-to-wall televisions and the spicy aroma of chicken wings, she felt guilty. The rest of the task force was back in Houston now, and she doubted they were getting much of a dinner break. Gordon was driving everyone hard. The potential threat to the nation’s fourth-largest city had Homeland Security’s full attention, and people across all agencies were doing everything possible to investigate without tipping off the media.
A voluptuous young waitress delivered their beers. She flashed a smile at Derek as she reached across the table to arrange his Shiner Bock just so on a little napkin.
“Your dinner will be right out.”
Elizabeth’s beer came with a curt nod.
She glanced around the restaurant, noticing all the women eyeing her table with interest.
“So,” she said when the waitress was gone, “you were right about Hailey. She was glad to see you. Not sure I would have had the same reaction from her.”
Derek tipped back his beer without comment. He’d seemed almost embarrassed by Hailey’s response. It was a completely new look for him.
“I appreciate your help with the interview,” Elizabeth continued. She was determined to use this time to touch on everything she needed to cover with him so he wouldn’t have an excuse to call her. “It was very helpful, but I want you to know that the task force has a handle on it. We can take it from here.”
The corner of his mouth curved, but he didn’t look amused. “Why don’t I believe that?”
“Okay, fair enough. Some mistakes have been made in this case. But Homeland Security—”
“Homeland Security fucked up, big time. They should never have let Khalid go.”
He was right, but she tried to downplay it. “Khalid wasn’t talking.”
“He’d been in custody five minutes.” He set his beer down. “Sometimes you have to sweat ’em out a little.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the baseball game playing on one of the screens. She didn’t want to talk about the mistakes of the CIA or the Bureau or anyone else. What was done was done. They had to focus on what they had.
“I get the feeling something’s off with Hailey,” she said. “That something’s going on with her.”
“What, you mean besides being kidnapped, raped, and beaten?”
“Yes.”
Derek looked away and seemed to think about it.
He was very observant, and he’d talked to plenty of people under extreme duress. She wanted his impressions.
“She seemed protective of Khalid.”
Elizabeth felt a wave of relief. She hadn’t been imagining it. “I thought so, too.” She paused. “Maybe he was nice to her.”
“You’re thinking Stockholm syndrome?”
“It happens,” she said.
The waitress reappeared with two enormous platters of wings. She’d brought extra ranch dip, per Derek’s request, and he thanked her with a wink. When she was gone, he looked serious again.
Elizabeth dipped a wing in sauce. “You think it’s possible?”
“Possible.” He chomped into a wing. “But I’d say not likely.”
“Why?”
“I’m not getting that,” he said simply. “Not based on what I saw.”
She watched him, wishing he’d provide more to back up his opinion. But he would probably never reveal all the details of that or any other mission. He could be very evasive when it came to his work—yet another reason he was difficult to know. How could you really get to know a man who wouldn’t discuss the very thing that was the focus of his life? It was one of the many issues she’d had stuck in her brain for the past year, especially in December, when he’d called her and tried to reconnect.
“Well, maybe I’m wrong,” she said now. “Maybe it’s just that Khalid was kind to her. In her debriefing, she mentioned him bringing her water and sometimes food.”
“What a host.”
She wiped her fingers on a napkin and leaned back against the booth. “You know, the Afghan police suspect him of stealing the uniforms used in a spate of suicide attacks, ones where the bombers walked into a secured area dressed as police officers. Khalid may be young, but that doesn’t make him harmless.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir.” He nibbled his bone clean and added it to his growing pile. He’d ordered the jumbo platter and wasn’t having any trouble putting it away. “I’ve seen kids younger than him planting IEDs. Not to mention it runs in the family. His older brother’s been linked to several attacks in Kabul. And this guy Rasheed? Expert bomb maker. His handiwork’s been identified in at least three r
oadside bombings along Khyber Pass.”
She watched him uneasily. “You seem to know a lot about this network.”
“Honey, SEALs know a lot about a lot of things. That’s why they pay us the big bucks.”
“I’m serious. Why do you know so much about this case?”
He added another bone to the pile. “It’s my business to know.”
“Because of Sean Harper.”
“Because of Sean, yeah. And because I want to see that this gets handled right.”
“Sean was in your BUD/S class?”
His brown eyes turned somber. “We were in the same boat crew.”
Last summer he’d told her all about BUD/S training—the sleep deprivation, the never-ending beach runs, the night swims and log PT. He’d told her how it systematically broke men down, day by day, hour by hour, and then—for the few who withstood it—built them back up again. The training forged relationships, and the men who endured it together became a brotherhood.
She’d seen their unusual brand of loyalty up close when she’d tried to get Derek to turn on his teammate Gage Brewer, who was suspected of murder. She’d poured her heart and soul into the effort, but it had been a waste of time. The brotherhood these guys talked about wasn’t just a slogan—it was something very real.
So the man sitting across from her now with the edgy, restless look in his eyes had lost a brother last week. It explained a lot.
“I’m sorry about Sean,” Elizabeth said, feeling totally inadequate.
He nodded. “I appreciate that.”
The waitress reappeared to clear their plates away, and Derek gave her a smile, but it seemed forced. He glanced around the bar. If he noticed all the women sneaking glimpses in his direction, he didn’t let on.
He looked at her. “How about some darts?”
“What, now?”
“No, tomorrow.” He smiled and stood up, obviously ready to change the subject.
Beyond Limits Page 5