Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1)

by Marissa Garner

  They sat in stony silence for a minute.

  “You’re sure you’ve never seen any weapons in the office?” Ben asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “No. We don’t have much use for them.”

  “Scalpels?”

  “Well, yes. But they’re not even used regularly.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God.”

  “Now you get it. Probably as effective as box cutters on 9/11.”

  Bile rose in her throat. “The scalpels are kept in the procedure rooms, not the offices.”

  “Just be careful.”

  Neither spoke again until they stood in the small lobby on SDSA’s floor.

  “You can still change your mind,” Ben said in a pleading tone.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He pulled her into his arms for a deep, passionate kiss before she broke free and marched to the staff entrance. Would this be the last time she ever entered the clinic? Sadness engulfed her, but she kept walking.

  Once inside, she headed straight for Laura’s office. She didn’t bother knocking.

  “Hello, Laura.”

  The woman’s head snapped up. Her mouth gaped for a moment, but then she recovered. “What happened to you?”

  The question caught Amber by surprise. “Huh?”

  “Your face. My God, what happened?”

  Odd how she’d been so focused on making sure Laura was held accountable that she’d forgotten about the damage Jeremy had done. “I ran into… someone. Specifically, his fist.”

  Laura’s eyes widened.

  Amber sauntered to a chair and sat down. Her boss’s gaze followed every movement.

  “You happen to know him. Jeremy Nelson,” she continued.

  “Oh yes, the ex-boyfriend you told us about when we hired you.”

  “Right. My stalker. The man who beat me up multiple times.”

  Laura shook her head. “I can’t imagine why a man would do such an awful thing.”

  “And I can’t imagine why you’d tell Jeremy where I live.”

  The woman gulped. Twice. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Jeremy called here yesterday, pretending to ask for employment verification. The receptionist left the message for you.”

  “I don’t remember seeing it.”

  “But you did, because Jeremy told me that you called him back this morning and told him where he could find me.”

  She raised her chin. “You’re wrong. If… if this Jeremy character got the information from someone at SDSA, it… it wasn’t me.”

  “Oh, but it was. And I know why you betrayed me.”

  Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You should leave.”

  “No. I’m just getting to the best part.” Her eyes stung. Looking at this woman who’d been her friend was killing her. “You’ve been Raul Garcia’s lover since the Houston conference a year ago. You’ve known all along it was his Dream Makers clinic that was stealing our business. And you didn’t want me to discover who it was, because I know about his arrest and medical license revocation.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Laura. You know I’m right. But do you know how Raul manages to charge such low fees?”

  Laura pressed her lips together and glared with icy eyes.

  “He uses slave labor.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Nope. He kidnaps—actually, he has a vicious coyote do it for him—women who have crossed the border illegally and forces them to be surrogate mothers for his clinic. He keeps them imprisoned in a dormitory in Imperial Beach.”

  “That’s a lie. Raul rescues those girls from being prostitutes. He provides them with a clean place to live and food on the table.”

  “These women weren’t prostitutes. Five of them came across the border two weeks ago with husbands and boyfriends. They had paid to be taken to Los Angeles. But the coyote kidnapped them for Garcia, who keeps them locked in their rooms, day and night. They’re prisoners, slaves.”

  “Raul wouldn’t know how to use a coyote.”

  “But his cousin, a drug cartel kingpin, does. In exchange for providing Raul with slaves, the cousin gets illegal prescriptions for OxyContin, which he then sells on the street.”

  Laura stood up and braced her hands on the desk. She leaned forward, her face contorted with anger. “Why couldn’t you just stay out of it? When you showed me the Dream Makers flyer, I never thought you’d go this far. But seeing you in that stupid disguise at Raul’s clinic yesterday, I knew I had to do something. I don’t know why Jeremy hasn’t taken you to Mexico yet like he promised he would, but I don’t think he’s going to give up. He sounded like a very determined young man. As for the surrogates, they shouldn’t mind losing a little freedom for a better quality of life. I helped Raul design the dormitory so everything they need is right there. Even though he doesn’t pay them, they should be thankful he treats them so well.” She slammed her fist on the desk.

  “Is raping the surrogates treating them well?”

  “You are such a liar. Raul would never do such a thing!”

  “No? Actually, he tried to rape one named Maria this morning, but he was interrupted before he could. Several of the surrogates say he makes such visits almost daily.”

  All color drained from Laura’s face, and she dropped into her chair. “You’re wrong. He’s like a father to those girls.”

  “No, Laura. He’s a monster. And you’re his accomplice.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh damn, I should’ve been using past tense.”

  Laura stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “The FBI raided the dormitory this morning, and Raul was killed.” She filled her voice with loathing. “And you… are going to jail.”

  Chapter 35

  Ben’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he drove in the opposite direction on the bridge where they both could’ve died earlier. Angling a sideways glance across the car at Amber, he avoided looking at the other side of the roadway when they passed the spot. Was Amber thinking about the same thing? He couldn’t tell. Of course, she’d hardly said a word since watching Laura Eldridge be arrested.

  “I can’t believe you’re holding it together after the day you’ve had,” he said.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “As you should. Do you want to stop somewhere for dinner?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not really hungry even though I haven’t eaten since a bowl of cereal early this morning. Let’s just order pizza.”

  “I don’t think I’ve eaten either. Been that kinda day.”

  They lapsed back into silence.

  He cleared his throat. “Can I do anything to help?”

  She gulped. “Just get me home… I mean to your apartment. If that’s all right. I know the police are finished with mine after rescuing Lisa, but I don’t think I can sleep there tonight.”

  Jesus, did she really think he would kick her out of his place the minute Jeremy was no longer a threat? She knew him better than that, didn’t she? Couldn’t she tell he was…?

  “You’re welcome to stay with me… as long as you want.” Embrace your new love, Marissa’s voice said in his head. Well hell, Alfren, just go for it. He inhaled a fortifying breath. “I like having you there.”

  She turned to him, studied him. Her lips trembled, her eyes glistened, and then she looked away. “I want to eat, call my mom, take a bath, and go to sleep.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  A plan to push me away before you leave.

  * * *

  Amber’s mother answered the phone with a subdued, “Hello.”

  Her heart squeezed. She hadn’t heard a happy greeting from the woman since she’d left Kansas two years ago. This ordeal had been hard on her whole family. That was changing today. She forced cheerfulness into her voice. “Mom, it’s me.”

  “Oh, sweetie. It’s so good to hear your voice. You okay? Jeremy didn’t find you again, did he?”

  “Yeah, he found m
e, but it’s the last time. It’s over, Mom.”

  Her mother hesitated. “Over? Did he get arrested? Oh, baby, tell me he didn’t hurt you again.” A sob choked off the last word.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Great, in fact.” So what if it was a little white lie. She squared her shoulders. “Jeremy’s dead.”

  Another pause.

  “D-Dead? You’re sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hallelujah, praise the Lord!” More sobs reached Amber’s ears.

  “Mom, don’t cry. You should be happy.”

  “These are happy tears, baby girl. Your daddy’s gonna be so happy too. I can’t wait to see you. When’re you coming home?”

  The inevitable question. “I’m partly packed already, but I need a day to… recover.” A day to say good-bye to Ben. “I’ll probably start out on Saturday. I’ll try to drive it in three days.”

  “Now don’t you drive when you’re sleepy. After all this time, I can wait one more day so you can get home safe.”

  Always a mother. “I know, Mom. I’ll be careful.”

  Her mother sniffled. “How’d Jeremy die?”

  The scene on the bridge flashed through her mind. She shuddered. “A… a friend saved me from getting kidnapped. It’s a long story. I’ll tell everyone when I get home.”

  “Okay, sweetie. We’ll have a big party on Wednesday, after you rest up a day, with grilled steaks and corn and baked potatoes. I’m gonna invite everyone.”

  Amber blinked back tears. “A party Wednesday sounds great, Mom, but mostly I want to spend some time with you and Dad.”

  “I’m glad you said that. I feel the same way. We have so much catching up to do.”

  She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and glanced at Ben, who sat stoically on the couch next to her. “I need to go, Mom. I’ll call again before I head out Saturday. Give my love to Dad.”

  “Okay. I can’t wait to phone everyone I know and give them the good news.”

  After a tearful good-bye, she disconnected. The next farewell in her future would be much harder.

  * * *

  Friday morning, Amber awoke to the smell of coffee. She opened her eyes to find Ben, wearing only his boxer briefs, standing beside the bed and holding two cups of steaming brew.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “No problem.” She glanced at the alarm clock and laughed. “It’s almost eleven. I can’t remember when I’ve slept this late.”

  “You were exhausted last night.”

  She sat up and scooted back against the headboard before accepting the cup. “Yeah. But I have so much to get done today. Packing. Giving notice. Saying good-bye at SDSA. Forwarding my…” Her voice trailed off. “Lots of stuff.” She gulped the coffee to avoid looking at him.

  “I bought you something,” he said abruptly.

  “You shouldn’t have. I don’t have anything for you.” A sharp pain stabbed her chest. I already gave you my heart. What more is there? “When in the world have you had time to go shopping?”

  “Last night while you were sleeping. Thank God for the Internet.”

  Smiling, he opened the nightstand drawer and handed her a plain, white envelope.

  Okay, so it’s not a tiny velvet box. What was I thinking?

  “Oh, thank you, Ben. I need this. One can’t have too many envelopes.”

  “Funny. Open it.”

  Tamping down her irrational disappointment, she pulled out three sheets of paper. With tears threatening, she scanned across the first page. Airline reservation in her name. San Diego to Kansas City for Tuesday. She blinked and flipped the page. Another plane reservation. Kansas City to San Diego. Two weeks later. Third page, a rental car reservation.

  “I’m c-confused,” she stammered.

  He took the papers and laid them on the bed. Clasping her hands in his, he held her gaze, the intense blue of his eyes irresistible as always.

  “I understand you need to see your family, but I don’t want you to leave… permanently. Come back to me.”

  She swallowed hard. Her vision blurred. “But I—”

  He put his index finger to her lips. “Something’s happening between us, Amber. Something good. Don’t you feel it?”

  She drew a tremulous breath. “Yeah. What do you think it is?”

  He grinned. “You’re not gonna let me off easy?”

  “No way.”

  “You’re gonna make me say it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know, it’s harder for a guy.”

  “Therefore, it means more.”

  “Good point.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m…” He placed a butterfly kiss on her left eyelid. “… falling…” Repeated it on the right. “… in…” Planted one on the tip of her nose. “… love…” Kissed her left cheek. “… with…” And her right. “… you.”

  Happiness swelled inside for the first time in more than two years. “I love you too, Ben.”

  Please see the next page for a preview of Targeted

  TARGETED

  Chapter 1

  Night had fallen when Samir parked the truck in front of the dilapidated house in the drug-infested Tijuana slum. Once he killed the headlights, the moon provided the only illumination along the crumbling asphalt road. Wedged between Samir and Omar on the seat, Marissa Panuska scanned the neighborhood of decaying buildings, hoping to catch a reassuring glimpse of the two agents who were out there—somewhere—following her, watching her back.

  On five previous occasions, the terrorists had brought her to their hideout in Mexico, just across the border from San Diego. Marauding drug gangs ruled the area where crackling gunfire was as common as barking dogs. The constant smell of weed permeated the air and stung her nostrils. The residents were rarely visible, preferring relative safety behind walls.

  Marissa’s gaze swept over the run-down house, checking for any signs of change or trouble. Boards protected the windows from prying eyes, and a padlock secured the door against thieves. The electrical connection dangling from the sagging overhead lines was one of the few in the slum, and the satellite phone antenna on the roof was definitely unique.

  After an anxious look around, Omar jumped out to unlock the door before all three darted inside. Samir switched on the lamp that sat on the floor by the door. Ignoring the stench, they hurried past the bedroom and the barely functioning bathroom on the left. A narrow archway separated the front room from the larger back room, which included a rudimentary kitchen along one wall. The furnishings consisted of six metal folding chairs, a wooden table, and three tall lamps. A new box of electronic parts had been added to the growing number already lined up near the rear door. The place was filthy, but no one cared.

  The stifling heat in the closed-up house stole Marissa’s breath. Sweat dampened her skin beneath the long, black abaya and niqab, the Muslim robe and veil she wore over her other clothes. While the men turned on the lights, she sank onto one of the flimsy chairs, morbidly wondering if she was more likely to die from heatstroke than at the hands of the terrorists.

  Holding the niqab away from her face, she drew slow, deep breaths and grimaced at the pain in her lungs and stomach. The stress of impersonating Baheera Abbas, of pretending to be the female terrorist previously unknown to the US intelligence community, gnawed at Marissa’s nerves. If only she could determine Baheera’s role in the planned attack, she might be able to finish the covert operation, might be able to survive. Every passing minute held the threat of discovery and diminished that possibility.

  Marissa wiped the sweat from her face and watched the two men admire the swordlike knife Samir had purchased in a shop along Avenida Revolución on their way through Tijuana. On previous visits, Samir’s first priority had been to unlock the metal gun cabinet bolted to the floor in the bedroom closet and to confirm the delivery of additional bomb components. But tonight, the sleeper cell’s leader and Omar were distracted by the massive blade, which they took turns brandishing menacingly at each othe
r.

  The satellite phone that never left Samir’s sight lay on the table. The phone represented the cell’s umbilical cord to the Middle East, the only method of communication between the terrorists here and those at home. Homeland Security couldn’t fathom why just one means of contact existed, why no alternate options were in place. They suspected the men in charge didn’t trust anyone except Samir and wanted to minimize the risk of the plot being traced back to the source. Unable to determine the terrorists’ reasons, US officials decided the terrorist mind was impossible to comprehend and worked to exploit the obvious weakness in the cell’s strategy. The Bureau and other government agencies had simply taken advantage of the situation and monitored the terrorists’ calls with ease.

  Until two weeks ago, Marissa had been one of the agents monitoring those calls, listening to and translating many long-distance conversations between Samir and his bosses. Discovering the true identities of the people had been a frustrating, and often futile, process. No one used a last name, and even the first names were suspect as they were frequently aliases. Husaam was the name used by the man who seemed to be at the top, but the common Arab name made it impossible to positively identify or trace him.

  The sat phone’s ring interrupted Marissa’s thoughts.

  Everyone froze.

  Samir shot it a startled glance. The call seemed to confuse him for a moment, suggesting he didn’t expect to be contacted tonight. He grabbed the phone, answering warily in Arabic. His face tensed, and his tone turned respectful when he launched into a detailed status report. As usual, he lowered his voice and walked into the front room so neither Omar nor Marissa could hear.

  She prayed that someone in Washington was listening.

  Five minutes later, wearing a Cheshire cat grin, Samir strolled back through the doorway and held out the phone to her. Her stomach knotted. Only Samir talked on the sat phone.

  Saying nothing, he thrust it at her again.

  Hesitantly, she put the phone to her ear and spoke in precise Arabic. “Allahu Akbar.”