Internal Affairs

by Jessica Andersen

  “Don’t tell them anything,” she blurted. “Don’t.”

  After a glance back at the man who held him with an autopistol stuck in his side, Romo turned to her. His eyes were cool and steady, though she saw a layer of anguish beneath. “I won’t let them hurt you. I love you.”

  At times in the past, she would’ve given anything to hear those words, under any circumstance. Now, though, she found herself flaring. Anger spiked. “Don’t you dare!” she blazed, taking a step toward him. The guard holding her must’ve been surprised—or amused—by her response, because he let her go, though kept his gun trained on her. Sara continued, her volume increasing. “Don’t even think you can make this be about you and me. I’m not asking you to tell them anything. Hell, I forbid it. You say you love me? Well, that’s too little too late, given that you’ve spent the past couple of years proving otherwise. So prove it now. Don’t tell them a damn thing.”

  “Sara, listen—”

  “Stop it!” Heart thudding sickly in her chest, she rounded on him, moving in and getting in his face, keeping the attention centered on their fight, knowing they didn’t have much more time before the guards broke it up. Almost screaming now, hoping the flare in his eyes meant that he’d caught on, she railed, “And don’t you dare say you love me now.”

  He took a step back, face blanking as he jostled against his guard. “Look, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—get down!” Breaking off, he spun on his guard and went for the autopistol.

  Sara flung herself flat and scrambled behind the big machine as shouts rang out and men grappled. Only then did it occur to her that she’d taken shelter behind a really big bomb. She didn’t know what would trigger it, hoped it wasn’t twitchy.

  “Don’t shoot!” Jane snapped, apparently thinking the same thing. “Not in here.”

  The guards piled on Romo, punching and kicking, while Jane and Lee Mawadi broke for the door. Al-Jihad, though, headed straight for Sara. Or rather, straight for the bomb.

  She saw the mad fury in his eyes, along with a calm fatality that scared her far more than almost anything else she’d seen or experienced in her life. Once before, when she’d been unable to avoid hearing her friends talking about the case, Fax had said, “There’s nothing more dangerous than a true believer.” She hadn’t gotten it at the time. Now she understood.

  Al-Jihad was not only willing to kill thousands of Americans on behalf of his cause. He was willing to die for it himself, and thought he was doing what was right and just.

  His eyes met hers as he reached for a keypad inset into the side of the device. She saw in his expression, disconcertingly, a profound and gentle sadness. He tapped a couple of keys, and a subsonic whine began.

  He was going to kill them all.

  “No!” Sara lunged out from behind the machine and slammed into al-Jihad, sending him staggering a few steps back.

  Taller and bigger than she by far, the terrorist leader bellowed and grabbed her, tossing her aside. She hit the wall hard and slid down it. Dazed, she heard gunshots out in the hallway, and a commotion.

  Romo roared her name and fought his way toward her. Dragging her up, he gripped her tight for a moment, his skin hot against hers. Then he pushed her at someone else. “Take her. Get her out of here. Get everyone out of here!”

  Her head cleared as someone grabbed her and started hustling her away. She saw the guards motionless on the ground, one bleeding, saw Lee Mawadi hissing and spitting, struggling as a tall, gray-eyed man in a suit and Kevlar cuffed him roughly, his face etched with hatred. Jane Doe, unconscious and handcuffed, was being hauled out over the shoulder of a big man in SWAT gear.

  The cavalry had arrived, Sara realized, and they were in mop-up-and-retreat mode. Which meant they thought the bomb was going to go off.

  Yet Romo was staying behind.

  “No!” She struggled and fought, trying to get back to Romo as he lunged for al-Jihad, who had returned to the keypad.

  Then she was being dragged through the door and out into the hallway and someone was shouting her name. It took a moment for that to penetrate, another for her to focus and recognize the man who held her.

  “Fax!” She gripped his forearms, saw him wince. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your boyfriend finally wised up and called in a favor.” Fax looked to where the others were hustling Jane Doe and Mawadi out of the tunnel system under a six-man guard. Gunfire barked intermittently in the distance, and she heard shouts and screams. “We got here just ahead of O’Reilly, and made a few adjustments to his plan.”

  “The bomb!” Sara said in horror, as the door to the bomb room swung shut and locked. “Romo!”

  “Go!” Fax shoved her after the others. “Get out of here. I’ll help him.”

  She wavered, knowing she couldn’t help, but needing to be there, wanting, crazily, to be with him if the worst happened. “I don’t—”

  “Trust me,” Fax said stolidly. His eyes darkened. “If you can’t do that, then trust him. If anything happens to you that could’ve been prevented, dead or alive he’ll never forgive himself.”

  She looked at Fax. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “I don’t have to like him. You’re the one he’s in love with.”

  Romo had said the words only moments earlier, and she’d tucked them next to her heart. Now, hearing it again, even from an outside source, the words expanded into a burgeoning warmth that suffused her, flowing through her on a burst of belief. “Yes,” she said, a smile touching her lips. “I am.” She sucked in a deep breath, pulled herself together and nodded. “I’m going. You help him.”

  She took off, and she didn’t look back. She had to trust Romo, trust Fax, to bring down the terror leader who had kept Bear Claw locked in a state of suspended panic for nearly a year.

  As she fled the tunnels, she passed other operatives coming in. One made a grab for her, no doubt because she was wearing the tan uniform shirt, but a woman’s voice called, “Don’t, she’s with us!” Then Chelsea was there, short and curvy as ever, but these days wearing Kevlar and a tense, businesslike expression. Sara’s former assistant waded toward her, grabbed her and pulled her outside, into the light of day, where the sun still shone down from a perfect blue sky, despite the danger down below.

  “Romo’s still in there.” Sara gripped her friend’s arms. “Fax is with him! We have to—”

  “We have to let them do their jobs,” Chelsea said, but her eyes were full of fear and anguish.

  A gray-haired man Sara guessed was O’Reilly stood just outside the tunnel mouth, shouting orders. Vehicles were headed away from the site, undoubtedly racing to get outside the blast radius. Sara and Chelsea, though, looked at each other and stayed put, Chelsea shaking her head in a firm negative when O’Reilly sent a glare in their direction.

  They were waiting for the men they loved, Sara thought, realizing that the word really, truly applied to her for the first time. She loved Romo. She didn’t want to live without him. Been there, done that. More importantly, she believed in him, and in Fax. She believed, maybe for the first time, in love.

  Fax and Chelsea had met because of al-Jihad. Sara and Romo had been separated because of him. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe it would end because of the terrorist leader.

  Please, she thought in a prayerful moment, tightening her fingers on Chelsea’s as the minutes ticked down and the activity at the tunnel mouth stilled. Nearby, terse reports filtered to O’Reilly’s radio, noting that the new warden and his henchmen had been taken into custody, and the digging party poised to break through into the prison confines had been stopped and subdued. Helicopters lifted off on the other side of the low mountain, bearing the agents and terrorists wounded in the skirmish.

  Then there was a flurry of activity at the tunnel mouth. Sara’s heart leaped at the sight of two bedraggled men, one wearing Kevlar, the other a tan uniform shirt, emerge from the tunnel, dragging the limp form of al-Jihad between them.

  �
��Romo!” she cried, with Chelsea only seconds behind her, shouting Fax’s name. The women broke and ran to their men as a cheer went up at the sight of al-Jihad, recaptured at long last.

  Bodies jammed the tunnel entrance as O’Reilly’s trusted agents took control of al-Jihad, escorting him to a nearby vehicle under heavy guard. Sara was dimly aware that two other vehicles held Jane Doe and Lee Mawadi, while knots of tan-clad men, with a sprinkling of women, were being held within rings of armed agents, each overseen by a key member of the task force.

  Those were peripheral inputs, though, far secondary to Sara’s focus on the tall, dark-haired man who had moved to the edge of the scrum, gladly relinquishing control of his prisoner. He wasn’t at the edge of the crowd because he didn’t belong, though. Not anymore. No, he’d worked his way free because he was anxiously scanning, looking for someone. Looking, Sara knew, for her.

  She called his name, but her words were lost in the din. Chelsea dove into the crowd, headed for Fax, and Sara angled to the edge, toward Romo.

  He saw her and went still, his eyes locked on her.

  She hesitated fractionally, unable to read his expression, which was somehow simultaneously fierce and gentle, angry and elated. As he moved to close the distance between them, anxiety rose from deep within her—old fears, old insecurities. Not about his commitment to her—she was finally past that, finally believed that he wouldn’t just stay faithful to her, he wouldn’t just die for her, he’d live for her, too. But about her own ability to make a long-term relationship work.

  Then he reached her and they finally stood opposite each other, close enough to touch, as the chaos of the official response ebbed and flowed around them, somehow yielding an island of calm in the middle of the craziness.

  “It’s over,” he said. “Thank God it’s finally over.”

  “I trust you’re referring to al-Jihad’s reign of terror in Bear Claw, and not us,” she said, her stomach knotted on the utter certainty that it was now or never for them.

  Heat flared in the depths of Romo’s eyes and he moved closer, seemed to grow larger, until he blocked out everything else around them with his presence, and with the certainty in his expression. “We are most definitely not over,” he said, then paused with a quirk of one eyebrow, as though daring her to argue.

  She said quickly, “I didn’t mean most of what I said down there, you know. I was picking a fight to draw their attention.”

  His lips twitched. “Yeah, I got that. But I also know there was a bit of truth to all of it.” When she would’ve protested, he held up a hand. “The other day, I demanded that you get over yourself and learn to be flexible, but I never really gave you any assurance that it’d be worth the change.” He paused, his eyes going smoky. “I cheated. It wasn’t because of you, or her, or anything but me and being all messed up in my own head, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that I cheated. If anything, it makes it worse, because on some level I think I must’ve done it deliberately, as you said, to force you to dump me. I’m not proud of it. I’d take it back if I could. But I can’t, so the best I can do is own it. I did it, and I swear on my soul that I will never cheat, ever again.”

  Sara had thought she’d gotten past their tumultuous history, had thought she was over the waitress. But she found, when her throat closed and tears filmed her eyes, that she hadn’t been completely past it. She’d needed his promise, and hadn’t even known it. But by the same token, she had something she owed back to him. “You were right about me, though. I was so used to thinking of relationships as being either perfect or complete failures, I didn’t fight hard enough to work things out when the going got tough between us.” She paused, then went with the rest of the honesty. “I think…I think I wasn’t ready for you, didn’t know how to deal with what I felt for you. I wanted everything to be calm and easy, and that’s not real life.”

  Something uncoiled in his expression, in his body. The immediate bustle had died down, the prisoners had been driven away. Sara was aware of Fax and Chelsea standing nearby, twined together, completing each other. For a moment, Sara was reminded of sitting in her office—had it really been less than a week ago?—trying not to resent Chelsea’s happiness. Now, Sara knew she was on the verge of claiming that same sort of happiness, if she could be strong enough to reach for it, and to make it work even when the rough patches came.

  The tough stuff wasn’t over, either. Bear Claw and the BCCPD were going to be headed into some serious mopping up, as the task force rooted out the last of the conspirators and the city headed for a special election that would—God willing—put in place a mayor she could actually work with, and who would work with her. But that didn’t mean she should wait around until all that settled down to take what she wanted, did it?

  Love wasn’t about everything being perfect, she was starting to realize. It was about caring enough to make the imperfect moments work.

  Romo’s expression eased; a faint, hopeful smile touched his lips. He held out a hand to her. “Can I come home now?”

  And then, finally, it was easy for Sara to take his hand, to smile up at him and say, “God, yes. I’ve missed you.”

  He drew her close, touched his lips to hers. “I love you.”

  Before, she’d yearned for the words. Now they were nothing more than a part of the whole. Still, though, they brought a warm, soft glow to her heart as she leaned into the kiss, and whispered, “I love you, too.”

  They kissed again, long and soft, and full of promises for tomorrow and the day after, on into the future. They didn’t break apart until an officious throat clearing sounded, demanding attention.

  It was Fax, grinning sardonically. “You two willing to take it somewhere else?” He gestured to the growing crowd that now eddied around them, as a second wave of responders arrived and moved in on the crime scene.

  Sara flushed, but smiled at her friends, then up at Romo. “Do you need to do anything more with O’Reilly?”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll track me down if and when he needs me. I have a feeling he’s done with me for the time being, though.”

  The four friends turned away from the tunnels and the ARX Supermax, linked arm in arm as they headed back to Bear Claw. They, and the city itself, would start a new chapter now that the terror threat was ended.

  Who knew what the future would hold? Sara thought, a bubble of exhilaration rising in her chest. Whatever the outcome, she knew, she and Romo would face it. Together.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4138-5

  INTERNAL AFFAIRS

  Copyright © 2009 by Dr. Jessica S. Andersen

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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  *Bear Claw Creek Crime Lab

  *Bear Claw Creek Crime Lab

  *Bear Claw Creek Crime Lab

  *Bear Claw Creek Crime Lab

  *Bear Claw Creek Crime Lab

  *Bear Claw Creek Crime Lab

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

/>   Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve