by Pamela Clare
Laura’s car was totaled and now sitting in the marshals’ impound yard, where she could get whatever she needed from it in the next few days.
A deputy had already returned Carmichael’s vehicle to him at the newspaper.
A forensic team had been sent back to Sean Michael Edwards’s apartment to see whether they could gather any additional evidence that might help them understand what had transpired there.
Zach had paid a personal visit to the Al Zahrani home to bring the kid’s parents up to date. “I made sure to tell them that you were the one who first suspected their son had been framed.”
“Thank you, Zach.” It was clear from Laura’s face that this meant a lot to her. “Now they’ll finally be able to mourn him in peace.”
Javier leaned in and kissed her temple, careful to avoid her bruised and swollen cheek. “Your compassion is one of the most beautiful things about you, bella. Have I told you that?”
Her lips curved in a tired smile, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
Javier knew she must be exhausted, but she insisted they stop by the paper.
“They’re going to need to interview me. You can head back to the loft if you want. If you’re in the newsroom, they’ll ask you questions.”
“Don’t worry about me. I think I can handle a few reporters.” He’d almost lost her today. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
“Your name is in the police report. It’s going to wind up in the media again.”
Javier nodded. “I know.”
He’d already called the Boss to tell him what had happened. He’d expected the lieutenant to rip his head off and stuff shit down his neck.
Instead, O’Connell had congratulated him. “It’s not in human DNA to think of water as an avenue of attack. That’s why it always works so well for us. Way to go. I’ll pass the news along to the men. See you in a few days.”
A few days. A few precious days with Laura.
And then Javier would have some big decisions to make.
* * *
SEX WAS THE furthest thing from Laura’s mind when they finally got back to the loft. All she wanted was a hot shower, something to eat that she didn’t have to cook, and the feel of Javier’s arms around her.
They ended up taking a shower together, Laura washing lake water and mud from Javier’s body, Javier washing the scent of horror from Laura’s. But as they smoothed soap over soft skin, Laura felt a need for Javier that was so much more than sexual. Touching turned to kissing until at last Javier backed her against the tile wall, wrapped one of her legs around his waist, and slid inside her.
They made love face-to-face, eyes open, both of them knowing how lucky they were to be alive—and together. It felt to Laura like a celebration of love and life, and when she came, pleasure shimmering through in liquid waves, she couldn’t stop tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Afterward, Laura called her mother and grandmother, waking them to tell them what had happened. They listened, their faces showing Swedish stoicism until she finished. Then her mother insisted on speaking with Javier.
“Thank you once more for saving my daughter,” she said, tears in her eyes.
Laura and Javier made a supper of eggs and bacon together, then snuggled on the sofa, Laura still in her bathrobe, Javier in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Navy sweatshirt, the gas fire burning.
“I feel sick when I think of all the people who died because of him.” Laura couldn’t say his name. “Drew, my cameraman. Nico, Cody, and Tim, my security team. Sabira Mukhari, the safe house director. Ali Al Zahrani. Sean Michael Edwards. They all died because he wanted to kill me, to get back at me for doing my job.”
“Believe it or not, bella, the person he hated most was himself. He wanted to believe he was Special Forces material, when some part of him knew you were right—he was just a loser.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a true sociopath until today. I should have known from that first interview that something was wrong with him. He got so . . . personal.”
“Nah, how could you? You genuinely care about people. He was a manipulator. Hell, that mamabicho used me to commit murder. I thought it was strange that Edwards was laughing, but I never would have thought . . .” Javier’s eyes closed for a moment, and Laura knew he felt remorse. “I wish I’d kicked the shit out of the poor guy instead of pulling the trigger and killing him.”
The conversation drifted, and soon Laura found herself telling him about those last terrifying minutes when she thought she was going to die.
“Random thoughts started running through my mind. How bad I felt for my mother and grandmother that they would have to go through this again. How I hoped they would keep up the fight to free Klara. How much I wished . . .” Laura’s throat went tight. She swallowed. “How much I wished I’d gotten to hold my little girl.”
Javier stroked Laura’s hair. “One day, you will.”
Oh, she hoped so.
“It wasn’t all regrets. I felt so grateful for every moment that I’ve spent with you. It might sound strange, but I was glad I was going to die as myself and not as Al-Nassar’s victim.”
“It makes sense to me.” Javier held her closer. “Strength of the spirit is harder to build than physical strength, and you fought a battle of spirit today. I heard what you said to him. You kept your fear under control. You were a warrior.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“A hunch.”
She listened as he told her how he’d remembered that the dynamite had been stolen from a construction site in Adams County. When Zach had told him the construction site was just to the north of him, he’d decided it couldn’t be a coincidence. Kimball hadn’t had much time to plan and was falling back on something familiar.
“Your hunch was right. Lucky for me.”
“Lucky for us both. When I saw your car . . . Ay dios mio.” He swore softly in Spanish. “I haven’t felt that way since the State Department declared you dead. It hit me in the gut so hard that I . . . All I knew was that I had to get to you. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
He’d never told her he loved her, but Laura knew it all the same. Those words were proof to her. She wrapped her heart around them, held on to them.
“You’ll be leaving on Sunday. I’m going to finish the VA story tomorrow morning, and then I’m taking the rest of the day and Friday off. I don’t care what Tom has to say about it. I want to spend that time with you.”
Javier kissed her temple. “I’d like that.”
* * *
LAURA WENT INTO the paper the next morning and rewrote the VA article, pulling out the bogus interview that Kimball had given her, and left the paper early, telling Tom not to expect her till Monday.
Tom wasn’t happy. “You do plan on returning to work full-time at your full-time job at some point in the near future.”
“Yes, starting Monday.”
“And when Carmichael needs to interview you for a follow-up piece on your abduction and all this shit with Al Zahrani and Edwards—”
“He can call me at home.”
She arrived at the loft to find a surprise waiting for her.
Derek Tower.
The only thing more astonishing than the sight of him sitting on her sofa was the fact that Javier hadn’t thrown him out.
“I didn’t call because I knew you’d say no,” he said. “I came to apologize. I was hired to keep you safe, and I failed. I’ve read the report. I know how Kimball turned your cell into a roving bug. I’d heard of that technology, but never imagined anyone outside federal law enforcement or military intelligence could get their hands on it. I wish I’d taken it more seriously. I’ve already issued a statement to the press retracting my allegations against you and taking responsibility for Tower Global’s failure to protect you. Bottom line, Ms. Nilsson, I owe you, and I’m a man who pays his debts.”
He handed her his card. “Call if you need me.”
Laura was
left speechless.
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER had just come back from dinner at the Wynkoop Brewing Company, the restaurant they’d have gone to if the paper hadn’t been car-bombed, when Zach and Petras called and asked to come by.
Zach went first. “Over the past twenty-four hours, we’ve been following Ted Hollis’s trail—that’s Theodore Hollis Kimball—and we’ve been able to piece together a good picture of his activities using his cell phone records, a laptop we found in his motel room, and the information he gave you, Laura. Fill them in if you will, Petras.”
“Kimball has been hiring himself out as a mercenary in the Middle East for some time, using a series of aliases and falsified documents. But after you came back to the U.S., Ms. Nilsson, he began working his way back here. He arrived in Denver roughly four months ago and began planning to kill you. He probably followed you, observed your routine. We know he studied the location of city surveillance cameras.”
Petras told them how Kimball had gotten reacquainted with his old war buddy Sean Michael Edwards, taking advantage of the man’s cognitive disabilities to use him to buy materials for the bomb. Always careful to wear gloves, he’d mixed the ANFO and assembled the detonator at Edwards’s house.
He’d found Ali Al Zahrani’s name on a list of members of the Middle Eastern Connection, a student club, and had followed Ali and learned his daily routine. After that, he began visiting the Al Zahranis’ home when no one was home to plant evidence for investigators. He wanted to make the bombing seem like an act of terrorism.
“On the morning of the bombing, he shot and killed the boy when he was on his way to class, stuffing him into his own car, packing it full of ANFO, and rigging it to explode. Careful to avoid streets with surveillance cameras, he drove it to the newspaper, parked, and walked a few blocks away to a coffee shop, which is where he was when he detonated the bomb.”
A cold chill ran down Laura’s spine. “He told me he wanted to hear me die.”
“He didn’t get that chance, did he?” Javier said.
“When the car bomb didn’t work, Kimball waited for another crack at you,” Zach said. “That opportunity came when he heard about your appearance on Channel Twelve.”
“A very ill-advised television appearance, I might add,” Petras said.
Zach ignored him. “We’ll probably never know exactly what went on with Edwards. We believe Kimball tried to get Edwards to hate you—which may explain the photos of you on his wall. Most came from old articles about the investigation that exposed them. It could be that he hoped to use Edwards as a weapon against you, Laura, but that didn’t work. Then Kimball decided to use Edwards in another way. If he could convince police they’d found their killer, your security detail would be called off, and he’d have another chance at you. All the evidence was in place—the traces of explosives at Edwards’s apartment, the firearms Kimball stored there. All he had to do was put Edwards in an incriminating position—and make sure he couldn’t talk.”
Javier finished the thought. “So he groomed Edwards to commit suicide by SEAL, playing games with those replica pellet guns, and then handing him the loaded M1911 with the painted muzzle.”
Laura squeezed Javier’s hand. She knew how much he regretted causing Edwards’s death.
“That’s it exactly,” Zach said. “And it almost worked. You played a key role at a critical moment, Corbray. You both played key roles in this. Laura, your insights into what had really happened with Ali Al Zahrani were vital.”
Petras took over again. “From what we can tell, he planned to go into hiding for a while, but then you called and offered to come to him. He didn’t have much time, so he bought gas—we found receipts for a half dozen gas stations—and used what was actually a garage door opener to convince you he had a detonator.”
“A garage door opener?” Laura was astonished. She looked over at Javier. “Did you know it wasn’t a detonator? Is that why you just went ahead and shot him?”
Javier shook his head. “Stupid cabrón had it clutched tight in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was.”
“Thank God it’s all over.” Laura didn’t want to think about it any longer.
“Being on a terrorist kill list is a lifetime commitment,” Petras said.
What did he mean by that?
Javier glared at him. “A month ago you gave her shit for wanting you to take the threats against her seriously, and now you’re telling her she faces a lifetime of this?”
“I don’t know that it’s that grave.” Zach glared at Petras, too. “In the wake of the bombing, various federal agencies that monitor suspected terrorist sympathizers found an uptick in interest in you, Laura. As a result, we’ve upgraded our threat assessment. There’s no immediate danger, but you should continue to take precautions. You have my word that we will stay on top of it.”
Laura refused to let this news shake her. “Thank you, Zach. Thank you both.”
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER ignored the world for the next two days. No news. No Internet. No e-mail. Javier played his guitar and sang love songs for Laura in Spanish. They talked and laughed and made love with the same abandon they’d known in Dubai. Except that this wasn’t a fling between two people determined to maintain their independence. It was love between a man and a woman who knew how easy it was to lose everything.
* * *
AS MUCH AS Laura tried to ignore it, Sunday came, dawning far too early. She made Javier’s breakfast while he packed, checked in with his flight, and printed his boarding pass. They ate together, Laura doing her best to be cheerful when inside she felt like she was breaking.
She’d vowed to herself she wouldn’t cry. He was returning to his job, a job for which he’d spent his life training, a job few men could do, one that was vital to the security of the nation. How selfish it would be of her to try to hold him back or make him feel worse about leaving by forcing him to deal with her tears. He was a special operator, a SEAL, and loving him meant accepting the fact that he would be gone—and in danger—much of the time.
She drove him to the airport, where Nate was waiting to say good-bye. Javier checked in his duffel bag and guitar case, and the three of them stood talking, the minutes seeming to race by until it was time for Javier to go.
He and Nate embraced, slapping each other on the back.
“Thanks, bro. You’re the best friend a man could have. Do me a favor and watch over Laura, okay?”
“You got it. She’s welcome at the ranch any time.” They shook hands. “Happy hunting, Corbray. Damn, it was good to see you.”
“I’ll be back.”
Nate glanced over at Laura, raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you will be.”
And then it was time for Laura to say good-bye.
She sank into Javier’s embrace and held him tight, savoring the precious feel of his arms around her. She turned her face up to his and kissed him, unable to hold back her tears. “Promise me you’ll do everything you can to stay safe. I love you, Javier Corbray. My world wouldn’t be whole without you in it.”
“I promise.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t know when I’ll be in touch again, but you’ve got my numbers. I’ll answer e-mails when I can and call you whenever I get the chance. If you need anything, call Nate or McBride.”
She nodded, sniffed, tried to smile.
He ducked down, kissed her. “I love you. Remember that, okay? No matter what, bella, you remember that.”
Laura nodded, then watched, her heart aching, as he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER
31
Two months later
JAVIER CROUCHED DOWN, his suppressed HK416 raised and ready, NVGs giving him a clear view of the darkened street beyond. He watched for motion, for any sign that they’d been noticed, covering for Ross as he placed an explosive charge on the locked front gate. They took cover.
BAM!
A dog across the street barked, roused by the
blast.
The gate swung open.
They moved swiftly and silently toward the front door, the men lining up on either side, staying out of the line of fire.
Javier tested the handle, found it unlocked. He nudged it open and caught a glimpse of an empty hallway.
He entered, Desprez and the rest of the team following him in a tight line. They cleared room after room, finding mostly sleeping women and children, Javier making a mental inventory of people old enough to offer resistance—men, women, older boys.
They found him in a room upstairs. He lay asleep on the floor on a bed of cushions, an AK propped against the wall near his head, a young woman sleeping beside him—one of his wives. Javier confiscated the AK and handed it to Reeves, who was watching his six with Tower, the rest of the team downstairs to cover their exfil route.
Javier moved in on the bastard and jabbed him in the head with the tip of his suppressor. “Wake up, motherfucker.”
Salman Al-Nassar’s eyes opened, and he sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at Javier, reaching for the missing AK and muttering something in Arabic.
“Look at him,” Javier said to Tower. “It’s a nightmare—and it’s real.”
Tower barked something at the bastard in Arabic.
Javier stuck with English. “I know you understand me, so listen very carefully. We don’t want to hurt any of the women or children here, but if you fuck with us, we’ll take this place apart—starting with you. Have I got your attention?”
Salman nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. “Yes.”
“You know why we’re here?”
The man nodded again. “You came for the girl.”
“Wake the woman. Tell her to be quiet. Send her to get the girl.”
The man shook the woman beside him and woke her, covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. She stared wide-eyed up at Javier as her husband spoke in rapid Arabic. She climbed out of bed and hurried past Javier and out the door, her long, dark hair hanging down her back, Tower following behind her.
Salman glared at Javier. “My brother is going to be a martyr.”