Edge of Danger (Edge Security Series Book 3)

by Loye, Trish

  She kept pace. “Your nickname is Doc. You notice when others need help. You seem to always be the one taking care of people,” she said. “Most people like that grow up to be doctors or nurses. You grew up to be a soldier.”

  He looked sharply at her. “How di—” He bit off his words but knew it was too late.

  “I didn’t really,” she said. “Until now.” She shrugged. “Don’t feel bad. It was a logical conclusion, since you know Jake and you’re here helping with the investigation. I’d lay odds that you’re some type of special operations soldier like him.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “The silent treatment? That means I’m close.” They ran a bit more, and he thought she’d dropped the whole topic until she spoke again.

  “My brother works at a company called E.D.G.E. Security, but he acts exactly like he did when he was a SEAL. He leaves suddenly on trips that can’t be verified and sometimes he comes back injured. More injured than a person should be from guarding civilian companies.”

  Smart woman, but again he didn’t confirm or deny.

  She sighed. “So you work in some kind of secret soldier organization, but that’s not the question I have for you. What I want to know is, how does such a nurturer become a soldier?” She studied him when he didn’t say anything. “Or is it that a soldier became a nurturer?”

  He forced himself not to flinch or reveal anything to her probing questions—questions that had taken a different tack, more personal, like little pricks of a knife on his skin.

  “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

  She chewed on her bottom lip and a little surge of heat swept through him. He wanted to haul her up against him and kiss that lip.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t here to give up his life story. Or spend time fantasizing about his friend’s sister. This was supposed to be a talk about her. He needed to take the reins in this conversation.

  “You obviously came here to discuss something serious with me,” she said in answer to his question. She looked at him. “I think it’s just quid pro quo.”

  He frowned. “If I answer your questions, then you’ll answer mine?” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to answer certain questions.”

  “About E.D.G.E. Security?”

  Again he didn’t say anything.

  “I can deal with that,” she said. “But I want honesty in everything else. And I get to go first.”

  He now knew what she was playing at. She was trying to force him to back off—a verbal game of chicken. She didn’t know who she was playing against. But she’d soon find out.

  “How many questions?” he asked.

  “Three.”

  “Done. But I also want complete honesty.”

  “Of course,” she said. She stared at him intently, as if she could detect a lie just by watching him. “Were you always a fighter?”

  He sighed. “I grew up in Ottawa, in a fairly middle-class neighborhood. Nothing special except I was big for my age. Right from the beginning I had to defend myself from kids who wanted to prove they were tough so they picked on the big black kid. Like I was a gangbanger just because my skin is dark.” He shrugged. “But then I found out I was good at it. It’s one of the reasons I joined the military.”

  She nodded. “So how did a soldier become a nurturer?”

  Now he laughed. “I wouldn’t call myself nurturing. I’m a medic.”

  “You take care of people,” she insisted.

  He rolled his shoulders as if trying to get out from under those words and the memories they stirred. “Listen, I was a bit of a scrapper and then my dad died. My mom started to drink and…”

  “And you took care of her,” she finished for him. She said it matter of factly and that made it easier to hear aloud, like it had happened to someone else. Like some other kid had come home from school to find his mother passed out on the floor again.

  “Was it just you?” she asked.

  “I have a younger brother,” he said, his voice tight, no longer happy with this game.

  “How ol—”

  “You’ve had your three questions,” Zach said. “It’s my turn. How long have you had PTSD?”

  She took a deep breath. “Since coming back from Iraq two years ago. I’ve mostly got it under control.”

  “At least you’re not denying it.”

  Her pace quickened. Trying to outrun him again?

  “Of course not,” she said. “Yesterday was unusual for me. I wasn’t expecting a flashbang.”

  They walked in silence for a moment. He decided to dispense with games. “You know who we’re dealing with here. Next time it could be a real bomb, a real situation.”

  She huffed out a breath as if impatient with him. “I get that. I know that. But I’ll be more focused next time. Prepared. It won’t catch me off guard again.”

  He nodded. “So you won’t be affected by a real bomb going off? Or gunfire?”

  “Is that one of your questions?” she asked, staring straight ahead.

  Fuck the questions. “It’s nothing shameful to have a flashback,” he said softly.

  Her head turned toward him slowly and a spark of anger lit her gray eyes to storm clouds. “Are you going to report me?”

  He liked that she got right to the point. No dancing around or coyness from Alyssa Harrison. Just like her brother.

  “No,” Zach answered. “But I need to know the extent of your PTSD and when it flares up. I need for you to be honest with me about it.”

  Her lips compressed before she nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “You need to talk to someone.”

  “The Bureau has already assigned me a shrink.”

  “Is that because of your PTSD or is it just the standard counselor?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Have you tried a support group?”

  “Dammit, I’m fine. I do my job, what more do you want?”

  She stalked off and he let her, wondering as she did if he should tell Jake about his sister. Maybe she was fine and the flashbang had just surprised her.

  Or maybe she was spiraling down and needed help.

  He couldn’t afford to look after her. Not on this mission. It was too important. Alyssa Harrison would need to deal with her demons on her own. He was here for Al Shabah and nothing would get in his way, not even a beautiful firecracker.

  * * *

  Back at her apartment, Alyssa showered and dressed, trying not to think about Zach and their conversation. It had stirred memories and dark thoughts. What if he was right? Would she be okay when the bomb was real? And it would be real next time. This was Al Shabah they were dealing with.

  She grabbed her leather jacket for warmth and went down to Lattes and More. Frank made up her vanilla latte and the caramel macchiato. Mr. Almadi sat in his usual seat watching out the window.

  Outside in the alley, she went to Rob’s lean-to holding both coffees. He wasn’t sitting in his usual spot.

  “Rob?” she called.

  A metal clang drew her eyes to the back of the alley. Rob shuffled forward, his eyes darting to the street behind her. “I’m glad to see you, Detective Alyssa.” He waved a large, stained brown envelope. “I have something important to show you.”

  She raised her brows. She did not want to know what those stains were from. “Want your coffee first? I find I always think better with caffeine in me.”

  “This is more important than coffee.” He waved the envelope in emphasis and a waft of pungent body odor reached her. “This is really important. Like national security important.”

  She sighed. Rob seemed almost manic today. She thought he’d been getting better, almost lucid, and ready for help in getting off the street.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he yelled at her. “You have to believe me. I’m not crazy.”

  Disappointment shot through her. He was edging from manic into aggressive. She really didn’t want to have to do something about that. She took
a careful step back and placed his coffee on the ground before holding up her free hand.

  “Hold on Rob,” she said. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you. It’s just unexpected is all. I haven’t even had my coffee.”

  “Forget the fucking coffee.” He kicked his cup and the frothy mixture splattered over the brick wall of the coffee shop.

  “Take it easy, Rob.” She used her cop voice, a deeper, edgier version of her own. “I want to help.”

  Still holding the envelope, he ran his hands through his grimy hair. “I know,” he said. “I know. But no one else believes me. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Here.” He thrust the envelope at her. “It’s all in here.”

  She started to open the envelope.

  “Not here!” Rob waved his hands at her. His gaze darted all around. “Look at it when you’re somewhere safe.” He ran to the end of the alley and checked the street. “Someone’s been following me. I might have to go to ground. If you need more information, then…” He looked all around, as if searching for something. “If you need me, put a coffee cup in front of my place.”

  “And then you’ll come back?” she asked.

  “And then I’ll find you.”

  That did not sit well with her. She had visions of him showing up at her apartment. Should she start distancing herself from him? But looking at Rob now, she knew she couldn’t abandon him to the street. Something about him called to her. She wanted to save him… Wanted to know that he could be saved.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll look at it somewhere safe and I’ll leave a cup if I want to talk to you.”

  He nodded, his arms hugging himself. “I knew I could count on you. I knew it,” he said. He backed into his alley. “Remember the coffee cup. I’ll be around if you have questions.”

  She nodded and turned away, hoping Rob settled and tomorrow she could talk to him about getting real help.

  On the subway to the Bureau she sipped her latte and opened the envelope. Inside were scrap pieces of paper, what looked like receipts, and a handful of papers with the edges torn. She froze when she saw them. Arabic writing covered the sheets.

  She frowned. It appeared to be a poem on one sheet. She flipped to the next. A story. “One Thousand and One Nights.” The next showed basic words in Arabic including the numbers one through ten.

  She sighed and flipped quickly through the rest. All basic text from what she suspected was some kind of Learn to Speak Arabic class. She prayed Rob hadn’t broken in anywhere to steal these papers. She’d definitely have to talk to him tomorrow. Maybe it was time to call in some help for him, or track down his family.

  She pushed the papers back into the envelope and shoved it into her messenger bag, then pushed Rob from her mind. She needed focus today. They had to figure out Al Shabah’s plans.

  She tapped her fingers on her leg, over and over again. She couldn’t let people be killed again. Not if she could stop it. She would work with Masters in order to stop Al Shabah. She would borrow some of the Ponytail Guy’s yoga-Zen if it killed her.

  7

  Zach didn’t see Alyssa run again over the next two days, and she was completely professional at the Bureau, with no hint of humor or personality when she spoke with him. It irritated him almost as much as spinning his wheels while they waited for Al Shabah’s next move.

  Without knowing who exactly they hunted for, there wasn’t much they could do besides go over the old cases and profile too many people. Masters snapped at everyone to work harder and longer. But it wasn’t enough.

  At the end of the second day after the “box bomb,” as they called it now, he and Marc entered a conference room and secured an encrypted link to have a video chat with the E.D.G.E. team.

  “Did Ghost find anything in theatre?” Zach asked, referring to Sarah and her CIA contacts in Iraq.

  Blackwell shook his head on the screen. “Nothing. If anyone actually knows who Al Shabah is, they’re not talking. Ghost believes he keeps his identity known only to his top advisors.”

  “Well, that’s not a fucking lot of help,” Marc muttered.

  “I’m sending you the rest of Alpha team,” Blackwell said.

  “Hold off, sir,” Zach said. “The agent in charge has us running on a hamster wheel. If we can tap into these networks, then we can do our own search.”

  “Probably more efficient,” Marc said.

  “Agreed,” Blackwell said. “I have a team waiting. Just give the word and they’ll be at your hotel in two hours.”

  Zach scrubbed his face with his hand. “We’ll check in again tomorrow, sir.”

  “Good hunting.”

  They signed off. Time to go grab some sleep. It had been a long and fruitless two days. Maybe tomorrow they’d find a lead on Al Shabah.

  And maybe tomorrow Alyssa would respond to him again.

  * * *

  Alyssa watched the early morning sun glint off the building’s windows across from her apartment. It had been three days since the box bomb. They needed a break in this case. Soon.

  She decided to stop by Rob’s cardboard lean-to, since she hadn’t seen him in the last two days and she wanted to check on him. She bought her latte and his caramel macchiato, but he wasn’t sitting out front like he usually did.

  “Rob?”

  His lean-to had fallen to the side and a dirty blanket lay in the middle of the alley. A newspaper blew by her ankles. The wind must have knocked his home over. She wondered if that happened often.

  She glanced back at the busy street before walking further into the relative quiet of the alley. She stopped beside a full dumpster. The scent of urine and rotting food made her nose wrinkle. “Rob?”

  Had he gone into hiding? Dammit, she should have gotten him help. She set his coffee down in front of his lean-to. His signal to come back, though she really hoped that he didn’t take the cup as a sign to show up on her doorstep tonight.

  Had his paranoia made him move on? Guilt weighed on her. She should have done more to help him. Did she really think a caramel macchiato was doing anything? She sighed. Now wasn’t the time to beat herself up over this. With a last look at the deserted alley, she left.

  At the office, Masters drove them hard. She couldn’t fault his expertise or logic in his search for Al Shabah, no matter whether she liked him personally or not. He followed all leads on the box bomber, using information about the flashbang, camera footage, DAS, flight manifests in the two weeks previous, train manifests, and even informants on the street. He paced the office like a bear just woken from hibernation, but she could understand his frustration. They all felt it.

  She leaned back from her terminal, where she was double-checking flight manifests for the last two months with anyone traveling to the Middle East. It had been a couple of long days with not much to show for them. She rolled her neck to get the kinks out.

  “Here, let me.” Zach’s warm, calloused hands shifted her braid aside and he rubbed his thumbs up her neck to the base of her skull. Her body instantly responded by turning into a limp pile of urges and sighs. It took her too long to pull away.

  “It’s okay. There’s no one here,” Zach said. “Riley brought in bagels and everyone’s mowing down in the conference room.”

  She leaned back and, without having to ask, Zach lifted his hands back to her neck.

  “Just for a minute,” she said, unable to resist the magic of his touch. Her head dropped forward as he massaged the stiffness from her muscles.

  “Why are you so worried?” Zach asked.

  She didn’t bother to pretend not to know what he meant. “It’s not appropriate,” she said. “Neither is the way you look at me.”

  His touch lightened and he stroked his fingers down her neck, sending shivers through her. “Neither is the way you look at me,” he said.

  She cleared her throat and pulled away. He dropped his hands back to his lap and watched her with that
steady gaze. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be concerned with what was appropriate, Firecracker.”

  “I’m not usually, but I’m also not looking to give people a reason to talk about me.” She shook her head. “It’s more than that. I can’t have a flirtation at work and be taken seriously. Maybe you can, but as a woman, my co-workers’ respect lives and dies on my reputation. It’s something I learned in the military. And it’s true as a police officer too.”

  He sighed. “I understand. It’s a double standard that no one wants to acknowledge.”

  She tilted her head. “You’re okay to just leave this alone?”

  A smile played on his lips. “I didn’t say I was okay with it. Just that I understood.”

  “Will you stop?”

  He sat back in his chair. “Alright, I will try to tone down my looking,” he said. Then a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. “But I demand something in return.”

  She crossed her arms, trying not to smile back. “Seriously? Are you trying to blackmail a police officer?”

  “Yes,” he said unrepentantly. “Your brother Jake mentioned a great pizza place that I had to go to,” he said. “I think you should come with me tonight.”

  Hadn’t she just covered this? She opened her mouth to protest when he raised a hand to stop her. “As a friend,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like to eat alone?”

  She eyed his tall, muscular physique and gorgeous face. “Somehow I can’t picture you eating alone.”

  He didn’t smile. “I eat alone more often than not.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “My job requires a lot of traveling. I don’t have a lot of time to meet people outside of work.”

  She studied him. He was telling the truth, not just trying to play on her sympathies. She could handle one dinner. “Fine, but just dinner. And we can discuss work,” she said. “Which pizza place?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Firecracker. The place is Vezzo’s on 54th and Lex.”

  It was a bit of a walk from her apartment, but she could make it easily enough on the subway. “I know it. I’ll meet you there.”