by Debra Webb
She dropped onto the edge of the mattress and slowly related the events. He was impressed when she delivered the story in a steady voice. “You don’t know what the product is?”
She shook her head.
“Hold on.” He reached for the television remote. Breaking news about the case filled the screen.
Lauren stared at the television as the reporter’s voice resonated in the room.
“Moments ago LAPD announced an eye-witness had come forward,” the reporter said, “providing a full account of Desmond Trinity’s murder. Combined with evidence gathered at the scene, the police have named Lauren Marie Woods as a person of interest and will be questioning her later today.”
What witness? “That’s impossible.” Lauren shook her head.
The reporter droned on, but Lauren was no longer listening. There couldn’t have been a witness. Desmond’s floor as well as the one below it had been empty. The memory of rushing from one locked door to the next flashed through her mind. The image on the screen changed to a helicopter view and her stomach dropped. Police cars had converged in front of Desmond’s house and two men in suits, flanked by two uniformed officers, were striding up the walk. News crews and anyone with a camera seemed to be crowding the front lawn.
“Oh, God.”
“You must have expected the reporters and paparazzi,” Stone offered. “They’re always following you around.”
“Not as much as you’d think.” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. “I’m not on top of the A-list like Desmond was.” She shook her head.” It’s not the reporters, it’s the eyewitness. There was no witness.”
“Let’s talk about the woman you saw last night,” he offered. “Is it possible she’s the witness? Maybe she hid while the bad guys were chasing you.”
“I guess that’s possible.” She rubbed at her aching temples. “I will remember her. I always do. It’s like when you hear a snippet of a song and you just can’t remember the name, but then it suddenly comes to you. I never forget a face.” Like the selfie he’d sent this morning had given her a surprise rush of anticipation, beyond knowing help was imminent. His eyes, that dark, mesmerizing blue, had sparked a flash of interest deep inside her. His strong jaw shadowed with a day’s beard growth created a yearning she’d kept buried for years. That he was tall and built like an Olympic swimmer was icing on the cake. She gave herself a mental kick and pushed aside that last part. Apparently her mind was seeking relief from the tension anywhere it could be found. According to her psychology research that was what people did in desperate situations.
He made an agreeable sound but his face told her he wasn’t quite buying her certainty about her ability to recall faces.
“At the press conference you hadn’t shaved for at least two days,” she told him. “You had mud on your jeans and your field jacket was dusty. Your hands were scraped up. Odds are low that happened in the sheriff’s station.”
“You might be surprised,” he argued, but she didn’t miss the glint of admiration in his eyes.
She pressed her point. “The sheriff’s uniform was pressed and clean as he soaked up the praise and hogged the spotlight, taking credit for a capture you obviously handled. They barely mentioned your service as a Navy SEAL. I figured you were the one who’d made the rescue happen.”
“That wasn’t a one-man job,” he said. “And the Navy would prefer it if no one mentioned my name.”
The urge to know more tugged at her, but with that newsflash her situation had just gone from bad to worse. She needed to focus. “The detective in charge of the case has called my cell several times before he finally left a voicemail, but he didn’t mention a witness. I was afraid to take a call from anyone until you arrived.” Thank God she hadn’t. Could the police really believe she was a person of interest? Or was the reporter capitalizing on Lauren’s celebrity status for ratings?
“I imagine we’ll know the answer to that soon enough. Why don’t we table the discussion about the woman you saw while we find a safe location for now?”
Was he suggesting she go into hiding? “We need to find her.” Lauren’s options had just gotten a whole lot more limited. If the woman was alive and the witness the police had announced having, then she knew the truth and could confirm Lauren’s story. If she wasn’t this so-called eyewitness, then she could be in trouble. Either way, Lauren needed to find her.
“My job is to protect you, Miss Woods.” He relaxed in the chair, but those striking midnight-blue eyes scrutinized her with an intensity that defied his nonchalant posture. “Life isn’t like the movies or a soap opera. You’ve managed to evade a killer for a few hours, but the police are now searching for you, too. Those thugs who shot your boyfriend—”
“Agent,” she reminded, growing annoyed at his attitude.
“Whatever,” he grumbled, “can sit back and let the police do the legwork. The bad guys can take you out once you’re in custody. During a transfer or even when you’re behind bars. Either way is easier than you know.”
His warning sent a tremor skittering down her spine even as his arrogance irritated her, but she couldn’t argue with the facts. Her mind raced, searching for a feasible argument or a plan.
“The police will sift through everything in Trinity’s office,” he went on. “When they find the records, your alternate ID becomes a neon sign. Unless you have cash tucked away somewhere or a friend with a private island, you won’t last a week outside a safe house.”
“I’ll find a way.” She couldn’t go into hiding. However badly Desmond had treated her and ignored her career, he had helped her as well. She would not turn her back without at least trying to help find his killer and to clear her name. Lauren had some cash on her. “I’m not an idiot, Mr. Stone. I have resources and I’ll come up with a plan, with or without your help.”
“You have resources that won’t turn on you?” He stood up and stepped toward her. “Resources that can circumvent the police from railroading you into a murder charge?” Another step disappeared between them. “Resources willing to take an accessory rap if they’re caught aiding your escape when your status goes from person of interest to suspect?”
She struggled to breathe around the hard lump in her throat. There were people in her life she trusted, but if any of them got hurt or jailed because of her... “That’s enough.” She held up a hand. She would find a way.
He halted his advance but he was already in her personal space, his gaze unyielding. “You’re willing to take the chance your resources could be killed for helping you?”
No. “Stop.” She barely resisted the urge to cover her ears. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she involved a friend who got hurt because of her.
“The way I see it, you’re well and truly caught between killers and cops. You can’t afford to ignore my advice.”
The worst part of this, she realized, was that he was right. The worry in his eyes gave her a moment’s pause. He was a stranger. Why would he care if she lived or died? Ah, the reputation of his agency, of course. “I can’t just hide either. I have to find the one person who can back up my story and help me bring a killer to justice.”
“Why?”
She glared at him. “Why what?”
“You just told me he wasn’t your boyfriend.” Stone folded his arms across his broad chest. “Yet, you’re willing to risk your life to bring his killer to justice.”
Now who was playing games? “Why not? I’m a person of interest. I need proof of my story so the police don’t try railroading me, like you said.”
“The burden of proof is on them, Miss Woods. All you really need to do is stay alive until they figure it out. Making sure you stay safe is my job.”
“And what if the police don’t find the killers? Am I supposed to stay hidden for the rest of my life?” Hiding was unacceptable. She needed to find the truth and make sure those two men went to jail.
Stone tilted his head toward the television. “If the witness is the woman you s
aw last night, then my guess is the bad guys have decided to frame you. They don’t need it to hold up in court, they only need it to bring you into the open.”
“You didn’t answer my question. I have a career. I can’t stay in hiding forever.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a crystal ball, Miss Woods. You keep your head down for as long as it takes.”
Her knees gave out and she reached for the door to steady herself. Her career plans for the future would have to wait. However determined she was, getting herself killed wasn’t going to help anyone. Surviving this nightmare meant relying on the sexy, domineering man standing in front of her. She rubbed her clammy palms on her jeans.
“Okay.” She surrendered. “So what do we do?”
“You’re absolutely certain you didn’t see anyone else at the scene?”
“There was no one else.”
“We take a look at the evidence and we find out the identity of the witness.”
“Any photos released will be on the gossip shows by tonight.”
“First, they’re not likely to release the witness’s name or photo. Secondly, time is our enemy. We need to get ahead of this before it spirals any further out of control.” He pulled out his phone and sent an email or text message.
“What if I cooperate?” Lauren chewed her bottom lip as she considered the idea. “Surely I can talk to Detective Treadwell without going into custody.”
“You don’t need to talk to anyone but me right now. The people who took out your... agent may be part of an organized crime syndicate. Based on your descriptions, the accents, and names, my money’s on organized crime. Probably Russian. They don’t leave loose ends. Particularly if they have reason to believe you know something.”
He stared at her with an expectant expression, as if she should fill in some blank. “I’ve never seen them before. I have no idea why they wanted to kill Desmond or what the product they kept talking about is.”
“You lived with Trinity, worked with him. There must’ve been some indication he was associated with organized crime.”
Lauren knew that tone. It was the tone powerful men took all too often with her, assuming the pretty little lady had rocks in her head. She’d heard Desmond use it too many times. She closed her eyes and thought of the ocean, of digging her toes into the sand as the tide kissed her feet. Some people said they felt small when staring out at the vastness of the ocean. Not her. She’d felt bigger and stronger from the first moment the Pacific Ocean had washed over her skin. The new awareness had been a monumental discovery when she’d arrived in California. On the beach, staring out over the endless stretch of water, she felt connected and infused with energy as if the ocean fueled her. Pulling deep from that well of calm strength, she opened her eyes once more.
“When I arrived in Hollywood, I worked my ass off. Desmond signed me for my looks and my work ethic. No casting couch. It was completely professional. He was a player and I knew it, but he was a hell of an agent. It took him years to convince me to take our relationship to a personal level, and a few more of blissful ignorance before I caught him cheating on me.”
Stone cocked that handsome yet arrogant head of his. “Is there some point you’re getting to?”
She refused to be goaded by his impatience. “This industry is ruthless, no matter how beautiful the people in front of the camera are. Reputation is everything and infidelity happens every day. If I’d thrown a tantrum about him sleeping with a willing wannabe it would’ve started a media feeding frenzy. I would’ve been out of the agency in a heartbeat, my career damaged—perhaps beyond repair.”
She held up a finger when he started to interrupt her again. “Being faithful to Desmond was my most challenging role, but I played it to perfection. Don’t assume that means I knew every facet of his businesses. The opposite is true.” The distance she had kept between them gave him plenty of room to do whatever or whomever he pleased. She could just imagine what Mr. Stone thought of her choices. Whatever he thought, she didn’t owe him an explanation. “Whatever he was doing for or with those men, he didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
A muscle twitched in Stone’s jaw. “All right. You have my word. I will do all I can to find the truth while protecting you. Put the wig back on. Grab the rest of your things and let’s move.”
Lauren nodded, uncertain whether she should be grateful or terrified. She gathered her few belongings and pulled out her car keys as they left the room.
“Give me your phone and your car key,” he said as they reached the stairwell.
“Why?” She did not like the way he fired orders at her.
“They can use either or both to find you.”
Reluctantly she handed over the items, telling herself it was temporary. They moved down the stairs quickly and then took the motel’s side exit to avoid the lobby.
“To the right,” he said. The lights on a Camaro flashed.
The sleek muscle car suited the man perfectly, she thought as he loaded her bag into the back seat. “I’d like to get my phone charger from my car. I might not need it now, but there’s always later.”
He heaved a patient sigh. “You get in, I’ll grab your charger for later—much later.”
“Fine.” She climbed into the passenger seat annoyed that he couldn’t be bothered with a simple please. She felt like a boot camp trainee with orders being barked at her. “Sit down. Get in. Give me your phone and car key,” she grumbled.
As he walked toward her car, he raised her key fob and clicked to unlock the doors. The lights flashed. An explosion rocked the parking lot.
Lauren’s heart slammed against her ribs. The shock that followed came over her in a wave nearly as violent as the explosion.
The driver’s side door of the Camaro opened and Mr. Stone dropped into the seat. “Buckle up. We’re out of here.”
She wanted to ask questions, but she couldn’t speak. Instead, she watched the dark smoke from what had been her car rise into the morning sky. Her hands shook as she buckled her seatbelt. Her gaze settled on the man behind the wheel.
She might be dead right now if she hadn’t listened to him.
Chapter Three
Mike’s brain kept replaying the fireball consuming her car. Whoever had killed Trinity was serious about tying up loose ends. It didn’t matter that he and Lauren made a clean escape and were now pulling into the driveway of a Guardian Agency safe house. He couldn’t erase the image from his mind. As a SEAL, he’d seen plenty of bombs, before and after detonation, in training and in the field. He’d used explosives and understood the effectiveness as well as the irrevocable damage inflicted on property and personnel.
He reviewed the whole scenario again from his arrival at the motel to their departure, and he couldn’t pinpoint a surveillance detail. Whoever had planted the device had been long gone when he arrived which told him someone had followed her to the motel from the police station. It was the only way they could have managed to plant the bomb so quickly. It would have been the perfect cleanup strike. Tie up the loose end without getting too close.
“Where are we?” she asked. “Do you live here?”
“This is an agency safe house,” he replied. “It’s fully furnished and completely untraceable. You’ll be safe here.”
She peered through the windshield at the house. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call Detective Treadwell back?” She heaved a heavy breath. “I suppose on some level I knew he would try and pin this on me.”
The lady still wasn’t convinced that going into hiding was a good option. Whatever her reservations, for now laying low was the only option. “Not yet. I’m considering a couple of angles we might take.” That should buy him some time. He needed to check in with Claudia. Something he should’ve done on the drive over, but making certain they weren’t followed from the motel had required his full focus.
As if he’d telegraphed the thought, Mike’s phone rang while he maneuvered the Camaro into the garage and shut off the engine.
“She is and good morning to you, too,” he teased.
Claudia grunted. “There’s a lot of chatter on the news outlets.”
“No kidding. You’re on speaker by the way,” he added before going on, “the latest report mentioned a witness to the crime and the police want to bring my client in as a person of interest. I need to know what changed and who this witness is before I make a decision on an appropriate move.”
“Anything else?”
“Not right now.” In the background, he listened to Claudia’s chair creaking.
“Send a text with your grocery list and I’ll arrange the delivery,” she offered, ever one step ahead of him.
Though he’d never had a face to face with Claudia, Mike could imagine her workspace based on his military experience with technical personnel and communications experts. An array of monitors probably fanned out across a wide desk in a dim room. She didn’t seem to have regular hours and he couldn’t be sure if she assisted any other protectors.
“Who is that?” Lauren asked in a whisper.
“I’m Claudia, technical assistant for the Guardian Agency, Miss Woods. You’ll have to excuse Mike, he has no manners.”
Lauren gave him a look that suggested she was inclined to agree with Claudia.
“You have an ETA on that info?” he asked, ready to get out of this car and to put a little distance between him and the lady who had his senses standing at attention for more reasons than one.
“This is going to take some time,” Claudia announced. “I can get into the reporter’s emails, but the police server is a different matter. Keep your head down until I call you back.”
She ended the call before he could reply.
“So we lay low for a while,” Mike said, pushing open his door.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait?” Lauren grabbed her purse and climbed out.
He glanced at her across the roof of the car before reaching into the back seat for their bags. “We wait, yes. The house isn’t a hardship, trust me.”