by Debra Webb
To his supreme annoyance, Piper was peering up at the dark opening in the ceiling from the floor right next to where he stood. Ric hopped down beside her. “Looks that way,” he said tightly. “And there were two of them.”
She shook her head, then rubbed at her throat. “I don’t understand. I didn’t hear anyone else. In fact, I didn’t hear anything. And the lights went out in the space of a couple of seconds. How did he get from here to the switch and back to me that quickly?”
“A woman came in a few minutes after you.”
“What woman?” Confusion reigned supreme in her eyes.
Ric nodded toward the sitting area. “The woman who stayed over there and turned out the light. The same one who had probably shadowed you all evening and warned him when you headed in this direction so that he could get into position.”
“But there wasn’t anyone here when I came in.”
“He was probably hiding in one of the stalls, waiting for just the right moment.” Ric tucked his weapon back into his waistband at the small of his back.
“This is crazy. I can’t even go to the bathroom,” she murmured, then faltered, her vertical position in serious jeopardy.
Ric pulled her back into his arms. She didn’t protest and her arms went around his waist.
Townsend burst into the room, weapon drawn. His partner followed. “What happened?” Townsend demanded.
Ric pointed upward. “Miss Ryan was attacked. There were two of them, a man and a woman, and that appears to be the exit point. I saw the woman, but neither of us got a look at the man.”
Green, Townsend’s partner and the smaller of the two, scrambled onto the counter and pulled himself up into the darkness above the ceiling.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ric murmured against Piper’s hair. “He didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head, then pressed her cheek to his chest. “He just scared the hell out of me, that’s all.”
“What did he say to you?” Townsend demanded.
Ric glared at him. She was badly shaken. Those kind of questions could wait until later.
She turned to Townsend, drawing slightly away from Ric. “He said no one could protect me from them, that I would die when the time was right.”
She began to shake and Ric tightened his hold on her. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he assured her quietly. “I promised Dave I’d watch out for you.”
“He said—” she pushed back so that she could look directly in Ric’s eyes “—that none of the attempts so far were real. They want the Feds to think they’re foiling their attempts on my life, but they’re not really. It’s all a game of some sort.” She shook her head. “They’re going to kill me, Martinez, just not tonight.”
Before Ric could promise her that he would personally see that that didn’t happen, terror filled her eyes and she spun around to face Townsend.
“Call whoever you have to and warn them!”
Townsend instantly went into a higher state of alert just as Ric did. “Warn who about what?” Townsend asked slowly as if he didn’t really want to know the answer.
Piper moistened her lips, then bit her lower one for a moment to stop its quivering. “He said that someone was going to die tonight, but it wasn’t me.”
The other agent dropped back down to the counter. All eyes moved to him. “They used a steel beam to cross over to the men’s room on the other side of the hall. They probably walked right out of there as if nothing had happened while we were all gathered in here trying to figure out what they’d done.”
Ric’s gaze connected with Townsend’s. “Where are the other two reporters tonight?” Ric asked, hope warring with the undeniable instinct that they were probably too late already.
Townsend immediately started punching buttons on his cellular phone.
“I’d like to go home.”
Ric stared down at the woman in his arms. Fear had taken its toll. He had a feeling that Piper Ryan had never felt this vulnerable before. She looked very fragile at the moment, as if she might break if he said the wrong thing.
“We’ll leave right now,” Ric said calmly. He turned his attention back to Townsend. “Any reason why we can’t get out of here?”
Townsend shook his head. “I don’t see any need to stay. I’ll call the local authorities later to see if they can lend us a sketch artist for a few hours. We need an ID on the woman if possible. But first we have to make sure Weaver and Sorrel are okay.”
PIPER LAY in her bed, feeling numb and completely drained of energy. She touched her tender throat. That man could have killed her tonight, but he hadn’t. She closed her eyes and battled the tears that wanted to fall once more. She would not cry again.
They wanted to scare her…to make her hide. But she would not hide. Tomorrow she would be right back on the streets reporting the news just like always. To hell with those bastards. She would not cower to their tactics and give up for them. She’d heard her uncle say hundreds of times that terrorism feeds on fear. If you give in, then you’ve lost the game before you’ve started. Of course, that had been before one of the targets was his niece. Now her uncle Lucas just wanted her to be safe. To hide.
Piper pushed up to a sitting position on the edge of her bed. She combed her fingers through her hair and considered tonight’s episode. She should have fought back. Instead, she’d been paralyzed with fear. She clenched her teeth. That would not happen again. Next time she would definitely fight back. She would not play the part of victim so well next time. She would kick, bite and scream at the top of her lungs.
The telephone rang, making her jump. Piper took a long, deep breath. How could she be prepared to fight back when even the unexpected ring of the telephone startled her? It didn’t ring twice; Martinez must have answered it. He had insisted on staying the night—on her couch, of course. She had been too shaken to argue with him. She wondered if the sketch artist was still working with him.
A soft tap sounded at her door, followed by Martinez’s accented voice. “Piper, we need to talk.”
She started to speak but had to clear her throat first. God, she was still rattled. “Come in.”
Martinez, sans the elegant jacket and cummerbund, strode across her room and sat down on the bed beside her. His crisp white shirt was open at the throat, revealing a breathtaking view of the sleek skin beneath.
Piper felt suddenly naked. Though she was wearing a fairly conservative nightshirt, he was in her bedroom, sitting on her bed. When that dark gaze settled onto hers, a wave of heat washed over her, making matters considerably worse.
“The sketch artist is gone. But that call was from Townsend,” Martinez said softly. The hesitation that came next made her tremble. “Edgar Sorrel is dead.”
The journalist from Savannah. Someone is going to die tonight….
Piper’s stomach roiled. The heat that had suffused her only moments before was gone now, replaced by a bone-deep chill. Tears burned in her eyes. Edgar Sorrel had a wife and two kids. And now he was dead.
“Townsend thinks you should consider going into protective custody now—tonight.”
Sorrel had been in a safe house, Piper remembered, and still they’d gotten to him.
She met Martinez’s worried gaze. Even her new cameraman was afraid for her. She moistened her lips and held his gaze steady so that there would be no misunderstanding her words. “Tell Townsend I said no way.”
There was only one way to stop a madman. And next time Piper would be prepared for him. The next terrorist son of a bitch who came for her would be the victim, not Piper.
Chapter Four
“Piper Ryan.” Piper cradled the telephone between her ear and shoulder as she continued to surf the Internet for any new information she could find on the SSU. According to the FBI, each time the SSU Web site was shut down, it instantly sprang up again on some other URL. It always amazed her at just how flagrant these groups could be, regarding their cause. Of course, their courage dissolved
when it came to listing names and showing faces.
Spineless bastards.
Piper frowned when no response sounded from the caller; her fingers stilled on her keyboard. “Hello,” she said into the eerie quiet emanating from the receiver. It wasn’t a no-one’s-there lack of sound, either; it was that make-the-hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck-stand-up kind of silence. “Hel-lo,” she repeated slowly, emphasizing each syllable with growing irritation.
“Are you afraid, Piper?” whispered the male voice from last night’s ladies’ room encounter.
The stark fear she had experienced less than twelve hours ago rushed up her spine and exploded inside her chest. Her hand went instinctively to the scarf tied at her throat, hiding the bruises he’d left there. This was the man who’d held her life in his hands for those few short, yet seemingly endless minutes. He was one of those faceless enigmas who called themselves the Soldiers of the Sovereign Union. And they had killed Edgar Sorrel less than an hour after terrorizing her. Maybe the very man who’d warned her of her impending demise was the one who’d done the deed.
“Go to hell,” she spat, her fingers tightening around the receiver with white-knuckle intensity. She wanted to kill this man. The near overwhelming sensation was both instant and palpable. At no other time in her life could she recall wanting to murder someone with her bare hands. As she started to hang up, he spoke again.
“We have more in common than you know, Piper, much more than you could ever imagine.” He chuckled, a sinister sound, then continued before she could deny his sickening accusation. “But I promise you’ll know everything before you die. I wonder if you’ll beg for your life the way Sorrel did. A most pathetic way to die.” Another sick laugh. “But then, most members of the media are rather pathetic creatures, aren’t they, Piper? They bravely boast their opinions when looking into the camera, but put them face-to-face with real life and they fall completely apart.”
Like when she’d looked into the barrel of that weapon.
Piper slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Her heart bumped painfully against her sternum. She slowed and lengthened her respiration to fight the emotions clutching at her. She would not panic. They wanted her to be afraid, and she definitely was. But they could not make her give up. Sorrel had. He had hidden away in fear and he was dead anyway. She would not give those maniacs the satisfaction.
She gathered her composure around her like a protective shield and forced her attention back to the screen in front of her. She had work to do.
She needed a gun.
The abrupt thought startled her and her fingers slowed once more in their work.
Martinez had a gun.
Her thoughts turned to her temporary cameraman. She understood now why Martinez had connected so well with the people at Hope Place. He had obviously spent some or all of his youth in a similar environment. But she’d seen a different side of him at the art auction. He was clearly well educated, and had certainly fit in, yet on the inside he was not like the society-column types who had reveled in outbidding each other last night. Piper couldn’t quite place Martinez in a particular category. He was tougher, more streetwise and cockier than any man she had ever met. Generally those macho attributes would be a huge turnoff to her…but there was something about Martinez that somehow made them all look good on him.
Heat instantly chased away the chill her caller had produced. The image of Martinez wearing nothing but that towel materialized in her mind, made her heart beat faster. Maybe Dave was right. Maybe there was more to him than what she could see on the outside. The memory of Martinez in that tux filled her mind next.
“And maybe you’ve lost your mind,” she grumbled, and focused her wayward thoughts back to the search engine on the waiting computer screen. Terrorists were trying to kill her and here she sat fantasizing about a man she had no intention of getting involved with.
And who, she added firmly, would be out of her professional life in a few short days. Jones would be back and then everything could get back to normal. The telephone rang again. Piper jumped at the sound. Her hand flattened on her chest and she tried her level best to draw in a steady breath.
“This is certainly a hell of a start,” she scolded. How could she even put life and normal in the same thought if each ring of her office phone would send her into a cardiac episode? Before she could lose her nerve altogether, she snatched up the receiver.
More heavy silence.
“Look, if you don’t have anything interesting to say, stop calling me.” She was going to have to talk to that switchboard operator about screening her calls. Piper was about to slam the receiver down again, but an angry voice stopped her.
“Yo, news lady, I have somethin’ to say.”
Piper reached for calm. She was relatively sure this call wasn’t from any SSU members. “All right,” she agreed as she gathered her scattered composure.
“You got nerve comin’ down here, makin’ Hope Place look bad.” The caller was young and male. “We do what we gotta do to survive. Somethin’ you don’t know nothin’ ’bout.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand.” She searched her desktop for a pen or pencil. “Are you suggesting that you would like to give our viewing audience your side, Mr…?” Piper allowed the question to dangle in the silence that lapsed between them.
“Maybe,” he countered eventually, rising to meet the challenge she’d offered.
Pen in hand, she shoved aside research notes to clear a spot on her blotter pad. “I’m a firm believer in showing both sides of any story. Give me your name, a time and place we can meet. I’ll be happy to provide you with the opportunity to tell your side of things.”
Piper quickly wrote down his name and meeting specifics. “All right, Mr. Taylor. I look forward to speaking with you.” Adrenaline surged through her at the prospect.
“Don’t bring no cops wit’ you. I ain’t talking wit’ no suits hangin’ ’round.”
“No cops then,” she assured him. “I want you to be completely comfortable, Mr. Taylor.”
Without another word, he hung up.
Piper placed the receiver in its cradle and stared at it for a long moment. Fear trickled through her as she considered the promise she’d just made. In the past she wouldn’t have thought twice about going alone, with no one but Jones for backup. She always did whatever it took to get the job done…to get the story. But terrorists had stolen into her life and attempted to take two things near and dear to her very being—her trust and confidence.
And they’d almost succeeded.
Renewed anger flamed inside her. “To hell with SSU,” she muttered. She had a job to do and she damned well intended to do it. Martinez had a gun. And maybe she’d get one of her own. She knew the places to go to avoid the legislated waits. She glanced around the newsroom until her gaze landed on Martinez. He was busy with his camera equipment.
All she had to do was convince him to go along with her plan. She definitely couldn’t do this without her cameraman.
“Here’s your coffee, Miss Ryan.”
Piper jerked her gaze to the smiling young man offering a cup of the steaming brew. The new desk assistant. What was his name? Kyle…Kevin…no, it was Keith. “Thank you, Keith,” she said as she took the cup.
“If you need anything else, just let me know.” One last quick smile and he was gone.
She’d started out that way herself. Doing everything from pouring Dave’s coffee to picking up his dry cleaning. Piper frowned. Had she been as enthusiastic as Keith about that crappy job? Yeah. She smiled. She had been. She was just so darned glad to be a part of the news team, she didn’t care what she had to do to be there.
Her attention shifted back to the problem at hand. No cops. Her gaze sought out Martinez once more. Now, if her powers of persuasion were just good enough, she could make this happen.
“ARE YOU OUT of your mind?” Ric glared at Piper. “Mierda.” He shook his head at the insanity of her proposition. He had grossl
y underestimated the lady. She wasn’t just independent, she was reckless. “You think I’m going to take you to this place so you can buy an illegal handgun?”
“Keep your voice down,” she snapped as she glanced around and made sure no one was listening to their hushed, yet heated, conversation. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this. Not even Dave,” she added pointedly.
Ric pinned her with a gaze he hoped conveyed the finality of his next words. “There is nothing to know because we aren’t going anywhere without Townsend and Green. And we sure as hell aren’t going to the pawn shop you suggested. If you want a weapon, you can apply for a license and buy one just like everybody else.”
“Dammit, Martinez, I don’t have time to wait. I need protection now.” She edged closer, putting herself nose-to-nose with him. “I will not run from these people, but I’m also not stupid. I need to be able to fight back.”
She was serious. This spoiled little rich girl, who probably still had the silver spoon she’d been born with tucked away in her hope chest, intended to take control of her personal safety like a vigilante. Why was he not surprised? “I have a weapon, querida,” he reminded her. “I will use it if necessary to protect you.”
Piper rolled her eyes. “Well that’s just great, Martinez, but what about at night when I’m in bed? Who’s going to protect me then if those maniacs sneak into my apartment?”
The beginnings of a grin motivated by a very wicked thought kicked up one corner of his mouth. “I don’t have a problem sleeping with you, querida, if it would make you feel safer.”
She adopted an expression of outraged disbelief. “Get real, Martinez. Like I’d sleep with you under any circumstances.” She looked away, folding her arms firmly over her chest.
But she didn’t look away quite quickly enough. Ric saw the flash of heat in her eyes. She’d thought about sleeping with him. He was certain of it. His grin widened in pure male satisfaction.
Ric felt the blood rushing away from his brain as his gaze skimmed her lithe body. Though she wore her usual conservative pantsuit, this close he could feel her vibes—confident, feminine heat that stirred the need inside him. The sweet, subtle fragrance she wore didn’t help, either. It made her seem soft and fragile when he knew she was as tough as nails, otherwise she would have agreed to go into hiding after last night’s too-close-for-comfort encounter.