01 Only Fear

  “And he knows that, Maggie. He’s obviously disguised it before, if Sharon didn’t recognize him as Owen.”

  “I won’t be any safer here than I would be out there. He doesn’t seem to have any problem getting to me, or people I care about.”

  Ethan touched her arm in a supportive gesture, then spoke to Damian. “Sir, it’s my job to protect her. With all due respect, I can’t leave her here and go out with Becca. On the other hand, I don’t want to put her in more danger by taking her with me.”

  “Quite a dilemma.”

  “I insist on going with Ethan,” Maggie said. “Besides, I think I might be more of an asset than a hindrance. The way Fearmonger’s behaved, I don’t think he’d run if he saw me. On the contrary, maybe he’d even approach me.” Ethan’s hand stiffened on her arm and she reached out to lay her other hand on his. “But I promise to be careful.”

  “Lorena? Your thoughts?” Damian invited his mindhunter to share.

  “I think she has a valid point,” Lorena conceded. “And I can pair up with Becca. We can cover more ground if there are three teams looking.” A spark lit Lorena’s eyes. Maggie got a glimpse of the FBI agent she must have been. Tough. Formidable. Intelligent. Of course, that went without saying. Damian only hired the best.

  “You two can look into the artists who work with wood. I’ll have Catherine compile a listing, and get the list of furniture factories to Noah and Ethan.”

  “You stick with me,” Ethan said in Maggie’s ear as chairs were pushed back and each pair left to see to their assignment. “You do what I say, when I say it. No arguments. No questions.”

  She nodded, sensing the urgency in his voice. Was it fear? For her? The thought warmed her blood. She already knew the stakes. “I will. I promise.” She wasn’t looking to lose her life just after she’d seized hold of it again.

  Damian approached and embraced her. “Be careful.” His voice dropped so that only she could hear. “And I’m glad to see you took my advice.”

  Maggie felt her cheeks heat. Was it so obvious that she and Ethan had grown close? Damian’s rusty chuckle warmed her and had several heads turning to stare in surprise. The man obviously didn’t laugh much. When all this was over, she’d have to talk with him about that.

  “Can I come in this time?” Maggie pleaded, aware this was their last stop, and Ethan had had no luck going into the last four furniture factories on his own.

  He gave her a no-arguments look. “No.” Firm and immovable. Then he reached out to touch her face, turning in the front seat of the car to face her. “It’s my job to—”

  “Keep me safe. I know.” Maggie sighed. “I just have this cramp in my leg. It would be nice to stretch. And I’m starving. Maybe they have a vending machine or something.”

  “We’ll stop for dinner after this. It’s the last one on our list.” His look was so full of compassion that Maggie had to turn away.

  “Okay. Be safe.” It was the same thing she’d told him before each of the other stops. She hoped to heaven that Noah and Maria or Becca and Lorena had experienced better luck narrowing the field. The pleasant smell of freshly hewn wood filled her senses as Ethan opened his door and climbed out, dipping his head back into the open doorway to say the same thing he’d told her at each of the stops. “Lock the doors.”

  Nodding, she did as he asked as his retreating form disappeared through the building’s front door. It was another hot day, and he’d left the air-conditioning running for her. She pulled her shirt away from her skin to let the air circulate against it until she shivered.

  This factory exuded more charm than the others had. Two stories of solid brick located near an old industrial section of Chicago, the building was a character in itself. Obviously constructed many decades ago, it stood proud and square among newer, less interesting buildings.

  A knock on her window startled her. A man stood on the other side, and she hesitated until he smiled. His dark hair was in need of a trim, and his skin was tanned as if he’d spent some time out of doors. She rolled her window down a crack. If this handsome, boy-next-door type of guy was Fearmonger, she’d know it by his voice. And his eyes. The eyes always told.

  “Hi,” he said, not indicating that he might find it odd that he was speaking to her through a one-inch gap. In today’s world, and in this part of town, people were probably considered smart to be on guard. For Maggie, it was a way of life now.

  She felt some relief that the man’s accent was Southern. It didn’t have the smooth, cultured polish of Owen’s voice. It wasn’t even close.

  “You lost?” he asked.

  “No. Just waiting for my friend. He’ll be back any moment.” She hoped that was true. The man seemed friendly enough, but you never knew. She’d let the man chew on her response and decide what to say next.

  The man jerked his head toward the building, a lock of hair falling in his eyes. “Place is about to close up for the night. We hate working Saturdays, so we try to get out quick.”

  Maggie forced a pleasant smile. “Then my friend will be back even sooner.”

  His eyes studied her a moment before he shrugged and nodded. “Okay. Just trying to help.” He turned to walk away.

  She didn’t care if she’d offended him. It was a small price to pay for one’s life.

  “That your friend?” he asked, once again jerking his head toward the building.

  Maggie, startled the man was still by her window when she’d seen him turn and take a few steps away, looked toward the entrance where, sure enough, Ethan strode in long, purposeful strides toward the car.

  “Who are you?” Ethan’s look was black enough to make her new friend back away, his hands raised to his chest, palms out.

  “Hey,” he drawled, “I was just keeping your lady company. Making sure she was okay.”

  “And you are?”

  “J. P. Randall. I work here.”

  “Then you’re on your way home.” It was a statement intended to push him along his way.

  J. P. just grinned. “After a drink at Sullivan’s, down the street. Just thought I’d look for company.”

  “I hear bars are great for that—finding company.”

  J. P. laughed, then rapped his knuckles against the roof. Maggie, who’d been watching Ethan through the window where he stood in front of the car, jumped at the noise.

  “That they are,” J. P. said. “Goodbye, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat to her—a cowboy hat, no doubt. With his Southern accent, he only needed a piece of hay sticking out of his mouth to complete the picture of smooth Southern boy. “Hope to see you again sometime soon.” He turned and sauntered toward a truck parked across the lot, with the employees’ cars.

  Ethan climbed in and glared at her. “Put your window up. Are you crazy?”

  She complied. “It was only a little bit.”

  “Enough to stick a gun barrel through.”

  “If it were a gun, he wouldn’t need me to roll down the window in order to hurt me. Besides, Fearmonger prefers a knife,” she pointed out, but that only made him scowl all the more. “What did you find out in there?”

  Ethan’s jaw tensed. “Nothing. The boss had already left for the day. There was just a worker or two cleaning up. One didn’t speak English and the other hadn’t seen anything unusual. Couldn’t think of anyone we’d be looking for.” He ran a hand over his face. “Sorry. Looks like we’ll have to continue the hunt tomorrow.”

  Maggie slumped against her seat, emotionally drained. Oh, Julia, I hope you’re hanging in there. Her sister was tough. Maggie just hoped she was tough enough to withstand Fearmonger’s so-called lessons. Of course, he’d always said Maggie was his pupil. What he wanted was her. He wanted to teach her about fear. And, God help her, if it meant saving her sister, she would offer herself to him, wrapped in a big red bow.

  Of course, with Ethan determined to keep her safe, that self-sacrifice would be difficult to achieve. And it wouldn’t be smart, anyway. Fearmonger wouldn’t let he
r sister go, no matter what Maggie did.

  “I’m sorry,” Ethan continued when Maggie didn’t respond. “I know you had your hopes up. Maybe the other teams found something.” But they left the reality unspoken. If anyone had found Julia or Fearmonger, Ethan would have received a call immediately. “I’ll check in with Damian and see if anybody else had some luck.” Damian must have picked up right away, because Ethan was suddenly talking to someone on his cell. “We’re done for the day. Have the other teams checked in?…Where are they?…That’s not too far from here. We’ll meet them at—” He pulled the phone away from his mouth to talk to Maggie. “What was that bar that guy mentioned—the one nearby?”

  “Sullivan’s. Just down the block.”

  He nodded. “Tell them to meet us at Sullivan’s.”

  When he hung up, Maggie pinned him with a look. “Why there? I thought J. P. was kind of creepy.”

  “Me, too.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt to check him out a little more. He’s probably just an average Joe. Or Joe Bob,” he drawled, mimicking J. P.’s accent.

  “That would make him a J. B. not a J. P.,” she pointed out.

  “Noah and Maria are only a few miles from here, and it’ll give us a chance to compare notes. Damian’s calling them for us now.”

  He drove the short distance to Sullivan’s, which, judging by the number of beat-up trucks in the parking lot, was already doing a decent amount of business on a Saturday evening.

  He climbed out and Maggie followed suit. The heat of the Chicago summer day rebounded off the parking lot, radiating through her thin-soled sandals. A sidewalk sign in front of the corrugated-tin-roofed bar proclaimed Saturday’s special featured half-price wings, fries and draft beer. Her mouth watered. She felt the warmth of Ethan’s hand at her back as he guided her down the sidewalk, the touch at once protective and proprietary. Maggie didn’t mind.

  Sullivan’s was dimly lit but the air-conditioning was heavenly. It was large enough to accommodate a dozen or so people at the bar, another dozen booths around the perimeter, and a smattering of beat-up wooden tables in the middle. The overall appearance fit the industrial atmosphere of the neighborhood, with tin and neon accents on the walls and a painted concrete floor.

  Ethan’s hand returned to Maggie’s back, directing her to a table in the corner big enough for the six of them when the others arrived. He promptly claimed the seat that faced the door. From there, he could also keep an eye on the group that had gathered at a table in the opposite corner of the room. J. P. was among the after-work crowd of men gathered there. Judging by the level of noise, most of them were clearly not on their first half-price beer. The few other patrons were relatively sedate.

  Maggie waited patiently for Ethan to finish scanning the room and return his attention to her. When he did, his eyes softened almost imperceptibly, but his jaw remained rigid.

  A waitress stopped at their table, jutting her hip out in half annoyance, half innate come-on. She flipped open her notepad and dug in her apron for a pen, then stopped in mid-motion and smiled when her eyes finally focused on Ethan. Estrogen responded to testosterone.

  “Hiya.” It was clearly a welcome meant only for him. Her gaze eagerly slid down what she could see of Ethan’s torso. “You’re new here.” She turned reluctantly to Maggie. “What can I get you two?”

  With a smile, Ethan arched a brow at Maggie. “What do you want, sis?”

  Sis? She recovered from her surprise quickly. “Whatever’s on tap.” Something to help her relax. If they weren’t going to get anywhere today, a beer might do the trick.

  “Basket of fries and a Coke,” he added.

  The waitress gave him a look of disbelief. “What, are you working the twelve steps or something?”

  Ethan’s sexy smile had Maggie gaping. Was he flirting? “Or something. Hey, do you know who those guys are over there? My sister thought she may have recognized one of them.”

  The waitress turned her head, snapping her gum between her teeth. “Locals. At least, they work around here. Come in here on Saturdays to wind down from the long workweek. Real fond of our half-price menu. Not very good tippers, either, but at least they keep the business going, you know?” Her curious gaze turned back to Ethan. “You work around here, too? You look like you got the biceps for it, but you’re not dressed right.”

  “You’re very perceptive,” he said, scanning her nametag and hinting at appreciation for her breasts, “Denise.”

  Her smile grew sly. “I’m a woman of many talents.”

  Ethan’s deep chuckle heated Maggie’s blood. She could only imagine what Denise was feeling as he aimed the full force of his charm directly at her. “And one of those many talents is bringing a man what he wants?”

  Of course, he was only trying to get information, but it still made Maggie’s heart lurch to watch him work another woman over.

  “You bet, sugar.” Finally, Denise left to fetch them their drinks.

  Maggie watched Ethan survey the men in the corner, his body deceptively relaxed as one arm draped along the back of the chair next to him. The tension in his jaw told her he was ready to pounce at one wrong move. J. P. was over there, cracking jokes and making the group laugh. The man actually looked over and winked at her before moving to the bar to talk to Denise. From the corner of her eye, Ethan’s jaw hardened. She reached out and laid a hand on his forearm, where it rested, muscles clenched, on the table.

  “They’re just blowing off steam,” she said quietly. “Not everyone’s a suspect.”

  “They are until I figure out who Fearmonger really is.”

  The ruckus across the bar built in tempo, and some catcalls were thrown in when Maria and Noah arrived. Maria’s reply was something mumbled in Spanish as she slid into a chair.

  “You couldn’t have picked a more civilized dive?” Maria asked Ethan.

  “I think it was meant as a compliment,” Noah said, jerking the knot of his tie loose as he sat next to Maggie.

  Maria rolled her eyes. “Or maybe the whistles were meant for you, partner.” She leaned over the table toward Maggie. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I heard a story about one of his undercover operations where he had to—”

  Noah cleared his throat and gave his partner a warning look. “Another time, maybe?”

  Becca and Lorena entered soon after and joined them as Denise returned with their drinks and appetizers, her predatory gaze now sizing up Noah. He took it like a professional. Of course, with his rugged, sandy-blond good looks, he probably got that kind of female attention all the time.

  Maggie smiled behind her glass as Noah met Denise’s advances with good grace, politely rejecting them. She took a drink, feeling the cool crispness of the beer soothe her.

  After Denise moved away again, Ethan leaned in. “So, did you find anything? Anything we can build on?”

  Becca looked grim. “Talked to eight or nine artists, who all agreed to let us look around. Only a few fit the profile Lorena drew up. None are working with African mahogany right now.”

  Maggie sighed. “Dead end.” She paled immediately, realizing her word choice. She took another gulp of her drink.

  Noah spoke into the heavy silence. “Maria and I went to six furniture factories, all on the outskirts, or in suburbs, and had the same experience. There were two employees we didn’t speak to who may have fit the profile, and one was on vacation, one home sick—from different companies. We’ve sent officers to question them, if they are indeed in town and at home. If not, they’ll question their neighbors. Someone will have seen something. But none of the businesses admitted to working with African mahogany at this time. We just need to be ready when something breaks open.”

  “And it will break open,” Maria said, her eyes full of compassion.

  Maggie nodded, but she felt sick to her stomach. Her chest was feeling tight too. In fact, it seemed to be constricting with every second that passed. “Excuse me,” she mumbled as she stood. “I need to visit the restroom.”<
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  “Go with her,” Ethan told Maria, but Maggie managed a smile and a shake of her head.

  “I just need a minute. Please.” The plea was for Ethan, who assessed her carefully. The squeeze in her chest tightened still more.

  “One minute. If you’re not back, I’m coming in after you.”

  Nodding, she grabbed her purse and headed toward the back of the bar to the hallway that led to the restrooms. She rounded the corner and leaned her head back against the wall where a payphone hung. But it wasn’t enough. Dizziness was coming in waves now, and she was fairly sure vomiting was in the near future. It wasn’t quite like her other panic episodes, but she still felt as if she was losing control.

  She pushed open the bathroom door, thankful the place was empty and fairly clean. She emptied the meager contents of her stomach in the toilet and flushed. Though she wished for nothing more than to sink down next to the cool wall and rest, she forced herself to stumble to the sink. If Ethan was going to check on her any second, she didn’t want him to know how sick she was. He’d make her go home, effectively ending her part in the search for Julia. And he’d probably insist on going with her, which would be two less people looking for her sister. That was unacceptable.

  She swished water in her mouth and pressed a cold, wet paper towel to her closed eyelids. The ladies’ room door opened on her right, but she didn’t remove the soothing towel.

  “I said I’d be okay,” she said as the sound of heavy male footsteps came closer.

  “Then you still have a lot to learn.”

  The hairs on Maggie’s neck rose. She dropped the towel into the sink, her eyes flying open. Owen’s voice. No, Fearmonger’s. She looked up at his smiling face in the mirror.

  “We meet at last,” the image of J. P. said. He’d lost his Southern accent, and all his Southern charm with it.

  She began to shake, the pain behind her breastbone building to match the throbbing behind her eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest and he laughed.

  “Looks like drugging your drink worked. Did you think you were having a panic attack, Maggie?” He stepped closer.