“Miss O’Brien,” Mr. Nameless began smoothly. “We already have enough evidence to put your boyfriend away. You might as well look at it.”
Her hackles rose as the game began again. If they had evidence, it was contrived. Nonetheless, she leaned forward and did as requested. The seven pictures showed a figure, possibly a man in a baseball cap with a rifle. All the photos were dark and grainy. The subject in them was not in downtown D.C. and nowhere near the monuments.
It could have been anyone, but it was definitely not Harley. He hated wearing anything on his head, said he already had hat-hair, he didn’t need to make it worse. She suspected the real reason was the injury he’d sustained in Iraq. He disliked anything restrictive on his head, but she was not about to share that personal info-bite either.
“You call this evidence?”
“These were taken near West Point three weeks ago.”
“Don’t you have to tell me who I’m speaking with first?” she countered. “What’s your name?”
“All you need to know is I can put you away for life.”
“Let me get this right. You want me to cooperate, yet you don’t have to introduce yourself? Aren’t you supposed to show me your badge or credentials?”
Mr. Nameless pulled a leather wallet from the inside pocket of his suit and slapped it on the table, like that was any help. Before she could read anything more than the words Federal Bureau of Investigation, he palmed it and back it went undercover. “Satisfied?”
Judy glared. Satisfied was not the word that came to her mind. Prick, maybe. Asshole definitely. Satisfied? Never.
“We know your boyfriend’s been to Afghanistan several times during the past year. Did you accompany him on those trips?”
“You tell me. Don’t you guys have surveillance cameras at every airport in the country?”
He stiffened. “What was he doing over there?”
“His job. Why do you care?”
“And that would be?”
“His business. You know he works for Alex Stewart. Why aren’t you asking him these questions? You hire him to do your dirty work often enough.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mr. Nameless purred. “We will.”
“Then let me go,” she demanded.
Instead of answering, he pushed another photo at her. “Maybe you recognize the man with your boyfriend?”
Judy glanced at a similar shot of dark, grainy and stupid. The second suspect wore a covering over his head, possibly a turban. Maybe a shemagh. “Who is he?”
“That’s what we want you to tell us.”
She shrugged. “How would I know? Kaddafi? Arafat? Prince Abubu?”
Agent Nameless scowled. “Who introduced you to your boyfriend? When and where did that occur?”
Her stubborn streak kicked into over-drive. What did Mark and Libby Houston’s wedding have to do with anything? “I give. You tell me.”
“Why did you suddenly decide to move to the east coast?”
“I hate snow.”
“Who did you meet up with in Florida last winter?”
Enough already!
“Why don’t you get my lawyer like I asked you to before?” she snapped. “Why should I tell you anything?”
Agent Nameless jumped to his feet. “Because you’re a terrorist.”
“I’m a United States citizen.” She jumped up, as well. “I know my rights. I don’t have to say anything to you without counsel. Call my lawyer!”
“You don’t get it, do you? You’re not entitled to attorney client privileges.”
She pushed her chair back, headed home regardless of what he thought. That’s when she noticed. A groan filled her. There was no doorknob.
Nodding to her chair, his top lip curled in a sneer. “Feel like talking now?”
She sat.
Agent Nameless smiled as if they were suddenly best friends. “I guess what I don’t understand is what a college educated dame like you sees in a grunt like Mortimer. He’s U.S. Army trash and you’re Fifth Ave. Tell me about that.”
Judy folded her arms and offered an icy stare. Did this G-man think he’d stepped out of a 1950s black and white gangster movie or what? He’d just used juvenile jargon from the stone ages. This jerk had no clue.
“I’m not saying another word without my attorney.”
Agent Nameless reached across the table and placed a hand on her wrist. His eyes flickered from her eyes to her chest. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to another chat.”
Judy jerked away from his creepy touch.
He winked. Gathering his pictures, he nodded at the two-way window behind him. The door opened, and out he went. It sealed shut with a gentle hiss leaving Judy staring at the jerk behind the glass. Or jerkette.
Fighting fatigue, she laid her head on her folded arms and closed her eyes. Harley’s actions over the last few hours raised a wealth of questions she had no answers for, but there was a good reason. The only thing that mattered was that he was hurt. Everything else could wait.
His goofy smile came to mind. The man was a born flirt. Agent Nameless ought to take lessons. Harley knew how to make people feel at ease. He had that inherent talent of demeaning himself while at the same time drawing people out.
She sighed at the memory of their last kiss. He’d been in the shower, soaking wet and his face lathered to shave. Hazel eyes lit up when she peeked in for a quick goodbye kiss. They’d instantly shifted to dark and hazy. The sight of him naked always got her heart pumping. He might not think he was much to look at, but she knew better. So what if he wasn’t six-pack sculpted and body-builder perfect? Running kept him trimmed and toned like a jungle cat. He stood there ready to pounce, his body lithe and agile. And firm. And hard.
For a split second, Judy had wavered. The sight of him dripping wet and aroused was more temptation than she’d anticipated. The steamy bathroom was no help. Primal attraction crackled between them. She licked her lips, her body ready and willing to submit. Harley held out his wet hand in invitation. Despite the call from the hospital, which she should have responded to instead of him, she’d thought of joining him right then and there.
“You going or coming, darlin’?” he’d asked, a sexy smirk tweaking his lips, his innuendo unmistakable. He was irresistible with water clinging to his eyebrows and dripping off his face. The dusting of hair on his chest funneled water down his belly to all her favorite parts below. The brat. How could he tempt her like that when she had to be on the ER floor in less than twenty minutes? And dressed. And dry?
“Join me,” he coaxed, the deep rumble vibrating through his fingertips to light a fire in her belly. “The water’s almost as hot as you are. Come on in.”
“I can’t,” she whispered even as she leaned forward. Her feet might have been firmly planted on dry ground, but her playful side was already stripped bare and pounding out a happy dance in the shower.
“Sure you can.” He reached a gentle hand for the back of her neck, and took a step forward, his head lowered for one of his panty dropping, hello darlin’ kisses.
The whiniest whimper climbed up her throat when common sense re-engaged. Judy’s hand connected sure and firm with the middle of his chest. “No,” she said, her impetuous heart at war with her very practical head. “I’ll be late. I have to go to work.”
Instead of what would have no doubt been a glorious scrubbing at his very capable hands, she’d settled for a shaving cream kiss before pulling away.
“Damn,” he growled playfully, his eyes cast down to his very impressive, umm, reason for her to stay. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Hold that pose.” She’d winked, and like the fool she was, scurried away and left him standing there wanting her. Needing her.
A sob sneaked up. Judy wanted that other kiss now, the one where he’d pull her under the spray, clothes and all. She knew it was an act, but there would have been nothing so erotic as hearing that sexy drawl while he peeled her out of her soaking wet
scrubs. The clothes would have ended up on the tiled shower bench while she would have gotten what she really wanted. Him. The delightful tease. The charming romantic. The forever playful companion. That guy.
She bit another nail to the pink and painful quick. Where are you, Harley? Why did you come home? Why didn’t you stay?
Nine
“Raymond,” Kelsey said when she drew close.
He nearly jumped out of his skin, and of course, he was facing the wrong direction. A crimson blush swelled over his cheeks. “I wasn’t looking, umm, honest.”
“I know. I trust you. Did you think I’d left?”
“I thought you runned away.”
“I was going to, but I decided not to. Do you know why?”
His shoulders scrunched together like a shy little boy’s. “Umm, why?”
“Because I need your help.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do.” Kelsey played to his need for positive reinforcement. “I’m going home, and you’re coming with me.”
The shaggy unibrow lifted. “Me?”
“Yes, Raymond. You. Would you like that?”
He scratched the side of his grubby face. “But what if she comes back, and I not here, and you is not in the hole, and, umm, what about that? She gonna be awful mad. ’Sides, I made it for you.”
“And you did a real good job.” She opted for praise instead of confrontation. It was a good-sized hole with fairly straight walls. By the time her head had finally cleared enough that she could get to her feet, it was morning. Raymond was prowling and her chance to maybe dig some footholds and escape had passed. But there was no way she’d voluntarily climb back in there. It wasn’t just a hole. It was a grave. “It’s deep. I’ll bet it took you a long time to dig.”
“Ah huh. It took me a real long time cuz I gets tired, but it’s okay cuz I gets hamburgers too.” Raymond was rocking again. “If you don’t get back in it, umm, the old woman is gonna hit me really, really hard. Same as she hit you.”
Kelsey rubbed the tender knot on the side of her head. “What did she hit me with anyway?”
“This.” Raymond lumbered over to the tent and retrieved a shovel. “You was wiggling, and she gave you a smack, and then you was very, very quiet. You didn’t even wake up when she told you to smile.”
“She told me to smile?” This story got more bizarre all the time.
“Uh huh. For your pitchers.”
“You mean pictures? She took pictures of me?”
“Yeah. Pitchers. You know. With a camera. She wanted to remember you when you was asleep, only I kinda had to hold you, cuz you didn’t stand up very good. Umm, them pitchers.”
Kelsey didn’t say anything, so he kept explaining.
“She made me put you down in the hole like I been telling you, so I had to be careful I didn’t step on you, or she was gonna thump me again. I was real careful. Honest, I really, really was. And I didn’t step on you not one single time, and she said I was a good boy.”
“Did she take other photos?”
He scratched his head. “Ah huh, and I had to hold the light extra careful cuz she needed the perfect ones for the perfect person, and so,” He drew in a deep breath “I holded the light extra good, and it was very hot.”
Whoever this old woman was, she was one twisted person. Kelsey’s heart thudded to a dead stop. It couldn’t be. Not that twisted person. Not—her.
“Do you remember your friend’s name yet?”
“She ain’t my friend,” he answered. “I don’t care if I never eat another hamburger in my whole life cuz I don’t wanna be her friend no more. Never. Never, ever.” His last word came out with a stomp of his big foot. For a minute, he looked fierce and scary. At least he tried.
“She’s been mean to you for a long time, hasn’t she?” Kelsey’s kind question took the false bravado away.
“Ah, huh, but sometimes she gives me hamburgers and calls me good boy.” Raymond’s eyes lit up. “Ethel. Her name is Ethel. That’s a funny name, huh?”
The world spun. Kelsey turned away. Oh hell. Oh damn. Oh damn it to hell. God, no.
“What’s a matter?” Raymond peered down at her. “Is you gonna fall over or something?”
“No. Yes. Maybe.” Kelsey crouched, her head bowed to her knees and her fingers stabbed into the ground for balance. In the universe of evil, Ethel Durrant tipped the scale when she’d convinced her weak-minded son, Nick, to kill his baby boys. On that heartbreaking morning, Nick destroyed everything near and dear to Kelsey and all because of his twisted excuse for a mother.
How had Ethel found her? It had been three years since she’d seen that old witch’s ugly whiskered face. The last day of eternity would be one day too soon to see it again. It made sense though. A hole in the ground—a grave— matched Ethel’s brand of cruelty.
“Are you sure, Raymond? Is her full name Ethel Durrant?” Please be wrong. Please.
He crouched beside Kelsey, his head nearly down to the ground as he peered up at her face. “I dunno. She’s wrinkly and short and a hundred years old.”
“Does she drink beer and whiskey all day?” Please say no.
“Ah, huh, and she spits at me when she’s talking too. She gots whiskers. I’m a scared of her.”
“No.” Kelsey groaned. He’d just described Ethel Durrant to a T.
“Yes, I is. I is really a scared of her,” he declared. “She mean. You want me to sit down with you?”
“No, I’m fine. I just got dizzy for a minute.” She sucked in a deep breath, more positive than ever. Raymond could stay or leave, but she was out of there.
“It’s okay. I gotta rest when I git dizzy too cuz if I don’t, I fall down a lot.” He grasped her elbow to support her.
“I’m leaving. Are you coming with me?”
“’Kay.” He was excited until Kelsey pushed off the ground and began untying the tent flaps. “Don’t do that. She gets awful mad.”
“It’s all right. We’ll be out of here by the time she gets back, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “I forgot.”
Urgency quickened her step. Now more than ever, she wanted to run.
Kelsey cringed when she bumped the red gas can just inside the door of the tent. The five gallon can was full. Terror shuddered up her spine at all the ways Ethel might use fuel. None had to do with transportation. A rumpled sleeping bag covered most of the floor. The only other thing inside was a small backpack. The confined space smelled of body odor and booze.
“Hurry,” Raymond whispered.
Kelsey hurried, shaken now to her core. In the backpack, she found another couple bottles of water, two cartons of granola bars, the flashlight, a long-stemmed lighter, and an old fashioned Polaroid camera. A manila envelope tucked inside an interior pocket caught her eye.
“Ple-e-e-ease. You gots to hurry. She gonna hit me again.”
“I’m almost done. Found some food,” she said to quiet him down.
“Oh? Food? Is it a hamburger?”
“Not exactly, but it will put something in your stomach.” She slid her fingers under the flap of the envelope.
“Is it fries? You is my bestest friend ever, Kelsey.”
She hurried faster now, her fingers trembling when several photos fell out. All were of her.
Oh, my gosh. I look like I’m dead. Why on earth—?
Her heart stuttered. That’s why the camera. These images were meant to hurt Alex.
“You gotta get outta there,” Raymond urged again. “Please?”
“Almost done.” Kelsey stuffed the pictures into the bag. Icy tendrils of anxiety crept up her backbone. Quickly, she rolled the sleeping bag. They’d need some way to keep warm through the night. Opting for the pillowcase to carry the tarp she also intended to take, she parted the tent flaps and pushed everything out ahead of her. “Here. Take this stuff. We’ll need it.”
For once he did not nag. She scrambled to her feet and blew out a deep breath of relief. “Com
e on, Raymond. Carry the sleeping bag. I’ll take the tarp and the backpack. Let’s go.”
Ten
Judy groaned inwardly. Alex to my rescue? How ironic.
He shadowed the arrogant FBI agent when Mr. Nameless finally returned to the interrogation room. Another man, almost a head taller than Alex, but with silver hair followed.
“How are you holding up?” Alex asked the moment he cleared the door.
“I still don’t know why I’m being detained. They won’t let me call my lawyer. All they keep asking is stupid questions I’ve already answered, and... and...” Her words came out in a rush. “Where’s Harley? Have you found him yet?”
“No. We’re still looking, but you won’t need a lawyer anymore. The Bureau is releasing you into my custody.” Alex turned to introduce the stately man beside him. “I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine, Jed McCormack. He made your release possible. Jed, Judy O’Brien, Harley’s girl.”
Mr. McCormack extended a warm hand and pulled her to her feet. “You’re coming with us, young lady. The FBI has asked enough questions for now, isn’t that right, Agent Holman?”
The man who’d refused to introduce himself nodded without making eye contact. Holman tossed the envelope with her personal belongings to the table. “You’re free to go, Miss O’Brien, but do not leave the city. We may require your participation in the rest of the investigation. We will be in touch.”
After that less than satisfactory and totally pre-recorded sounding statement, Judy latched onto the envelope. All Holman had returned was her keys, cell phone, and what felt like her hospital ID badge.
She stood, her knees shaky with relief. As soon as she faced her accuser, her compliance evaporated. “That’s all you’ve got to say to me? Just like that, I’m free to go? You barge into my home, slander me and my boyfriend, and I’m free to go? You trash my life, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”
He nodded toward the door as if she’d better hurry. Alex reached for her elbow to escort her into the hall, but she was angry now.
Harley (In the Company of Snipers Book 4) Page 8