by Debra Webb
She glared at him for an extended moment. “Fine.” She threw her arms up. “Since you’ve got this ridiculous trust issue, I suppose if I want you to trust me I should tell you the truth.”
“Be a nice change,” he muttered.
Renewed fury tightened her lips for several seconds before she spoke again. “I got locked in a closet when I was a kid. It was stupid. My older sister playing a trick on me. The only problem is she got distracted and forgot. We were home alone. I was in there all day.”
He rested a hip on the edge of the desk. Damn his side ached. “Told you that you couldn’t trust women.” Seemed she had learned that lesson at an early age.
Alexander rolled her eyes. “Anyway—” she released a big breath “—after that I couldn’t stand to be in my room or the bathroom or anyplace else with the door closed. I’m okay now. I mean, I get a little uncomfortable in extended elevator rides, stuff like that. But it’s not a big deal. I’ve got it under control.”
“Really?” He gave his head a little shake. “What happened in that long metal tunnel was not control. Not by a long shot.”
The glower she’d arranged her face into shifted into something like desperation. “Are you going to put it in your final report?” She lifted her chin in challenge. “I’ve done my job. I’ve been a good partner. Except,” she muttered, “for my gloves.”
All true. “I take it you didn’t mention this little phobia in the interview process.”
Of course she hadn’t. She wanted the position. Which didn’t exactly explain why she’d chosen to change professions midstream, so to speak. He had a reason. A damned good one. She would have one as well. It was human nature to take the easiest route personally and professionally. Changing careers was always motivated by something…money at the very least.
“No.” She looked away, licked those nice lips. He’d noticed how lush they were before but he’d blocked the thought. Just another detail he hadn’t meant to inventory. “I didn’t think it would be an issue. It wouldn’t normally be relevant.”
“Understandable.” His eyes narrowed in question. “Why did you decide you didn’t want to be a forensics tech anymore? Seems strange that you’d throw away years of training.”
The hesitation before she answered warned that the answer wasn’t so simple.
“The new lab facility was underground. No windows. Just…” She shrugged. “You know…I guess I was bored with the whole thing.”
If it made her feel better to believe that reasoning he wasn’t going to burst her bubble. “Change can be good sometimes.”
The relief that washed across her face made his gut clench. Made him feel pleased that he’d decided not to argue her assessment. Stupid, Steele. Really, really stupid.
“I’ve kept a part time job as a gymnastics instructor since college.” A smile touched her lips, brightened her whole face. “I was into the whole scene, you know. Dance, gymnastics, you name it, back in school. From the time I was a kid. I didn’t want to give it up even though I understood that it couldn’t be a career for me. I wasn’t that good.”
“I guess,” he offered gently, “for me, it was a good thing you weren’t.”
The silence crammed in again, leaving them standing there just looking at each other. It wasn’t as if they could go anywhere at the moment and there wasn’t anything in particular that felt right to say.
Strangely, it wasn’t that awkward. He liked her eyes. Really liked her hair. That fiery mane fit her take-no-garbage attitude.
“I think maybe I’ll have one of those power bars.” She lowered to her knees on the floor and picked through her backpack.
Ben winced as he did the same.
“You’ll have to get that looked at by a professional as soon as this is over,” she commented as she tore into the bar.
If they survived. “Yeah.” He wasn’t looking forward to the removal of that damned tape. She’d warned him but they’d had little other choice.
He munched on the power bar, then took a swig of water from the foil package. “What happened to your sister?” he asked, reminding himself to keep his voice low. “The one who locked you in the closet.” Ironic that they both had issues related to their sisters.
Alexander had settled onto the floor and relaxed against the desk. “Married. Three kids. She’s scared to death one of hers will do something equally cruel to the other. She watches them like a hawk.”
Ben felt a smile tug at his lips. He didn’t do that often anymore. Funny that he would now. The circumstances weren’t exactly optimal for humor. “I can’t say that I blame her.”
“She’s a good sister,” Alexander said. “She lives close to our parents, takes care of anything they need. When I go home for a visit, it’s all fun and happy times.” Her gaze connected fully with his. “And I know it’s hard to do all that. I mean the kids, the aging parents. Life is complicated and sometimes painful. She protects me from some of that and I appreciate it.”
He’d thought the same thing a little earlier. Life was very complicated. “It’s the least she can do after scarring you for life.”
Alexander put her hand over her mouth to muffle her mirth. “I hadn’t looked at it that way. But you have a valid point.”
He finished off the water packet. “Maybe you shouldn’t mention that to your sister.”
She nodded, then ventured, “Do you have any family, besides the sister you lost?”
He nodded. Couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was telling her all this. “Two brothers. Our parents are still alive. They’re all in the Chicago area. We get together about once a month and on holidays of course.”
“Us, too,” she said, “except for the once a month thing—it’s more like every couple of months.” She leaned her head back against the desk. “I guess you’d call us close, by most standards these days anyway.”
Considering how many families didn’t do that sort of thing anymore, he would definitely call it close.
“Boyfriend?” He bit his teeth together, hadn’t meant to ask that question. Too late, it was out.
She shook her head, sending a wisp of that gorgeous red hair falling across her forehead. “I just never seem to find time for a social life. The recitals I do with the kids usually take up most of my free time.”
Sounded like a cop-out to him. He might not be into relationships, but sex was something he rarely avoided with the right and willing partner.
“You?” she queried. Then she formed one of those perfect O’s with her mouth. “Oh. Wait, you said you didn’t like women.”
“I said—” he leaned forward to look her dead in the eye “—that I didn’t trust them. Not that I didn’t like them. I have a very healthy social life, Miss Alexander.”
“Social life,” she countered in a self-righteous tone, “or sex life?”
He shrugged. “What’s the difference?” The irritation that lit in her eyes told him he’d struck an ultrasensitive nerve.
“Are you serious? There’s a huge difference. Sex is…” She waved her hands back and forth as if wiping away his entire way of thinking on the subject. “It’s not the same thing at all. How can you even say that?”
“Maybe not,” he granted, “but it’s the way I prefer it.” No point sugarcoating the truth. It was what it was. End of story.
“Talk about scarred for life,” she retorted. “You have no right to judge, Ben Steele. Your sister kept a secret from you that was actually none of your darned business and now you don’t trust women. That’s not exactly rational.”
His hackles rose when he should have stopped the whole line of discussion right there. “About as rational as leaving a job you’ve gone to school and trained for just because you couldn’t deal with being below ground level in a lab.”
This time the silence that lapsed was anything but comfortable.
She rolled back onto her knees and gathered their snack wrappers and empty drink containers to stuff them in the pack. “What the hell
is going on out there? Why haven’t we heard from Ian or Colby?”
Ben got to his feet, tapped his mic. “What’s our status?”
“The one loitering on your floor has just moved into the stairwell,” Jim reported. “Second man’s still on the third floor.”
That wasn’t what Ben had wanted to hear. The longer he was stuck in this room…the deeper he thrust his foot into his mouth. “Any chance we can move yet?” He didn’t have to mention that time was wasting. All at the temporary command center were well aware of the passing of each precious second.
“Let’s see what happens when they rendezvous on the third floor,” Michaels suggested. “They will surely need to report in to their superior soon.”
“If not,” Jim countered, “we’re moving forward. We can’t afford to lose any more time. So far the rest of the hot bodies are on the fourth floor.”
At least none had gone cold yet. The thermal scan Lucas Camp had provided was cutting edge. A few degrees drop in body temperature and the scanner would detect the variance. But the inability to see exactly what was happening in the conference room with his mother had to be killing Jim.
Ben was going to get her safely out of there.
“I’m going to—” Alexander motioned toward the bathroom “—use the facilities.”
Ben watched her walk across the room. He liked the way she moved, with grace and fluidity, like a dancer. Another of those uncharacteristic smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Penny Alexander wasn’t into casual sex, which put her off limits. The sooner he got that through his suddenly thick skull, the better off they would both be.
This was a job. Not a date.
When she returned, she made a face that said she had something to share that she found embarrassing. “I didn’t flush because of the noise it would make. Sorry. But it seemed like the right thing not to do.”
“Smart move.” He headed that way to relieve himself as well.
The suits they wore hadn’t exactly been designed for personal comfort. Peeling it loose from the injury was more than a little uncomfortable but he managed without too much grunting and wincing.
When he’d taken care of business, he lowered the lid and, on second thought, didn’t pick up the gloves Alexander had left on the sink their first visit. If the gloves disappeared the enemy would know they had been back in here. He supposed that was why she had left them when she’d had the opportunity twice now to pick them up herself.
As he rejoined her in the office, Jim’s voice interrupted his distracting thoughts. “Both men have returned to the fourth floor. Time to move.”
“Copy,” Ben acknowledged.
Chances were the two infiltrators weren’t going to report the breach of security. Not considering they had something to hide from the boss. Neither man would want to explain exactly what he’d been doing when he noticed something was amiss on the second floor.
At least Ben hoped that was the way it went down. Since the enemy’s entire team was back on the fourth floor, Ben supposed they would know soon enough.
If the breach was reported, Ian would likely get a call.
Or someone would die.
Maybe both.
Chapter Eleven
Inside the Colby Agency, 1:45 p.m.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Mr. Clark?” Thorp demanded.
The man seated across the table from Victoria cocked his head to glare at Thorp. “Ain’t you gonna ask me the real question you want to know the answer to?” Clark said.
Victoria’s pulse jumped. Every exhausted muscle in her body tightened with a new burst of tension. They had been doing this for more than two hours. No one had been allowed to drink, there was no food and scarcely a bathroom break. How much longer could this go on until someone snapped? She stole a glance at Gordon. His pale face remained damp with sweat. He, she suspected, would be the first to break.
For a time Thorp only stared at Clark, his expression filled with sheer hatred and animosity. “I know what you did to her. I had to identify the body. My wife could not look at the horrors done to her only child.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Clark mused, “I didn’t enjoy killing her.”
Someone had to stop this. Victoria looked to Gordon. Was there nothing he could do? But Gordon was mentally absent for all intents and purposes. The fear and resignation on his face told the tale.
Victoria was on her own.
Fury contorting his face, Thorp started to speak, but Victoria cut him off. “I’m certain that is not the answer Mr. Thorp is looking for. I doubt any excuse you provide will be sufficient, Mr. Clark.” Was he intentionally trying to antagonize the man who held his life in his hands? Evidently so.
Clark shrugged. “I’m dead anyway, ain’t I?”
“Why?” The single word came from Thorp. The agony in that one syllable and now etched across his face tore at Victoria’s heart.
“Because she saw something she should’ve kept her mouth shut about,” Clark explained as nonchalantly as if he were forecasting a seasonable weather report. “I told her what would happen if she ran off at the mouth. She didn’t listen.”
Victoria knew the rest of the story. Patricia Henshaw went to the police. Then she disappeared. Her tortured and mutilated body was found four days later.
“She was a slut,” Clark announced. “One with a bad drug habit who couldn’t keep her trap shut.”
Something in Thorp’s demeanor changed. Gone was the misery and weariness. His expression reflected one thing now—determination. “Kill him.”
“Wait!” Victoria launched to her feet, fought the dizziness. “This isn’t over.” She glanced at the muzzle boring into Clark’s head, then to Thorp. “Justice won’t be fully served until you’ve heard how and why your daughter’s murder case failed.”
Thorp’s jaw tightened visibly. “We’ll hear that from Gordon.” He stared down the length of the table at the former D.A. “That’s next on the agenda. After Clark is dead.”
The terrorist behind Clark jammed his weapon into his temple.
“But,” Victoria urged, desperation pushing her, “if you kill Clark now, you’ll only hear Gordon’s side of the story. There will be no one to confirm that he’s telling the truth.”
Gordon shot her a lethal look.
Thorp appeared to consider her caveat for long enough to make her knees go weak.
“You’re right, Victoria.” He clasped his hands and placed them on the table. “Gag him,” he said to the guard holding the gun to Clark’s head. Then he turned his attention to the man at the opposite end of the table. “Start talking, Gordon. Maybe your story will garner more sympathy—” he nodded toward Clark “—than this bastard’s.”
Victoria wilted into her chair.
She’d bought a little more time.
But would it be enough?
Chapter Twelve
Inside, 2:15 p.m.
Penny hesitated. She had just made the turn that led to the final horizontal stretch of metal tunnel before reaching the third floor return grill. But something was wrong. The door/grill was open. Light filtered into the darkness corroborating her conclusion.
This was way, way wrong.
They had taken their time moving from the second floor to the third through the enclosed metal space, particularly the ninety-degree angle that separated the two floors. Ian had confirmed that the two men remained on the fourth floor with their comrades.
However, since their presence had been detected, extreme caution had to be taken with every step from this point forward. This was one of those steps.
Steele tugged on her ankle. She eased backward, aligning herself with him in the cramped space. It made for more of that body-to-body contact but it was essential. They could not risk being overheard.
“The grill is open and the filter is missing at this third-floor exit point,” she whispered. “I know our guys are still on the fourth floor, but it makes me wonder i
f there might be a trap of some sort.”
That was something Ian Michaels and the others wouldn’t be able to see unless the trap for some reason emanated heat. Penny’s heart rate accelerated. She’d done damned good this time. Hadn’t let the confining space or the darkness get to her. But the idea of what could be waiting for them outside that opening set off all kinds of stress triggers.
If they were captured, Victoria and the others could very well be executed before Thorp’s ridiculous mock trial was over. Pushing the endgame up by several hours. As long as Thorp and his head henchman, Pederson, were unaware of the intrusion, there was still time to stop this travesty before anyone died.
Steele tapped his mic. “Any movement from the fourth floor?”
Ian responded immediately. “All hot spots are accounted for and remain on the fourth floor.”
Penny shook her head. “Something feels wrong,” she murmured to Steele.
“We’re going to hold our position,” he reported to those listening at the temporary command center. “Standby for further advisement.”
Penny understood that if anyone had moved from the fourth floor Ian would know it…but she couldn’t get past this sensation of overwhelming doom.
“You okay?”
Her gaze settled on Steele’s. She’d given him the truth about her discomfort in confined spaces. But the last thing she wanted was him doubting her ability based on her admission. “Absolutely.” She hesitated a second and added, “You?” After all, he was the one with the injury.
He made a soft sound, a weary chuckle. “Far more than the pain from the injury itself, I’m actually dreading when this operation is over and I have to get that tape peeled off.”
An unexpected smile tilted her lips. She could definitely understand that. “Maybe you can chew on a bullet or something. Isn’t that what tough guys like you do when enduring pain?”