by Rachel Grant
She shook her head as Isabel climbed in the backseat. He circled around to the driver’s side, and a minute later, they were leaving the parking area. It would take an hour to get to Isabel and Rav’s estate from here.
He hoped to hell when they got there, Rav would explain why he’d sent Sean on this errand.
2
Hazel’s head pounded as Sean drove the winding road through the forest. The headache could be a sign of dehydration, but she didn’t think that was the cause. She didn’t even think it was the cut on her foot, which throbbed after Sean’s careful cleaning.
No, her headache came from one of two sources, or maybe both. She hadn’t been mentally prepared to see a massive pile of bones today, nor had she expected to see Sean Logan so soon after her return from Croatia. But then, she would happily have put off seeing Sean for months, years even.
Piles of human bones she could handle. Sean Logan? Not so much. Not after the humiliation of Grand Cayman.
Seeing him again, out of the blue like that, had brought up every excruciating detail. It didn’t help that he remained utterly, perfectly perfect. She’d taken a survey once and seven out of seven male-attracted people agreed that Sean Logan was objectively hot. In addition, one hetero man said Sean made him question his sexuality and one lesbian agreed that if she were into guys, he would do it for her.
The poll was statistically valid. Sean was certified hot.
His smooth mahogany skin, firm, square chin, full lips, broad nose, thick brows, and deep brown eyes were all beautiful on their own, but the moment he smiled? It was enough to make a single hetero woman weak. Or maybe it was just Hazel, but based on her nonscientific but still valid poll, she knew she wasn’t alone.
But she was the fool who’d thrown herself at him in Grand Cayman. The idiot who’d then had to suffer through days of vacation after his gentle, but no less embarrassing, rejection. It had taken her years to build up the courage to go all in and tell him what she wanted, and then she’d crashed and burned on liftoff.
How great was it that the next time she saw him, she fell on her ass in three inches of water after thoroughly slicing up her foot like an idiot? She’d known better than to step with her full weight until she was certain it was safe. But she’d been distracted—by him—and wasn’t thinking about bare feet and sharp objects.
He’d been kind, and she’d been bitchy, and he’d called her on it. Now she felt like an ass, but it was too late. She’d been frazzled by the sheer number of bones and seeing Sean. She couldn’t draw upon the person she’d always tried to be around him, the flirty party girl who didn’t give a damn. That persona had been her shield, and she was without it now.
It took work to get into that headspace. She couldn’t pull it up on a dime. Especially not when she was at work, looking at human remains and wondering if these people had died natural deaths or if they were victims.
In the six years since she’d earned her PhD, she’d examined thousands of bones, many of which had been silent evidence of stolen lives. The crimes ranged from manslaughter to genocide, and she’d borne witness to every part of the spectrum.
She’d catalogued marks on victims’ bones and provided testimony at trial. She’d mentally inhabited their missing skin and described entry and exit wounds made by knives, screwdrivers, hammers, saws, bullets, axes, rocks, glass, and random household objects.
She’d seen nothing in the lake to offer a clue to cause of death or even if there was a reason to examine these remains further. They could be prehistoric burials. Natural deaths, respectfully interred and disturbed in their eternal slumber by her intervention. The sheriff wasn’t the only one hoping for that finding.
That was always Hazel’s hope. She would speak for the dead, but she was grateful when it wasn’t necessary.
They’d gone about fifteen miles when the oddity of Sean showing up struck her. She’d been so focused on her fluster, she’d forgotten to question why Chase Johnston had been assigned the task of driving Isabel’s car home. “What’s going on? Why did Alec send you to the lake?” she asked Sean.
“He didn’t say,” he said.
If she hadn’t known Alec since before she’d taken her first steps, and if she didn’t love him like a brother, she’d worry that he was some sort of controlling husband. But that wasn’t Alec. He’d sent Sean for a reason.
“Has he ever done this before?” she asked, hoping past reasons would offer a hint.
“Nope. Never,” Isabel said.
“Not entirely accurate,” Sean said. “Remember when the Capitol was on lockdown a few months ago? You were home, so he had a team sent to the estate to make sure you were okay.”
Hazel grabbed her phone from her purse and opened up the Twitter app. “Anything going on in DC we need to know about?”
There was a lot, as always, but nothing directly related to Alec or the Senate or anything that would explain Isabel’s armed—because Sean was certainly carrying—escort home.
“Come to think of it, Alec received some threatening emails last week,” Isabel said. “But honestly, he gets so many of those, I’m pretty much numb to them. They’re always investigated. Half the time, they’re bots or someone who was riled up by Voigt Forum or another extreme alt website.”
“Maybe he received something he couldn’t ignore,” Sean said.
That was unsettling. Alec had been a magnet for threats from the moment he decided to run for office. Ironically, once upon a time, Isabel had been the FBI’s top suspect.
They settled into silence for the long drive. Hazel couldn’t help but lean toward her left so she could take in Sean’s scent, which was much better than the smell of dried lake water that clung to her clothes. At last they reached the metal gate that was the only vehicle entrance to the property, which was surrounded by a six-foot-high stone wall. When Alec first bought the place, he’d considered tearing down the wall, but after Isabel had been abducted and held for ransom in Alaska, he’d opted to add electrical wiring to the top, bringing the height up to eight feet.
Sean entered his code, and they passed through, the bars closing shut behind them. Hazel understood the necessity, but she looked forward to finding an apartment and leaving the enclosure behind. She’d spent enough of her work life under guard. She didn’t enjoy living it after hours.
Sean parked in front of the large garage. A glance inside the bay window showed Alec’s car was there, but the bay next to it was empty. Not a surprise because that was the spot for the Range Rover Hazel had borrowed to drive to the site. A painful reminder that she was trapped here for the night.
Not that she had anywhere she wanted to go, it was just that with Sean here, this was the last place she wanted to be. She still ached with mortification. Beautiful, perfect Sean. He’d done nothing wrong. She was the one who’d drunk rum to give herself courage to strip and plant herself in his bed and offer him a no-strings vacation fling.
He was the one who was sober and shocked and more than a little horrified.
She’d give anything for a do-over. But there were no do-overs in this life. And really, if a time machine were ever invented, it would be silly to waste it on something so trivial when instead she could go back in time and assassinate Hitler years before he rose to power.
She needed to get her priorities straight.
She opened her door and started to exit, but both Sean and Isabel shouted no, and in a flash, he’d circled the vehicle and scooped her into his arms.
This sucked, to be swept into Sean’s arms because she was an idiot who didn’t know how to walk barefoot in a shallow lake. Being close to him while knowing he’d never want her in the way she’d wanted him for years triggered an ache.
He carried her into the house as Isabel led the way, opening doors that connected garage to mudroom to hallways to laundry room and eventually to the kitchen.
Isabel had drawn the line at live-in help, so only Alec, Isabel, and Hazel inhabited the house after six p.m., but during
the day, there was sometimes cleaning staff, a gardener, and, twice a week, a personal chef who prepped meals.
The chef had been in today, and the kitchen smelled heavenly of some kind of pasta, garlic bread, and cheese. This was the best part about living with her cousin. Restaurant-quality meals without the need to put on pants.
Alec was in the kitchen when they arrived, and he pulled Isabel into his arms and gave her a kiss that made it clear he didn’t give a damn they weren’t alone. But then, it was his house. He could make out with his wife if he wanted. Hazel wouldn’t care except she was very awkwardly in the arms of a man she’d wanted to kiss for upwards of four years.
Sean carefully set her down next to the breakfast nook table, and she dropped into a seat.
Alec released Isabel and held his wife’s gaze. Ignoring Hazel and Sean, he said in a stage whisper, “Why was Sean carrying Hazel?”
“She cut her foot in the lake,” Isabel whispered loudly back.
“What happened to her shoes?” Alec asked.
“She didn’t have mud boots, and the clay sucked the sneakers right off her feet.”
“Did the sheriff give you any more trouble?” he asked, still speaking in a stage whisper.
“I’m not telling you more until you tell us why you sent Sean to drive me home.”
Alec eyed Sean and Hazel. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Dinner’s hot. Let’s serve up, and we can talk in the dining room.”
Hazel wanted to change out of her damp clothes but knew Sean would insist on carrying her to her bedroom, and the last thing she wanted was to be carried up the grand staircase like some foolish damsel. She’d crawl if she had to, but dammit, Sean Logan wasn’t going to carry her another inch.
Instead, he carried her plate of food as she hobbled, resting her weight on the side of her foot as she traversed the necessary distance to the formal dining room. She might lack grace, but she didn’t lack pride.
Once they were all seated, Alec poured wine for Isabel and Hazel. It wasn’t lost on her that he and Sean weren’t drinking. She presumed that meant Sean was still on the clock. Still on duty even though Isabel was home inside a walled fortress with her former Army Ranger husband? Alec must be really worried about something. “What’s going on, cuz?” she asked.
Alec sighed and pushed a file folder that he’d set next to his plate toward Isabel, but his hand remained on the top, holding it closed as if it were a jack-in-the-box ready to pop. “Isabel is aware of the threats I received via email last week.”
“And they looked like the usual bots trying to cage you.”
“Yes, but still. All threats must be taken seriously until proven otherwise. Today, I received another threat, and this one…I can’t ignore. It didn’t come via email and yet it had similar wording to the generic notes. It also contained information that’s highly classified. Information few outside the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence have access to. Which means I can’t share much from the note itself. Even the Capitol Police haven’t read the whole thing. The FBI has assigned a deputy special agent in charge to head the investigation.
“Given my unique position of owning a private security company, she and I came to an agreement on how to handle this that keeps everything under wraps. With the exception of a few select FBI agents, no one outside this room knows all the details. And I’m sorry, but I can’t share more than the unredacted portions of the note.”
He opened the file folder and lifted a sheet of paper. “This is the note I received. It was found in the middle of a stack of papers related to the Intelligence Committee.” He offered the paper to Isabel. “It’s a copy, obviously. The FBI has the original.”
Isabel held up the paper so Sean and Hazel could see the simple text—Times New Roman font, eighteen or twenty point—with thick black stripes covering the redacted text.
Isabel read aloud. “Resign, redacted. Redacted. Redacted. Resign, or the redhead will pay the price. You are a traitor who doesn’t deserve your seat. Redacted. Redacted. Redacted. The redhead will expose you. Redacted. Do the right thing, or your family will get smaller. Resign, redacted.” She looked at her husband, her jaw agape. “What the hell?”
“I am taking this threat very seriously,” Alec said, his voice slow and measured. This was deliberative Alec, the methodical soldier, protective husband. Caged lion—or rather tiger, as Isabel sometimes referred to him. “It killed me that I couldn’t drive to the reservoir and check on you myself, but I needed to talk to the FBI, so I sent Sean. When Sean said the sheriff was at the reservoir, I nearly lost it.”
Isabel squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off. I had no idea. Finding such a massive pile of bones was sort of a big deal, and the sheriff was trying to shut down the work before Hazel could get there.” She frowned, looking at the note again. “Redhead. Family.” She met Hazel’s gaze. “This threat could mean either of us.”
Hazel stiffened. She’d assumed the author of the note was referring to Isabel.
“The minute you stepped into the kitchen with Hazel injured, I realized the same thing.” Alec said. “There’s an intentional vagueness to the wording.”
“But who even knows I’m living here?” Hazel asked. “Ivy and Laurel and our parents know, but I haven’t told anyone outside immediate family. The only person I’ve seen aside from Ivy, you guys, the cook, housekeeper, and gardener is Dr. Parks.” She hadn’t reached out to friends since returning stateside. She’d been content to play hermit as she tried to figure out what came next.
Isabel frowned. “Everyone at Talon & Drake knows. JT was in the office last Tuesday for a senior staff meeting. During a break, he and I were chatting and I mentioned you were back and staying with us. He asked if you’d be on call again if T&D needed forensic consulting and I said yes—I didn’t think you’d want word to get out that you were refusing work.”
“I appreciate that,” Hazel said. The last thing she needed was a reputation that she could no longer do the job, and JT Talon was the CEO of Talon & Drake, a massive engineering firm that subcontracted out to firms all over the globe. A whisper coming from T&D could spread far and wide.
“Anyway, when the meeting resumed, JT told his assistant to put your name back on the on-call list. I never dreamed something would come up so quickly.”
“So it was a matter of record at a company you’ve consulted for in the past,” Alec said. “Plus,” Alec grimaced, “I, um, paid the fee to have you added to the guest list for a black tie fundraiser for National Geographic that’s coming up. Ivy is going to be there, and I thought you might enjoy it, plus it’s a good cause. My aide handled all the details and when he asked your address, I said to use the estate. All my charitable donations are a matter of public record.”
“So basically, anyone who is monitoring you could know Hazel is here,” Sean said.
Alec nodded. “And on a personal end, I told the guys at JT’s gym when we were sparring last week.”
JT’s gym was a private gym in the heart of DC where several of the guys from Raptor and a few other select friends of JT’s sparred regularly. Former US Attorney General Curt Dominick was among the regulars, which was one of the reasons they all preferred to keep it private. Curt, JT, and JT’s stepbrother, Lee Scott, had all studied karate together when they were in their early teens at that very gym, and JT purchased the property a dozen years before when the original dojo closed. Hazel knew there was an excellent gym at Raptor’s Virginia compound, but that was an hour’s drive from the Gaithersburg estate, while the gym was just minutes from Capitol Hill.
“So between work and friends, it’s probably been well established I’m here. Not that any of your friends could be the source for that,” Hazel nodded to the piece of paper.
“No, but it’s possible whoever sent it is monitoring friends too.” Alec’s jaw was tight, and Hazel wondered what the hell was in the redacted parts of the letter.
“I hadn’t heard Hazel was back,” Sean said, �
��So the news isn’t traveling in Raptor circles.”
“That’s right. You weren’t at the gym Friday,” Alec said. “How’s your sister doing?”
“She’s a trooper.” To Hazel, Sean said, “Friday, my sister had chemo. I was on babysitting duty so her husband could be with her.”
She’d had no idea his sister was ill. But then, she didn’t even know he had a sister. “I’m so sorry. She’s doing okay?”
“As well as can be expected. She’s too tough to let breast cancer beat her. But the fight isn’t pretty.”
“Is she set for help while you’re at Ian and Cressida’s wedding?” Isabel asked.
“Yeah, our mom is in town. She arrived yesterday.” Again, Sean addressed Hazel. “Katrina has had a really bad reaction to chemo. She doesn’t want her daughters to see her at her worst, doesn’t want to scare them. The last few months, I’ve stuck close to home, only taking assignments in the DC area so I can help her out. With the wedding being in West Virginia this weekend, my mom decided to take time off for an extended visit to be with Kat for the last rounds of chemo.”
Hazel had known the wedding was soon, but hadn’t realized it was this coming weekend. She didn’t know the bride and groom well, but her sister, Ivy, was close to both and would be going.
Alec cleared his throat. “That brings us to the problem of what to do this week and weekend if Hazel is the redhead in the letter. I had a plan for Isabel, but this changes things. The problem is, because of the national security issues, we can’t let anyone know. Not coworkers or friends.” Alec met Hazel’s gaze. “Or family, Haze. You can’t tell Uncle Will or Aunt Diane—or even Ivy and Laurel.”
“I can’t think of why I’d want to tell my parents, but it’s crazy to think they or my sisters aren’t trustworthy,” Hazel said.
“It’s not about trust. You know I trust each and every one of them.” Alec grimaced. “Please understand, there’s a good reason that letter was so heavily redacted. If word leaks to anyone—including my colleagues in the Senate—about this threat, there will be serious repercussions. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be telling you if you weren’t living here and a potential target. I need your cooperation on this to keep you and Isabel safe. Promise me you’ll cooperate.”