by Diana Duncan
She frowned. Her instincts longed to trust him, but intellect demanded she at least consider he might be the stalker.
Maybe he was absent not because he didn’t care, but because he cared far too much. In all the wrong ways.
She met the FBI agent’s icy gray stare, took a slow breath. A handsome prince would not be charging to her rescue, and she was perfectly capable of rescuing herself. “I want to call my attorney. I’ll make bail before you finish the paperwork.”
Hanson bared his teeth. “Not so fast, Ms. Chabeau. We can hold someone we suspect of planning an attack on the U.S.—someone we declare an ‘enemy combatant’—in military custody, without charges. Without legal representation. Indefinitely.”
She gasped. “You’re lying! That’s unconstitutional!”
“Homeland Security laws grant us the power to protect our citizens from terrorists.”
“If that’s the truth, it’s horrible. Who protects citizens from zealots like you?”
His smile slid into arrogance. “Spoken like a devoted anarchist. Your file mentions you’re from France.”
Shortly after she’d been brought in, he’d received a stack of computer printouts, no doubt detailing her life down to her bra size. Today was a terrifying wakeup call about the frightening extent of the government’s power. “I’ve been living in Paris, but retained U.S. citizenship. I’m no anarchist. I’m an artist!” She half rose from the chair.
“Most fanatics think they are.” He stood and reached across the narrow table to push her down, then leaned menacingly over her. “You’ve overplayed your hand this time, missy. The bomb in your car was constructed from a new explosive we have yet to identify. Bomb dogs don’t recognize it, x-rays can’t detect it. It’s as unique and incriminating as a fingerprint. Pointing at you.”
The pain in her temples throbbed viciously. “Someone tried to kill me with this new explosive, and you’re blaming me?”
“We’ve only found this particular chemical residue after bombings in Europe—linked to an elite terrorist organization.” He waved her passport, taken from her purse. “An organization active in the same cities at the same times you were there. Now we’ve found it in your car. We believe this group’s attacks were rehearsals for something much bigger. A major strike. You’re our first lead. Our only connection.”
She floundered through bewildered fear. “I don’t know anything about bombs. Someone has stalked me for a year, ever since I finished physical therapy.”
Difficult to speak with her mouth bone dry. She watched Hanson deliberately sip water. Dick. “The guy can afford to follow me to and from Europe, he could’ve purchased this new stuff.”
Hanson plunked the moisture-slicked glass down in front of her. “If an unknown individual is targeting you, what’s the motive? You must have some idea who he is.”
“What motivates any maniac?” She refused to point a finger at Liam. Power-hungry Hanson would attack him. Even if, as she desperately wanted to believe, Liam was innocent, mere accusations of terrorism could sink his career. Ruin his life. Let Hanson come up with his own damn suspects.
She tried to dredge up some moisture in her mouth. “Maybe someone developed a fixation at an auction. Or when Renée’s photographs were featured on that home decorating show and became American consumers’ newest must-have item.” She strove to banish shrillness from her voice. “I’m not important enough to interest terrorists. On the off-chance I’ve somehow attracted their attention, what would be their reason for trying to kill me?”
“Internal fighting. Power play. Fucking nut jobs don’t need excuses to whack each other. Maybe you know more than they want you to. More than you think you do. Cooperate, and we can protect you.”
“I am not involved in treason!”
“We’re obtaining warrants to search your residences and Renée Allete’s studio in Paris as we speak.”
Perspiration trickled down her hairline and she rubbed her damp face on her shoulder. Her most daring exploit was holding her camera over the railing of the Eiffel Tower to snap a photo. Yet she was suspected of conspiracy to commit international terrorism? Or maybe the car bomb had exploded. She was dead and in Hell. It was hot enough. “You won’t find anything.”
“Time will tell.” He shrugged. “Enjoy federal prison.”
Nausea spasmed her throat. “You can’t keep me in custody! Not only my life is at stake here!”
“Making threats, now?”
“No.” She forced herself to enunciate slowly. “My niece, Aubrey, was born with a kidney disorder. Her kidneys are now failing, and she needs a transplant, a procedure my brother-in-law’s limited insurance won’t cover. Our family’s money is all tied up in my father’s new company, they can’t liquidate without going bankrupt. The transplant must be done while Aubrey’s still strong enough to survive, and the hospital won’t perform the procedure without being paid first.”
Hanson smirked. “How original. You climbed into bed with terrorists to get money for your niece’s operation.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Kate stared into the viper’s eyes, as flat and cold as the silver mirror. “The auction is to raise the necessary funds. If that auction doesn’t take place as scheduled, we won’t have the money. Every single thing must happen as planned, without delay. This is Aubrey’s last chance. Her only chance. If you detain me, she could die!”
He shrugged again. “Your camera-shy boss will have to jet over from Paris and conduct the auction personally.”
She sighed ... and gave up the goods. “I am Renée Allete. I hired a Frenchwoman named Annette Boucher to play Renée. She actually works for me, but I pretend to be her admin because I prefer privacy. Annette’s in her last month of pregnancy and can’t fly. You have to let me go,” she begged. “A little girl’s life depends on it!”
“Thousands of lives depend on identifying the source of this dangerous new explosive.” Hanson planted his hands on the table in front of her. “Who else are you pretending to be, Ms. Chabeau? Until we know for certain, you’re not going anywhere.”
* * *
Watching and listening from the observation room, Liam rubbed the back of his neck with an unsteady hand. Kate was Renée Allete? Now he knew why the haunting photo evoked the same emotions in him that she did. Although he’d studied the photo often, he never could shake the eerie feeling.
As Hanson denied her plea for her niece’s life, she trembled violently. Liam slammed his fists against the glass. He’d been locked out for over an hour while Hanson hammered her. This was not Liam’s police station ... hell, not even his precinct. He had no authority here. Not that he had any over the Feds, anywhere.
Helplessness gutted him.
Murphy, tuned into Liam’s emotions as always, whined and nudged his hip with his nose. Keep your survival instincts sharp, partner. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.
Liam looked down at the anxious canine. “It’s okay, pal. I’m not gonna smash a desk through the interrogation window and shove it up Fuckwits’s ass, piece by large, splintered piece. Yet.”
Five more minutes of this torture might break him.
“I would hope not.” The deep male voice spiced with a melodic Spanish accent spoke behind him. “Desking a federal officer will look lousy on your annual evaluation.”
Grinning, Liam pivoted. “About damn time!” He did a double take. “Whoa! Aren’t you pretty, boyo? What’s with the hair?”
Alex Cortez lifted one shoulder, displacing his long black curls and returned Liam’s grin. “I have been undercover with a motorcycle gang.”
Murphy looked up at Alex expectantly. Long time, no see, friend!
Alex scratched Murphy’s ears while addressing Liam. “Acere, que bola?”
Liam jerked his thumb toward the mirrored window. “Tommy Lee Jones on steroids.”
Alex didn’t bother looking inside. “Ah, Special Agent Chuck Hanson. Ese es tremendo punto.”
Liam snorted. “Met him before,
have you?”
“I’ve had the pleasure.”
“So many egos and badges are duking it out in there, they won’t be able to decide what kind of fucking doughnuts to order, let alone figure out the truth.”
“What has Hanson done now?”
Liam briefed him, and anger darkened Alex’s expression. “My father emigrated from Cuba so his sons could live in a country where such government atrocities do not occur. Ese tipo no sirve, he makes a mockery of justice.” Alex whipped out his phone and stepped outside the room to make a call. He returned wearing a fierce smile. “You have Hanson’s number?”
“Had his number since the second we met.”
Alex chuckled. “I’d wager my Harley on it.” He sobered. “Are you AWOL from the Homeland training?”
“No, we’ve been hitting it non-stop for a week, and we’re on a forty-eight hour break. But even if we weren’t, I’d still be here.”
“You’re willing to go all-in for this woman, Liam?”
“Balls to the wall, mi amigo.”
“Ah. I don’t know whether to offer you congratulations or my sympathies.”
“Makes two of us.”
“Follow me.” Smiling, Alex led the way into the corridor. He again dialed his phone. “Agent Hanson, this is Supervisory Special Agent Alejandro Cortez. Please step outside. Bring all your documentation.”
A glowering Hanson strode stiffly into the hallway. Alex took his time reading the entire file, then nodded at him. “You will release Ms. Chabeau to me. Immediately.”
“And let you nab the credit for an international—”
“Agent Hanson.” Alex’s low voice sounded lethal. “If you do not like my decision, you may take it up with Director Lassiter. He has given me complete authority to oversee this case.
“Fucking brass.” Hanson slammed back into the room.
Liam smirked. Now it was getting interesting.
Hanson jerked Kate into the hallway, her expression scared, wrists still cuffed.
Liam’s smirk disappeared as his strained patience snapped. “Murphy, guard.”
Murphy surged to his feet, his warning growl backing Hanson against the two-way window.
Kate recoiled away from the dog, and Liam belatedly remembered her aversion. He blocked her view of Murphy with his body. “It’s okay, he’s just gonna keep Hanson in check.”
“You’ll regret this, O’Rourke.” Hanson’s attempt at intimidation was neutralized by the fact that, with Murphy snarling inches from his crotch, he didn’t dare move anything more than his lips.
“Not bloody likely.” It took stubborn Irish will to wink at Kate, when what Liam really wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and hold her. Kiss away her fears. Soothe her pain. “And worth it.”
“I’ll have your badge for this!” Hanson snapped.
Liam dug out his universal handcuff key. “For transferring custody of a prisoner?” He swiveled to Kate. “Turn around.” He carefully unlocked the cuffs.
Her arms dropped uselessly to her sides and she turned back to face him. “My arms are numb.”
“Circulation will resume in a minute.” And hurt like six bitches. Liam gently rubbed her wrists. As she grimaced, he fought the urge to smash Hanson’s leathery face. “Sorry, I know it smarts. Are you all right?” His fingertips stroked the scars on her right wrist. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
Her mouth trembled when he touched her scars. “I’m fine.” She glanced apprehensively at Murphy, who kept Hanson flattened against the wall with nothing but his steely brown gaze and a toothy snarl. “As long as the snarly dog stays over there.”
“He’s only snarly because I told him to be. You’re worried about the wrong dog, babe. Murphy’s less dangerous than the snake he’s holding back.”
Alex stepped forward. “Supervisory Special Agent Alejandro Cortez, at your service, Ms. Chabeau.” He swept a courtly bow. “I apologize for Agent Hanson, and assure you I’ll take disciplinary action.”
As Kate rapidly inhaled, unaccustomed jealously nailed Liam. He elbowed his friend. “Show-off. Everyone calls him Alex, Kate.”
Her voice was faint, her face white, but she held her spine regally straight. “Thank you, Agent Cortez.”
“You are most welcome.” Alex regally inclined his head at Hanson. “Agent Hanson, dismissed.”
Liam waited at least twenty taut beats.
Finally Hanson gritted, “I can’t twitch until he calls off this fuckin’ dog.”
Liam gave him another thirty seconds of uneasiness. The least he could do after Fuckwit had tormented Kate for over an hour. “Murphy, release.”
Aw ... all right. Murphy sat on his haunches, but his vigilant gaze didn’t waver off Hanson. But I don’t trust him.
Smart dog. Before Hanson could move, Liam got in the furious FBI agent’s face and warned in a quiet but lethal tone, “If you ever put your hands on Kate again, I’ll let Murphy have your cojones for chew toys.”
Murphy sneered. And I’ll enjoy it.
As Alex indulged a sudden coughing fit, red mottled Hanson’s neck and streaked across his face. “You can’t threaten me, pissant. I’m your superior.”
“That’s open for debate, Chuck.”
Hanson thrust out his chin. “Blatant insubordination.”
Alex executed his trademark blasé shrug. Behind that angelic face lurked a scarily sharp intellect and bone-deep dedication to justice. “Please return Ms. Chabeau’s personal effects, except for her passport, which I will retain.”
Muttering, Hanson stormed back into the interrogation room.
Liam clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Owe you one, mi amigo. I’d appreciate a copy of the lab analysis on the bomb when it comes in, and any intel from overseas.”
“Done.” Alex smiled. He knew he could also call in a favor any time. “I am required to confiscate the Homeland Security clearance ID they gave you for the joint exercises here.”
Liam handed it over without protest. He knew what was coming—and had his priorities straight.
Hanson marched out and thrust Kate’s purse at her, slapped her passport into Alex’s extended palm, then stalked away.
Kate sidled down the hallway. “I’ll be leaving, now. Thank you for getting me out of there.” Her glance flicked to Liam, and regret glinted in the soft brown depths. “Both of you.”
Alex held up a hand. “One moment, Ms. Chabeau.”
Kate stopped, wariness etching her delicate features. “Yes?”
“I’m afraid you’re not free to go.”
“But I thought—” Kate blanched. “Why not?”
“Because of the possible threat to national security, I regret we cannot release you until you’re cleared of suspicion. It’s also for your own safety. If you were not targeted by these terrorists before, you may come to their attention now.”
“But I have to leave. My niece’s life depends on those photographs being sold at the auction!”
“I realize that, and can accommodate you.”
Kate’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank goodness.”
Liam tensed. He was about to be entrusted with the most high-stakes explosive he’d ever handled.
Pop had either been one-hundred percent right, or flat-out deluded.
The way Liam figured the odds, there was a fifty-fifty chance Kate was his love-at-first-sight soul-mate. But no matter what, he couldn’t walk away. He had to do his duty. Even if it blew up in his face.
Alex gave Kate his fallen angel’s smile. “You are hereby remanded into the custody of Officer O’Rourke.”
“What?” Kate rounded on Liam with stunned disbelief.
Alex calmly finished sealing their fate. “Until further notice, you must stay within Liam’s sight 24/7.”
Chapter 4
3:00 p.m.
Kate watched Agent Cortez urge Liam into a private confab and rubbed her aching temples. This couldn’t be happening.
As her headache ramped up, she searched
her purse for prescription meds, but came up empty-handed. A groan escaped. The bottle had been in there, but a vicious migraine attack two weeks ago had kept her housebound for days. She’d set the meds on her bedside table for easy access. And forgotten to put them back.
Okay, she needed food ... and a quad shot caffeine hit. At breakfast time, she’d been in the hospital visiting Aubrey. She hadn’t had a chance to drink the frappuccino that’d saved her life. And the FBI interrogation had preempted lunch.
To distract herself from the pain, Kate studied Liam, engaged in vehement conversation with Agent Cortez down the corridor. Golden sunlight slanting through the windows gilded the SWAT cop’s compelling features ... the most magnetic, striking man she’d ever seen. She automatically reached for her camera. Her stomach dropped to the vicinity of her sandals. Her Leica had been left in the car, which was in police impound.
Cortez finished his speech—a warning, judging by his quiet ferocity—and Liam’s complexion drained of color.
Commanding Murphy to stay, Liam pivoted and strode toward her as the FBI agent sauntered away. Liam’s irises glittered with emotions. Rage, determination, and something that looked suspiciously like suppressed fear whirled through the emerald pools, deadly as a storm-tossed Irish sea.
This was not the lighthearted charmer who’d enchanted her two years ago. This man was serious business. All cop. Dangerous. Lethal.
What had Cortez told him? Kate took an involuntary step back. Damn Fate’s sick, twisted meddling. She’d been gift-bagged by the FBI and delivered into Liam’s hands. The man for whom she still had far too many turbulent feelings.
Liam stopped and studied her face. “You okay?”
“Yes. So about what just happened. I take it since Alex is federal, he supersedes all local jurisdictions. Did he make me your prisoner, or put me in your protective custody?”
“To be honest, both.”
“Thanks for the honesty, at least.”
“I’ll never lie to you, Kate.”
That remained to be seen. “I need to ask about getting my camera back before we leave.”
“The one on the passenger seat of your car?”