by Diana Duncan
Grady slid a manila envelope from beneath his arm. “Yeah, but I got your intel.” Baby bro’s eyes narrowed in an enigmatic look. “You’ll need my phone.” He handed it over, then turned and bestowed a disarming smile on Kate and offered his arm. Liam’s instincts shot to red alert as Grady escorted her to the chopper.
Grady had passed him information that would upset her.
Liam tore open the envelope. Fear and fury whirled inside him as he examined the contents. Goddammit. Disheartened, he scrubbed a weary hand over his face. Why couldn’t Fate cut him a fucking break? A sigh escaped as he dialed the phone. After tonight, Kate might hate him forever.
* * *
Seated in the Mustang speeding through downtown Vegas, Kate glanced at Liam. “You’ve been uncharacteristically subdued since Grady picked us up. Is something wrong?”
Let me count the ways.
“I have to go to work. I’m putting you in a safe house with Alex.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
You don’t want to know. And I want to tell you even less. “Try to get some rest. I’ll call you when I can.”
“Fine, keep me in the dark,” she huffed. “But drop me at the hospital, so I can check on Aubrey. I won’t be able to sleep, anyway.” When he hesitated, she frowned. “The police officers are there, and Daniel usually hangs around at night.”
“All right.” He borrowed her phone once more to request an officer meet her at the door. When the Mustang pulled up at the hospital, the cop strode out and waited on the sidewalk.
Liam turned to her, harsh stress lines carved in his handsome face. “When I’m done, we need to talk.”
Resignation coiled around her heart. They’d disarmed the bombs and ended the stalker’s game. An arrest must be imminent. Liam had done his duty. Was it time for the big brush-off? She firmed her chin. Not like she hadn’t foreseen it. Or expected anything else. But a haze blurred her last view of him as he drove away.
Upstairs, a frazzled Daniel was pathetically glad to see her. Aubrey cried and fretted. They quieted the little girl, then Daniel took his laptop to the lobby for an overseas teleconference. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Even exhausted, he still had to squeeze in work between a sick child and demanding wife.
Kate trudged to the cafeteria for a badly needed mocha. She chose a table in the corner and gulped the hot, sweet brew. Still no word from Liam.
Gonna be a long night.
Cell calls were allowed from the cafeteria, so she phoned Etienne. He was a night owl and would just be hitting his stride. “Bonne nuit, mon ami. How are the auction preparations going?”
“Magnifique! The mess has been banished! That Bailey, she is Wonder Woman. I am at home now, verifying the répondez s’il vous plaîts. Everyone wants to attend. Once we get the photos back, we will be an enormous success!”
“Thanks for effort above and beyond, Etienne.”
“Mon plaisir, my lovely Katherine. When you are a rich and famous celebrity do not forget your lowly assistant’s devotion.”
She laughed. “I’ll buy you that Jag you’ve been drooling over when you think nobody’s looking.”
“The scarlet one, mon coeur. How long until you retrieve the photographs?”
Her spirits rose. If nothing else, she had a faithful friend in Etienne. He cheered her when she was down, encouraged her when she was hesitant, and shared her artistic vision. She wouldn’t have survived without him. Best of all, he was loyal to a fault. “Not sure, but I have a feeling Liam is hot on a lead.”
“The, how you say, hunky Irishman, he is hot under any circumstances, non?” He chortled. “Ah, hold on, ma petite. Someone is at my door.”
“At this hour?” She rolled her eyes. Probably a woman. Female admirers of all ages coveted the handsome young rascal like he was double chocolate fudge cake, with extra frosting.
He set the phone down, and his boot steps pranced across the floor. She smiled. Her assistant loved those crazy, pointy-toed boots.
A crash echoed though the line and she jumped. What was that? Amid shouts and thundering footsteps, Etienne screamed rapid-fire, unintelligible French. A sharp, short explosion rang out. She gasped. Gunshot?
Etienne’s screams abruptly cut off. Her heart stopped. “Etienne!” she shouted. “Are you all right?”
A door slammed. Ominous silence hummed over the line. “Etienne!” she yelled. “Answer me!”
Had the stalker attacked him? She’d tried to protect her friend by keeping the scary situation a secret from him, but had she gotten him killed instead? Her heart galloped frantically as distant footsteps approached. A scraping noise. “Mr. Duplais can’t talk right now.”
She knew that voice. Icy horror stole her breath. “Liam? What have you done to Etienne?”
Chapter 14
2:00 a.m.
“Kate?” Liam’s throat tightened. Sonofabitch! Had he just killed his last chance with her? “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’d planned to tell you in person. Afterward.”
“What is going on?”
“We ... the SWAT team and FBI just arrested Etienne for stalking you.” He winced. “And international terrorism.”
“What?” she gasped. “You can’t be ser— Is he okay? I thought I heard a shot.”
“We tossed in a smoke bomb and a flashbang. He’s fine.”
“Of course. It’s only a bunch of Kevlar-suited, machine gun–packing warriors against one twenty-two year-old French artist.”
“Standard procedure. We don’t know what type of weapons or how many suspects are on the premises.”
He heard her fuming exhale. “There’s no way Etienne is a stalker or a terrorist! You’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“You don’t have all the facts. The evidence is—”
“I don’t care, you’re wrong! I’m coming down there.”
“No. Stay put. You can’t see him. And until we find out if he has accomplices, you’re safer there.”
“It’s not him. And he forgets English when he’s flustered.”
Hellfire, he was in for it now. “Ah ... je parle français.”
A short, ominous silence ticked past. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t speak French.” He looked up as a team of Feds began to bag evidence. “Etienne was on the short list as a suspect from the beginning. I’d hoped he might slip up and say something he thought I didn’t understand.”
“What else have you been keeping from me?”
“Parlo italiano.” He paused. “Y español.”
“Very helpful, damn you!” Her fury vibrated over the line, scorched his ear. “Is Hanson involved in this?”
He hesitated again. “Yeah. He has to be.”
“I will not allow that storm trooper to railroad my friend into prison! I’m coming to the police station!”
“You can’t see Etienne until after the interrogation. I’ll make sure his rights are protected. You have to trust me, Kate.”
“You didn’t tell me you were going to arrest my friend.” Hurt edged her rage. “You’ve been lying to me all along.”
“I couldn’t divulge classified intel.” She was reasonable and intelligent. When she saw the evidence, she’d understand. He hoped. “And the language deal was actually a sin of omission.”
“Don’t juggle semantics with me.” She inhaled unsteadily. “If you let them hurt Etienne, I will never forgive you.”
He admired her loyalty, even when he was taking the fallout. “You know better. I’ll see that he gets a fair shake.”
“I don’t know anything anymore.” Desperation painted her quiet reply. “I feel so helpless.”
“I understand.” Betrayal was always a cold shot to the heart. She thought he’d betrayed her. Later, she’d be forced to face the bitter truth about her friend. She’d already experienced far too much treachery, and after Etienne’s knife in the back, her trust might be DOA.
Sorrow rode heavily on his sh
oulders. “I’m sorry.” Damn, he wanted to be with her, needed to comfort her. But he had to do his job. “I have to be at the station when they bring him in. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
* * *
Ninety minutes later, Liam paced in front of the table where Etienne was seated, wearing a jail-issued orange onesie. He’d figured the volatile kid would break in the first quarter hour. A strip search had revealed a long scrape on his thigh, which Etienne claimed was a result of the crate mishap ... an injury he swore he hadn’t noticed at the time. Etienne was shaken, but firmly engaged in denial mode.
The interrogation had been conducted by Liam because he was fluent in French, with the Feds observing. “It’ll go easier if you tell the truth,” Liam said, again, en français.
Etienne groaned and replied in the same language. “I have told you the truth.”
Liam pinned him with a stare. “‘Dolly Parton’ told an undercover officer that a man with a French accent and long blond hair hired her this afternoon to create a diversion at the hotel. The Frenchman met her in a dark hallway at the club and kept his face in the shadows. Nobody remembers seeing you at the hotel during that time period, and you have no alibi.”
“I was in the storeroom unpacking the photographs.” He pointed to his bandaged face. “That is when I was wounded.”
Liam fanned out the pictures Kate had taken from the car. The blurry close-ups showed long blond hair protruding beneath a black-visored motorcycle helmet. “Are you sure it wasn’t when you wrecked your bike during this high-speed pursuit?”
“That is my Triumph, but it is not me driving.”
“You didn’t report it stolen. Yet investigators found the damaged bike under a tarp in your garage. Along with a sawed-off shotgun. Explain that.”
“It was not me driving the bike! I did not know it was taken. And I do not own a gun.”
“But you don’t refute that this ...” Liam threw down more photos—emailed by Interpol. “Is you, chatting with a leader of Les Hommes de la Mort, the European terrorist group.” Etienne appeared much younger in the photos and his crew cut hair was dark brown. “It’s you stuffing a backpack into a locker at a subway terminal in London that was bombed an hour later. This is you snapping photos on a train platform in Barcelona the day before the commuter line was deliberately derailed and fourteen people died.”
“Oui, many years ago. I was orphaned young and lived on the streets. I was starving, and prostituting myself to survive. This man ...” He tapped a photo. “Henri Rouchard. He took me in. Fed me. Educated me. I had no idea he was a recruiter for a terrorist organization. I did not know he used me to harm others. When I discovered it, I ran. Changed my appearance, my name. Stayed far away, for good.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“Do you suppose I would have lived to testify, monsieur?”
“So you worked under the radar, in construction. Specifically demolition. You’re familiar with explosives.” Etienne nodded, and Liam frowned and tried a new tack. “Quite a departure from your job for Katherine Chabeau. You just strolled in off the street and she hired you?”
“She recognized my talent and potential, as I recognized hers. She rescued me from a poor life of mediocrity. She is my angel.”
Liam clenched his jaw. Kate might’ve hired her own personal psycho. He extracted the rest of the photos from the file and slapped them in front of Etienne. “These are close-ups of Kate’s hands, along with a glowing accolade to her, written by you. Investigators found them in your bedroom.”
“Je ne comprends pas.” Clearly bewildered, Etienne shook his head. “I have done nothing wrong in this.”
“Why did you photograph her? Why did you write about her?”
“My Katherine, she uses a Leica. The company has a promotional campaign showing the hands of their photographers.” He sighed. “One sees advertisements using models with faces of unattainable beauty. But it is the hands that make everything happen, non? They are the tools of the spirit.” Tears glistened on Etienne’s lashes. “Who has a more beautiful spirit than Katherine? She thinks her injury makes her some sort of monster. I wished to submit these photos to the company and convince her otherwise.”
Liam studied the black and whites. The lighting was exquisite. Showcasing only Kate’s hands and the camera, Etienne had managed to capture her dedication and purpose, and the resourceful modifications that overcame her handicap. Her scars were visible, but the shot was angled so they weren’t emphasized. The kid was almost as good as Kate. With maturity, he’d be in high demand. The pictures and testimonial revealed something more. Liam’s glare pinned the other man. “You’re in love with her.”
Etienne nodded. “Oui.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. Maintain objectivity. Or kiss the interrogation and subsequent arrests goodbye. “How does she feel about you?”
“She is my employer, my mentor, my friend. We are very much alike—misfits in this world. Though the bond between us runs deep, she does not wish to step across the line.”
“Does that frustrate you? Make you angry?”
“Me, I do not need to force myself on women.” What would have been obnoxious bragging from any other guy was blasé fact from Etienne. “There are plenty who are willing.”
Liam studied Etienne’s platinum mane, quicksilver eyes, and fit bod. I’ll bet, junior. The kid had irresistible I-can-do-you-and-you’ll-love-it confidence. Etienne’s artistry with a camera wasn’t the only thing that’d be in high demand. He was used to having women fawn over him. Expected it. Was he truly as unconcerned about Kate’s rejection as he appeared? “Have you sent her notes and flowers?”
“Non.” He offered a roguish smile. “I gift her with Belgian chocolates upon occasion. She adores them.”
Kate’s fondness for chocolate was no secret. “Have you followed her, checked up on her?” He dealt out the photos Kate had taken from the hospital, showing the blurred silhouette of a man with long blond hair lurking in an alleyway. “Is this you?”
“Why do you ask this?” Blond brows knitted, and then he gasped. “Someone is stalking Katherine?” Bristling, he leaped up. “And you think it is me? Her devoted admirer and friend!”
“Sit.” Liam leaned across the table. The kid was sharp. And his shock and anger genuine. Despite the evidence, Liam’s gut believed him. Those instincts had kept him—and a lot of other people—alive through numerous bomb incidents. “Has she had a disagreement with anyone lately?”
“Janine,” he spat. “Always. She is pure bitch, that one.”
A male voice intruded through the intercom. “O’Rourke, telephone. Female caller says it’s urgent.”
Kate had already called once, worried about Etienne and still wanting to come down. Liam hadn’t been able to speak to her. “One sec.” He made a split-second decision to toss the kid a grenade and see how adeptly he juggled it. “I doubt her sister has the skill to plant explosives in her car.”
“Une bombe?” Etienne’s eyes widened. “Mon Dieu! You should have said!” He jumped up again. “Before he became CEO by marrying the bitch, Daniel developed chemical formulas for the Chabeau family business! He possesses both the knowledge and skill!”
“Whoa, that’s a big leap in logic. Why would her brother-in-law want to kill her?”
He tsked. “Your investigators are lax, monsieur. Daniel was engaged to Katherine, and they had a falling out. They try to make nice for Aubrey’s sake, but I do not believe he has forgiven her. When no one else is watching, he looks at her as if he wields a blade of ice.”
Liam’s pulse stuttered. Daniel was Kate’s ex? Why the fuck hadn’t she told him that? No intel had spiked on Tyler. Liam had assumed the bad vibes between Kate and Daniel were family tension.
He went cold. He’d blithely dropped her at the hospital. His gut instincts were screaming now.
Too late.
He’d likely delivered her gift-wrapped to the psycho intent on killing her. A madman angry
and desperate after they’d beaten his “game.” Time was up. And the stalker knew it. He’d make his final move.
Checkmate.
“O’Rourke.” The intercom crackled. “Your caller is insistent. She threatened to come down here and kick ass.”
Kate! He had to warn her! He sprinted out and grabbed the phone. Murphy twitched his ears from his prone position beside the door. “Kate ... listen. Have the officers detain—”
“Liam, this is Zoe.”
“Zoe? I’ll call you back.” He started to hang up.
“Wait! You need to hear this. It’s about Daniel Tyler.”
The hair on the back of his neck rose. “Spill it. Fast.”
“It was buried way deep, but I followed a string of leads. Jackpot. Tyler has pulled off an identity switch, complete with dental records and fingerprints. His parents didn’t die in a car crash, their car was firebombed. Then his foster parents died in a suspicious house fire.” She snatched a quick breath. “And his maternal grandfather was Phillipe Marché!”
Jesus! The mad bomber who’d run rampant in Europe before blowing up himself—along with dozens of innocent bystanders. The founding father of Les Hommes de la Mort! Adrenaline spiked. “Gotta go!”
He punched in Kate’s cell number. It went straight to voicemail. Fuck! He called dispatch and asked to be connected to the hospital. C’mon! His boot tapped a rapid tattoo as he was transferred to the fifth floor nurses’ station. He ID’d himself, said it was a police emergency and asked for Kate.
After an interminable wait, someone picked up. “I’m sorry,” a woman said. “Ms. Chabeau is on the elevator with her brother-in-law. You should know that, since you called twenty-or-so minutes ago, said the case was wrapped, and dismissed everyone’s police protection. The brother-in-law said the two of them were heading out to meet you, at your request.”
The familiar sensation of drowning constricted his lungs. “That wasn’t me.”
“I’m the one who took the call, and your voice is the same.”
He didn’t waste a reply. Once Daniel lured Kate out of the hospital, Liam would never find her. He disconnected and spun on the officers clustered outside interrogation. His brothers weren’t among them. Con and Aidan had returned to their wives after the bust. Knowing Grady, he was bungee jumping off Hoover Dam. “Send the closest squad cars to the hospital, cold—no lights or sirens! Detain Tyler, Daniel Ellis, on suspicion of attempted murder, arson, and terrorist activities. Dark blue Ford Five Hundred, get his plate number from dispatch. Consider him armed and extremely dangerous. And he has a hostage.”