Текст книги "Striking Distance"
Автор книги: Pamela Clare
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
älskling
, how wonderful!” Her mother’s smile faded. “Weren’t you happy to see him?”
Laura tried to explain. “I’m not the person he knew. He looks at me, and he remembers someone else.”
“The woman he remembers still exists inside you. You just need to set her free.”
Laura wished it were so simple. “He asked me out to dinner.”
“I hope you said yes.” Laura’s grandmother leaned in, her round face appearing in the onscreen image. “You need to get out, to be with other young people.”
“I did, but I wish I hadn’t. He said he wasn’t expecting anything. No sex or—”
“Too bad,” her grandmother interjected. “That would be good for you.”
“You know I can’t sleep with him. If I did, he’d see my stretch marks, and he’d know. I’d have to explain, and then he would think I was the worst—”
“What happened with Klara was
not
your fault.” Her mother’s voice turned to steel. “Unless he has no heart, he will understand that.
You
are the only one who holds that against you.”
“Did you say yes?” Laura’s grandmother was not letting it go.
“Yes, Gran.”
Her mother and her grandmother shared a smile.
“You are
not
going to back out of it and cancel on him.” Her grandmother’s blue eyes narrowed, as if she knew that was exactly what Laura had been thinking of doing.
“It is time for you to live again, Laura.” Her mother’s gaze was gentle, understanding. “This will be a good thing. You’ll see.”
Laura carried her mother’s words to bed with her and through the day on Sunday while she did laundry, cleaned the house, and transcribed interviews for her VA article—a mind-numbingly tedious process she’d never had to deal with as a broadcast journalist.
When her cell phone rang just before noon, she wasn’t surprised to find it was Javier. She’d known he would call sooner rather than later.
“You left without saying good-bye.” His voice was deep, warm.
“I’m sorry. I just . . . couldn’t stay any longer.”
There was a long pause.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Laura. If it’s too hard for you to be around me—”
“No!” Angry with herself for being so fearful, so timid, so transparent, she spoke more harshly than she’d intended. “No, it’s fine. I’d love to go to dinner with you. It’s just . . . I haven’t been out much since this happened, and I’m not all that comfortable around lots of people.”
As true as this was, it was an excuse. Being around him
was
hard for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit that.
They settled on tomorrow night. Javier would pick her up at her place at seven, and they would go around the corner to the Wynkoop Brewing Company, where she could have her favorite salad and he could sample some of the microbrews for which Denver was famous.
“I’ll be with you. It will be okay.”
She hoped he was right.
* * *
LAURA GOT TO work early the next morning and was grateful to find that she was no longer considered news, the throng of reporters gone, off chasing other stories. She said a quick good morning to Cormack and crossed the lobby to the elevator. She had an interview scheduled first thing with a former soldier named Ted Hollis, who had answered her ad for veterans having trouble with VA claims. He was living with untreated PTSD and claimed he’d been trying to get help from the VA for more than nine months.
“Laura, wait for me!” Sophie caught her at the elevator, entering just before the doors closed, cup of coffee in hand, handbag over her shoulder, her strawberry-blond hair done up in an artfully messy bun.
The elevator car began to move.
“How was the rest of your weekend?” Sophie asked.
Laura could tell Sophie was trying to decide whether to ask about the barbecue. “I did some work on my VA story, transcribed some interviews I did last week with a couple of former soldiers.”
“I’m glad you came to the Cimarron. I hope you had a good time.”
“I did. The food was delicious. Thanks for inviting me.” There was no way to avoid the topic. “Sorry I left so abruptly. I felt a little . . . overwhelmed.”
Sophie gave her a warm smile. “As long as you’re okay. I can see how hanging with all of us could be a bit much. We’ve all known each other for so long. But we were all really happy you were there. I hope you’ll join us again.”
“I’m glad I finally got to meet everyone.”
The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened.
They stepped out and started down the hallway when Holly hurried up behind them, her heels clicking on the floor.
“Hey, Laura! Hey, Sophie!” She fell in beside them, a colorful Altuzarra sweater and tight black Rag & Bone pants hugging her perfect curves, suede Prada pumps with three-inch heels on her feet. “I can’t believe that hunky SEAL is a friend of yours, Laura. If you tell me the two of you have slept together, I’m going to be
so
jealous.”
“Holly!” Sophie glared at her.
But that didn’t seem to deter Holly one bit. She looked at Laura’s face. “Oh, my God! You have!”
Laura had overheard enough conversations between Sophie and Holly in the newsroom to know that Holly had no filter. But how was Laura supposed to respond to that? Fortunately she didn’t have to say anything, as Holly went on.
“I’ve never met a SEAL before. I think it must take so much courage to do what he does. Five months ago he was almost killed, and he still wants to go back.”
Laura’s step faltered. “Almost killed?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Sophie asked.
“No.” He hadn’t even hinted.
But Holly and Sophie knew all about it. As they made their way toward the I-Team’s corner of the newsroom, the two of them told her how Javier and his team had been caught in an ambush, how he’d been shot four times and had barely survived. Now, he was eager to return to active duty.
“I don’t even want to go back to places where someone has been rude to me, like restaurants or department stores,” Holly was saying. “I can’t imagine wanting to return to a place where men were trying to
kill
me.”
Neither could Laura. “It takes a special kind of man to do that job.”
She set her handbag down on her desk, sat, and booted up her computer.
“So he didn’t tell you any of this?” Holly sat on Sophie’s desk.
Laura knew what Holly was really asking. She was trying to figure out if Laura and Javier were still connected. “He was concerned about me and didn’t talk about himself. But I’ll ask him about it tonight. We’re having dinner.”
Laura spoke the words with an odd sense of satisfaction.
And then it struck her.
You’re jealous!
She was.
Javier had told Holly and the others things he hadn’t told her.
You didn’t give him a chance.
She’d been so busy talking about herself that she hadn’t asked him how he’d been these past three and a half years. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered.
Holly heaved an exaggerated sigh. “The good men are always taken.”
* * *
LAURA HAD HEARD stories like Ted Hollis’s before, but few had been so graphic—or so wrenching. His job through three tours of duty had included cleaning blood and human tissue from inside vehicles damaged by IEDs so that those vehicles could be repaired and put back into service. The gore he had seen was the stuff of horror films. Midway through his third deployment, he’d had a nervous breakdown and had spent three weeks in a military hospital before being shipped stateside again. Though post-traumatic stress had all but rendered him nonfunctional, he had yet to get treatment and was self-medicating with alcohol.
She’d been speaking with him for almost an hour. His story was one of the most compelling she’d heard so far. She felt sick for him.
“It’s the nightmares that bother me most,” he said. “They feel so real. When I wake up, I don’t even know where I am. But I suppose you know your share about nightmares, don’t you, Ms. Nilsson?”
She did, but she wasn’t accustomed to discussing such things with strangers. Then again, she was asking Mr. Hollis to bare his wounds for millions of strangers in the form of the newspaper’s readership. It seemed only fair to answer.
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ve read the articles about you and watched your interview with Diane Sawyer. I’ve always wondered what frightened you the most. The daily rapes or the idea of having your head cut off.”
Laura’s pulse picked up. She reminded herself that she was dealing with someone who needed treatment, someone who was probably trying to empathize with her, one trauma victim to another. “Mr. Hollis—”
“I think maybe being raped every day would be worse than being dead.”
That wasn’t how it had been for Laura. “I . . . I was more afraid of having my head cut off. I wanted to survive.”
“I’m sorry. Was that too personal? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I guess I wouldn’t know. I’m a man. I’ve never been raped. It must be pretty horrible.”
“Mr. Hollis—”
A loud
crack
. A boom like thunder that shook the floor beneath Laura’s feet. An orange wall of flame. Shattered glass. Heat.
She was knocked sideways, her head striking the edge of her desk, one word flashing through her mind before she lost consciousness.
Bomb.
* * *
JAVIER FOLLOWED NATE through the garage toward the mudroom, his stomach growling. It was just after nine in the morning, and he’d already been up and working for four hours with nothing more than coffee in his gut. “So Wilson starts handing out soccer balls to every kid in the village. One kid drops his ball in the dirt, kicks it, and accidentally hits Wilson square in the nuts. That dawg hit the dirt like he’d been shot.”
Nate gave a sympathetic groan. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“Man, I felt for him, but I couldn’t quit laughing.” Javier took off his gloves, parka, and boots, and made his way toward the scent of eggs and bacon that was wafting toward them from the kitchen.
“Tell me you’ve got fresh coffee, old man,” Nate called to his father.
But Jack wasn’t in the kitchen, bacon sizzling forgotten on the stove. They found him in the living room together with Megan, who looked wide-eyed and pale.
“What is it?”
On the television screen was an image of flames and smoke.
Jack glanced over at them, his face grave. “VBIED. It happened just a couple of minutes ago.”
Megan turned to her husband. “Someone car-bombed the newspaper.”
Laura.
Adrenaline gave Javier a good hard kick, breath rushing from his lungs.
Al-Nassar, you
hijo e puta
!
“Any casualties?” Nate’s gaze was fixed on the flames, his jaw tight.
Jack shook his head. “No word yet.”
“I’ve tried Sophie’s cell phone and can’t reach her.” Fresh tears gathered in Megan’s eyes. “Marc’s on his way there with SWAT, but he hasn’t been able to reach her either. Oh, Nate, I’m so afraid for her—and for all of our friends there.”
Javier turned back toward the mudroom.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Nate called after him.
“I’m going to find Laura.”
Nate followed. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
* * *
“IT’S NOT AS bad as it looks. Wounds on the face and head always bleed a lot.” Laura dabbed a square of gauze she’d gotten from the cafeteria’s first-aid kit to the cut on Holly’s temple, her own head throbbing, her stomach in knots, one thought running repeatedly through her mind.
It had happened. It had actually happened.
Someone had tried to kill her
here
in her new hometown.
That had to be it. This couldn’t be random. A few days ago, Al-Nassar had called upon his followers to hunt her down and kill her, and today a car bomb had gone off outside her window.
She had already called her mother and her grandmother to let them know that she was safe. Her mother had wanted her to pack her bags and return to Sweden, but Laura couldn’t do that. She’d tried to make her mother understand.
“If I let them frighten me away from the life I want, then Al-Nassar wins. I have to show him and his minions that I’m not afraid.”
“But you
are
afraid, Laura.”
Yes, she was. In fact, she was terrified.
But she wouldn’t run.
Holly trembled uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. “Do you think I’ll need stitches . . . or plastic surgery?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not a doctor.” Laura’s hands were only slightly steadier than Holly’s, but it made Laura feel better to help, taking her mind off her own shock and fear. “Just hold it here. There you go. It will stop the bleeding.”
Beside them, Sophie spoke with her husband on Laura’s cell phone, her own forgotten in her car. “We’re in the cafeteria. We had to get out of the smoke. It was rolling in through the broken windows. Laura hit her head and was unconscious for a minute or two, but she seems okay now. We all got cut by flying glass. Apart from that, we’re all fine.”
Thank God!
If any of Laura’s coworkers had been seriously hurt or killed . . .
Already, six people had died because of her. Now her I-Team friends had come into harm’s way, too. Sophie, Matt, Alex, Joaquin—they’d all been in the newsroom. If that side of the building had come down, they would have died with her.
The thought left her nauseated, shaky.
Around them, chaos reigned. The high-pitched squeal of the fire alarm. Tom, Alex, and Matt shouting to be heard as they tried to figure out how to get the paper out on time. The murmur of voices as those who hadn’t evacuated the building milled about, waiting for the all clear to return to their desks.
It felt surreal, a nightmare.
Sophie lowered the cell phone, her face lined with worry, the bandage on her arm already soaked through with blood. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Sophie gave her hand a squeeze, then raised her voice so that everyone could hear her. “Marc said there are undetonated explosives out there. SWAT is coming in to evacuate the building.”
“Shit.” Tom turned to Matt and Alex. “We need to move fast, get everyone’s computers and files moved down here before the cops push us out. If we don’t, we’re fucked. Alton, Nilsson, want to lend us a hand?”
Sophie shook her head. “Marc said to stay here in the cafeteria, and that’s what I’m doing. Didn’t you hear me? There are undetonated—”
Ignoring her, Tom turned with Matt and Alex and disappeared out the door—only to reappear a minute or so later, herded by a group of SWAT officers with Marc in the lead, Julian behind him.
Tom was a big man, but Marc was taller. Wearing Kevlar and carrying SWAT gear, he was also more imposing. His gaze rested a moment on Sophie, taking in the cuts on her right arm and cheek, and Laura could tell that more than anything he wanted to go to her. But he had a job to do.
He faced Tom. “You can get the computers as soon as the bomb squad has done its job. Now cooperate, or you’re going to put me in the awkward position of arresting my wife’s boss.”
Done with Tom, Marc turned to the room and raised his voice. “Listen, everyone! There are still undetonated explosives outside. I need you all to leave by the rear exit. Be calm, but be quick. We’re evacuating the entire block. Follow the police barricades to safety. No one is allowed to remain inside the building.”
While Marc organized the evacuation, Julian walked over to Laura, something in his hand—a Kevlar vest. “Let’s get this on you.”
Laura’s adrenaline spiked. “You think someone’s waiting out there for me?”
His expression gave nothing away. “The vest is just a precaution.”
She raised her arms and let him draw it on over her head.
“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Julian pulled the Velcro straps tight. “I heard you got a bad bump on the head. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Just a headache, maybe a little dizzy.”
He frowned, seemed to study her. “We’ve got a couple of ambulances standing by. I think it’s best if we get you, Holly, and Sophie to the hospital, get you cleaned up, make sure you really are okay.”
Laura shook her head. She hated hospitals. “I’m fine. I’d rather work to get the paper out. They’re going to need all the help they—”
“I wouldn’t be doing my job as a law officer and a friend if I let you go back to work without first seeing a doctor. Head injuries can take you by surprise. You can refuse treatment if you want, but at least let a doctor check you out.” When she didn’t object, he pushed the button on the radio clipped to his Kevlar. “Eight-twenty-five.”
A voice crackled back. “Eight-twenty-five, go ahead.”
“I need two ambulances at the paper’s rear entrance. Someone will need to shift the barricades to let them through.” He turned his attention to Holly. He drew her close in a careful hug. “It’s going to be okay, honey.”
Holly cried harder.
Marc at last came to stand at Sophie’s side, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back. “Let’s get you out of here. That cut on your arm looks deep.”
Julian looked over at Laura. “Can you walk?”
“I walked down here.” His hand at her elbow, she headed out of the cafeteria and down the hall, the blaring fire alarm louder in the hallway, the shrill sound making her headache worse.
She stepped out the back door and for one dark second found herself back in Baghdad in the aftermath of a terrorist bombing, the air tinged with the reek of burning fuel, rubber, and wires, men armed with high-powered assault rifles on the rooftop of the building next door, the whir of a helicopter mixing with the wail of sirens.
But this wasn’t Baghdad. It was Denver.
How could this have followed her to Denver?
To Laura’s left, two ambulances turned down the alley toward them, steel barricades and police cars with flashing lights holding curious onlookers and the media at a distance, officers guiding the other evacuated employees to safety. To her right stood Marc holding Sophie in a protective embrace.
Sophie looked up at him. “Be careful.”
He cupped the back of her head with a big, gloved hand and kissed her forehead. “You know I will be. You let them take good care of that arm.”
It was an intimate moment, a private moment.
Laura looked away, feeling sick to her stomach to think these good people had been put in harm’s way because of her. She looked up at Julian. “Do you have any idea who did this?”
“We will as soon as we can ID the body.”
“You mean . . . ?”
Julian nodded his head. “Looks like a suicide bomber.”
CHAPTER
6
JAVIER LEANED AGAINST the wall in the emergency room of University Hospital, feeling more restless by the minute. On the television screen, Channel 12 kept going back and forth between the same recycled footage they’d been repeating for the past three hours. The smoking hulk of the car. Firefighters dousing the flames. Police evacuating the area as the bomb squad moved in. An aerial view of the blast site filmed from a news helo. SWAT guys milling around in body armor.
So the FBI hadn’t found Al-Nassar’s threats against Laura credible.
Idiots.
They were damned lucky the bastard who’d tried to kill her today hadn’t known what he was doing. If he had . . .
It had been close, so damned close.
Javier fought the urge to pace, glanced around the waiting area. A thin old man with papery skin and an oxygen tube beneath his nose. A mother and father with a crying baby. A middle-aged woman sitting alone. Two men and a woman who were almost certainly journalists, smartphones out, notepads in hand. They were clearly checking the place out, probably hoping to snag an interview with Laura.
What kind of assholes staked out an ER, for God’s sake? And what was taking so long? Maybe Laura was more seriously injured than they’d realized.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to see you.
Nate had left with Sophie and Holly almost an hour ago. Both women had been cut by flying glass. Sophie had needed stitches, and Holly had seemed pretty shaken up, her perfect face marred by little nicks. But both of them had wanted to get back to work to help get the paper out on time—a reminder to Javier that courage came in all shapes and sizes.
A woman in blue scrubs walked up to him. “You can see Ms. Nilsson now.”
It’s about fucking time.
Javier followed the aide through the double doors, aware that the journalists had gotten to their feet the second they’d heard Laura’s name and were now watching him. Down a corridor to the right, he saw a cop standing guard outside an exam room.
The aide pointed. “She’s in exam room nine.”
“Thanks.” Javier turned down the corridor, drew his wallet out of his back jeans pocket, and showed his driver’s license to the cop, who jotted his name down on a list, then stepped aside.
Javier knocked. “Laura?”
“Come in.”
He found her sitting up in the exam bed, talking on her cell phone.
“Thanks for calling. It means a lot to me. Bye.” She disconnected the call. “Gary Chapin, my former anchor. He called to check on me.”
The left side of her face had a few tiny nicks from flying glass, flecks of blood on her tailored white shirt. A dressing of gauze was taped to the inner elbow of her left arm where they’d hooked her to an IV. Her eyes were swollen, proof she’d been crying.
Seeing her like this—hurt, angry, afraid—made him want to hit someone. How the hell had this been allowed to happen? Al-Nassar, the media, the feds—they’d all played a role in this, through either action or inaction.
But Javier had walked into enough hospital rooms in his life, visited enough wounded men, to know that his anger wouldn’t help Laura.
He put a smile on his face. “You’re looking good. How you feeling?”
“I just want to get out of here.” Her blond brows knitted in irritation. “They say I have a mild concussion. They insisted on doing two MRIs even though I said I was fine. I want to go home, but they’re taking their time discharging me.”
“They’re just trying to take good care of you.”
“I suppose so.” She looked away, the tension inside her palpable. “I don’t like hospitals.”
Neither did Javier.
He walked to the bedside. “When I heard the news, I . . . I’m glad you’re okay.”
“The networks aren’t reporting this yet, but it was a suicide bomber.”
“Yeah.” He’d heard that from Nate, who’d heard it from Marc.
The anger faded from her face, naked fear in its place. “They’re going to do it, aren’t they? They’re going to kill me. I’m going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, and one day—”
“No,
bella
.” Javier took her right hand, gave it a squeeze. He wanted to do more. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, but he wasn’t sure she’d feel comfortable being touched like that. “People are going to be asking the feds some tough questions. The FBI is going to have to step up now and do its job. You’re a hero to a lot of folks out there. The feds can’t let anything happen to you.”
“Tell them that. I spoke to them Friday. They blew me off.”
Javier hoped whoever she’d spoken to had been handed his ass today. “They won’t be able to blow you off now.”
“Al-Nassar told me I would live the rest of my life in fear. I told him I would forget him. Now look at me. I’m shaking, terrified. Damn it!” She looked up at him, a kind of desperate fury in her eyes. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore. He’s stolen
so much
from me.
So
much. I can’t give him that satisfaction. I just
can’t
.”
Javier couldn’t begin to understand what she was feeling. He’d never been a prisoner, never been raped. He’d never had control of his body and life ripped away from him. Even when he’d been shot, he’d at least been armed and able to fight back. “You look like you’re holding up pretty well to me.”
She let out a gust of breath, then shook her head as if he’d just said something ridiculous. “I spent an hour crying on the phone to my mother.”
“I’d say you’re entitled.” If only she could see herself through his eyes.
“She and my grandmother want me to give up my job and move back to Sweden to live a quiet life in some small town up north where everyone knows everyone and there’s no place for strangers to hide, but—”
The door opened behind him and two men in suits entered. The first was in his mid-forties, shorter than Javier by a good few inches, his dark hair cut conservatively, his brows dark and bushy, his face round. The man behind him was taller and blander with brown hair and eyes to match, his face expressionless.
It was about time they showed up.
Javier crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t they teach you FBI boys to knock?”
“Ms. Nilsson.” The bastard’s gaze fixed for a moment on Laura’s chest before shifting to his partner. “This is Special Agent Spiteri. We need to ask you a few questions.”
Laura’s gaze went cold. “Do you find Al-Nassar’s threats credible now, Agent Petras?”
“You might believe that you’re the center of the terrorists’ universe, Ms. Nilsson, but the truth is there are other more tangible threats.”
“Whoa, there, buddy.” Javier stepped forward. “You’re in the emergency room, and regardless of what your priorities are, someone tried to kill Ms. Nilsson today. Show some respect, man.”
Petras turned to Javier. “You’re Javier Corbray.”
It was a trick meant to impress, but Javier knew Petras had simply gotten his name from the cop outside the door.
“I’m an old friend of Laura’s.”
“You’ll need to wait out in the hallway.”
Petras could go fuck himself as far as Javier was concerned. He turned to Laura. “Is that what you want,
bella
?”
“No.” Laura looked over at Petras. “Javier stays.”
Petras glanced from Javier to Laura, cold indifference on his face. He reached into his pocket, drew out a photograph, and handed it to her. “Do you recognize him?”
Laura looked down at the photo, the blood slowly draining from her face. “No. Is he the one who . . . ?”
“The vehicle was registered to him, and he’s been reported missing. We’re still waiting for DNA confirmation.”
She handed the photo back to Petras, then turned her face away.
“You’ve never seen him before?”
“No. What’s his name?”
“Ali Al Zahrani. Eighteen years of age. U.S. citizen born in Denver to Saudi immigrants. College student. His dad is a physician.” The agent tucked the photo back inside his pocket.
“So young.” The words were a whisper. “Please tell his parents how sorry I am.”
Petras acted as if he hadn’t heard her, his attitude seriously getting on Javier’s nerves. “The FBI is prepared to give you short-term protection while we resolve this case. We don’t yet know whether the bomber acted alone or was working with others. It could be that he removed the threat against you the moment he detonated the explosives. Regardless, we’re coordinating with the Denver police to have a two-man security detail on duty around the clock.”
“What about my car? It’s still in the parking lot at the newspaper.”
“Give me the make, model, and license plate number, and we’ll have a police officer return it to you once it’s been cleared.”
“Thank you. There’s just one thing.” Laura’s chin went up. “Last week, you ignored my concerns and spent more time looking at my chest than my face. With all
due
respect, I don’t trust you enough to put my life in your hands. I want someone else to be put in charge of my security detail.”
Javier fought back a grin as Petras’s face slowly turned red.
* * *
LAURA SAT IN the backseat of Agent Petras’s brown Chevy Impala, Javier beside her. She stared out the window, watching the busy streets of Denver pass. The state capitol with its golden dome. The graceful architecture of Civic Center Park. The redbrick walls of Coors Field. The perpetual construction zone around Union Station. It was the same city, and yet it felt different.
“When I got up this morning, this was my new hometown.” She’d hoped to make a new start and one day raise her daughter here. “Now it’s the city where a teenage boy died trying to kill me.”
“You okay?” Javier was sitting so close that she could smell the subtle spice of his aftershave, his voice deep, soothing.
“Sure. It could’ve been worse, right?” Laura squeezed her hands tightly together in her lap. “Sorry you got dragged into this.”
The doctor had insisted that Laura take the next few days off from work and find someone to stay with her for the next twenty-four hours in case her concussion proved to be more serious than they realized. Javier had immediately volunteered. Laura had agreed for purely selfish reasons. She’d feel safer with him nearby.
“Hey, don’t apologize.” He closed his hands over hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t really want to be here. Besides, how else am I going to have dinner with you tonight? I just know you’d try to use this whole car bomb thing as an excuse to cancel on me otherwise.”
She couldn’t help but smile.
They stopped at the Denver Police Station where Nate had left Javier’s duffel bag and guitar case, then headed straight for Laura’s place, which SWAT and the FBI had already secured. They arrived at The Ironworks, an old redbrick industrial building recently converted to lofts, and parked in the gated underground parking garage, where Laura saw what she hoped would be the last of Petras. She and Javier took the elevator to the third floor to find another FBI agent already waiting outside her door. Laura didn’t miss the fleeting look of surprise on Javier’s face when he saw the agent was a woman.
“I’m Special Agent Janet Killeen.” The agent shook their hands. “I’m taking over your protection detail from Agent Petras, Ms. Nilsson. I’ve always admired your courage. I’ll do my best to make sure these assholes don’t get another crack at you.”
Laura immediately liked her.
She was in her early forties, tall and slender with a pretty face, her shoulder-length brown hair sleek and shiny. She wore a brown pantsuit with a crisp white shirt and black pumps, looking more like a real estate agent than a fed. And yet Laura was certain that somewhere beneath her tailored jacket Agent Killeen was strapped.
“SWAT already went through the building and the surrounding streets and alleys to make sure there were no surprises waiting for you. DPD has its two-man detail out front. I’ll be out back with another agent, so you’ll be covered.”
“Thank you, Agent Killeen.”
“Call me Janet. Will you be staying here, Mr. Corbray?” She drew a notepad and pen out of her jacket pocket.
Javier nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Like I told your buddy Petras, Laura is a friend.”
“Petras is not my buddy.” Janet glanced through her notes, her eyebrows going up. “He ran background on you and says you’re a Navy SEAL. Are you carrying?”
“I’ve got a concealed SIG P226 loaded with hollow point and a Walther PPS.”
