by Kat Martin
Reese’s gaze held hers. “Your brother was his best friend. As far as Bran’s concerned, you’re family. Besides, it’s what he does.”
She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “I know. I just...I wish this was over.” Except that as soon as they found the men who had killed her father and stolen the munitions, Bran would go back to Dallas and she would never see him again.
“He’ll feel better when he wakes up,” Reese said.
Her gaze swung back to the man on the sofa, far too tall to actually fit comfortably. Still, she had never seen him sleep so deeply. “He trusts you to protect us.”
Something moved over Reese’s dark features. “He’s my brother. He needs me to keep you both safe, and he knows that’s what I’ll do.”
At any cost were the unspoken words. She thought of her brother, Danny. They had shared that kind of bond.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Bran didn’t wake up when the wheels touched down, not when the jet taxied to the executive terminal at Gillespie Field and the engines shut down. Not until his brother gently shook his shoulder.
“We’ve landed.”
Bran snapped instantly awake, as he had learned to do. Unclipping his seat belt, he sat up on the sofa.
“There’s a car and driver waiting,” Reese said. “He’ll take you to your suite at the Grant. The hotel’s about a half mile from The Max in the Gaslamp District. Jessie says you need to talk to a detective there named Hunter Brady.”
“That’s right.”
“When you get to the hotel, there’ll be a rental car waiting for your use whenever you need it.”
Bran rubbed a hand over his several days’ growth of beard and smiled. “You can make my travel arrangements any day, bro.”
Reese just nodded. “You can thank my new assistant, McKenzie Haines. She’s a real find.”
Bran’s gaze went in search of Jessie, who waited near the exit. They left the plane and Reese walked them into the terminal.
“Your bags are already loaded in the limo. I’d suggest you get a few more hours’ sleep before whoever’s after you figures out you’re not dead.”
The flight had lasted only a couple of hours. He could definitely use a little more sleep. “Good idea.”
“Take care of him, Jessie,” Reese said to her.
Jessie went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I promise I’ll do my best.”
Bran shook Reese’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, bro. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“Just try to stay alive, okay?”
Bran flicked a glance at Jessie and repeated her words. “I’ll do my best.”
The U.S. Grant Hotel in downtown San Diego was an elegant, five-star, historic hotel with marble floors, molded ceilings, and crystal chandeliers. Potted palms and rosewood furniture decorated the lobby.
“It’s gorgeous,” Jessie said as they walked into their suite, which was done in the same old-world traditional motif.
“Leave it to my brother.”
“I really liked him. He clearly loves you very much.”
Bran glanced away, uncomfortable with the sentiment. “Both our parents are dead. My brothers and I...we take care of each other.”
“So I noticed.” She glanced around the luxurious suite. “They’ve already brought our bags up. Do you want to shower? You didn’t get to take one this morning. Or would you rather eat? You didn’t have that much on the plane. I could call room service.”
He walked over and eased her into his arms, gave her a gentle kiss. “I’m pretty sure there’s a big bathtub in there. I’d like a nice long soak, some food, and then some sleep.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Long as you join me. Since you’re still recovering, I promise to behave myself.”
Jessie arched a brow. “All right. But I’m not making the same promise.”
Bran laughed. Grabbing her hand, he headed for the bathroom. It turned out to be a huge marble affair with a separate glass-enclosed shower and big jetted tub. He really needed that soak. And other things...
Six hours later he awoke feeling better than he had in days, Jessie curled against him in a deep, untroubled sleep. With her features relaxed and a faint smile on her lips, she looked beautiful.
She was smart and brave and loyal. She had put herself at risk for him more than once, and he knew she would do it again. The stitches on the side of her head reminded him of the gut-wrenching moments when the plane had gone down and his terrible fear when he had realized she was unconscious and bleeding. Yesterday she could have died.
Something soft unfolded inside him as he watched her, something he had never felt for a woman before. He was afraid to put a name to it, afraid of what it might mean.
He glanced at the clock as he rolled out of bed, careful not to wake her. Five p.m. They had slept most of the day, but there was still work to do.
Grabbing fresh clothes out of the suitcase and his Glock off the nightstand, he padded into the living room, picked up the hotel phone, and ordered coffee and a couple of sandwiches for a late lunch. Then he got an outside line and phoned Hunter Brady.
“It’s Bran Garrett, Hunt. I need to talk to you about Mara Ramos.” Hunt had been keeping tabs on Ramos since Bran had asked for his help.
“Where are you?”
“San Diego.”
“I’m in the office. Just got back from Ramos’s apartment. If it works for you, we can meet here.”
“Works great, I’m not far away. We need to eat something, then we’ll be there. An hour should do it.”
“We? You’ve got Jessie with you?”
He’d been as straight with Hunt, a former police detective, as possible. They had worked together before, and Bran trusted him. “She’s here. She’s had a rough time, but she’s okay. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”
Next he phoned Tabby, identifying himself since he knew she wouldn’t recognize the hotel number.
“Hi, stranger,” Tabby said. “How are things in the Mile High City?”
“Long gone from there. I need you to check out my phone, make sure it’s not giving away any secrets, including my location.”
Before he’d found the bug in Jessie’s purse, Weaver and his crew had tracked her to Dallas, then back to the airstrip in Colorado Springs where they had landed. He figured that was how they knew about his plane, but he had to be sure.
“Your phone’s got state-of-the-art encryption,” Tabby said. “But I’ll take a look.”
“Thanks. Anything new on the offshore accounts?”
“Not so far. These guys are really good, but I’ve still got a few tricks I haven’t used. I took a look at your guy Weaver in ADMAX. His first name’s Edgar. He’s from Georgia, in for a triple homicide.”
“Yeah, we found that out.”
“So far I haven’t run across anything you can use, but I’ll keep looking.”
“Great. Also, I need you to go deeper on Mara Ramos. I have a feeling she’s not who she seems.”
“I can do that.”
“Make it your top priority, Tab. These guys aren’t messing around. Yesterday, they crashed Chase’s plane.”
“Crap, Bran! Tell me you and Jessie weren’t in it.”
“I wish I could. We’re both okay, but we need this to end.”
“I’m on it. I’ll call you back as fast as I can.” The line went dead. When the doorbell rang, Bran grabbed his pistol, checked the peephole, then stashed the gun out of sight and opened the door.
His stomach growled at the delicious smells coming from beneath the silver domes on the linen-draped cart as the server rolled it into the living room. He signed the tab, tipped the server, then closed and locked the door. He was about to
wake Jessie when she walked into the living room, her face washed and her hair pulled into a French braid.
She was dressed in clean clothes, a pair of beige leggings, her brown ankle boots, and the lightweight, short-sleeve, peach knit top she’d had on in Dallas the first time he’d seen her. Hey, even in November it was sunny and mild in San Diego.
He caught a hint of cleavage as she drew near, and arousal slipped through him. Even after the slow, easy, very satisfying sex they’d had in the tub, she stirred his blood.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“My head doesn’t hurt, and thanks to some very sweet lovemaking, I slept all afternoon. I feel great.”
“Sweet, huh? I don’t know whether to be complimented or insulted.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You took great care of me. Thanks.”
He glanced away, a little embarrassed. He’d been worried about her. Apparently she’d noticed. “You ready to get back to work?”
Jessie glanced wistfully over to where her laptop sat on an ornate rosewood desk. “I was hoping to get some writing done today—I still have to make a living, you know. But I’d rather talk to Mara Ramos, if that’s what you’re planning to do.”
“Not yet. Tabby’s going deeper, looking for something that might help. I’m heading down to The Max to talk to Hunt Brady. He’s been keeping an eye on her. He might be able to give us something.”
“Like a typical writer, I’ll take any excuse I can find not to face that blank computer screen.”
Bran chuckled. “Soon as we finish eating, I’ll call downstairs, have the valet bring up the rental car.”
She sighed dramatically. “It’s good to be king.”
Bran laughed as he caught her hand and led her toward the dining table.
* * *
The Maximum Security office in the Gaslamp District was housed on the ground floor of a two-story building in the 400 block of F Street. Yellow and white with a bay window in front and a big wooden arched front door, it shared the structure with a bar called the Tipsy Crow.
Jessie waited anxiously as Bran parked their rental car, a pearl gray Lincoln Navigator, in the parking garage across the street, then they went inside.
The ornate oak desks and green glass lamps scattered around the room felt similar to the Dallas office, though that one had more of a Western vibe. The slightly more ornate decor in San Diego perfectly suited the late-Victorian, nineteenth-century architecture of the historic neighborhood filled with shops and trendy restaurants.
There was a reception area up front, but being after 6:00 p.m., no one sat behind the desk. Three people were still working, a woman and two men. One of the men rose and started toward them across the open space, Hunter Brady, she assumed. Medium height and solid build, he had light brown hair and a jaw mostly hidden by a close-cropped beard.
He was attractive, Jessie thought, which seemed to be a requirement to work at The Max.
The men shook hands. “Good to see you, Bran.”
“You, too. It’s been a while.” Bran turned to Jessie. “Hunt’s former San Diego PD. Homicide detective. Hunt, this is Jessie Kegan. I told you about her.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessie.” His hand felt warm and strong. He had an air of confidence that eased some of her worry.
“Let’s go into the conference room where we can talk,” Hunt suggested. Located at the rear of the building, the room had a long oak table surrounded by eight chairs upholstered in dark green leather. Jessie sat down next to Bran, and Hunt noticed the bandage on the side of her head.
“Looks like you ran into some trouble.”
Absently she reached up and touched the wound, the area still sore. “Actually, I was lucky to have such a good pilot.”
Brand went on to explain about the attempts on her life, the arrest he’d made that had landed him in jail, and the plane crash.
Hunter’s mood darkened. “You need to find these guys.”
“You got that right.” Bran’s phone rang, and he pulled it out of his jeans pocket. “Hey, Tabby.”
Jessie sat up a little straighter, hoping for good news.
“Phone’s safe to use,” Bran said as the call ended. “Nothing on Ramos yet, but Tabby’s just getting started.” His gaze swung back to Hunter Brady. “What have you got?”
“I’ve been keeping a loose eye on the house the way you asked. The address in La Jolla is a rental, one-bedroom, one-bath condo. I’ve followed the woman a couple of times, but she just went shopping. Once she went to a matinee.”
“By herself?” Jessie asked.
“Yeah. Seems to be pretty much a loner. No visitors, doesn’t meet friends for coffee, nothing like that.”
“What about at night?” Bran asked.
“I’ve driven by a couple of times, never stayed more than an hour. I can set up surveillance if you want, have the place watched 24/7.”
“It might come to that,” Bran said. “First I want to see what Tabby comes up with. If I haven’t heard from her by tomorrow, I’ll drive out there. If I can’t get something out of Ramos, I’ll call Special Agent Tripp and give him her location. Tripp’s with the Criminal Investigation Division at Fort Carson. He’s got one of Weaver’s guys in custody. With any luck, they’ll be sweating him hard enough to get some answers.”
According to what Bran had said, he hadn’t told Hunter Brady about the stolen chemical weapons, just that they were trying to find out who had murdered her dad.
Jessie thought of her father and his relationship with Mara Ramos. What if the woman had seduced him into aiding in the theft of the weapons?
The idea seemed so impossible she immediately abandoned it. Bran didn’t believe it and neither did she. Her dad was as honorable a man as she had ever known.
They left The Max and returned to the suite. Jessie spent the evening working on the article she was writing for Kegan’s Korner. She had turned in the one she’d written on the problems in Drover City a week ago. Since then, Factfinders had sent her a half a dozen emails asking her for something new.
She wasn’t sure how much she could say about the weapons theft at the depot, but she would push the boundaries as far as possible. She needed to get everything organized and documented. She had a hunch it was going to be one of her best pieces of journalism.
She sighed as she closed down her laptop. In order to finish the story, all they had to do was prove her dad’s innocence, find the people who had murdered him, and locate the stolen weapons before hundreds of people were killed.
All they had to do was stay alive long enough to get the job done.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Bran lay spoon-fashion with Jessie on the sofa, watching the original Tobey Maguire version of Spider-Man. He’d seen it and most of the remakes half a dozen times, but it never got old. Jessie seemed to agree.
After napping all afternoon, they’d been too wired to go to bed. He’d ordered room service, thick New York steaks and Caesar salads, even indulged in a glass of red wine. He was finally ready to call it a night, though sleeping was not his intention.
The credits were rolling as he nuzzled Jessie’s neck and softly nibbled an earlobe. “You ready for bed?”
She rolled onto her back and looped her arms around his neck. “If you promise we aren’t going to sleep.”
Bran grinned and kissed her. “Cross my heart.” He made a dramatic show of drawing a cross on his chest and started to get up. When his phone rang, he was torn between disappointment and hope for a break in the case.
Recognizing Tabby’s number, he put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table. “Hey, Tab, you got something?”
“You bet I do. Mara Ramos’s real name is Mahri Rahmati. She was born in Yemen, been in the States since her early twenties. Came here on a student visa and never left. Her fake identity runs deep. Someo
ne went to a lot of trouble to give her a new life in America.”
Adrenaline pumped through him. He looked at Jessie, whose eyes were wide and alert. “Yemen,” he repeated. “Big-time terrorist activity. Got to be connected to the stolen weapons.”
“Could be someone in Yemen was the buyer. I’m looking into it. I wanted to give you what I had on Ramos aka Rahmati as fast as I could.”
“We need to bring the army in on this, but I want to talk to her first.”
“What if she runs?” Jessie asked.
“Mahri Rahmati disappeared once before,” Tabby said. “In 1998, a year after she arrived in the States. She reappeared as Mara Ramos, finished her education, and worked as a schoolteacher most of her life. I connected the two identities using facial recognition...among other things. So far I haven’t linked her to a terrorist organization, but I’m looking hard.”
Bran scrubbed a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “We won’t let her run. We’ll figure something out.”
“I’ll keep you posted.” Tabby hung up the phone.
“What are we going to do?” Jessie asked. “If we tell the army, they’ll step in and we’ll be out. No access. No answers. People will still be trying to kill us, still trying to stop our investigation. If we don’t come forward, we could be responsible for a terror attack.”
“If we go to the army, we’ll be out, all right—or in jail. Tabby didn’t get that intel off Facebook.”
“We have to do something. We don’t have any choice.”
“Oh, we’re going to do something. We’re going to talk to Mara Ramos. Now. Tonight.”
Grabbing his phone, he punched Hunt Brady’s number. “Sorry to call so late, but we just got intel on Mara Ramos. Her real name’s Mahri Rahmati. She’s Yemeni, here illegally. Her cover’s deep. Very good chance she’s involved in terrorism.”
“Terrorism? What the fuck, Bran?”
“Long story. Some of it’s classified. I’ll tell you what I can when I see you.” He stood up from the sofa, the phone still pressed to his ear. “I’m on my way to talk to Ramos, but I’m going to need backup.”
