by Kat Martin
“I’m afraid visiting hours are long over,” said a female staff sergeant named Holmsby. “You’ll have to call in the morning and make arrangements to speak to him.”
Chase fought a surge of frustration. “Would you at least relay the message that his brother Chase is here. Tell him I’ll be back in the morning, accompanied by his attorney.”
She cocked an iron gray eyebrow. Holmsby was a stocky, no-nonsense sort of woman suited perfectly for the job. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” He shouldn’t have been disappointed. He knew how the system worked. Rules were not made to be broken.
They left the base and drove to the Broadmoor. He wished he had better news. He had no idea what sort of relationship Jessie and his brother had, but he had heard the possessive note in Bran’s voice whenever he talked about her.
And Jessie certainly seemed to care about him.
“Beautiful hotel,” Addison remarked as Chase turned into the long, stately drive leading to the impressive front entrance. “I’ve stayed here before.”
“My brother’s tastes have definitely improved since he left the army.”
Addison smiled. “From what I read in his file, he deserves a little luxury.”
Chase thought of the rugged conditions in Afghanistan and other abysmal spots Brandon had been deployed, as well as their recent adventure in the Colombian rain forest. “That’s for sure.”
He pulled up in front of the Broadmoor, a grandiose cluster of pink stucco buildings over a century old. With Maddox there, Jessie should be safe.
But worrying about Bran’s safety until morning was going to make it a long night for everyone.
* * *
Bran lay on the top bunk in his cell on the ground floor of the detention facility. He was alone, which he saw as good news. If someone entered the cell to attack him during the night, he would have more room to maneuver.
His stomach growled, reminding him of his decision to skip the day’s meals. Colonel Kegan’s lunch had been tampered with. Whatever had been in it had made him sick and ultimately gotten him killed.
No way was he taking that chance.
It was quiet along the row of cells. Lights out, the occasional sound of someone shuffling around in the darkness, but nobody talking. He wondered if he’d have a visitor in the night, and if so, which guard had been paid off and how much money it was worth to unlock the door and look the other way. Or maybe there was a way to remotely unlock the cell doors.
The hours slipped past. He dozed with an ear cocked to the slightest disturbance, an art he had perfected. It was a little past three in the morning when he heard it. The soft snick of the lock, the glide of the heavy door sliding open.
His muscles tensed in anticipation as two shadows moved into the cell. One broad and tall, the other leaner, with long bones in his arms and legs. He caught the flash of a blade in the lean man’s hand, but he was ready. He jerked his pillow up as the knife slashed down, felt a sharp sting that was meant to be lethal but dodged the main thrust of the blade. He kicked out at the man’s head, connecting hard enough to send the knife flying and the wiry body crashing into the wall on the opposite side of the cell.
The second man was on him, big and strong, a Janos Petrov look-alike with a shaved head and prison tats on his arms and the back of his hands. Bran came off the top bunk feetfirst, kicking the guy in the face so hard his front teeth jammed all the way into the back of his throat.
The big guy clutched his neck, made a gurgling sound, and lurched forward. Bran elbowed him in the face, smashing his nose, sending a spray of blood into the air.
The wiry man was up, swinging a blow Bran ducked. He took the guy out with a chop to the esophagus, then linked his hands and brought both fists down on the top of his attacker’s head, driving him into the floor face-first. He lay there unconscious.
The big guy swung a punch, but he was disoriented and badly injured, his broken nose affecting his vision. Bran punched him in the face, elbowed him, kneed him, and he went down. He didn’t get up.
Stepping over both men, he walked out of the cell, making his way to the guard station. He was bleeding a little, not too badly. In the guardroom, two men sat behind the glass, watching a pair of screens. Another guard, a woman, stood at the far end of the room. With any luck, they weren’t all being paid to look the other way while someone killed him.
The guards raced toward the glass door as he approached.
“I need to speak to Colonel William Larkin, head of Criminal Investigations. You’ve got two inmates down in my cell. They need medical attention. They were paid to kill me, so I think you had better make that call.”
His instincts said Larkin was a straight shooter. A little too by the book, but a man who believed in the law.
The female guard hurriedly picked up the phone while the other two guards sprang into action. The glass door slid open, one of the men grabbed him, spun him around, and snapped on a pair of cuffs.
A medic appeared to apply first aid to the slice in his shoulder, while two more raced back to the injured men in his cell. Then the female guard and one of the men led him down the corridor into a windowless interrogation room.
Better there, he thought, than back in the cell.
Or at least Bran hoped so.
Now he just prayed one of them had actually made the call.
* * *
It was four thirty in the morning when Jessie’s cell rang, sending a stab of terror straight to the heart. Her hand shook as she grabbed the phone from the nightstand. Hearing the ring, Chase knocked, then opened the bedroom door. Hawk appeared in the doorway beside him.
“This...this is Jessica Kegan.” Since she was sharing the suite with two men, she had slept in her yoga pants and a Denver Broncos T-shirt.
“Jessie, it’s Thomas Anson. There’s been an incident at the detention facility.”
She clamped down on a fresh rush of terror, saw the same fear reflected in Chase’s whiskey-brown eyes. “Is...is Brandon all right?”
“Colonel Larkin phoned. Brandon was attacked in his cell, Jessie, just as you were afraid he would be.”
“Oh, God.”
“He’s all right, Jess. The two inmates he fought with fared much worse. They’re in serious condition in the infirmary. The good news is what happened was enough to convince Larkin to take a look at whatever information the two of you can assemble. In the meantime, he’s releasing Brandon into your custody. Apparently he feels that if anyone can keep him in line, it’s you.”
Relief made her muscles go limp and her eyes burn. She was glad she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She covered the phone. “He’s okay,” she said, and both Chase and Maddox looked relieved.
Jessie brushed a tear from her cheek. “Thank the colonel for me.”
“You can pick him up anytime after 8:00 a.m.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
“Also...I should know about the exhumation sometime early tomorrow. I’ll call as soon as I have the information.” The line went dead, and Jessie looked over at the men waiting to hear the news.
“That was my father’s military counsel, Thomas Anson. He says they’re releasing Bran this morning. Two men attacked him in his cell. Apparently Bran defended himself with enough vigor to put them in the hospital in serious condition.”
Chase released a sigh of relief. “Maybe now we can actually get some sleep.”
Maddox chuckled. “Your turn on the sofa.”
They were taking turns keeping watch over her, she realized. “I haven’t thanked you both for coming all the way out here.”
“You don’t have to thank us,” Chase said. “Looking out for each other is what we do. Get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night, Jessie,” Maddox said.
“Good night, Hawk.�
�
She remembered meeting him that first day in Dallas, a big man, muscular and handsome, with thick dark brown hair cut short, and blue eyes. He was a bounty hunter, Bran had told her. He’d also said Maddox was former marine spec ops and could do just about anything.
Her stomach contracted as she recalled the events of last night. Maddox had arrived at the hotel just after dark and taken up his duties as her protector. Chase, tall and athletically built, with dark gold hair and a short-cropped beard along a hard jaw, had shown up an hour later.
He’d brought an attorney named Russell Addison, a man in his midforties with slightly receding straw-colored hair. Addison had spent the night in a hotel room down the hall while Hawk and Chase had slept in the living room of the suite.
Maddox had talked about the woman he was going to marry in just a few weeks. “I think you’d like her. Kate’s smart and she’s fun. And I know she’d like you.”
Jessie smiled. “You like her so I know I’ll like her.” She could tell he was deeply in love. And Chase had a wife he adored.
Jessie was surprised to feel a stab of envy. She had never come close to a permanent relationship, never felt the kind of connection that would last a lifetime.
An image of Bran Garrett rose in her head. Handsome, intelligent, the sexiest man she had ever met. A man she trusted with her life on a daily basis. She was in love with him. Deeply in love. Whatever happened, she would never regret the time she had spent with him.
She had no idea what Brandon felt for her, but even if he loved her, there was no way she could handle the kind of life he lived. A warrior who survived on the edge, Bran stared danger in the face every day and never backed down. He’d been locked in a cell where he could have died. The thought of losing him was enough to make her physically ill.
It was ten minutes to eight as Jessie stood next to Hawk Maddox in the waiting area at the front of the detention facility. He was acting as her protector again, while Chase and Russell Addison were handling the last of the paperwork for Bran’s release.
She couldn’t help thinking about the violence Bran had used against his attackers last night. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t see it as anything other than justified. Two men had died in that prison. If Bran hadn’t fought for his life, he would have been the third.
“There he is,” Hawk said.
Jessie’s heart squeezed as Bran appeared in the doorway and started walking toward her, his brother and the attorney at his side.
His eyes found hers and didn’t look away. Then she was in his arms and he was holding her like he would never let her go.
“Jessie...baby...”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I was so worried.” She hugged his neck and fought not to cry. Bran was safe. That was all that mattered.
He held her close a few moments more, then pulled away and flashed one of his heart-stopping smiles. “I understand I’m in your custody until this is over.”
She smiled back. “So I’m told.”
He leaned down and whispered, “So maybe handcuffs this time? Might be more appropriate.”
Jessie laughed. But the handcuffs reminded her of Ray Cummings and being held captive. Cummings was still out there. Some of her buoyant mood faded.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bran said, sensing the change in her as he always seemed to.
They headed outside, into a November day that was dark and gloomy, the temperature in the thirties as they climbed into Chase’s Lincoln sedan for the ride back to the Broadmoor, stopping briefly at the armory to pick up Bran’s Glock.
They had breakfast in the Lake Terrace Dining Room at the hotel to celebrate Brandon’s release: eggs Benedict for her and Chase, pancakes and bacon for Hawk and Bran, and an omelet for the attorney. During the meal, they discussed what could happen next.
“Doesn’t look like Brandon’s going to be needing your legal services, Russell,” Chase said, taking a sip of the aromatic coffee.
“Thank God for that,” Jessie said.
“I can stay till things get sorted,” Maddox offered, shoveling in a mouthful of pancakes. “Now that Bran’s out of jail, the two of us ought to be able to handle things.”
Chase had an office to run and a wife waiting at home. But the closer they got to catching the thieves who’d stolen the munitions, the more dangerous it was going to get.
“Bran?” Chase asked.
“If Maddox stays, we’ll have it covered.” He crunched a piece of bacon and winked at Jessie. “Right, Deputy Kegan?”
Jessie laughed. “We’ll be fine.”
They were just finishing the meal when her cell phone pinged and Thomas Anson’s text appeared on the screen.
Her heart lurched. The exhumation of her father’s body was scheduled for one o’clock that afternoon.
THIRTY-FIVE
A bitter wind slashed the air and dark clouds loomed over the lawns of the Pike’s Peak National Cemetery. Snowcapped mountains rose in the distance, American flags snapped along the roadsides, but all Jessie saw was the sea of headstones in meticulous rows, one after another, hundreds of them. Standing between Hawk and Brandon, Jessie felt cold to the bone.
She watched as a cable at the end of a forklift raised her father’s casket out of the ground, then turned and set it on the back of a flatbed truck.
Men tossed straps over the coffin to secure it for the fifteen-mile drive back to the medical examiner’s office at Fort Carson. After the attack on Bran last night, Colonel Larkin had made the autopsy a priority. The ME would begin his examination that afternoon.
The wind stung her eyes, and Jessie wiped tears from her cheeks. She had known this would be hard, but she hadn’t expected to feel the devastating loss of her father just as fiercely as she had the first time.
Her lips trembled. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I wouldn’t disturb you if I weren’t sure this is what you would want me to do.” Her throat closed up. Her father had only been gone a few months. Part of her still couldn’t believe it. “I won’t let you down, Dad. I swear it.”
Bran squeezed her hand and drew her against his side, steadying her. She took a deep breath, some of her composure returning. As she watched the flatbed drive away, she prayed the autopsy would give them the evidence they needed to prove her father had been murdered.
Then the CID would be forced to look into her accusations that Weaver, the Aryan Brotherhood, and Chemical Material Activities director General Samuel Holloway were connected. Maybe they could find a link to the money from the auction, follow it straight to Holloway’s front door.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go.” Bran’s arm went around her shoulders as he urged her back to the Cherokee. Maddox slid in behind the wheel, Bran helped Jessie into the passenger seat, and climbed into the backseat behind her.
No one spoke as they drove back to the hotel. Until they had the evidence they needed, there was nothing to say.
Jessie refused to consider the possibility the autopsy would come up with nothing. Agent Tripp had ordered the Division of Forensic Toxicology to run a new tox screen for various poisons, including aconite, that could simulate a heart attack.
Before they had left the hotel, Jessie had looked it up on the internet, a poisonous tree plant that was sometimes called wolfsbane, monkshood, or devil’s helmet. According to Tripp, the ME would be testing for similar poisons, as well as examining the contents of her father’s stomach.
By the end of the day or tomorrow at the latest, they should have news.
* * *
“Would you please sit down?” Hawk grumbled at Bran from his place in an overstuffed chair. “You’re wearing a hole in the carpet.”
Bran blew out a frustrated breath. “I was hoping we’d get the report back by now.” He flopped down on the sofa next to Jessie. He wasn’t a patient man—except on a mission when a silent vigil cou
ld last for hours. Then patience could mean the difference between success or failure, even life or death.
“Nothing ever happens that fast in the military,” Jessie said. “You ought to know that by now.”
“Unfortunately,” Bran grumbled.
“I’m starving,” Maddox said. “Why don’t we order something to eat?”
“Now there’s a good idea,” Bran said.
“You two are always hungry,” Jessie teased, smiling.
Bran cast her a heated glance she correctly interpreted as true, but in my case, not necessarily for food. He grinned when she flushed. At least she was still thinking about sex. F-ing Ray Cummings hadn’t screwed things up completely.
And Bran had enough self-confidence to figure he could make things right again with just a little more effort on his part. He smiled, the sultry look Jessie tossed his way making him even more certain.
Maddox grabbed the room service menu from the desk. He took a quick look, then handed it to Jessie. “Fried chicken for me. What’s everybody else want?”
She opened it and held it for both of them to read, but just then Bran’s phone rang. He reached over and snatched it off the mahogany coffee table, checked the screen and recognized the contact name.
Bran pressed the phone against his ear. “Sir.”
“Captain Garrett, this is Colonel Bryson.”
Old habits had him snapping to attention, squaring his shoulders and sitting up straighter on the sofa. “Colonel.”
“I have news. I can’t tell you everything, but I’ll tell you as much as I can. After our conversation, I spoke to Lieutenant General David Tanaka, director of Special Operations/Counterterrorism Strategic Operational Planning. According to the general, your information was correct. In an effort to gain power in Yemen, a group of rebels backed by Iran began an assault using chemical weapons against Yemeni civilians. Fortunately, we arrived in time to stop a full-scale attack and destroy what remained of the weapons, keeping the number of casualties to a minimum.”
