“Let’s be thankful there weren’t more rosebushes in there.”
“There were enough.” Joe held out his arm where a hodgepodge of gauze patches created a pattern on his skin.
She kissed her fingertips and pressed them against the biggest gauze square. “Did the police talk to you yet?”
“They did, and Agent Porter is on his way.” He scooted his chair closer to the bed. “Turns out Ayala must’ve gotten a C in bomb-making class.”
“I don’t know.” Hailey folded over the edge of the sheet and creased it with her fingers. “That sounded like an A-plus effort to me.”
“She didn’t use enough chemicals to take down the house, but we definitely would’ve been severely injured if we’d stepped across that threshold.”
“My purse set it off, didn’t it?”
“I saw the wire inside the house at about the same time you moved forward and swung your purse in the doorway.”
“You saved us again. If you hadn’t seen the wire, hadn’t suspected Ayala of setting us up, the EMTs would’ve been picking up our body parts from that front garden.” She covered her eyes with one hand. “It felt like...felt like...”
“What you experienced at the refugee camp.” Joe smoothed his hand over her leg beneath the sheet.
“Only that was much worse. There was shrapnel with that one, horrible, horrible injuries. How could a nurse perpetuate that kind of violence?”
“Something else is more important to her now. If a few children have to die for the greater good, she’s down with that.”
“Exactly.” Agent Porter tapped on the open door. “We’re looking into Ayala Khan’s brother and her boyfriend.”
“Agent Porter, this is Joe McVie.”
Porter stepped into the room, his large frame making it appear even smaller, and extended his hand to Joe. “I know all about Captain McVie, Delta Force. You’ve been busy on your leave, Captain.”
“Call me Joe. I feel like we’re old friends.”
Porter drew up a chair on the other side of Hailey’s bed. “Are you okay, Hailey? You’ve been through the wringer since...Joe showed up, haven’t you?”
“You think I’m a target because of Joe?” She struggled to sit up, punching a pillow behind her. “If you’re going to blame anyone, outside of the real culprits, blame Marten de Becker...and help him. He’s still alive.”
“So is Andrew Reese.”
“Thank God. Is he talking?”
“I got nothing from the CIA except Reese took a beating and refused to finger his assailants.”
“Unlike me.”
Crossing his arms, Joe extended his legs beneath Hailey’s bed. “What are you doing about Ayala Khan?”
“We have her on the terrorist watch list, the no-fly, and we’ve contacted Interpol. Everything we can do.”
“Is the CIA ready to admit Major Denver didn’t have anything to do with the bomb in Syria?”
“Hold on.” Porter held out a hand. “All we know is some group is targeting the relief workers who were kidnapped. We don’t know why. Maybe they think they can ID their captors.”
Joe snorted. “I don’t think some random terrorists in Syria would be too worried about that. The connection is the ID of Major Denver and the fact that Marten de Becker, who had positively identified Denver as one of the kidnappers, decided to change his mind.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions, McVie.”
“Are you forgetting what my Delta Force teammates discovered? The original emails implicating Denver were fake, and the claim that Denver shot an Army Ranger when he went AWOL was force-fed to Asher Knight through mind control.” Joe bunched his hands into fists and shoved them into his pockets.
“I heard some of that.”
“Those claims that Major Denver kidnapped the aid workers and planted the bomb for their car to take back to the refugee center are also false. This is one big setup.”
“I’m not here to get into that with you, McVie. I’m here to make sure Hailey is okay—” Porter flashed his teeth at Hailey “—and to glean any more information she might have about Ayala Khan.”
“It sounds like you already know more about her than I do.” Hailey took a sip from her water cup beside the bed. “I didn’t know about any boyfriend, and I had no idea her brother had links to any terrorist organizations.”
Joe hunched forward, elbows on knees, and asked, “Do you know anything about a boyfriend or fiancé?”
“Nothing yet. How do you know she has one?” Porter’s eyebrows collided over his nose.
“How do you know that?” Hailey grabbed a napkin to dab at the water she’d spilled on the front of her hospital gown.
“I’m just guessing, because she wears a ring on her left ring finger.” Joe shrugged. “A lot of times women get lured into these causes with some misplaced sense of romanticism.”
“We’ll be looking into any and all of her contacts.”
Joe felt Hailey’s gaze boring into him and glanced up to meet her narrowed eyes. “I—I’m just generalizing. Most women have minds of their own.”
Porter rescued him by asking Hailey another question and then stayed on another twenty minutes, taking notes about what Hailey remembered of Ayala’s day-to-day activities at the camp. Then he tucked his notebook into his breast pocket and pushed up from the chair. “I’m glad neither one of you was seriously injured. You were lucky to have Delta Force on your side when you went back to your house, Hailey.”
“I’ve been lucky to have Joe around on several occasions.” She flicked at the IV running into her arm. “Agent Porter, can Marten come to you with his information?”
“Any of you can come to me at any time. I thought I made that clear in the first set of interviews stateside.” He squinted at her. “Why? Have you had contact with de Becker?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure it’s coming. He’s alive and he wants to stay that way. The only insurance he has is the truth. Once that’s out, there’s not going to be any more reason to silence him.”
Porter lifted his linebacker shoulders. “There’s always payback.”
Hailey’s face drained of color, and Joe jumped from his chair. Pumping Porter’s hand, he said, “Thanks for coming by.”
As Porter reached the door, Hailey called out, “I expect to see you at the fund-raiser tomorrow night, Agent Porter.”
The Fibbie spun around at the door and smacked the wall. “You’re still going through with that?”
“Of course. I wasn’t injured in that blast, and it’s great advertising for what we’re battling out there.”
“If you plan to be there, the SFPD is going to have to ramp up security.”
“I’m counting on it.” She winked at him.
When he left, Hailey sank against her pillows again and closed her eyes.
Joe perched on the edge of her bed and traced a line from her temple to her jaw. “Are you sure you’re up for the gala?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her dark lashes fluttered on her cheekbones. “I have a feeling about tomorrow night.”
“I have feelings about tomorrow night, too, and none of them good.”
“That’s why we have to carry on with our plans. Dark forces are surging in this city, and they’re going to converge at the Pacific Rim tomorrow night. My fortune cookie said so.”
“Whoa, that’s deep.” He pinched her soft earlobe. “Hailey?”
Her breathing had the deep, rhythmic quality of someone in REM, which didn’t surprise him, as some of that juice in her IV was a strong sedative to help her cope with the shock of the explosion.
Joe straightened out her covers, tucking them beneath her chin. He kissed her parted lips and then returned to his sentry position beside her bed.
As he slumped in the chair, stuffing a pillow behind his back, he said, “My fortun
e cookie told me to take a chance on a dark-haired beauty—and am I glad I did.”
* * *
A BRIGHT LIGHT FLASHED. Black smoke curled in the distance. A horrible stench like hellfire permeated the air. And the children screamed. The children screamed.
Hailey shouted and kicked out her limbs.
The side of the bed dipped, and a warm hand clasped hers. A soft touch smoothed the hair back from her forehead.
Her eyelids flew open, and a savior with red hair hovered above her.
“Shh. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital and I’m right here with you.”
And he’d never leave her. Didn’t he say that before? He’d never leave her side again.
She threw her arms around Joe’s neck. “Oh, God. The dreams. The visions.”
“The explosion at your father’s house brought it all back, every wretched detail.” He stroked her glossy hair. “You should see someone, Hailey, a professional.”
“You’re probably right.” She tried to swallow, but with her parched throat, it ended in a cough.
“Here you go.” He handed her the water cup and placed the straw in her mouth. “You seemed to be sleeping soundly before. Do you want the nurse to give you some more sedative?”
“Oh, God, no.” She slurped up every last drop of the water. “That stuff makes me thirsty, and I think it’s partially responsible for giving me hallucinations. What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s five a.m. The gala is tonight, if you’re still game.”
“Damn straight.” She eyed Joe’s tousled hair and scruffy chin. “You’ve spent another night in less-than-ideal conditions, haven’t you? Let’s see—since we’ve met, you’ve spent one night in a park across the street from my house, one night on a too-small couch and now a night cramped in a chair. You need a good night’s sleep in a real bed.”
“I intend to spend a night in a real bed, real soon, but I can do without the sleep.” He quirked his eyebrows up and down at her.
So, he didn’t intend to rush off the minute the danger ended?
“That can definitely be arranged. Now, when can I get out of here?”
“Whenever you like. You’re a VIP, remember? But let’s not take off just yet. There’s a small problem. You can’t stay at the Pacific Heights house.”
“Oh, boy.” She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I need to call my father.”
“He already knows.”
“What?”
“He’s already called the hospital once.” Joe slipped his phone out of his pocket and dropped it on Hailey’s lap. “Do you want to call him? It’s eight o’clock in New York.”
“Might as well get this over with.” She entered her father’s number in Joe’s phone. “He’s not going to answer an unknown number.” To his voice mail, she said, “Dad, it’s Hailey. Everything you heard is true. I’m in the hospital after an explosion at the house. Call me back at this number.”
She ended the call, keeping the phone cupped in her hand. “In five, four, three, two...” Joe’s phone vibrated. “Dad, it’s Hailey.”
“What the hell is going on out there? Why is someone rigging a bomb at the Pacific Heights house?”
“I’m fine, Dad.” She winked at Joe.
“Don’t play that pity card with me. I already know you’re fine. I talked to Dr. Owens for a good twenty minutes. He told me you were in perfect health except for a few bumps and scratches. What he couldn’t tell me is why someone is bombing my house.”
“It has to do with—”
“Don’t tell me. It’s that Syria mess, isn’t it? Give it up, Hailey. You’ve put your life in danger too many times to count. Come back to the fold and get back into the business. Your brother’s a pretty face, but he’s useless on the day to day. I need you.”
“I don’t like the way you do business, remember? And if you haven’t changed your ways, I wouldn’t think you’d want me around to blow the whistle on your unethical practices again.” This time she avoided Joe’s gaze, which she felt burning the side of her face.
Her father harrumphed over the phone. “You think I give a damn about that now? You ratted us out, I paid my fine and it’s over. I’d still rather have a snitch like you around than Win.”
“A snitch?”
“Face it, that’s what you are, Hailey. A snitch and a do-gooder.”
“Someone else I know calls me a do-gooder.”
“Smart man.”
“How do you know it’s a man?” Hailey met Joe’s questioning blue eyes with a smile.
“You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know you? Dr. Owens also informed me that you have some military guy keeping watch over you there like some kind of damn bodyguard. If you’re letting some man that close to you, it means something.”
“It does, Dad.”
“Good. Then get that door repaired once the cops let you back in and keep this military guy close.”
“Oh, I will.” She ended the call and pressed the phone against her heart.
Joe propped on the frame of her bed. “You blew the whistle on your dad’s company?”
“One of them. He was engaging in unfair business practices, bordering on the criminal.”
“Sounds like he still wants you back.”
“I guess things aren’t working out with Win, but what he wants first is for me to repair his house.” She handed the phone back to Joe. “I didn’t even see it. How bad was the damage? I know there was a fire.”
“Your father’s extensive sprinkler system put that out quickly. Like I said, Ayala flunked bomb making. The door landed on the sidewalk, the foyer is scorched, and you and I pretty much destroyed that front garden.”
Hailey snapped her fingers. “All fixable.”
“But not livable. You won’t be able to stay there until the police and the FBI finish their investigation. You’re welcome to stay with me at my hotel in Fisherman’s Wharf. I’ll even buy you another chowder bread bowl.”
“Better yet, you’re welcome to stay with me at my hotel.”
“Your hotel?”
“The Pacific Rim.”
“You mean that place where the forces of evil are converging?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’d be honored.”
* * *
AFTER SHE WAS discharged from the hospital, Hailey used Joe’s cell phone to place a few calls while a car took them to Joe’s hotel to pick up his things.
When they finished at Joe’s hotel, Hailey braced herself to face her father’s house and the damage there. What she faced was yellow police tape ringing the property and a patrol car stationed out front.
The officer got out of his car when she and Joe stepped onto the sidewalk. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Hailey Duvall.” She waved her hand at the house behind her. “This is my father’s house, and I’m just here to pack a bag and take a look at the damage.”
“Just be careful on the porch. The investigators are almost done.”
“Will do.” She kicked Joe’s suitcase on the sidewalk. “Put these in the garage by the Jag. We’ll take the car over to the Pacific Rim.”
Joe wheeled his bag into the garage and parked it at the rear of the Jag. “Ready?”
On shaky legs, Hailey climbed the steps. Joe must’ve sensed her trepidation, as he kept a firm hand at her back.
He pointed into the foliage to the right. “That’s where we landed.”
“Looks painful.”
“It was.” He picked up a chunk of cement on the top step. “Part of the porch.”
“Nice of them to return the door.” Hailey nodded at the scorched and splintered door leaning to the right of the gaping entrance to the house.
Black burn marks smudged the doorjamb and the porch. Evidence of water damage from
the sprinkler system and the fire hoses stained the wood floor in the foyer, and a scorched tapestry decorated the wall.
“I hope that wasn’t expensive.”
“It’s all expensive, but my father has insurance.” Hailey sniffed the air and swallowed. Smell more than anything triggered her memories. She covered her nose and mouth.
“You doing okay?” Joe rubbed a circle on her back.
“Yeah. Let’s get this over with. Can you take some pictures of the damage? I’m going to send them to my dad, and he can forward everything to his insurance company.”
While Joe took out his phone, Hailey glanced around the living room to make sure Ayala hadn’t helped herself to some valuables on her way out.
She caught her breath when she saw the mug with Ayala’s lipstick on the rim. She hadn’t even processed Ayala’s betrayal yet—her betrayal of the people who’d counted on her in the refugee camp, yes. That was stunning. But the personal betrayal from a woman she’d admired and worked beside hadn’t hit home yet. Hailey curled her hands around the sink and leaned forward. Just one in a long line of betrayals from people she trusted.
But not Joe. This whole journey with him hadn’t just been about his dedication to justice for Major Denver, had it? Her involvement had definitely drawn the perpetrators out of the woodwork. If they hadn’t come after her, Joe never would’ve been able to get close to Marten—at least not in the same way—and in her bed, in her heart.
She jumped as he touched her shoulder.
“Do you want to wait in the car? Just give me a list and I can pack up for you.”
Swinging around, she threw herself into his arms. “You would do that, wouldn’t you? For me. Just for me.”
His arms, strong, secure, wrapped around her body. “Don’t ever doubt me, Hailey. I would do anything for you. I’d go to hell and back to protect you, and even though you’re completely out of my league...”
She put two fingers over his lips. “Don’t ever say that again. Money is just money, Joe. It doesn’t buy integrity, loyalty, courage. Hell, it doesn’t even buy class.”
Delta Force Die Hard Page 16
