“Don’t worry, Sebastian.” Cam smacked him on the back. “This will all look better for you when you make your confession.”
After a few informative hours at Martha’s town house where Sebastian spilled his guts on video, Cam wiped Casey’s phone clean and handed it to Sebastian.
“No tricks.”
“Tricks? I don’t have any tricks. I just want this to be over. I never imagined Ben would be planning a terrorist attack on our soil.”
“So, it’s okay on someone else’s soil?” Martha yanked her coat from a hook by the door. “Your actions endangered so many lives.”
“I didn’t think.”
“For a smart guy like you, that’s quite an admission.” Cam shoved his gun in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
With Sebastian in the back seat and Cam in the passenger seat beside her, Martha drove to the St. Regis near the Mall. “I guess he wanted to stay close to the site of his attack.”
A valet took Martha’s car, but they walked around to a side entrance. Their whole plan would blow up in their faces if Ben or Farah saw them in the lobby of the hotel.
They slipped through a side door and once inside, Cam prodded Sebastian in front of him until they reached an empty hallway leading to some restrooms. He slammed Casey’s phone against Sebastian’s chest. “Send the text.”
He watched over Sebastian’s shoulder as he texted the words, I’m here. Cam could read those words clear as day.
Less than a minute later, Ben called Sebastian on his own phone. Cam bent close to Sebastian’s ear so he could hear the conversation.
“Where are you?”
“Lobby.”
“I’m on the tenth floor. On one end of that floor, around the corner from the elevators, there’s an alcove with vending and ice machines. Meet me there, hand over the phone and take your money. We’re done.”
“Will you be contacting me for further assignments?”
“We’re done.”
Ben ended the call.
Cam held out his hand. “I’ll take that.”
Sebastian dropped his phone into Cam’s palm. “I just hope he doesn’t call me again on my phone.”
“Why would he?” He slipped Casey’s phone into Sebastian’s front pocket. “If you use that phone to double-cross me, I’ll make sure I kill you both.”
A bead of sweat ran down the side of Sebastian’s face. “I’ll follow the plan.”
Cam turned to Martha. “As soon as I give you the signal from the stairwell, you text Farah and tell her to get out of that room as soon as she can. Once she’s safe, call that number I gave you for the FBI. I’ll surprise Ben in the vending room.”
“Be careful.” Martha grabbed his hand and pressed her lips against his cheekbone. “I may be losing you in a week, but I’m not going to lose you forever.”
“I’m not gonna let that happen. Who’s going to help me read my texts?” He kissed her mouth as Sebastian watched their exchange with round eyes.
“And you.” He poked his finger in Sebastian’s chest. “Give us a few minutes to climb ten flights of stairs before you even punch that elevator button.”
“Got it.”
They edged around the corner of the hallway and started to cross the lobby for the bank of elevators and the stairwell across from it. Their path took them past the crowded lobby bar.
“Martha?”
The voice sent a surge of adrenaline through Cam’s veins, and he spun around. He made a grab for Martha’s hand, but Farah had moved between them.
His gaze met Ben’s above the women’s heads, and his gut twisted.
Sebastian made a strange gulping sound beside him.
“Go, Martha!” His shout barely made it above the music and conversation spilling out of the bar. He’d reacted too late, anyway.
Ben had Martha’s arm and was pulling her back toward him.
Farah’s dark eyebrows formed a V over her nose. “What’s going on? What are you doing here? Sebastian? What are you doing here?”
Cam saw the flash of the blade in Ben’s hand as he pressed it against Martha’s side.
“Now I have a bigger prize.” Ben smiled through his words as if they were all part of the convivial bar scene behind them.
“I—I don’t understand.” Farah’s head was snapping back and forth between Ben and Martha, and Cam and Sebastian.
Cam took Farah’s hand and pulled her toward him. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe?” Farah sobbed and stretched her hand out. “Martha?”
Martha drew back her shoulders and straightened her spine, standing taller than the man who held her at knifepoint. “The man you know as Scott is planning a terrorist attack.”
“No, I...”
“Shh.” Ben put his finger to his lips. “Quiet, Farah, unless you want to see your friend hurt. I at least had some feelings for you. Her? I don’t care about her at all.”
Farah’s shoulders slumped and she dropped her head.
Cam pulled Farah behind him. “What are you going to do with Martha?”
“Just like Farah, Martha stays with me until I can conduct my business tomorrow.”
Cam ground his words through his teeth. “Your business is terror, mayhem, murder of innocents.”
“So is yours, Sergeant Sutton.”
A lash of heat whipped through Cam’s body, and he curled his fists. “You’ll have to kill all of us to carry out your plan. We all know.”
“I think I just need Martha. Do you want to see her die right here and now to save a bunch of strangers on the Mall tomorrow? And how do you know I don’t have others to take my place?”
“Oh, we’ll be prepared for you and others like you. Planning a truck or van attack, aren’t you? Planning to mow down some civilians? Once I outline your plans to the FBI and DC Metro Police, they’ll be ready for you.”
That got him.
Ben’s eyes, which had been focused on Cam the entire time, widened, and his arm slipped an inch from Martha’s waist.
Cam would have to act here and now in the hotel lobby. He’d never allow this man to take Martha away from him—not now, not ever.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he sensed movement behind him from Sebastian, who’d remained speechless and frozen up until this point.
Sebastian took a deep breath and shouted. “Help! Help!”
Ben’s head jerked up, and Martha wrenched away from him, creating just enough space for Cam to make a move.
Cam lunged forward and grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the knife, and twisted. A woman in the bar screamed.
Ben made a thrusting motion to the side, and Cam slammed his body against Ben’s, knocking him over, his hand still grappling for the knife.
They landed with a thud, and people began shouting around them. Hands grabbed at the back of Cam’s jacket as moisture began seeping into the front of his shirt.
Ben released the knife, and Cam found himself in sole possession of it. He pushed himself off Ben, and the wound beneath Ben’s heart began gushing blood.
“Cam?” Martha dropped to the floor, her hand on the back of his neck.
“I’m fine. It’s not me.” Cam looked into the dying man’s eyes and grabbed the front of his shirt. “Not yet, you bastard. Who sent you? Why’d you set up Denver?”
A trickle of blood seeped from Ben’s mouth as his lips curled into a smile.
Epilogue
Martha stretched out on the huge bed in the penthouse suite of the St. Regis and curled her toes. “It’s a shame we have this big bed and end up crowding together in one corner of it every night.”
“A shame?” Cam grabbed her foot and kissed her arch. “We can just crowd together on another corner of the bed if you want to make good use of it.”
She sat up and wrapped her arm
s around Cam, burying her head against his chest. “Promise me you’ll come back to me safe and sound after this deployment.”
“That’s the easy part.” He ran his knuckles down her spine. “Promise me you won’t engage in any more illegal activities.”
“I’m done breaking bad, as Sebastian put it, although he’s the one who’s going to be spending time in federal prison.”
“His actions after we confronted him went a long way toward reducing his sentence.”
“And his sheer cowardice when he screamed and started scrambling for his own safety allowed you to take down Ben.” Martha suppressed a shiver. “I can’t believe we wound up uncovering a terrorist attack. He had the van already rented and everything. There would’ve been plenty of people on the Mall the day before Thanksgiving.”
Cam’s muscles tensed beneath her touch. “He died before I could get any answers out of him, although we know he killed Tony and Casey and made sure Casey got together with Wentworth to get info from him about Denver.”
“He must’ve killed Wentworth too after Casey got the info about Denver out of him, even though the authorities are still calling Wentworth’s death a heart attack. Maybe they’ll take a second look at that now that Interpol identified him as Alain Dumont, a Frenchman of Algerian descent, a man involved in petty crimes but with no known terrorist ties...but we know he’s not working alone.”
She rubbed his back. “His involvement with the emails is forcing the CIA to take a closer look at the evidence against Major Denver.”
“A closer look is not clearing him.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed away from him. “If you say he’s innocent, I believe you and others will, too.”
“Even Asher, one of our own teammates...” He shook his head. “I don’t want to get into all that when we have just a few days left together. How’s Farah holding up?”
“She’s fine. Feels humiliated, but maybe this whole thing cured her of her propensity for unavailable men.”
“No way she’s going to top that guy for unavailability.” Cam ran his hand up her thigh. “And you? Looks like you wound up with someone unavailable yourself.”
“I’m willing to wait.”
“Good, because I fell in love with the smartest girl in class, and I’m not about to let her slip through my hands.” He scooped her into his lap and tore off her robe.
“Oh, I like where this is going, D-Boy.” She reached for her glasses, and he grabbed her hand.
“Nope, I wanna make love to you wearing nothing but your glasses.”
And then he did and the sparks flew.
* * * * *
Look for the next book in
award-winning author Carol Ericson’s new
Red, White and Built: Pumped Up miniseries,
Delta Force Daddy, available next month.
And don’t miss the titles in her Red, White and Built miniseries, which introduced us to some sexy, powerful Navy SEALs:
Locked, Loaded and SEALed
Alpha Bravo SEAL
Bullseye: SEAL
Point Blank SEAL
Secured by the SEAL
Bulletproof SEAL
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Hide the Child
by Janice Kay Johnson
Prologue
Squeezed into the tiniest space, Chloe tried not to look through the narrow crack where the cupboard door hadn’t completely closed, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Daddy was lying there right in front of her. All she had to do was crawl out and—No, no! Mommy said she had to stay here and not make a sound. Not even a teensy sound. Mommy said to wait, no matter what she heard or saw.
But she could see Daddy’s face, and the face of the man who bent over him, too. Except... No! Mommy said.
Hugging her knees to squeeze herself into the smallest ball possible, Chloe closed her eyes. Tears wet her cheeks and she could taste them. She shuddered, trying to hold back a sob.
“Shh. Stay right there,” Mommy had whispered. “Don’t move a finger or make a sound. No matter what. Do you understand?”
She didn’t understand at all, but she was scared, and she was almost doing what Mommy said, even when tears dripped off her chin onto her bare arms. Chloe peeked. Daddy’s eyes were open, but she could tell he didn’t see her. Or anything.
Now she couldn’t see anybody else, but she heard the man talking. There weren’t any other voices, but she didn’t move. She didn’t whimper, even when the house became quiet and stayed quiet for a long time. She had to wait until Mommy came or Daddy woke up.
She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, even when different people came. They all had the same color of blue pants. Now she saw a man crouching beside Daddy, and even though she didn’t move, she didn’t, he lifted his head and saw her.
Her teeth chattered and she shook all over, but he stepped right over Daddy and opened the cupboard door all the way. He bent low, his face nice, and held out a hand.
“You’re safe now, honey. I promise.”
As he reached for her, the sob burst out, but not another sound.
Mommy said.
Chapter One
“Shall we leave the frosting white?” Trina Marr had already mixed up a cream cheese icing to go on the cupcakes cooling on a rack. “I might have some sprinkles. Or let’s see.” Being obsessive-compulsive neat, she knew right where she kept the small bottles of food coloring. “Green? Red? Or if we use just a tiny bit, pink?”
The little girl looking up at her nodded vigorously. The pigtails she’d started the day with sagged crookedly.
“Pink?”
Another nod.
Trina had become accustomed to the lack of verbal response. As Dr. Katrina Marr, she specialized in working with traumatized children. Three-year-old Chloe Keif had started as a patient but was now her foster daughter. Chloe still wouldn’t talk, but she relaxed with Trina as she didn’t with anyone else. She’d remained stiff and unresponsive in the receiving home where she was first placed. An aunt and grandparents both were hesitant to take Chloe when she had such problems. Offering to foster had seemed a natural step for Trina, if a first for her.
“Ooh,” she said now. “You know what we could put on top?”
Chloe waited, bright-e
yed and expectant.
Trina rose onto tiptoes to reach a jar in a high cupboard. “Maraschino cherries. Have you ever had one?”
A suspicious shake of the head.
“They’re super sweet, like candy. The flavor just bursts in your mouth when you bite into one.” Trina wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell anybody, but every once in a while when I’m feeling mad or sad, I open a jar and eat every single cherry.” She winked. “Which makes me sick to my stomach, but I don’t care.”
Chloe laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with astonishment and...fear? Yes.
It was the first sound to come out of her mouth in the two weeks Trina had known her. She crouched and tickled Chloe’s tummy. “It’s okay, cupcake.”
That almost earned her another smile.
“It was really smart of you to stay quiet when the bad men were in your house, but you’re safe now. Anytime you’re ready, you can start talking. You can make all kinds of noises.” She blew a noisy raspberry. Neighed, like a horse. Revved, like a motorcycle engine.
And Chloe giggled again.
Heart feeling as light as a helium balloon, Trina swung Chloe up to sit on the kitchen counter. “Here, try your first maraschino cherry.” She opened the jar, stuck a fork in and popped one into her own mouth. “Yum.” She offered the next one to the little girl, who sniffed it cautiously, then touched the tip of her tongue to the cherry.
Chloe’s face worked as she savored the taste before she opened her mouth and snatched the cherry off the fork.
Trina waited for the verdict.
“Yum!”
Trina grinned and said, “Then let’s make our frosting pink.” Her mouth fell open. “Wait. You talked.”
Chloe’s freckled nose crinkled mischievously.
Laughing exultantly, Trina swung her to the stool she’d pulled up to the counter. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
The little girl nodded. It was all Trina could do to concentrate on how many drops of red food coloring she ought to add to the bowl of icing to turn it a pretty pink.
Her delight was quickly dampened by the sobering knowledge that once Chloe really began to talk the police would be ready to pounce.
Delta Force Defender Page 18
