by Paula Graves
Connor was the one who finally broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence. “Why did Quinn send you and not Maddox Heller?”
“Heller is on another assignment. Besides, he’s our tactics and training guy. Foreign relations and diplomacy are my areas of expertise,” she answered with a smoothness born of years in embassies and consulates around the world, dealing with people even more suspicious than the pair sitting in matching armchairs in front of her. “Quinn suspects, and I concur, that whatever trouble you’ve become embroiled in probably has its basis in a foreign threat.”
“Probably,” Risa murmured.
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t consider other possibilities, however.” Cameron knew that in a government of a country the size of the US, corruption was inevitable. And the higher the stakes, the greater the risks—and rewards—of playing dirty.
She was doing a little investigation into the Cincinnati situation herself, from a different direction. But that wasn’t something Risa and Connor McGinnis needed to know, for the moment at least.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Or I can probably brew a cup of tea.” Risa stood, color rising in her cheeks as if she had suddenly realized she was being a bad hostess. Cameron nearly smiled, recognizing the inbred guilt of a fellow Southerner caught in a moment of bad manners.
“Coffee would be lovely,” she said with a smile, belatedly observing the proprieties. “One sugar and a splash of milk if you have it.”
While Risa disappeared into the kitchen, Connor leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “What kind of game is Quinn playing here?”
“I don’t think he is,” she answered, keeping her voice down as well. “He seems to sincerely want to help your wife uncover and eliminate the threats that drove her to fake her own death.”
“Does he have any idea what Martin Dalrymple was trying to uncover in Cincinnati?”
“Beyond the stated desire to stop a terrorist attack? No.”
“Not as far as you know,” Connor corrected.
Cameron inclined her head in agreement. They both knew that Quinn might have motives on his own that he wasn’t willing to share with others. “Not as far as I know.”
“What about you? Any thoughts on what Risa’s actually up against?”
Rather than reply to a question to which she had no good answer, she smiled at Connor. “We’ll get to that when your lovely wife returns. Meanwhile, I’ve brought supplies for you—groceries, for the most part, and a few first aid supplies and other things you might need. They’re in my car in the backseat.” She handed him her key fob and nodded toward the door.
His eyebrows arching, Connor took the key fob and headed out the door, just as footsteps coming down the hall signaled the return of his wife.
Risa entered the room with a tray on which sat two steaming cups of coffee. She paused a moment when she saw that Connor wasn’t there.
“He’s gone outside to fetch some supplies I brought,” Cameron explained with a smile. “He’ll be right back.”
Risa set the tray on the coffee table in front of Cameron, sliding one of the cups toward her. She set the other one in front of the chair Connor had vacated. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met before, have we?” she asked, her tone polite.
Cameron smiled. “No, I believe our paths never crossed during my time in the Foreign Service. But you spent a bit of time in Tablis, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Risa settled in her chair, one hand smoothing over her round belly. Cameron tried not to let her gaze linger, but emotion overcame her wisdom for a brief moment, allowing her to look a bit longer than she should, her imagination conjuring up the phantom of an old dream. Motherhood. Marriage. Two things she’d once desired with great intensity.
Two things she no longer considered an option.
“I discussed the matter of your pregnancy with Quinn and Heller,” she said aloud, dragging her gaze back up to Risa’s face. “We have access to an obstetrician in Lexington who has been vetted and cleared to handle sensitive cases. Our company will cover your medical costs if you need treatment before we figure out how to neutralize the threats against you.”
“That’s very generous.”
Cameron smiled. “Your husband is a valued member of our company. Technically, you’d be covered under his insurance policy anyway. We’re just cutting through the red tape.”
The door opened and Connor entered carrying two large canvas bags full of groceries. He angled a quick look at Risa. “She brought more ice cream. Including Rocky Road.”
“Put it in the freezer before it melts,” Cameron suggested.
Connor sighed and headed for the kitchen.
“My sister craved ice cream when she was pregnant. I told her she was a walking cliché, which didn’t amuse her.” Cameron laughed. “But I thought even if your cravings were different, everybody likes ice cream. So I bought three flavors. I take it you like Rocky Road?”
“Who doesn’t?” Risa offered the first genuine smile Cameron had seen since her arrival at the safe house. “Thank you.”
“This is all very polite and civilized,” Connor interrupted, returning from the kitchen, “but I’d like to know how long we’re supposed to hide here in the mountains. Shouldn’t we be doing something constructive?”
“Such as?” Cameron asked.
“Maybe someone should go have a talk with Risa’s boss at the restaurant in Cincy. Find out why he thought it was okay to let a stranger in her apartment to have a look around.”
“Someone is,” Cameron said, leaving it at that.
“Farid is a chameleon,” Risa said with a grimace. “He’s not really religious at all, but he plays the game around some of the true believers so that his business doesn’t suffer. With others, he’s about as American as they come. He’s happy to bow to the tribal pecking order if he thinks it’ll win him some approval, but I don’t think he’d have been helping that man find me if he thought it was about a terrorist attack.”
“So you don’t think he’s driven by any religious or political beliefs?” Cameron asked.
“He believes in money and power. Period.” Risa sighed. “Although, in truth, that’s what most of the brains behind al Adar believe in, too. They’re not like ISIS, trying to establish a worldwide caliphate. Al Adar uses people’s beliefs to manipulate them, but it’s not about religion for them. It’s about getting control over Kaziristan’s oil and mineral resources.”
“So Farid could be aligned with al Adar?”
Risa thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. The kind of power he wants is much smaller in scale. He likes being the top dog at the restaurant, but I don’t think he’d appreciate the responsibilities of being the top dog in a bigger organization. When someone of real power or import comes into the restaurant, Farid’s quick to curry favor. That’s not the way of al Adar.”
“What about other people in the community? Did you have much interaction with them?”
“Ninety-nine percent of the Kaziris living in Cincinnati are wonderful people. Devout, peaceful people who are horrified by what radicals do in their name.”
“We know that,” Cameron assured her. “But the one percent—”
“Can do a lot of damage,” Risa finished for her. “I know.”
“Is it possible that the threat against Risa has nothing to do with any of the terrorist groups normally associated with the Middle East and Central Asia?” Connor asked.
“What do you have in mind?” Cameron asked.
He looked at her, wariness in his blue eyes. Analysis wasn’t Connor McGinnis’s area of expertise, Cameron knew. He’d joined Campbell Cove Security as an expert in weapons and tactics.
But he would never have been on the company’s radar if he hadn’t also possessed the intelligence to
make smart choices and work out tricky puzzles. Quinn, Heller and Cameron had been tasked with hiring only the best people. They’d taken that calling to heart.
“I’m wondering if there could be another reason why someone wants Risa dead.”
“Such as?” Cameron directed the question to Risa.
“I was involved in several delicate operations,” Risa admitted, looking uncomfortable. “Some of which are still classified and I can’t really talk about.”
“Was your cover ever blown?”
“Not that I know of, but maybe it happened without my realizing it. Or maybe someone in the government has loose lips. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“What was your role in these operations? Were they personal?”
“Do you mean was I a honey trap?” Risa glanced at Connor, as if gauging his reaction. “Early in my career, yes. A couple of times. But not for the past few years.”
“So a man you...charmed as a part of your job isn’t likely to be the one who put a hit out on you?”
“No,” Risa said firmly. “I know the results of both of those operations, and the men involved aren’t in any position to seek revenge.”
Connor’s eyes slanted toward his wife, but he didn’t speak.
“So you tell me then, Risa. Who would want you dead badly enough to kill over two hundred innocent people to make it happen?”
A look of realization flickered across her expression briefly before her brow furrowed. “Oh my God.”
“What?” Connor asked.
She turned to look at her husband, her eyes wide. “Remember when I told you that man at the restaurant looked familiar?”
“Yeah. You said you thought you saw his face on Dal’s corkboard.”
“I did, but I think I know why his face made an impression.” Risa looked at Cameron. “I mean, I can’t really be sure. The last time I saw this guy’s face, it was a decade ago, at least. He wouldn’t look exactly the same.”
“Who was he?” Connor asked.
“He was one of the terrorists who was part of the siege on the American Embassy in Tablis about a decade ago. I was assigned to track his movements shortly after the siege ended and he escaped. I managed to discover his whereabouts and alert the Kaziri government of his new identity. He was exiled from Kaziristan after that.”
“That sounds like a pretty good motive for revenge,” Cameron murmured.
“But see, the thing is, he popped back up a few years ago. In fact, you might want to ask your friend Maddox Heller about him.”
“Why’s that?” Connor asked.
“Because if I’m not mistaken, Maddox Heller watched him die almost eight years ago.”
* * *
MADDOX HELLER’S DRAWL rumbled over Rebecca Cameron’s cell phone, slightly distorted by the speaker. “At the time, Quinn told me they’d found the body. But you know Quinn’s relationship with the truth is distant at best. I talked to him about it before I called you back. Turns out that, technically, the authorities never found his body. There were parts of that building that sank into the ground in a geologically unstable area. The government of Mariposa didn’t have the money to do an excavation just to recover a missing body.”
“And there’s no way Tahir Mahmoud could have survived the explosion?” Connor asked, his stomach muscles tightening as he awaited the response.
Heller took longer to answer than Connor liked. “Since nobody recovered his body, I don’t know that I could say there’s no way he could have escaped,” he said finally. “But it’s highly unlikely. And since we haven’t had any further sightings of the man...”
Something in Heller’s tone made Connor sit up straighter. “Why don’t you sound more certain?”
“It’s just—remember that photo you sent me last night? From the restaurant?”
Connor glanced at Risa. She sat with her legs curled under her, smoothing both hands rhythmically over the curve of her belly. She looked at him, her brow furrowed.
“Yes,” Connor answered. “You said you weren’t sure it looked familiar.”
“I wasn’t. I’m still not. It would almost be impossible.”
“What would be impossible?” Risa asked, her tone tight with impatience.
“If I hadn’t seen that lab in Mariposa blow up myself, I’d have thought the man you saw at the restaurant was an older Tahir Mahmoud.”
Connor looked at Risa. “You said you were part of getting him exiled from the country after the embassy siege. Wouldn’t he remember what you looked like?”
“I tracked him anonymously. My cover was a junior-grade pencil pusher at the embassy. He wouldn’t have known what I looked like.”
“What about the surveillance photos from Cincy?” Connor asked Heller. “Have you looked at all of them?”
“I’m just getting up to speed on this case,” Heller admitted. “I’ll take a look.”
“Do that.” Connor looked at Cameron. “Can we get our hands on all the surveillance photos from Cincinnati, too? We’ve seen the man most recently, so we might be able to spot him more easily.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “I can arrange that.”
“Today?”
She shook her head. “It’ll take a while to digitize everything. But I can have them all to you by tomorrow morning. Will that do?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Risa said.
“I’ll make some calls to some old friends in Mariposa, too,” Heller said, sounding subdued. “I’d like to be damn certain Tahir Mahmoud hasn’t escaped the grim reaper myself.” He hung up.
“I remember the name Tahir Mahmoud from the siege on the embassy in Kaziristan,” Connor said as he and Risa walked Cameron to the door. “But I never heard about what happened in Mariposa.”
“Because of Mahmoud, Heller’s wife, Iris, nearly died,” Cameron told him. “Mahmoud died—allegedly— during an attempt on their lives. Iris barely escaped.”
“Eight years is a long time to go to ground without a trace.” Risa wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little as a blast of icy air came through the open door.
“He could very well be dead, you know.” Rebecca Cameron put her hand on Risa’s arm. “Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“Thank you again.”
Cameron took a step back and smiled at them both. “I know things are tense and difficult right now, for a lot of reasons. But remember, this was a Christmas you thought you were both going to spend without each other. And now you’re not. That’s a blessing, regardless of the circumstances.”
She flashed another smile and walked down the porch steps to her car.
Connor gave Risa’s elbow a light tug, pulling her back inside the warm house. He closed and locked the door behind them before turning to face her.
“She’s right about one thing,” Risa said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I was going to spend Christmas alone. No tree, no decorations, no Santa down the chimney. It was a lonely prospect.”
“You remember last Christmas? When we bought that real tree and spent most of January vacuuming up the needles it shed?” Connor’s smile faded when he remembered the rest of the story. How he’d found needles in the carpet for months after the plane crash as well, when they’d served to remind him poignantly of all he’d lost.
Risa put her hand on his arm. “I know you’re still angry, and I don’t blame you. Not a bit. But can’t you at least be happy I’m alive?”
He stared at her, feeling as if she’d just slapped him. “My God, Risa. You know I’m so very grateful that you’re alive. No matter what else has happened, you have to know that.”
“Then can we just hold on to that for a while? Try not to dwell on the rest of it?” She stepped closer to him, her hand sliding up to his shoulder. “I
missed you every single day.”
He felt a flutter of anger but pushed it down. Not now. He could be angry later.
Now, he just wanted to be grateful she was here, alive, with him.
“I missed you every single day, too,” he admitted.
She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her belly pressed against his, the sensation strange but somehow perfect. He lifted his hands up her back, letting them settle just above her butt. The pregnancy had given her unexpected curves; he let his hands roam over them lightly, taking in the new shape of her body.
She leaned her head back, looking up at him. “A little more junk in the trunk than you remembered?”
He grinned at her. “I have to admit, your breasts are a delightful surprise, too.”
She gave her chest a self-conscious glance. “Not too much?”
He shook his head. “Definitely not.”
She reached behind her back and brought his hands around to her belly. “Sweet Pea’s kicking again.”
He curved his palms over the swell of her belly, feeling the flutter of movement against his hands. “Sweet Pea?”
“I’m trying out nicknames.”
“Based on the way Sweet Pea’s kicking, Bruiser might be the better name.” He ran his fingers lightly over the curve of her belly, feeling her shiver under his touch. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide and dark.
He knew that look. He’d loved that look, reveled in the way he could make her long for him with just a touch or the sound of his voice. He’d dreamed of that look after the plane crash, deep in his loneliest nights.
She rose to her toes, lifting her face toward his. It would be the easiest, most natural thing in the world to bend his head and meet her halfway.
If only she hadn’t lied.
Risa pulled back. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I am,” he said, reaching for her. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I’m sorry that I’ve let my hurt feelings get in the way of telling you how damn glad I am you’re alive.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “No matter what.”
