The Enforcer

by Anna Perrin

  It wasn’t easy. She still felt a lingering hope that somehow she and Brent could resolve their differences and become a couple who laughed and loved and shared life together. But she knew better. She would never marry Brent. She would never raise a family with him. Part of her rebelled against such defeatist thinking. Other people managed to turn their dreams into reality. Why couldn’t she?

  Brent had the capacity to love deeply. His feelings for Pete proved that. Was she naive to think he would one day fall as irrevocably in love with her as she had with him? What if he never realized their relationship was worth committing to? She’d have squandered a great job opportunity. At least her new job wouldn’t require patient assessments, so she couldn’t mess up as she had with Forrester. Misreading him was the biggest mistake she’d ever made. For her own peace of mind, she needed to figure out where she’d gone wrong. Only then would she be able to move on.

  She thought back to her sessions with him, and to last night at the manufacturing plant when she’d watched him on the monitor. What was she missing? Why did she believe him guilty of blackmail, but not the other crimes? Was it professional pride obscuring her perception? A reluctance to accept that Brent had been right and she had been wrong?

  No. It was Forrester’s shocked expression when accused of attempted murder, arson and bomb-setting. But his denials had been cut short by McKenna’s arrival on the scene. She remembered Gene cursing beside her in the van. Despite specific orders to his team, one member had flown solo. After that, chaos had reigned.

  She’d been terrified for Brent at the time, but now she was able to consider the events objectively.

  Why had the plan gone to hell? Because Forrester had panicked.

  What had set him off? Brent believed he’d been overwhelmed by the prospect of prison, but there could be another explanation. Maybe Forrester had realized he’d been set up to take the fall for crimes committed since his escape from Ridsdale and that the person responsible wouldn’t let him stay alive to defend himself.

  Who had worked other operations with Forrester? Who had survived the attack at his house with only a bloodied scalp? Who had left his surveillance position to come to the plant, then taunted Forrester with the words, “It’s over,” before firing his weapon?

  McKenna.

  No wonder she’d experienced uneasiness when she had met him. Her subconscious had been warning her to beware.

  She considered calling Gene again, but her suspicions concerning McKenna would likely be met with the same skepticism as her doubts about Forrester. For the FBI to launch an investigation into one of their own, she needed proof.

  How could she possibly come up with that proof?

  No physical evidence or eyewitness had been found for any of the crimes committed after Forrester’s escape from Ridsdale—

  The escape from Ridsdale.

  McKenna couldn’t have engineered that alone. Someone inside Ridsdale must have been involved. And her internal radar had already zeroed in on the staff member responsible.

  She called the facility and requested that Maria Gomez pick up a personal call in the office on the second floor, away from her regular workstation.

  A few minutes later, the nurse came on the line. “Hello?”

  “My name is Dr. Lamont. I’m the psychologist who was with Brent Young, the FBI agent you spoke with a few days ago.”

  “How can I help you?” Maria asked coolly.

  “First, I want to assure you that I’m calling on a disposable cell phone so there’s no way anyone can listen in. Second, you should know that Andy Forrester is dead.”

  “What?” The coolness was gone from her voice.

  “Your former patient, the one you helped to escape, was shot and killed last night.”

  “You heard me tell that agent I had nothing to do with him getting out.” There was desperation and anxiety in her voice, confirming for Claire that her initial suspicions had been correct.

  “I think you said that because you were scared. Scared of the man who pressured you into getting involved in the first place. You now have a chance to stop being scared and fight back.”

  The nurse took a moment to respond. “Why should I listen to you?”

  “Because you can get this man locked up. All you have to do is identify him for the FBI and tell them that he threatened you.”

  “He did worse than that,” Maria said, her voice trembling with emotion. “He threatened my children.”

  “Tell me about it,” Claire murmured.

  “The day after Forrester was admitted to the hospital, a stranger stopped me in the parking lot. He knew a lot about my kids—their ages, their babysitter’s name and address. Then he told me if I wanted to keep them safe, I’d better think of a way to get Forrester out.”

  Claire closed her eyes, imagining the young mother’s terror.

  “Those kids are my life,” Maria whispered. “I couldn’t risk something happening to them that I had the power to prevent.”

  “I understand,” Claire assured her. She didn’t know of any parents who could withstand that kind of pressure.

  The other woman let out a sigh. “When I heard how many people Forrester had hurt since his escape, I had second thoughts about what I’d done. But it was too late by then, and I was still so afraid for my family.”

  “I don’t believe Forrester was responsible for any of that. I think he was framed by the same man who threatened you.”

  “Do you know who that man is?”

  Claire hesitated. If she revealed McKenna’s name, Maria’s positive identification of him might later be challenged in the courts. But the media had been all over the plant within minutes of the shooting. If McKenna was visible in their footage of the event and Maria picked him out on her own, there wouldn’t be a problem.

  “Are you near a TV?” she asked the nurse.

  “There’s one across the hall in the lunchroom.”

  “Turn on a news channel. See if there’s any coverage of Forrester’s shooting.”

  A few minutes later, Maria Gomez returned. “He was there, the man who threatened my children. His name is Alec McKenna and he’s an FBI agent.” She sounded shocked by this realization, and even more terrified.

  “FBI or not, he will pay for what he’s done if you’re willing to come forward and tell your story.” A long silence followed her words.

  “I’ll do it,” the nurse responded finally. “I want him locked up. That way, I’ll know my children are safe.”

  Claire agreed wholeheartedly with her reasoning. “You need to talk to his supervisor, Gene Welland, at the Bureau. Call him immediately, tell him who you are and everything that you just told me.”

  THE DE-BRIEFING seemed to last forever. McKenna, Metzger, Alston and Howard recalled hearing a warning shout before the first shot was fired, Brent, Starr and Cobb remembered hearing it afterward, and the rest thought the two had happened simultaneously. Fortunately, the recording from the van was available to settle the matter. McKenna had shouted a warning a split second after he’d opened fire.

  Brent was grateful when Gene called a short break to deal with an operational issue.

  Twenty minutes later, they reconvened in the meeting room.

  “We’re missing someone,” Gene said, looking around the table.

  “McKenna,” Metzger supplied.

  Brent glanced through the open doorway in time to see McKenna being hailed by Lisa Conrad, Gene’s administrative assistant. The agent made a quick detour to her desk, where she passed him a slip of paper.

  Brent saw him look down at the note as he headed toward the meeting room. His steps faltered, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. Whatever he’d seen had obviously displeased him, but he made no mention of it when he rejoined the group.

  “Okay, let’s see if we can reach a consensus,” Gene said.

  When Brent glanced around the table, he noticed McKenna staring at him intently. Something in the other man’s expression made the
hair rise on the back of his neck. Then McKenna looked away, and Brent figured the man simply had a lot on his mind.

  Several minutes later, McKenna clutched his stomach. “I think the pizza I ate last night was rotten. My gut’s been killing me all morning.”

  Excusing himself, he headed for the door. “If I don’t make it back, you know I went home to puke in my own toilet.”

  “More information than we really needed to know,” Metzger said, rolling his eyes.

  Brent doubted McKenna’s exit had anything to do with food poisoning. More likely the agent was sick and tired of the whole debriefing process and wanted to skip out. As Gene launched into more discussion of the prior night’s events, Brent wished he could escape, too.

  Finally, Gene ended with, “I want reports from everybody on my desk tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow worked for him, Brent thought. He had things to do today—like picking up flowers for Claire and making dinner reservations for them at Gencarelli’s, his favorite Italian restaurant. After a terrific meal and a few glasses of red wine, he’d explain that he’d never felt more optimistic about a relationship, and he couldn’t see it ending anytime soon. Hopefully, Claire would see that as a positive sign and put the brakes on her moving plans.

  Gene’s next words nixed his plans. “I’d like you to hang back after the meeting’s over, Brent. There’s something we need to discuss.”

  ALEC MCKENNA strode angrily through the Bureau’s parking lot.

  He should be feeling good today. Forrester was dead, killed before he could implicate him in either the blackmail scheme or Sanderson’s murder. Not his original plan, which had called for Forrester to be blown up when he visited his beloved Trans Am at the storage unit. Instead, Langdon had triggered the bomb and Young had found Forrester’s backup copy of their blackmail files.

  In hindsight, he should never have arranged Forrester’s escape from Ridsdale. But he didn’t know what Forrester might let slip if they used drugs on him. And he no longer trusted a partner whose conversations with the Bureau psychologist had led to his being locked up.

  With Forrester at large, he became the prime suspect for the attacks on Claire Lamont and he would have been blamed if she had been killed. Now that he was dead, the psychologist would have been safe—if the nurse at Ridsdale had stayed scared and silent.

  When he reached his car, he reread Maria Gomez’s message that Lisa had asked him to deliver to Gene. “Claire Lamont recommended that I contact you about an urgent matter.” The nurse probably thought that mentioning the name of the Bureau’s psychologist would lend more credibility to her request.

  His risk of exposure had never been greater.

  Two women were to blame for that.

  Neither of them would live to see another dawn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Brent asked, as he followed Gene into his office. Although he could hardly refuse his supervisor’s request for a private meeting, he was anxious to get back to the cabin—and Claire.

  “Close the door,” Gene said.

  “This sounds serious.”

  “Claire’s given me her resignation.”

  Brent frowned as he lowered himself into a chair. Claire had said she was in no hurry to tell Gene she was quitting.

  “When did you talk to her?” he asked.

  “She called me this morning before you arrived.”

  Brent’s mouth went dry. He’d thought he and Claire were in the negotiating phase. How could she have acted without talking to him?

  Gene was watching him, so he added quietly, “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

  “I don’t think so. When I spoke to her, she was adamant about leaving. I probably shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but I’ve known Claire a long time, and this has come as a big shock to me. If you have any ideas about how to convince her to stay, I’d like to hear them.”

  He resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. “Did she say why she’s quitting?”

  “She said she didn’t think her counseling was doing the men any good.” Gene leaned his elbows on the table, made a steeple of his fingers and regarded Brent over them. “I’m not convinced that’s the real reason.”

  “She’s mentioned her doubts to me, too.”

  “Then she’s wrong, plain and simple,” Gene said. “Anybody who has ever dealt with her professionally has benefited a lot.”

  Brent wasn’t surprised. How many times had he rebuffed her? And yet she’d continued to offer him her empathy and support.

  “In fact,” Gene continued, “that’s one of the reasons I suggested you use your cabin as a safe house for her.”

  Brent felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “You’re saying you set me up?”

  “In the best possible way,” his boss assured him. “I knew you were tangled up about Pete’s death but too stubborn to go for counseling. And Claire needed protection from Forrester. I figured that if I threw you alone together in a secluded place, you’d both get what you needed.”

  Brent didn’t know about Claire, but he had certainly gotten more than he needed. Making love with her and waking up beside her had been two of the sweetest experiences of his adult life. He wanted to share intense conversations and comfortable silences with her. He wanted to come home to her at the end of the day.

  The thought pulled him up short, but he had no time to dwell on it because Gene had started speaking again.

  “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that she’s leaving. She’s been a valuable resource to the agents in this office.”

  “She doesn’t believe that,” Brent reminded him.

  “She’s wrong. Last year, our departmental budget was tight, and the finance guys really pushed hard for me to cut in-house counseling.”

  “They wanted you to fire Claire?” He couldn’t help but feel indignant on her behalf.

  “I was dead set against making the cut,” Gene said, “but I knew I’d have to defend my position so I e-mailed every agent I’d sent her way. I asked them for their input, whether they’d found talking to her helpful or not. Their response was overwhelmingly positive.”

  “Did you keep those e-mails?” Brent asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Gene rummaged through the bottom drawer of his credenza, found what he was searching for and pulled out a thick envelope. “I had planned to show them to her at her next performance review, but it doesn’t look like I’ll get that chance.”

  “She needs to know she’s made a difference.”

  “I agree.” He passed the sealed envelope across the desk. “I don’t know that this will change her mind about leaving, but I don’t want Claire doubting the impact of the work she did here.”

  Brent nodded. “I’ll be sure to give this to her.”

  “You can also tell her that I’m grateful—not just for what she did for those agents, but for what she did for me. Without Claire, it’s unlikely I’d be celebrating my anniversary tomorrow.”

  Gene’s admission was surprising because the supervisor rarely mentioned his personal life. Brent rose to his feet, anxious to take the file to Claire.

  “I still think there’s more to her decision to leave than job dissatisfaction,” Gene said. “And if it has anything to do with her relationship with you, I want you to think long and hard about how to fix it.”

  Brent bristled instinctively at the accusatory tone. “You’re assuming whatever’s wrong is my fault.”

  “That’s right, I am.” Gene folded his arms over his chest. “Claire was terrified for you last night when the bullets started to fly. It’s obvious to me that she’s in love with you and has acted on her feelings. I’d like to think it’s not only lust on your side.”

  “Gene—”

  “I’ll trust you not to screw this up.”

  “I’ll do my damnedest not to.”

  He spoke with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. Although he had ammunition to prove to Claire that she’d
succeeded in her work, he wasn’t sure that would be enough to convince her to stay. She needed a compelling personal reason. She needed him to say that he was open to the possibility of loving her.

  For Claire, he could do that. He could let go of the past and embrace a future with her.

  If he hadn’t already lost her.

  THE BREEZE PICKED UP off the lake, sending Claire’s list of moving reminders flying. She scrambled to retrieve it, then retreated indoors where she wandered restlessly into the kitchen. She should be making phone calls, making arrangements, getting ready to move on with her life. A life she would continue in Minneapolis—without Brent.

  “Hello, Dr. Lamont,” a voice said behind her.

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she whirled around to find Alec McKenna lounging casually in the kitchen doorway.

  A single thought broke free from the chaotic jumble in her mind. “H-how did you find me?”

  His lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It took some prompting, but Gene’s admin assistant remembered faxing papers for Brent to Weir’s Marina. When I showed up there asking for directions, the owner was more than willing to help me out.” His gaze moved over her T-shirt, lingering on her breasts in a way that made her feel sick.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Just tying up some loose ends.”

  She swallowed. “I thought that’s why you were meeting with Gene and the other agents today.”

  “These are non-FBI loose ends.”

  She didn’t have to feign ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

  “Maria Gomez’s phone call to you.”

  How could he know that the nurse had phoned her? Even as the question formed in her mind, she realized the reason didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fact that he did. “Forrester’s nurse did call me today,” she admitted. “She was upset by news reports of his death.”