“If he goes to jail,” Tara continued, “we’ll have prevented others from falling into Mars’s trap. You had a big hand in that, and I’m grateful.”
Jeff cleared his throat, his skin itchy. He hadn’t done anything worth mentioning. “Glad I could help.” With a tight smile, he checked his watch. Maybe he could get some time on the computers before—
The office door swung open and Todd entered with a grin. According to the man himself, some women thought he looked like a rougher, tougher version of Prince Harry.
Jeff didn’t see the resemblance, but he’d never been happier to see Todd.
For most people, Friday was the end of the workweek. For Rick, as long as there was good money to be made, every day was a workday. This weekend would be no exception. He rocked back in his desk chair and stared at the photo of the beautiful woman on his computer screen. Tara Fujimoto had seen something she shouldn’t have, and now his client was willing to pay a handsome fee to eliminate her from the equation.
“She’s the only loose end,” Narwhal said through the speakerphone.
Rick took perverse joy in giving his clients animal names as he worked his way through the alphabet. The last one had been Mongoose. A messy job.
This one should be straightforward. Simple. One little slip of a woman.
Though ballsy, he’d give her that. After she’d confronted DC’s most well-known photographer, the press had milked her story for days.
And it wasn’t the first time.
Rick’s web search turned up more hits than expected. “Looks like she’s been in the news before. Something about an ex-boyfriend who was involved in that blowup at Claymore.” He eyed the main photo. Tara held up her hands to block her face, but the media must have had several archived pictures from her previous brush with notoriety. There were better shots of her included in the article, as well as links to past stories.
Narwhal dropped an impatient sigh. “I don’t have much time. I need her taken care of by Sunday night.”
Two days. Typical. “Absolutely.” For enough money, Rick and his team would do anything. “What happens on Monday?”
“Everything I’ve worked for could be ruined if you don’t get rid of this woman and any evidence she may have,” Narwhal snapped. “I believe you’re being paid more than enough to handle it.”
Rick took a deep breath and counted to five before speaking. The privileged set made his luxurious lifestyle possible, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. “Of course.” He forced a smile to keep his tone civil and collected the rest of the details from the client, his brain already moving ahead to the next steps. “I’ll call you as soon as I have news.”
He ended the call and glanced at Tara Fujimoto’s picture again, tapping his pen on the desk. It was a shame such a gutsy beauty had to die.
CHAPTER THREE
BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Mars was dead.
Cause not yet ruled, but it looked like suicide. Maybe if he hadn’t been out on bail, he’d still be alive to face justice.
The fucker had taken the easy way out.
The news broke at two, as Jeff was on his way to Steele Security to use the computer. And, okay, yes, to check on Tara.
In the last week, the Washington Post had run several stories on Mars and the dozens of women and girls who had come forward with their own accusations, and printed an interview with Tara above the fold in today’s paper.
Reporters congregated outside the high-rise building in Arlington where Steele had its offices, and Jeff wouldn’t be surprised if they harassed her at home too. He was all for a free press—a democracy couldn’t function without it—but being the subject of their unrelenting scrutiny had to suck.
Tara emerged from the doorway to the left of her desk with an empty mug hanging loosely from her red-tipped fingers. Her shiny black hair fell well past her shoulders and she looked both alluring and professional in a black-and-white striped dress that hugged her slender curves.
Curves he had no business noticing, goddammit.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a warm smile as she slid behind the desk and set down her cup. “You’ve had a busy week,” she said, probably referring to the pen test he’d been running for an insurance company in Maryland. Their security had been tight, but not tight enough to keep him out.
He returned the smile before he thought better of it. “Probably not as busy as yours.”
She tilted her head and elegantly lifted one shoulder. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything she did that wasn’t elegant.
Stop it.
“Things are going smoothly in Brazil,” she said, “and with the office so quiet, I’m getting a lot done.”
“I meant the Post interview. The press camped outside.”
A scowl marred her sweet face. “Oh. Yeah, that’s been…annoying. I’ve dealt with it before. I’ll survive.”
“The article was really well done, but it couldn’t have been easy for you.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded. “It wasn’t exactly fun, but my story is nothing compared to the others.”
“Hopefully, now that he’s dead, they’ll find something else to talk about and leave you alone.”
She went perfectly still. “Who’s dead?”
Jeff’s raised an eyebrow. Had she not heard? “Mars. Someone found him this morning.”
Her lips parted on a gasp. “Oh.” She sank into her desk chair and looked up at him. “How?”
“Nothing’s official, but it looks like suicide.”
All the air shuddered out of her and she pressed her palms to her forehead for a moment before meeting his gaze. “I can’t say I’m sorry.” Her dark eyes glistened. “He was…vile. But part of me is disappointed he won’t face his punishment, even though this is probably the safest option for everyone. No worries about him getting off on a technicality or something.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a form of justice for Emily. And his other victims.”
“And you,” Jeff said, advancing until he could lean his forearms on the counter that fronted her desk.
She snagged a ballpoint pen that lay on the desktop and rolled it between her fingers. “That’s different. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Tara,” he said, waiting until her gaze met his. “Knowing and living are two different things.”
A slight shake of her head dismissed his concern. “I’m fine.” She stared him down. “And you didn’t drive all the way over here to tell me about Mars.”
O-kay. He didn’t live far, but she was right. Dismissed. “That’s true. I need to search the databases.” It wasn’t like he had anything else to do on a Friday afternoon. “But I also wanted to check on you, make sure your hand is feeling better.” That was as good an excuse as any.
Her dark, perfectly groomed eyebrows dropped. “Oh.” She flicked the pen out of her reach and glanced at her left hand, turning it palm down and flexing her knuckles. “It’s fine now.”
“And how are you holding up?”
She placed her hands on her thighs. “Until your news, I was glad that Mars had been indicted and people were coming forward.” Her lush mouth twisted into a grimace. “Though, obviously, I wish there weren’t so many victims.”
“Of course. But you gave them the confidence to tell their stories. You’ve helped them see they’re not alone.”
She frowned. “Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There are more men like him out there.”
“Unfortunately, there are always more.”
“No, I mean—” She gave a little head shake. “Somehow Mars removed the storage card when he knocked over the camera. The police never found it, which means they didn’t see…” Her gaze strayed to her desk.
“What?” He’d avoided Tara all week, not wanting to give her the wrong impression about his interest. He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d thanked him on Monday before his meeting with Kurt.
“The other pictures on the card in his camera.
” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “There was one image… I couldn’t make out the guy’s face, but he was—” She wrinkled her nose and looked up and took a deep breath. “He was having sex with a young girl in what looked like a hotel room.” Her voice had turned rough. “I think maybe Mars was making child porn. Or kompromat. I don’t know.”
The misery in her brown eyes made Jeff want to round the desk and pull her into his arms.
“Fuck.” His skin crawled. That bottom feeder had touched her. Jeff should have put his fist through the man’s too-pretty face when he had the chance. And a few of the man’s other body parts. “Maybe the police found more pictures in his studio and will be able to identify those involved.”
Tara sighed. “With any luck.”
“I thought I heard people talking.” Kurt Steele emerged from the hallway to the right with a duffle bag in hand, striding confidently toward them on prosthetic legs revealed by gray basketball shorts.
Tara shook off her morose expression and straightened.
“Hey, boss.” Jeff masked his own expression. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” Kurt said, shaking Jeff’s hand. “What’re you up to?”
“I’m going to get on the computer, do some research for Menlo.” And a little for himself too. He needed to feel like he was doing something more than sitting around waiting for news from his PI.
“Sounds good. And, hey, nice work on the Safety General job.”
“Thanks. It was fun.” As fun as anything could be these days. A good distraction from the mess of his life, at least.
Kurt turned to Tara. “I’m off to the gym, and then Caitlyn and I are leaving for Boston. You good till Monday?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Have a great time. And take lots of pictures of Devyn.”
Caitlyn’s sister had given birth to a baby girl on Tuesday. Jeff had only briefly met Caitlyn at the office a month ago, but the rest of the guys at Steele had worked with the charter pilot in the past on various missions. From what Jeff could gather, Kurt and Caitlyn had been friends years ago in the Air Force, but only recently reconnected. No wedding bells for them yet, but they were living together.
“Will do,” Kurt said with a grin. “Enjoy your weekend, guys.”
After he left, Jeff returned his attention to Tara. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Okay.” She gave a wan smile. “Thanks for checking up on me.”
Something in his chest dislodged with the curve of her dark red lips. He nodded, unable to think of a response for several seconds.
“And letting me know about Mars,” she said.
“Of course.”
Unbidden, the image of her standing in the photographer’s studio bare-breasted, pants unbuttoned to expose the dimple of her bellybutton above lacy black underwear invaded his mind. He was an asshole for thinking of it, but she’d blown him away. Not because of how gorgeous she was—well, not just that—but because she’d put herself at risk to avenge her sister and stood up to Mars like some kind of warrior angel.
Thanks to Tara, hundreds of young women would be safe from that predator. Forget her small stature and delicate appearance. On the inside she was a fucking Amazon.
And Jeff needed to get the hell away from her before he got any stupid ideas.
You did all the hard work.
After Jeff disappeared into the computer room, Tara couldn’t stop thinking about his words. And the pictures. Mars was dead, but he’d left a horrifying legacy of abuse. Her mind flashed back to the studio, Mars holding her to the wall, the feel of his hands on her naked skin. A shiver chased down her spine.
What she’d been through was nothing compared to what Emily or any of those girls on the camera had suffered. Still, Old Tara would have sought out someone to help her erase that memory, to replace it with something good.
New Tara would finish her work, go to the women’s shelter for her volunteer shift, and thank her lucky stars that she didn’t have an abusive husband or boyfriend and had never been raped. Even at his worst, Colin had never been rough with her.
Not any rougher than she’d wanted.
At quarter to five, she was immersed in calculating pay for the security specialists, all of whom worked on contract, when the office phone rang. As business manager, she was Steele’s receptionist and human resources manager and everything in between. One of the guys, Todd, liked to joke that she was their “team mom.”
She’d take it. Especially because, given her luck with men, she was never going to be a real mom.
The phone rang again, the caller ID indicating the number was private. “Steele Security, how may I help you?”
“I’m calling for Tara Fujimoto,” the man on the other end of the phone line said in a gravelly voice.
“This is Tara.” It wasn’t odd for her to get a phone call. After all, she was the first point of contact for most of their clients, and had a network of people all over the country who helped her procure whatever the guys needed for their missions. She responded in kind when possible.
“This is Bob—” Static interrupted and then the line went dead.
“Hello?”
No response.
She repeated her query a few more times but only heard dead air. “When you block your number, I can’t call you back,” she said, replacing the receiver with more force than necessary.
With a sigh, she backed up her work in the accounting software and cleaned up the papers strewn across her desktop, anticipating a repeat phone call any minute.
Just before five, Jeff emerged from the corridor that led to Kurt’s office and the computer room, his brown hair mussed, face drawn.
“Everything okay? You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, aping a wounded look.
She gave him an indulgent smile. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just not cut out to sit at a desk for hours on end staring at a screen.”
The way she did. But these guys trained relentlessly when they weren’t out putting their lives on the line. Active was not a strong enough word to describe them.
“You leaving in a minute?” he asked.
“Yep.” She shut down her computer. “I’m working at the shelter tonight and I need to run home and eat something first.”
“I can wait and walk you down.” The look on his rugged face was an odd mix of friendly nonchalance and impatience. As if he offered out of a sense of obligation rather than a real desire to confirm her well-being.
What was his deal? One minute he was friendly, supportive, maybe even a bit flirty, looking at her like she was his favorite meal. The next, he was all business, no expression. Total shutdown.
Not that she wanted his interest. For starters, they worked together. Her reputation as a professional was about all she had left, and sleeping with a coworker would shoot that all to hell. The guys would never look at her the same.
“No, thanks.” She opened the overhead cabinet where she stored her purse and lunch bag. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.” The garage was gated, well lit, staffed with security guards, and wired with cameras.
So far, the reporters hadn’t found a way in, though now that Mars was dead, their short-lived interest in her might have rekindled. At least with no trial looming, they’d probably move on quickly. She’d be quite happy to never be in the news again, thank you very much.
“All right,” Jeff said, with a shrug. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the counter. “Have a good weekend.”
Several minutes after he left, Tara exited the elevator into the garage beneath the high-rise office building. The sharp tap of her heels echoed across the concrete as she strode toward her car. She’d bought the red Mini Cooper after taking this job at Steele nearly four years ago, and it still made her smile.
“Tara?” a rough voice asked from behind her.
She turned without thinking and inhaled sharply. A large man wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses stood five ya
rds away, holding a gun.
Her heart bucked and took off like a spooked horse. Suddenly the key gripped between her thumb and forefinger—exactly the way they’d taught her at self-defense class—seemed ridiculous. She took a step back on unsteady legs. “What do you want?”
His skin was sallow under the fluorescent bulbs but she couldn’t make out any other features besides his thin lips and brown eyebrows. “Everything you have.”
“Here.” She whipped her purse at him, aiming for the gun.
He dodged and stepped closer with a chuckle, exposing his overlapping front teeth. “Nice try.”
Shit. What now? “All my money and credit cards are in there. You want my car too?” She held out the key fob, her hand trembling.
“Drop your weapon, motherfucker.”
Jeff! Tara’s breath left her in a relieved whoosh as he emerged from behind a large truck to her left, his weapon and gaze trained on the guy who took his fashion cues from the Unabomber.
“Lose yours, or I’ll shoot her,” Hoodie said.
Tara pressed the panic button on her key fob and dropped to her knees.
The blare of the Mini’s alarm bounced off the walls.
Hoodie gave a start and glanced at the car.
Jeff rushed him.
Her attacker took a shot at Jeff, the sound puncturing her car’s squawking.
Tara screamed. “No!”
Another bang. Hoodie cried out and swiveled.
Tara curled into a tighter ball against her car door.
More shouts and the sounds of footsteps receding.
Bang!
Bang!
The noises faded.
When she looked up, everyone was gone.
Crawling toward the rear of the parking stall, she peeked around a concrete column, heart thundering in her ears, but the men were nowhere in sight.
Was Jeff okay?
She tried to stand, but her knees gave out and she sank back to the ground, her body shaking uncontrollably. Oh. My. God. Nausea climbed her throat and she took slow, deep breaths to calm her roiling belly.
Turning off the car alarm, she leaned against her car. Just for a second.
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