The Negotiator

by Dee Henderson

  Stay with Dave. Of course. It was just like Marcus. Protect her twenty-four hours a day. And Dave had probably been the one to plant the suggestion with him on the assumption this situation might develop; the two of them had been thick as thieves the last couple days. Stephen, where are you? They are smothering me. I need to be rescued from all these good intentions! “That is a little overblown.” There was a niggling doubt that it might not be, but she was not letting ghosts chase her until she had her hands around the evidence.

  “No, it’s not. Right now the media is your enemy, not just a nuisance. If they tell where you are, this guy can come knock on your door. Do you want that to be Lisa’s door?”

  That thought was chilling. “No.”

  “There is room to work at my place; the security is good, and I won’t have to wonder where you are.”

  “You have access to the files from home?”

  “Basically anything I can do at the office downtown, I can do from home.”

  It wasn’t worth the fight. She was losing precious time. “Fine. Let’s go to your place.”

  Dave watched for a moment from the doorway as Kate read through a fax. She had been holed up here in his office for the last half hour. “Finding anything useful?” The fact she about jumped out of the seat made Dave strongly suspect his guess was right. When she reached to blank the computer screen even as she swiveled in his office chair toward him, she confirmed it. Whatever lead she was puzzling over, it worried her.

  Something from her past.

  He had put that much together. It concerned the case, and she didn’t want to talk about it. He set down the cold drink on a coaster by the keyboard. “Sorry I startled you. Are you okay?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  He could feel her nervousness, worse, could see almost panic in her eyes. The mask she so easily wore was in shreds. “Susan called,” he said quietly, choosing his words carefully so as to give her room to settle down, “the briefcase and laptop both match the information Peter provided.”

  “Oh…good.”

  He frowned. Very distracted. What information had her coiled tense like this? He had seen her calmly face down a man with a bomb. This change was alarming.

  She had been distracted when they left the bank. What had he missed? He thought back through the information Peter Devlon had provided. It was useful, but nothing to result in this kind of response.

  He was not going to crowd her, not when he needed her above all else to trust him. He settled his hand on her shoulder. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “Maybe later.”

  He squeezed her shoulder gently and stepped away. “I’m going to check security for the house. If you hear the door, it’s me.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  He closed the door to the office to give her the privacy she clearly wanted.

  Whether she realized it or not, this house had just become a formal safe house again. There were already 214 victims. There would not be 215. She was spooked. That was sufficient warning for him.

  He would have to explain the security grid to her soon, show her how the grids inside the house turned off and on in zones, but for now he would get the overall security tightened. He called Ben from his cellular phone as he circled the estate grounds, not needing Kate to hear the call just yet. A few minutes later, he closed the phone, satisfied. Travis and Susan were both on their way.

  On the drive out here he had wondered what Kate would think of his home. The estate had been in his family a long time, and one person got lost in its spaciousness; it needed a family. Sara had shared the place with him until she married Adam. Kate had simply looked across the well-kept grounds and shown her cop’s priorities by asking first about security, then commenting that the landscaped grounds were beautiful.

  Satisfied eventually that everything was in order, he reentered the house, reset the security grid for the grounds. It beeped as he was turning away. Thinking he had made an error, he turned and saw a car had pulled to the gate. Surprised, he lowered the grid and cleared the car past the gates.

  He was waiting at the door when Marcus got out of the car. “I didn’t expect you this soon. Come on in.”

  “I asked Ben to cover the afternoon update meeting.” Marcus offered the sealed box he was carrying. “Those should be copies of all the security tapes of the business lounge.” He looked around, curious. “Nice place. Where’s Kate?”

  “She’s working in my office.” Dave hesitated. “Marcus, something is wrong.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s been distracted ever since we left the bank.”

  “Where’s your office?”

  “Down the hall, second door on your left.”

  Marcus nodded. “Sort those tapes into some sort of order, and I’ll be back to watch them with you.” He moved down the hall toward Dave’s office.

  Dave could see the wall Kate still had up with him—her family could get answers where he could not. How long was it going to be before she trusted him? He hated being left on the periphery of her life, and that realization troubled him. This friendship had been subtly morphing into a relationship even though he knew how dangerous that was for him.

  Lord, Kate is invading my heart. She’s so determined not to be dependent on others. I want to be in that circle of people she trusts and turns to when life is tough. I want her safe—physically, emotionally—and it’s becoming intensely personal with me.

  Hearing the knock, Kate instinctively moved her hand over the keyboard, prepared to clear the screen. “Kate.”

  Marcus. The relief was incredible. “Come in.”

  Her brother pushed open the door. He looked at her, turned, and made sure the door was closed.

  “Did you say anything to Dave?”

  “No. He thinks I came to bring the security tapes.” He took the second seat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Twenty-two years, and you’ve never sent a drop everything page before. What’s wrong?”

  She took a deep breath, not sure how to prepare him for what she had found. It terrified her. “Mr. Nathan Young had a meeting at the airport with his VP Peter Devlon and the owner of Wilshire Construction.” She turned the screen toward him. “Check out the incorporation papers for the company.”

  Moments later, Marcus stilled. “When was this filed?”

  “A change of registered agent to this name and address was made four years ago.”

  His hand started rubbing her arm even as he continued to read. “Who has this information?”

  “I’m not volunteering anything, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Is your name change part of your personnel file?”

  She shook her head. It was the only faint piece of good news there was. “No. But neither were the court records sealed. If it’s not on a piece of paper in the stacks of data being looked through, it will be soon.”

  “What about the address?”

  “That is sealed as is all information regarding the case filed by the DA against my parents. My past goes back to Trevor House, and there it ends. But with my real name and my real birthdate, they will eventually match the address. Two Emersons in a bomb case, one of whom changed her last name? Instant conflagration.”

  He tightened his arm. “How do you want to play this?”

  “I want to know if I’ve really got a brother, first of all. Then I want to know if he blew up a plane with 214 people on board. If he did, I may just kill him myself.”

  Marcus winced. “Have you pulled his birth certificate? He’s not a cousin, another relative?”

  “Tony Emerson Jr., named for Dad no doubt,” she said bitterly. She flipped back a screen to show him the birth certificate. “He’s twenty-six. It fits. He would have been born the year after I was removed from the home.” Her hand shook as she blanked that screen. The pain she had been forced to endure because she was not a son…the courts called it child abuse, but that was too polite a word for what had happened.
The shaking was anger, rage, and pure fear.

  Marcus’s hand grasped her chin and turned her to look at him. “Let it go. Come on, Ladybug. Let it go.” He tore her out of the memories by the force of his will.

  The cop she was pushed the rage back, the rage at feeling helpless and defenseless. “I have to know.”

  “Yes.” His hand brushed down her cheek. “Stay here. Let me check it out.”

  “I need to go with you.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “No.”

  “Marcus—”

  “You’ll kill him,” he said simply. “His name is Tony Emerson; he probably resembles your father, and you will kill him. It wouldn’t have anything to do with this case.”

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t dare wonder if it were true.

  He buried her head into his shoulder. “You don’t need the memories. Stay here. If you think you can handle seeing him, go through the security tapes with Dave and make your first look a distant one.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “What do I tell Dave?”

  “As little or as much as you want. It’s going to take me some time, Kate. I’ll call as soon as I can, but you need to keep yourself occupied.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You have my promise.”

  With a final hug, he was on his feet and moving.

  Kate watched the door close and slowly uncurled her fist. The O’Malleys were her family. Not someone named Tony Emerson Jr. Not someone born to the man who had nearly destroyed her life. She wanted to run; it was the strongest emotion of all the conflicting ones. Hide. Get away from this reality. She had a brother. How was she going to deal with that if it were true?

  She would have given anything in her life to have a real brother when she was young. Now, she could only hope it wasn’t true.

  Fourteen

  Kate, come sit down,” Dave asked. She was pacing the living room, arms crossed, looking once again like she felt caged in. Whatever had her worried, it had been sufficient for Marcus to leave immediately after talking with her. The only thing Marcus had told him was an absolutely firm “don’t let her leave” warning.

  If she heard his request, she didn’t indicate it.

  Dave set down the remote control. The last thing Kate was ready to do was look at security videotapes. There would be time when Travis and Susan got here. He got to his feet. She looked startled when he touched her arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  She blinked, then nodded.

  He changed the security grid so they could walk the grounds. They walked the path around the flower gardens in silence. Dave knew she wasn’t seeing the beautiful day around them.

  “I never said thanks for offering me a place to stay.”

  She was thanking him for something a few hours ago she had been protesting? Dave felt a cold sensation brush across his spine. He reached over for Kate’s hand. “I don’t mind the company, and the security fits what you need. This place served as a safe house for my sister. No one will get on the grounds easily.”

  “What do you mean, it was a safe house for your sister?”

  “Maybe you know her as Sara Walsh.”

  She stopped walking. “Oh.” Obviously, she remembered when the case had made news. “You were part of her detail?”

  “Head of security for a good part of her life. She was an endearing little brat when she chose to be.” He tried to distract her. “You remind me a lot of her.”

  “How? She’s rich and beautiful and…” She sputtered to a stop.

  “She has a whimsical sense of humor like you.”

  “I’ve seen her children’s books.” She shook her head and frowned at him. “This is just great. Can’t you have a normal family?”

  Laughter felt good. “Me? What about the O’Malleys? Sara wants to meet you, by the way.”

  “You’ve told her about me?”

  “You’ve been all over the news, remember?”

  They had reached the back of the grounds where a small bench was tucked beside a reflecting pool. Dave steered her toward it.

  “Do you think we will find out who did this?”

  “I think the answer is on the security tapes in the living room.”

  He was surprised that she looked distressed at the thought. The first inkling of understanding came. “Do you know one of the people Peter Devlon mentioned?”

  “No!” It was so sharp, her face so pale, that his hand caught hers to keep her from bolting. Fear. It flashed across her face and then blanked away as she took a breath, buried behind the curtain that dropped across her expression. “No, I’ve never met either one of them.”

  That was the truth, he was certain of it, but she had heard of at least one of them. How? She was not someone who gave in to fear easily.

  “Did you ever get another call like that one the night we had pizza?” He asked the first thing that came to mind as something to distract her again, and then he realized what he had said. He blinked. The call.

  “Sounds like you have trouble coming your way. Soon it will be more than you can handle.” He distinctly remembered the laugh.

  Whoever had made that call knew what was coming.

  Kate’s eyes were wide, bright. “Dave, I need those answering machine tapes. They are in my briefcase at the office.”

  “How many calls were there?”

  “Three. No, four.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if the third one was the same person. But the others definitely were. The last one was Monday morning.”

  “They are all on tape?”

  “Yes.”

  He wanted to sweep out an arm and hug her, for he shared the sense of relief; instead he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. We can be to your office and back in a little over an hour.”

  She started with him toward the house, then stopped. “No. I have to wait for Marcus. That’s more important.”

  Dave watched her bite her lip, obviously torn as to what to do. “Who else can access your briefcase for us?”

  “Anyone on the team could get the tapes. And we would need a similar model answering machine.”

  “Call your boss; ask him to send someone to bring what you need out here. I’ll see about getting us a cleaned-up copy of the call to the tower.”

  She nodded, and once in the house, went immediately to pick up her cellular phone.

  “Kate.” She paused her dialing. “Have him send an officer to your apartment to retrieve that answering machine tape, and make sure the officer puts in a new one. You haven’t been home since this blast occurred. What if that follow-up call we expected was made to your home?”

  Nodding, she punched in numbers and was soon in a detailed conversation with her boss.

  Dave left her to make his own call. He was relieved to find the lab had been able to remove most of the distortion from the voice. A copy of the cleaned-up tape was on the way. His call finished, he went to join her.

  “Do you really think there’s a chance my harassing caller is the bomber?”

  “I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.” She looked… pleased…at the idea someone who knew her phone number might be the bomber. He wondered if her need for justice made her blind to the risks she accepted. She scared him; she really scared him. “It will be a while before the tapes arrive. How about dinner?”

  “Food?”

  “Unless you would like to look at the security tapes first.”

  “Tell me what I can help fix.” She followed him into the kitchen.

  Watching Dave sort through cupboards was an interesting distraction. Kate settled against the counter and worked on a piece of celery as she watched.

  “Spaghetti?” Dave asked.

  “Can we have garlic bread?”

  “Do you treat garlic the same way you do sugar?”

  “Wimp.”

  “Hey, if I ever did want to risk an emotional firestorm and kiss you good night, I would prefer that one kiss not taste like garl
ic.”

  She moved away from the counter and leaned past him to pluck a glass jar of homemade sauce from the shelf, realizing he had apparently decided to break his own rules about this friendship. “If, huh? Of course, you’re assuming I would let you.”

  His hands spanned her waist and lifted her back slowly. She couldn’t explain why, but she could sense there was a struggle going on behind his teasing words. “It’s called self-preservation. If we were…involved—” He paused, then cleared his throat and went on. “Then one kiss good night would go a long way to insuring I keep my hands to myself the rest of the day.”

  She blinked at the impact of that smile and knew she would be a goner if he ever intentionally turned that charm her way. This was just the moment, pure and simple, he’d be back to keeping his distance soon, but still…she grinned. “Hands.”

  He dropped her to her feet, and the emotion—the regret—in his eyes troubled her. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

  She patted his arm, forcing a light tone to her words. “Fine. But I still want garlic bread if I’m eating Italian.”

  “Then I’ll fix it.”

  “Under the broiler? Nicely toasted, not dark?”

  “Whatever happened to the benefit of the doubt? I can cook.”

  “O’Malley men. They say the same thing.”

  He grinned. “They can’t cook?”

  “Not if it involves fire.”

  He found her a pan for the sauce. “I feel duty bound to defend them as they are not here to defend themselves.”

  “Don’t bother. Once you’ve eaten one of Jack’s charred delights, you’ll learn that the best defense is a good offense.”

  “So who’s cooking for the Fourth of July?”

  “Jack.”

  “Really?”

  She smiled at his amusement. “We give him the matches. He’s happy. Then Stephen guards the food like a pit bull. When it’s time to come off, there’s this little signal that goes to Lisa, and she distracts Jack while I go steal the food. We’ve got it down to a science.” His laughter made her grin. “I know. But it’s Jack. We wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “Can I come watch this adventure?”