Searching for Cate

by Marie Ferrarella

  It was Sally who gave her the address to Baker’s one-room apartment, located less than a mile from the embassy.

  Wanting to avoid unnecessary contact with strangers and the questions of a possibly nosy landlord, Cate used her own “keys” to get into the apartment and pick the lock. When she walked in and closed the door behind her, she wasn’t surprised to discover that the small place looked as if it had suffered the ravages of a tornado.

  Everything within the apartment had been taken apart and shattered. If there was anything to be found here, it was long gone.

  Still, her training required her to search for herself rather than assume the worst. She sifted through everything, looking inside slashed pillows, broken lamps, paging through books whose spines had been broken and that now littered the floor like so many tiny sagging pyramids, their pages mashed against the floorboards.

  It took her almost two hours to reach the conclusion she’d come to upon entry. There was nothing in the apartment to remotely suggest that the late Brad Baker had ever been involved in a white-slavery ring.

  Her cell phone rang, making her jump.

  “Where are you?”

  The sniff at the end of the question gave the man’s identity away. Walter’s allergy was going strong.

  “On my way back,” she answered. She knew better than to give her location away. Any form of electronic communication could become a party line without notice.

  Flipping her cell closed, she turned to walk to the door. Her heel caught on a piece of the comforter that had been dissected. Trying to regain her balance, she dropped her phone. It hit the bare floor beside the bed with a thud.

  The sound registered, nudging at a memory, as she picked the phone up.

  Why did that sound so familiar?

  And then she remembered. When she was a child, she’d had a secret hiding place beneath one of the floorboards under her bed. She kept her diary there, as well as a few assorted “treasures.” The board made the same kind of sound when she knocked on it, which was how she’d been able to locate it in the first place.

  Cate’s heart was racing.

  On her hands and knees, she began to knock on first one length of board, then another, following each well under the bed as she tried to duplicate the sound she’d heard.

  Locating it took time and she kept glancing toward the door, afraid that the landlord might come in for some reason.

  And then she heard it, that funny little hollow noise. Cate stopped breathing as she tried to pry the board loose with a butter knife she found on the floor. It came up easily.

  “And we have a winner,” she murmured to herself, hardly believing what she was seeing. Beneath the board was a small, narrow hollow space, no more than five inches wide and eight inches long.

  Big enough for a small metal box.

  She pulled on her last pair of rubber gloves. Her hands shook slightly as she withdrew the box and placed it on the floor beside the opening. There was no lock, as if Baker was arrogant in his belief that no one would find it. And if she hadn’t been a little girl with secrets once, no one might have.

  She held her breath as she lifted the lid. Inside the box was a small rectangular object that could have passed for a key chain. The inscription 256 MB was faintly scratched across the back. She knew a wealth of data could be stored inside. There were also several photographs and what looked like an address book. Flipping through it, she saw names, dates, amounts, followed by a combination of three different letters on three quarters of the pages. The desire to run back to her hotel room nearly overwhelmed her.

  But training won out, forcing her to take out the device she liked to refer to as her spy camera. As quickly as she could, she photographed the contents of each page. Just in case.

  Finished, she deposited what she’d found into her purse. And then she got the hell out of there.

  The first full breath Cate drew was when her plane touched down at LAX. The entire return flight, she half expected to be hauled back to Kiev by either Ukrainian security or the two men she’d met from the Ukrainian Interpol. While Baker’s body was in the cargo area of the plane, the papers he’d undoubtedly believed were his insurance policy were safely with her. She hadn’t even mentioned finding them to Walter and no word was sent back to the field office, beyond a confirmation that they were taking the flight back. And that she had news.

  Lydia and Sullivan met the plane. One look at Lydia’s face as she and Sullivan approached told Cate that the woman somehow sensed that the mission had been a success. As always Sullivan had a poker face.

  Lydia looked at her, a hopeful note in her voice as she asked, “We got ’em?”

  “We got ’em,” Cate declared. Taking out the sealed envelope that contained everything from her purse, she addressed Sullivan. “This is everything we were looking for. Names, dates, everything,” she repeated. Then almost gleefully added, “Let the dismantling begin.”

  Hooking her arm through Cate’s, Lydia gave her a quick, warm squeeze. Lukas was right. It didn’t matter who did the job, as long as it got done. “I knew you could do it. Just the same, I’ve been holding my breath the entire time, waiting for something to go wrong.”

  “Sometimes things actually do go right,” Cate said. She grinned at Sullivan. “You just have to have a little faith.”

  Sullivan gingerly separated the two sides of the manila envelope, then withdrew the book. He looked at a few pages, then returned the book to the envelope again. He raised his eyes to look at Cate. “Did you read the entries?”

  Maybe she was getting paranoid, but Cate thought she heard something in Sullivan’s voice. Something not quite right. “No,” she finally answered.

  There was enough hesitation in her voice to trigger a reaction.

  Disbelief filtered through her as she saw the glint of steel. A second later, she realized that she was looking down at a weapon in Sullivan’s hands. His coat was draped over it to hide his gun from public view, but it was definitely there.

  The expression on the man’s face never changed. “I think you have, Special Agent Kowalski. Which means that the four of us are all going to have to go for a little drive.”

  Chapter 36

  Parking at LAX was hell. Despite all the expansion the airport had undergone in the past few decades, that was more or less a given.

  But there was nothing out of the ordinary about that. Anticipation of cruising up and down the rows, searching for a spot hadn’t been the reason for the turmoil Christian had endured for the last forty-five miles. Anticipation of another sort was the cause of his unrest.

  Christian had tried to talk himself out of what he was doing even before he’d gotten into his car at Blair Memorial. He’d tried over and over to tell himself that it was too soon, that he was being rash and that, damn it all to hell, he didn’t want to be involved with anyone. He’d made himself that promise, sworn it over and over again over the course of the past three years.

  So what was he doing here, parking his vehicle in what amounted to the north forty?

  The electronic doors leading into the terminal opened as he approached them. He walked through, a man who very well might be on his way to his own funeral.

  What else could it be but a funeral? There was too much going against his getting involved with anyone, not the least of which was that he didn’t want to leave himself exposed to the possibility of feeling like one of the walking dead again. It had taken him too long to get back to functioning properly.

  And then there was the guilt to grapple with. Guilt that he could have feelings for someone else when he’d been so firmly convinced that his heart and soul would always belong to Alma.

  Funny, her face wasn’t as vivid as it used to be when it materialized in his mind. There was guilt about that, too. Guilt that his thoughts kept drifting over to Cate. Guilt that the lovemaking they’d enjoyed had made him feel so alive, so vital.

  He wanted to be with her again.

  And set himself u
p for a fall, an annoying voice whispered in his head. The annoying voice was right. There were a hundred arguments against coming here to meet Cate’s plane. A hundred arguments, large and small. But in the final analysis, they all seemed to bounce off him like hail falling on concrete. He hadn’t even been able to mount enough of an argument to keep himself from starting up his car and taking the 405 on-ramp that would eventually lead him to the airport.

  And for once, traffic seemed to be light. It was as if someone was paving the way for him.

  Or was he reading too much into this?

  Leave, damn it. Save yourself now before it’s too late.

  It was already too late, he thought. Too late because he did have feelings for Cate. If he didn’t, what was he doing here?

  The answer was simple, he thought cynically. Driving himself crazy.

  Striding up to the arrival-departure board, he looked up and scanned the flight numbers. He didn’t have to refer to the piece of paper in his pocket, the one containing the information Lydia had given him. The flight number was embossed in his brain.

  That had been his final hurdle. Asking Lydia. He’d almost balked, then forced himself at the last minute to talk to her. To her credit, his sister-in-law had made no comment when he asked when Cate’s flight was arriving. Which made the largest comment of all. That she’d expected this.

  Well, Lydia might have expected this, but he sure as hell hadn’t.

  Cate wasn’t even his type.

  Cate was nothing like Alma. Oh, granted, there was this small part of her that might have been thought as needy because she wanted to connect to her birth mother, but he had a feeling that wasn’t the way she was normally. Cate could just take life’s pitches all in stride. He’d seen enough of the independent, take-charge woman she was to know that she was not a clinging vine who only fixated on the wrong that had been done her rather than the opportunities coming her way.

  That had been Alma’s problem, he thought. Alma just couldn’t seem to pull herself up, no matter how hard everyone tried to help her. No matter how much he loved her. The only thing she had succeeded in doing, especially in death, was to pull him down.

  Until Cate had happened in his life.

  After scanning the board, he finally found the right flight. Cate’s plane had arrived early. It had already landed a full fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

  Cate could be anywhere in the terminal by now.

  Christian muttered a curse under his breath as he hurried to the gate where she was to have deplaned. It was a long shot and in all likelihood, she might have already hooked up with Lydia and left. Lydia was very efficient that way. No, wait, Lydia had mentioned a body that was being transported from the embassy. That meant that she and Cate had to wait for the cargo to be taken off the plane.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. With any luck, that gave him some time to find her.

  He thought of calling her cell, but given the din in the terminal, he doubted if she could hear it unless she was listening for it. Or it was set to vibrate. He supposed it was worth a try. Taking out his cell phone, he began to dial her number.

  And then he saw her. All the way across the terminal. Astonished, he flipped his phone closed and returned it to his pocket. In the middle of a crowded terminal, he could pick her out as if there was something inside of him that was tuned in only to her.

  Weaving his way through the crowd, he began to move in her direction.

  She wasn’t by herself. She wasn’t even with just Lydia. There was a man of about thirty-five, forty, with hunched shoulders standing beside her. Both he and Cate were looking at another man who was apparently with Lydia.

  He’d been so intent on coming here, on seeing her, that he hadn’t thought she’d be traveling with anyone. He didn’t like audiences. For a second, he wavered, toying with the idea of retreat after all. It wasn’t as if this was the last time he’d ever see her.

  It might be, given half a chance. Once you begin retreating…

  Damn it, he hadn’t come all this way on the 405 freeway just to go back with his tail between his legs. He remembered life before Alma’s suicide had ripped him apart. A life he’d just begun to glimpse again.

  Because of Cate.

  Christian made up his mind and pushed forward again. Striding across the crowded floor, working his way around and through groups of people, he never took his eyes away from the prize.

  Look at me, Cate. Look at me.

  As he cut the distance between them, Christian became aware that there was a very strange expression on Cate’s face, one he’d never seen before.

  She looked wary as she regarded the man in front of her.

  He’d seen that same look on a child, regarding a needle, anticipating the pain that was to come. Trying to brazen it out.

  Something was wrong.

  Christian lengthened his stride, a gut feeling urging him on.

  “Cate,” he called out. She gave no indication that she’d heard him and he tried again, raising his voice this time. “Cate!”

  He saw her head jerk up as she searched the area for him. Saw, too, that the man she’d been regarding so oddly half turned, startled, before he swung back around toward her again.

  This was it, Cate thought. Now or never. She knew that if she didn’t make use of this opportunity, there wouldn’t be another one. Having been in the dark only a few minutes ago, she now knew too much. They all did. And Sullivan would have them eliminated.

  She thought of Lydia and the baby she was carrying. Of Walter and the basketball game he’d lamented missing. She thought of Christian. Everything raced through her brain in less than an instant.

  As did the desire to live.

  There wasn’t time to draw her weapon. She lunged at Sullivan, grabbing the hand with the gun in it. Sullivan’s coat fell, exposing the gun.

  Christian’s heart rose in his throat. The man was going to kill Cate.

  “Get out of the way!” he shouted, sprinting across the last little bit of distance.

  The warning was intended for both Cate and Lydia, as well as for anyone else who might be in the line of fire. The words were hardly out of his mouth as Christian made a flying tackle, bringing down the man with the gun. The latter was a good six inches taller than he was, but the element of surprise was definitely on his side.

  The gun, no longer raised overhead, went off just as a gaggle of LAX security personnel converged around them out of nowhere, all running to the center of the disturbance. Screams came from the crowd and panic descended over the area.

  And nowhere was its effect felt more than in Cate’s chest. Christian had come flying out of nowhere a second before the gun had gone off.

  Where had the bullet gone? The question throbbed in her head.

  Oh please, don’t let it have hit Christian, she prayed.

  All Christian knew was that he had to disarm the other man. He made a grab for Sullivan’s elbow, then his wrist, determined to get the gun away from him.

  In an instant, both Cate and Lydia had drawn their weapons, even as guns were bring drawn on them.

  Cate never took her eyes off the two men on the ground. It took everything she had not to give in to the urge to shoot Sullivan. It wasn’t so much an act of self-control as it was fear that she might hit Christian instead.

  “It’s over,” Cate cried, loathing clawing at her throat. “You’re surrounded, Sullivan. Give up now and they might take that into consideration.” Although, given the nature of his offenses, she sincerely doubted it. Too bad that having someone drawn and quartered was against the law, she thought, because if anyone ever deserved to be, it was Sullivan. He’d used his position not only to line his pockets, but to betray them at every turn.

  “Hey, you, drop your weapons,” the man who was very clearly the head of airport security ordered. He worked his way to the center of his people, both hands on his service revolver.

  “FBI,” Lydia countered, holding up her badge. She looked around
for the man who had initially cleared both her and Sullivan for entry when they’d arrived at the terminal less than ten minutes ago. “Sergeant Bigelow here?”

  When the man stepped forward the next moment, he stared at the scene, especially at Sullivan. “I thought you were all on the same side.”

  Lydia shook her head, still unable to fully process what had just gone down. She’d worked beside Sullivan for more than two years. Trusted him. What the hell had happened? “I thought so, too,” she said quietly.

  Getting to his feet, Christian jerked Sullivan to his, as well. The very action cost him. He could feel pain searing across his rib cage as if someone was dragging the sharp end of a spear against his skin.

  Relieved that he was all right, Cate threw her arms around Christian’s waist. She caught her breath when he winced. Stepping back, she looked at him quizzically. The next moment, fear replaced joy. From beneath the opening of his jacket, she could see that blood had begun to discolor Christian’s shirt.

  The bullet hadn’t missed him, after all. “Oh, God, you’re hit.”

  Dazed, confused, Christian looked down and saw the growing splotch of dark red that was spreading out on the left side of his shirt.

  That would definitely explain the light-headed feeling that was swirling around him, he thought. “I guess I am.”

  Chapter 37

  Afraid that he might pass out on her, Cate wanted to prop him up. But she was afraid of touching Christian. Of making the pain worse for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  She could only stare at him, at the wound, in accelerating disbelief as she fought back tears. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bleeding,” Christian replied succinctly. He’d never seen his own blood before and he stared down at the stain in complete, almost detached fascination. It seemed to border on the surreal.