by Diana Duncan
Stay calm. Once she made everyone see it was all a huge misunderstanding, she’d be free to go. “Could you please remove these handcuffs? They’re hurting me.”
“Sure.” Graveled voice falsely cheerful, Hanson gestured at a table that held a sweating water pitcher and clean glasses. Everyone but her had something to drink. “Tell us who you work with, and we’ll uncuff you, get you water, aspirin, whatever.”
Her headache must be obvious, big surprise. Jerry could probably hear her pulse clanging against her skull across the room. “I’ve explained, it’s just me and my admin assistant.”
“Her name?”
His name was Etienne Duplais. And she wasn’t about to sacrifice him to Hanson. Confronted by police, Etienne would completely lose his English. If he found out she’d been arrested, he’d pitch the mother of all hissy fits. Who knew what he’d say? Her young protégé was impassioned and impetuous, but his artistic elan was infallible. “Not important. I work alone.”
“So you’re admitting you planted the bomb yourself?”
“No! The person who has been stalking me planted the bomb!”
“With mysterious notes that self-destruct?” He snorted. “You don’t expect us to swallow that?”
“It’s the truth!” Liam had explained how. Two years ago, all her instincts had told her she could trust the handsome SWAT cop. After being held in his arms again today, the feeling was even stronger. She glanced at the mirror once more, almost imagining she felt his presence. But Liam had gone into a huddle with his brothers when she’d been arrested. Though her innocence must be obvious, they apparently hadn’t wanted to argue with the FBI. Liam hadn’t shown up at the police station, either.
Why would he? They’d had a one-night stand, a long time ago. She’d used him and then fled. But she’d never forgotten him. Never gotten over him. He’d changed her life.
Heck, he’d saved her life.
He claimed he’d tried to find her for months. What kind of obsession inspired that much persistence? She shook her head. How could she believe her instincts to trust him, when intellect demanded she at least consider that Liam might be the stalker?
Maybe he wasn’t absent because he didn’t care, but because he cared far too much. In all the wrong ways.
She met the FBI agent’s icy gray gaze, and took a slow breath. A handsome prince would not be charging to her rescue. She had to rescue herself…like always. “I want to call my attorney. I’ll make bail before you finish the paperwork.”
Hanson bared his teeth. “Not so fast, Ms. Chabeau. We can hold someone we suspect of planning an attack on the U.S.—someone we declare an ‘enemy combatant’—in military custody, without charges. Without legal representation. Indefinitely.”
She gasped. “You’re lying! That’s unconstitutional!”
“Homeland Security laws now give us the power to protect our citizens from terrorists.”
“If that’s the truth, it’s horrifying. Who’s going to protect citizens from zealots like you?”
His smile widened into arrogance. “Spoken like a true anarchist. Your file mentions that you’re from France.”
Shortly after she’d been brought in, he’d received a stack of computer files, no doubt detailing her life down to her bra size. The government’s new powers were frightening. She’d only begun to learn the extent. “I’ve been living in Paris, but retained my U.S. citizenship. I’m no terrorist. I’m an artist!” She half rose from the chair.
“Most fanatics think they are.” He pushed her down. “You’ve overplayed your hand, this time. The bomb in your car was constructed from a new explosive we have yet to identify. Bomb dogs don’t recognize it, X-rays can’t detect it. It’s as unique and incriminating as a fingerprint. Pointing at you.”
The pain in her temples throbbed viciously. “Someone tried to kill me with this new explosive, and you’re blaming me?”
“I’ll spell it out. We’ve only found this chemical residue after bombings in Europe—linked to an elite terrorist organization.” He waved her passport, which had been in her purse. “An organization active in the same cities at the same times you were there. Now we find it in your car. We believe this group’s attacks were rehearsals for something much bigger. A major strike. You’re our first lead. Our only connection.”
Bewildered, she floundered through waves of fear. “I don’t know anything about bombs. Someone has been stalking me for a year.” It was difficult to speak with her mouth bone dry. She watched Hanson deliberately sip water. “The guy has the money to follow me from Europe, he could have purchased this new stuff.”
Hanson plunked the glass down in front of her. “If an unknown individual is targeting you, what’s the motive?”
“What motivates any maniac?” She refused to point a finger at Liam. Power-hungry Hanson would attack him. Accusations of treason could sink Liam’s career. Ruin his life. She had nothing more than suspicions. And her uneasiness could be guilt over the way she’d treated him. Even on the remote chance Liam was stalking her, she couldn’t believe he was connected with terrorists. Let Hanson come up with his own darned answers.
“Maybe someone developed a fixation at an auction. Or when Renée’s photographs were featured on that home decorating show and she became American consumers’ newest fad.” She strove to banish shrillness from her voice. “I’m not important enough to interest terrorists. Even if I had somehow attracted their attention, what would be their reason for trying to kill me?”
“Internal power struggle. The damn nut jobs off each other all the time. Maybe you know more than they want you to. More than you think you do. Cooperate, and we can protect you.”
“I am not involved in a conspiracy to commit terrorism!”
“We’re obtaining warrants to search your residences and Renée Allete’s studio in Paris as we speak.”
Perspiration trickled down her hairline, and she rubbed her face on her shoulder. Why couldn’t she wake up from this hideous nightmare? Or maybe she had been killed by the car bomb and landed in hell. It was hot enough. “You won’t find anything.”
“Time will tell.” He shrugged. “Enjoy federal prison.”
Nausea welled in her throat. “You can’t keep me in custody! It’s not only my life at stake here!”
“Are you making threats?”
“No!” She forced herself to enunciate slowly. “My two-year-old niece, Aubrey, was born with a genetic kidney disorder. She needs a transplant, a procedure my brother-in-law’s insurance won’t cover. The transplant must be done while Aubrey’s still strong enough to survive…and the hospital won’t perform the procedure without being paid first.”
Hanson smirked. “How original. You climbed into bed with terrorists to get money for your niece’s operation.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Kate stared into his eyes, as flat and cold as the silver mirror. “The auction at the Venetian is to raise the necessary funds. If that auction doesn’t take place as scheduled, we won’t have the money. Every single thing must happen as planned, on time. This is Aubrey’s last chance. Her only chance. If you detain me, she could die!”
He shrugged again. “Your camera-shy boss will have to jet over from Paris and conduct the auction personally.”
She sighed and gave up. “I am Renée Allete. I use a pseudonym and pretend to be the company’s spokeswoman because I prefer anonymity.” She begged with her gaze, her voice. “You have to let me go. A little girl’s life depends on it!”
“Thousands of lives depend on identifying the source of this dangerous new explosive.” Hanson planted his hands on the table in front of her. “Who else are you pretending to be, Ms. Chabeau? Until we know for certain, you’re not going anywhere.”
Watching and listening from outside the interrogation room, Liam pursed his lips. Kate was Renée Allete. Now he knew why the haunting photo had evoked the same emotions in him as she had. He’d studied the photo nearly every night, and hadn’t been able to sha
ke the eerie feeling.
As Hanson denied her plea for her niece’s life, her body trembled and her brown fawn’s eyes filled with tears. Liam slammed his fists against the glass. He’d been locked out for over an hour while Hanson hammered Kate. This was not his police station…hell, not even his precinct, and he had no authority. Not that he had any over the Feds, anyway. Helplessness was damn near killing him. Especially when Kate’s welfare was at stake.
Murphy, tuned into Liam’s emotions as always, whined and nudged his hip with his nose. Keep your survival instincts sharp, partner. It’s a dog-eat-dog world.
Liam looked down at the anxious canine. “It’s okay, pal. I’m not gonna smash a desk through the window and feed it to the bastard, piece by large, splintered piece. Yet.”
Another five minutes of this torture, and he might break.
“I would hope not.” The deep male voice spiced with a melodic Spanish accent spoke from behind him. “‘Desking’a federal officer will look lousy on your annual evaluation.”
Grinning, Liam pivoted. “It’s about damn time!” He did a double take. “Whoa! Aren’t you pretty? What’s with the hair?”
Alex Cortez lifted one shoulder, displacing his long black curls. He returned Liam’s grin. “I have been undercover with a motorcycle gang.”
Murphy looked up at Alex expectantly. Long time, no see!
Alex scratched Murphy’s ears. “What’s the emergency, mi amigo?”
Liam jerked his thumb toward the interrogation room. “The guy who thinks he’s Tommy Lee Jones on crack.”
Alex didn’t bother looking in the window. “Ah, Special Agent Chuck Hanson.”
“Met him before, have you?”
“I’ve had the pleasure.”
Liam grimaced. “There are so many egos and badges duking it out in there, they won’t be able to decide what kind of doughnuts to order, let alone figure out the truth.”
Alex stared into the window. “What has Hanson done now?”
Liam filled him in, and they devised a ballsy tactical plan. When they concluded their discussion, anger darkened Alex’s coffee-brown eyes to nearly black. “My father emigrated from Cuba so his sons could live in a country where such atrocities do not occur. The man makes a mockery of justice.” He whipped out his phone. “You have Hanson’s number?”
“I’ve had his number since the second we met.”
Alex chuckled. “I’d wager my Harley on it.” He spoke into the phone. “Agent Hanson, this is Supervisory Special Agent Alex Cortez. Please step outside, and bring your documentation.”
Frowning, Hanson strode stiffly into the hallway. Alex took his time reading the entire file, and then nodded at him. “You will release Ms. Chabeau to me. Immediately.”
“And let you nab the credit for an international—”
“Agent Hanson.” Alex’s low voice sounded lethal. “If you don’t like my decision, you may take it up with my partner, Special Agent Pete Lassiter.
Hanson scowled and slammed back into the room.
Liam grinned. Now things were getting interesting.
Hanson jerked Kate into the hallway, her expression scared, her wrists still cuffed. Liam’s grin disappeared as his strained patience crumbled. “Murphy, guard.”
Murphy surged to his feet, and his warning growl backed Hanson against the window.
Kate squeaked and scuttled away from the dog, and Liam belatedly remembered her fear. He blocked her view of Murphy with his body. “It’s okay, he’s just gonna keep Hanson in line.”
“You’ll regret this, O’Rourke.” Hanson’s attempt at intimidation was neutralized by the fact that, with Murphy snarling inches from his crotch, he didn’t dare move anything more than his lips.
“Probably.” It took stubborn Irish will to wink at Kate, when what Liam really wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and hold her. Kiss away her fears. Soothe her pain. “But it’ll be worth it.”
“I’ll have your badge for this!” Hanson snapped.
Liam dug out his universal handcuff key. “For transferring custody of a prisoner?” He swiveled to Kate. “Turn around.” She complied and he carefully unlocked the cuffs.
Her arms dropped uselessly to her sides, and she turned back to face him. “My arms are numb.”
“The circulation will resume in a minute.” And hurt like a bitch. Liam gently rubbed her wrists. She grimaced, and he fought the urge to smash Hanson’s leathery face. “I’m sorry, I know it smarts. Are you all right?” His fingertips brushed the scars on her right wrist. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
Her mouth trembled when he touched her scars. “I’m fine.” She nervously eyed Murphy, who kept Hanson flattened against the wall with nothing but his steely brown gaze and a toothy snarl. “As long as the dog stays over there.”
“Babe, you’re afraid of the wrong dog. Murphy’s less dangerous than the jerk he’s holding back.”
Alex stepped forward. “Supervisory Special Agent Alejandro Cortez, at your service, Ms. Chabeau.” He lifted Kate’s hand and swept a courtly bow. “I apologize for Agent Hanson, and assure you I’ll take disciplinary action.”
As Kate’s eyes widened, an unaccustomed spear of jealously goaded Liam. He was no slouch with women, but they literally flung themselves at Alex. He elbowed his friend. “Show-off. Everyone calls him Alex, Kate.”
Kate’s voice was faint, her face white, but she held her spine regally straight. “Thank you, Agent Cortez.”
“You’re most welcome.” Alex inclined his head at Hanson. “Agent Hanson, you’re dismissed.”
Liam waited several taut beats.
Finally, Hanson gritted, “I can’t twitch until he calls off this friggin’ dog.”
“Murphy, release.”
Aw…all right. Murphy sat back on his haunches, but his vigilant gaze never left Hanson’s face. But I don’t trust him.
Smart dog. Before Hanson could move, Liam leaned in and said very quietly, “If you ever put your hands on Kate again, I will let Murphy have your cojones for chew toys.”
Murphy smirked, and Alex doubled over in a coughing fit.
Red mottled Hanson’s neck and streaked across his face. “You can’t threaten me, pissant. I’m your superior.”
“That’s open for debate, Chuck.”
Hanson thrust out his chin. “Blatant insubordination.”
Alex executed his blasé shrug. “Please return Ms. Chabeau’s personal effects, except her passport, which I will retain.”
Muttering, Hanson stormed back into the interrogation room.
Liam sent Alex silent gratitude. “I owe you one.” Behind that angelic face lurked a scarily sharp intellect and bone-deep dedication to justice. “I’d appreciate a copy of the lab analysis on the bomb when it comes in, and intel from overseas.”
“Done.” Alex smiled. He knew he could also call in a favor any time. “I’ll need your Homeland Security pass. As of now, you have only one assignment.”
Liam handed it over without protest. He had his priorities straight.
Hanson marched out and thrust Kate’s purse at her, slapped her passport into Alex’s extended palm and then stalked away.
Kate sidled down the hallway. “I’ll be leaving, now. Thank you for getting me out of there.” Her gaze flicked to Liam, and fear-edged regret glinted in the soft brown depths. “Both of you.”
Alex held up a hand. “One moment, Ms. Chabeau.”
Kate stopped, wariness etching her expression. “Yes?”
“I’m afraid you’re not free to go.”
“But I thought—” Kate blanched. “Why not?”
“Because of the possible threat to national security, we cannot release you until you’re cleared of suspicion. It’s also for your own safety. If you were not targeted by these terrorists before, you may come to their attention now.”
“But I have to leave!” She was so distraught, she didn’t notice she’d walked closer to Murphy. “My niece’s life depends on those photogra
phs being sold at the auction!”
“I realize that, and can accommodate you.”
Kate’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank goodness.”
Liam tensed. He was about to be entrusted with the most high-stakes incendiary device he’d ever handled. Pop had either been one hundred percent right, or dead wrong. The way Liam figured the odds, there was a fifty-fifty chance Kate was his love-at-first-sight soul mate. But this time, he couldn’t walk away. He had to do his duty. Even if it blew up in his face.
Alex gave Kate his fallen angel’s smile. “You are hereby remanded into the custody of Officer O’Rourke.”
“What?” Kate rounded on Liam, her face etched with horror.
Alex calmly finished sealing their doom. “Until further notice, you must stay within Liam’s sight 24/7.”
Chapter 4
3:00 p.m.
Kate rubbed her aching temples as Agent Cortez urged Liam into a private confab. This could not be happening! She’d never done anything more daring than hold her camera out over the railing of the Eiffel Tower to snap a photo. Yet she was suspected of conspiracy to commit international terrorism?
Her headache ramped up, and she riffled through her purse for her migraine medication. She tugged out the bottle and groaned. Empty. The refill had been in her purse, but a vicious attack two weeks ago had kept her housebound for days. Blind with pain, she’d stored the meds in her bathroom cabinet for easy access.
Barring medication, she needed food…and a chocolate hit. She’d been in the hospital visiting Aubrey at breakfast time, and hadn’t had a chance to drink the mocha frappuccino that had saved her life. The FBI interrogation had preempted lunch.
To distract herself from the pain, Kate studied Liam, engaged in vehement conversation with Agent Cortez. The harsh overhead light washed out everyone else, but showcased the SWAT cop’s compelling features—wavy blue-black hair, defined cheekbones and strong, square jaw. She’d never met a more striking man. Her artist’s eye saw a magnetic, devastating, dripping-with-testosterone alpha male. She automatically reached for her camera, and her stomach dropped. Her beloved Leica had been left in the car, which was in police impoundment.
