by Irene Hannon
He tousled the boy’s hair as Mike flanked his chair on the other side and added his plea. “I think I’m outnumbered.”
“Neal.” Becca arched an eyebrow at her husband and sent him one of those coded husband/wife signals he and Jenny had often used in front of other people.
“I’m trying, okay? I have a master’s in IT, not child psych—or martial arts.” He moved in on the twins. “Come on, guys. Don’t get me in trouble with your mom.”
“Please, Unc Luke.” Mike tugged on his hand.
“I’ll let you watch a few minutes of Finding Nemo on my phone if you come right now.” Neal held up his cell.
“Bribery is not in the child-rearing manual.” Becca narrowed her eyes.
“Fine. You want to try?”
Luke started to rise. “I can run up with them. I don’t mind—”
“Sit.” At Becca’s field-marshal tone, Luke sank back into his seat. “Boys, it’s time for bed.” She gave the two hooligans a stern scrutiny. “Go with your dad. Now. If I hear one more word, our field trip to the Magic House next week isn’t happening.”
The twins regarded each other across Luke’s legs . . . and meekly traipsed back into the house.
“You’re good at that.” Luke grinned at his sister as the trio disappeared inside. “But you have had years of practice. You were bossy when we were growing up too.”
“Ha-ha.” She jabbed him in the arm.
“I wasn’t kidding.”
“I know.” She made a face at him and broke off a piece of the brownie on the plate in front of her.
“Fitting another bite in there might be a challenge.” He surveyed her rounded tummy. “When’s the little princess due again?”
“Two weeks. And I can always find room for chocolate.” She popped the morsel into her mouth. “So you’ve been telling my boys bedtime stories with guns in them?”
“Hey—I’m a detective, remember? But only the bad guys get shot.”
“Great.” She rolled her eyes.
“My stories are much tamer than those animated films kids watch now . . . like Finding Nemo. Doesn’t the mother fish get eaten by a barracuda at the very beginning? That’s pretty traumatic for a three-year-old, if you ask me.”
“Fine. I’m not going to argue the point. I’d rather talk about baseball. Neal managed to snag four corporate tickets for the Cardinals game next week. You want to go?”
“I might. Who’s using the fourth ticket?”
“Well . . .” Becca broke off another hunk of brownie. “There’s a new member in my book club, and we had a long chat after the last get-together. Lovely person. She took a PR job at Webster University about five months ago and doesn’t know many people in town outside of work. I think you’d like her.”
Ah-ha.
Now he understood why she’d relegated the tucking-in duties to Neal. She’d wanted to get him alone so she could put on her matchmaker hat and pair him up with some female.
Not happening.
“I’ll pass.”
“Oh, come on, Luke. It’s not a lifetime commitment. It’s a baseball game with your sister and brother-in-law, for pity’s sake.”
“It’s a blind date.”
“Partly. But I promise, you’ll like her. I’ve never tried to set you up with anyone before, have I?”
“No.”
“Well . . . there you go. This is special. I wouldn’t be pushing unless I thought this had real potential.”
“For what?”
She gave him a get-real look. “To relaunch your social life.”
“My social life doesn’t need relaunching.”
“Ha!”
“It doesn’t. Trust me.”
Her eyes thinned at his definitive tone. “Is there a message in there—or are you just in denial?”
“My social life is about to pick up dramatically.”
“Why?”
No reason to play coy at this point. She’d find out about Kristin soon enough if everything went as he hoped it would. “I met someone.”
“Really?” Excitement sparked in her eyes, and she leaned toward him as much as her girth allowed. “Tell me everything. Who is she, where did you meet her, how did you—”
“Whoa!” He held up his hand. “One question at a time.”
“Fine. Who is she?”
“The woman from the wedding.”
Becca peered at him. “I thought you said she was involved with the best man?”
“I was wrong.”
“How did you find her again?”
“Coincidence. She has a connection to a case I’m working.”
A flicker of alarm darkened his sister’s irises. “What kind of case? You only deal with crimes against persons . . . like homicide. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
“I can’t give you any details. It’s an open case. But her involvement is peripheral.”
“So she’s not in any danger or anything, right?”
“She shouldn’t be.” But if that was true, why couldn’t he shake the uneasiness that continued to dog him?
Becca didn’t give him a chance to dwell on that question as she continued her inquisition.
“When do I get to meet her?”
“We haven’t even been out on a date yet.”
“Why not?”
“Professional conflict.”
“Then how do you know she’s interested?”
He gave her a slow smile. “She’s interested.”
“Yeah?” She studied him. “Okay. I’ll take your word for that. And I repeat . . . when do I get to meet her?”
“Let’s not immerse her in the family too fast or we might scare her off.” Not likely. Kristin would love Becca and Neal and the twins . . . but he wanted her to himself for a while first.
“Fine—but you have a standing invitation to bring her to dinner as soon as you’re ready to let her meet the family.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So what are the odds of that?”
“Of what?”
“That it will progress to meet-the-family stage?”
He took a sip of his iced tea as he pondered that question.
Becca wasn’t asking about the probability of him bringing a date to a family dinner.
She was asking about the probability that Kristin might be joining their family at some point.
He hadn’t let himself think that far ahead . . . but all at once he realized his heart was way ahead of his mind.
Because Kristin had already staked a claim there.
“Honestly? I think the odds are high.”
“Hallelujah! That’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks. You need someone to—”
She stopped abruptly as a drop of rain flicked against his nose. He lifted his head. The dark clouds that had been snuffing out the blue sky section by section all evening had finally finished the job.
“Guess that’s our cue to move inside.” Becca heaved herself to her feet and picked up her plate and glass.
Luke followed her in. “I need to get going anyway. I’ve got a busy few days ahead.”
“I hope you’ll be indoors.” She cringed as a flash of lightning slashed through the sky, accompanied by a house-shaking boom of thunder.
“I should be.”
“Glad to hear it. This kind of weather is predicted through midweek, and being in the middle of an electrical storm is dangerous.”
So was being in the middle of a plan like the one they were about to launch.
He didn’t have any worries about his own safety—but Touma Bishara’s life hung in the balance.
And other innocent parties could die during this takedown too. With three casualties already, Luke wasn’t taking anything for granted.
That’s why come Tuesday morning, he’d be sitting in the FBI van close to WorldCraft—not only because he wanted in on this operation, but because he wanted to be near Kristin.
Just in case.
Something felt o
ff.
Amir paced the length of his living room. Turned. Paced back.
Why had this shipment of candles taken longer than usual to arrive?
Why was that detective continuing to visit WorldCraft—as recently as Friday?
Why was the empty candle display about to be refilled on the heels of law enforcement’s last visit?
Was the timing coincidence . . . or connected?
Impossible to know.
And unknowns were unnerving.
A rumble of thunder reverberated through the house, and he crossed to the window. Eased the curtain aside. Sheets of rain were slamming against the pavement.
The weather was as stormy as his emotions.
He let the drape fall back into place and resumed pacing.
Perhaps he was overreacting, letting the unsettled weather feed his anxiety.
But perhaps not.
And he wasn’t going to begin taking chances now.
Meaning there would be extra precautions with this retrieval.
The two people he’d lined up came with impeccable references from trusted associates with proven loyalty to the cause . . . and they were skilled at avoiding detection.
Nevertheless, a well-trained tracker might be able to follow them.
The deception he’d worked out—and the layer of retrieval he’d added—should increase his security, however.
As should the other safeguards he would put in place. Like using burner phones only once . . . and in remote locations.
Still, if law enforcement was paying attention to the latest candle shipment, it would be better to have some inside information.
And the best place to get it might be from the woman who had been an unwitting partner in his whole operation—and who might now be cooperating with the cops.
Kristin Dane.
This was the day.
Kristin maneuvered her Sentra down the narrow alley behind WorldCraft . . . swung into her usual parking spot . . . and took a deep breath.
She needed to stay calm, cool, and collected. Pull out every acting skill she’d ever learned and give the performance of her life for this limited engagement.
And she would.
Her role might be small, but it was critical to the master plan to shut down a terrorist operation and find justice for three innocent deaths.
Straightening her shoulders, she collected her purse and tote bag, opened her umbrella, and hustled toward the back door.
“Morning, Kristin. Perfect timing.”
She swiveled toward the adjacent businesses. Ryan lifted a hand in greeting as he hurried from the back door of his office toward his car, dodging raindrops.
“Why is my timing perfect?”
He opened the passenger side door and pulled out his briefcase. “I stopped at McArthur’s on my way in. I’ve got client meetings this morning and wanted a few baked goods on hand. One of them is your favorite—a caramel pecan stollen.” He grinned at her and shut his door. “Your shop doesn’t open for half an hour—and we never did get to celebrate the news about your mom. Want to share a piece with a cup of coffee?”
She hesitated as he bolted back toward his office. The rich confection was her favorite . . . and she was early . . . and she did feel bad about giving him the brush-off on Saturday.
What could it hurt to share a piece of coffee cake for five minutes?
Besides, though tension had chased away her appetite earlier and she’d skipped breakfast, the growl in her stomach reminded her she owed it some food.
“I can spare a few minutes.”
“I won’t be offended if you eat and run.” He waited on the threshold to hold the door open for her.
Once she was inside, he motioned toward his office. “There’s an umbrella stand in there. You can leave your bags beside it. I’ll put the goodies out.”
She continued to his office, deposited all her paraphernalia, and joined him in the conference room. The stollen, a box of Danish, and a white bag were on the table.
He poured her coffee, handed it over, and pulled out his phone, frowning at the screen.
“Go ahead and help yourself while I take this.” He picked up his coffee and walked toward the door. “I’ll be back in two minutes. There are napkins and plates in the bag.”
As he exited the room, Kristin wandered over to the table, opened the box with the stollen, and took a sniff of the rich caramel aroma.
Maybe her day was destined to be stressful, but at least it was beginning on a pleasant note.
After pulling out a plate, napkin, and fork, she cut a slice of the stollen and sat at the conference table to enjoy the unexpected treat.
Five minutes later, her cake reduced to a few lingering crumbs and her coffee cup almost empty, she ventured into the hall. Ryan’s door was closed.
She hesitated.
Interrupting his call would be rude . . . but she needed her things and she couldn’t hang around forever.
Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt, though. Ryan would surely remember she was waiting and open his door soon.
Coffee refill in hand, she prowled around the conference room and pilfered a few more loose crumbs from the cake.
Just when she’d decided she’d have to tap on his door, he reappeared. “Sorry about that. The call was from the CEO of a big account I’ve been wooing. I didn’t want to cut him off. Did you have some cake?”
“Yes, but I need to get to the shop.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to delay you. Let me get your things.” He returned to his office and retrieved her purse, tote, and damp umbrella. “I hope you have a quiet and uneventful week. Might I even suggest boring?”
If only.
“Boring sounds welcome after the turmoil of the past couple of months. Thanks again for the coffee cake.”
“If there’s any left after my meetings, I’ll bring you another piece later.”
“Unless your clients are on a diet, I have a feeling you’ll be down to crumbs. McArthur’s is hard to resist. Talk to you soon.”
He opened the back door for her, and she dashed through the rain to WorldCraft.
After depositing her purse and tote in the back, she quickly tackled her first priority of the day—setting out the candles on the display. Then she opened the shades, booted up the cash register, brewed her usual pot of coffee . . . and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Every time a customer entered, her pulse skipped a beat—but no one did more than glance at the candle display all morning.
By noon, she was getting fidgety . . . and her stomach was growling again.
The one customer in the store was in no hurry to settle on a purchase, but as soon as Kristin finally rang her up, she retreated to the storeroom and pulled the turkey sandwich she’d made for lunch out of the small fridge, along with a soft drink.
As she popped the tab, the bell over the front door jingled again.
Her hand jerked, and a geyser of soda spurted out, coating her fingers.
Good grief.
No more coffee for her today.
She didn’t need to be any more jittery than she already was.
Wiping her hands with a paper towel, she crossed to the door that led to the shop and opened it.
Froze.
A woman who appeared to be Middle Eastern was examining the table of woven scarves.
This could be it, Kristin. Put those acting skills to work.
“Welcome to WorldCraft.” She propped up the corners of her mouth and returned to the counter. “If I can help you find anything or answer any questions, let me know.”
“Thank you.” The woman flashed her a quick smile and continued to browse, selecting a pair of earrings before wending her way to the monastery display, where she began to examine the candles.
Kristin busied herself rearranging the jewelry displayed under the glass case in front of her, trying to keep her lungs supplied with air.
In. Out. In. Out. Keep it
even.
At last the woman picked up one of the candles and came to the checkout counter.
“You’ve selected some excellent items.” Kristin maintained a pleasant expression as she pulled a piece of bubble wrap from the roll under the counter and laid the candle on its side.
“Thanks. You have quite a variety of merchandise. That”—she motioned toward the candle—“will make a great gift. In fact . . . I think I’ll buy another one to keep in reserve.” She wandered back to the display.
As Kristin taped the bubble wrap in place, she tipped the candle and scanned the label.
Marked.
The second one the woman added was also marked.
Luke had been right.
Whoever was running this show wasn’t waiting to retrieve the candles this go-round.
While she found a small box for the earrings and rang up the purchases, she gave the woman a bit of history about the candles. “And as you may have noticed on the sign, all proceeds from these sales go to humanitarian aid in Syria.” She slipped the second candle in the bag as she concluded.
“It sounds like a worthy cause.” The woman counted out the cash for her purchase.
“Yes. The monks do commendable work in a very dangerous environment. I’m glad to be able to help them out in a small way.” She handed over the bag, hanging on to her amiable tone even as the atrocities this lovely young woman was helping perpetuate turned her stomach. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Thank you.”
The customer left the shop, the bell tinkling behind her.
Kristin leaned back against the wall . . . inhaled . . . exhaled.
One down, one to go.
But during the endless afternoon that followed, no one came to get the other two marked candles.
They remained unclaimed when she closed at five.
The second pickup must be scheduled for tomorrow.
That meant another restless night lay ahead. However . . . if the next transaction went as smoothly as today’s, by this time tomorrow she would be out of the spotlight and home free.
After all, once the candles were retrieved, why would the terrorists have any further interest in her?
20
“That’s a wrap.” Nick rose as Kristin flipped off the lights in WorldCraft and the view on the monitor in the FBI van dimmed.
