Striking Distance ti-6

by Pamela Clare

  Yeah? Well, I think you’re a jackass.

  “Thanks, Gary. I need to go.” Not bothering to wait for his good-bye, she ended the call and sat on the edge of her bed.

  Why hadn’t anyone told her about Tower?

  As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. They’d been trying to protect her, trying to prevent her from becoming emotionally overwhelmed. How weak she must seem to them, how helpless, how fragile.

  She’d thought she had her life together again, but the past two weeks had proved her wrong. She needed to be stronger, to quit waiting for Al-Nassar’s goons to attack her or kill her. She needed to fight back somehow.

  How would she have handled this four years ago?

  She would have investigated the bombing and the shooting, doing her best to uncover the perpetrators and expose their motive.

  Her thoughts turned to what Gary had told her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Tower had been shot at the parking garage. Was he working with Al-Nassar’s men? If he was, why would they shoot him? Maybe he’d gone there to tidy up loose ends by killing the shooter and had been shot himself. Or maybe he was the shooter and he’d been the loose end. But why would Tower want to kill her?

  I want the truth about why my men are dead. Since you’re the key to my getting that info, terminating you wouldn’t make much sense, would it?

  None of this made sense.

  There was only one place she knew to start looking for answers.

  She walked to her chest of drawers and took out the thick manila envelope Janet had left for her.

  * * *

  JAVIER FOUND LAURA in her office reading something, a look of intense concentration on her face, her hair twisted into a knot at her nape, a purple highlighter in her hand. Documents were spread across her desk.

  “Working on your VA article?”

  She didn’t look up, her gaze fixed on the page in her hand, her blond brows bent in a frown of concentration. She answered almost absentmindedly, still focused on whatever she was reading. “Something happened two months ago. He must have met someone new or fallen in with the wrong crowd.”

  “Who?”

  She didn’t say. “Or maybe I don’t have all the files.”

  He walked over to her and reached for a stack of documents. They were intel communiqués of some kind, memos about Ali Al Zahrani. On the back, each was stamped “Classified” in bright, bloody red. “Where did you get these?”

  Laura’s head snapped up, her gaze colliding with his, an unmistakable look of guilt on her face. “Uh . . .”

  Busted.

  “Did McBride leak these to you?”

  She took the pages from Javier’s hand. “I can’t reveal my source.”

  He saw the envelope on her desk, recognized it—and it clicked. “Agent Killeen. She gave them to you. They were in that envelope that you found on the floor when we got back home last night.”

  Laura glared at him. “You can’t breathe a word to anyone, especially not Zach.”

  Javier was an expert at keeping secrets, but he wasn’t used to keeping them from his team, and for the moment, McBride and the others were his team. “What are you hoping to do with all of this?”

  She sat down, began to arrange the piles. “I just want to understand. I need to know how a good kid like Ali could wake up one morning and decide to be a terrorist. What could make him suddenly turn his back on his family, his community, his life?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t as sudden as it seems.” In Javier’s experience, the seeds of terrorism were planted early in a kid’s life.

  “His browser history was full of searches about video games and topless Hollywood stars, and then two months ago, he created a new subdirectory on his computer and started searching for information on jihad and how to mix ANFO.”

  “The kid moved from boobs to bombs fast.”

  “Too fast.” Laura tucked the papers back inside the envelope and turned to her computer. She opened her browser, typed in a URL. “My gut tells me something must have happened to send him over that edge, and I need to know what it was. I want to create a list of the stories I was working on a couple of months ago. Maybe I wrote something that offended or provoked him.”

  Javier sensed the tension in her. He could feel how hard she was fighting to be tough, to hold herself together. He bent down, looked at her computer screen, and saw that she was on the Denver Independent website. “You’re making this way too personal. “

  “His mother said he cried when he thought I’d been killed. So why would he try to kill me himself three years later?”

  “Who knows?” Javier sat on the edge of her desk, caught her hands, and held them, turning her to face him. “Are you sure this is a good idea, bella? You’ve been through a lot and—”

  “I have to do something.” She glared at him, but behind the anger in her eyes he saw desperation. “I can’t just sit here, hidden away, waiting for Al-Nassar’s goons to get it right next time and kill me. If I could just understand why Ali did this . . .”

  “Would it fix anything? Would it?”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor, worry on her pretty face. “I . . . I don’t know. I hate unanswered questions, and I think his parents deserve an answer. Don’t you?”

  Sure, he did. “When it comes to shit like this—kids getting radicalized, wanting to kill and die—there are no easy answers.”

  Her chin went up, that defiant look coming over her face. “I’m going to do my best to figure it out.”

  “What do you think McBride will have to say about you digging through classified, leaked documents and working your own angle on his case?”

  “Who’s going to tell him?”

  Javier opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

  Her lips curved in a deliberately sweet smile. “That’s what I thought.”

  She has you figured out, hermano.

  She clicked Print. “I also need to find out how Derek Tower is tied to this.”

  “You heard about that.”

  She took a few sheets of paper from her printer tray. “Gary told me. I called the hospital. Tower is still in ICU in critical condition.”

  Chapin again.

  How Javier hated that pendejo. “What Gary doesn’t know is that Tower was armed with an assault rifle loaded with armor-piercing rounds. We’ve got no clue what he was doing there or how he’s mixed up in this, but if he’s not the sniper, it’s a good bet he knows who is.”

  “I hope he makes it.” She stood, the defiance she’d worn on her face moments ago crumpling. “I need this to be over. I need it to end.”

  He drew her into his arms, kissed her hair, savored the feel of her, her fear and vulnerability rousing a fierce protective instinct inside him. “What you said earlier about waiting for Al-Nassar’s goons to get it right and kill you? That won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.”

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Javi. You’ve missed out on time with Nate and put yourself in danger for my sake, and now you might be facing a disciplinary hearing. You’re sacrificing so much—too much.”

  How could she think that she didn’t deserve him? If anything, it was the other way around. “Let me worry about that, okay?”

  She looked up at him. “I feel bad saying this, but I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Then she stood on her tiptoes—and kissed him.

  A jagged bolt of heat shot through him, stirring up the hunger he’d spent the past week trying so hard to suppress. He’d told himself he wouldn’t let this happen again, his pulse like thunder as she brushed his lips with hers, teased their outline with her tongue.

  If only he didn’t want her so damned bad . . .

  And she seemed to want him, too.

  CHAPTER

  18

  LAURA HAD MEANT to kiss Javier’s cheek, a quick kiss to thank him for all he’d done, to show him she cared. Instead, her lips found his, the fleeting con
tact sending a warm shimmer through her, stealing her breath, making her worries vanish. She heard Javier’s quick intake of breath, felt his body tense as she kissed him again.

  He began to kiss her back, submissively at first, letting her take the lead, ceding control to her. But Laura knew from experience that Javier was not a submissive man. He’d been the only man she’d ever had sex with whose drive matched hers, the only man she’d known who was strong and skilled enough to top her and bring out her submissive side. Clearly, he was holding back, trying to respect the boundaries she’d set, doing his best to make sure she felt safe. Except that she didn’t want to feel safe.

  She wanted to feel alive again, exhilarated, vibrant.

  She drew his head down, brushed her lips across his, whispered, “Kiss me.”

  With a groan, he began to kiss her back, slow and deep, one big hand sliding inch by inch up her spine, the other splayed across her lower back, drawing her closer, his body so hard against hers, strong and male.

  Laura’s blood seemed to ignite, a bolt of heat piercing her belly, raw need for him making her pulse skip, delight surging inside her like a sunrise, driving away the darkness.

  He drew back, looked down at her through warm eyes. “Do you feel that—the way your touch makes me shake? God, bella.”

  His mouth claimed hers again, this kiss as fierce as the first had been gentle, his hand fisting in her hair, his heart thudding hard against hers.

  Laura felt her knees go weak.

  With slow, drunken steps, Javier backed her up against the wall, his lips and tongue relentless, his fingers working her hair from its twist, his erection hard against her hip. The feel of his arousal and the hard press of the wall behind her elicited delicious memories of the afternoon in Dubai when he’d picked her up, wrapped her legs around his waist, and fucked her up against the wall.

  The memory and the man and the moment came together, naked desire flooding Laura’s veins like a drug. She arched into him, her fingers caressing the shifting muscles of his back, the stubbled line of his jaw, the steel of his shoulders.

  He lowered his lips to her throat, possessing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, caressing, nibbling, teasing. A hand closed over her breast, the delicious shock of it making her jerk and gasp. His thumb flicked her hardened nipple through the cloth of her shirt, unleashing a flood of liquid heat between her thighs. “Were your stretch marks the only thing holding you back from letting me touch you like this?”

  His breath was hot against her throat, his voice strained.

  “Yes. No!” She looked into Javier’s eyes, her pulse still racing, his words resurrecting old fears. She wasn’t sure how she would react if they actually tried to have sex. “What if I’m not ready for this?”

  His lips, wet from kissing, curved in a smile. “I guess we’ll have to take it slow.”

  He’d just lowered his mouth to hers again when his cell phone rang. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew reluctantly away from her, seeming to recognize the ring tone. “I’m so sorry, bella. I have to take this.”

  Disappointment almost made her moan. “NSW again?”

  He nodded, reached into his jeans pocket. “My platoon commander.”

  * * *

  JAVIER HAD JUST gotten off the phone from having his ass chewed by the platoon commander, who’d let him off with a warning, when his folks called to find out why they’d seen him on the news and how he was connected to Laura. That call had been interrupted by one from McBride, who said he was on his way over to update Laura on the investigation and to ask her to view the surveillance video from the parking garage.

  So much for picking up where he and Laura had left off.

  “You think she’s up for it?” McBride asked.

  Javier looked over to where Laura stood, frozen in the act of making a salad as she listened to Javier. “Yeah, I think she is.”

  Fifteen minutes later, McBride sat in Laura’s living room, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand. “The photographer bonded out.”

  So the hijoeputa was back on the street.

  “If he shows up here again, I’ll—”

  McBride’s gaze narrowed. “If he shows up here again, you’ll call the cops.”

  “That’s what I was going to say.”

  “Right.”

  Laura poured herself a cup of coffee and sat beside Javier, her hand sliding easily into his, her fingers cold. He’d known she was nervous, but he hadn’t realized how nervous. He got up, turned on the fire, and sat down beside her again.

  “First, this isn’t for the paper,” McBride said. “Agreed?”

  Laura nodded.

  “Tower wasn’t our shooter.” McBride held up a clear plastic bag with spent shell casings. “We recovered these at the site. Whoever tried to kill you, Laura, was firing 7.62 NATO AP rounds, not five-five-six.”

  Laura looked puzzled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.”

  “Tower was carrying an AR-15 armed with five-five-six green tip, a specific armor-piercing round. The shooter’s weapon used a different caliber.”

  “I understand.”

  McBride held up a DVD. “We’d hoped the surveillance video from the parking garage would give us all the answers we want, but so far we just have more questions. Laura, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to watch this.”

  “Of course.” Laura took the disk and popped it in the player, then turned on the television and handed the remote to McBride. When she sat down beside Javier again, her fingers were even colder.

  McBride leaned closer to Laura. “I know this won’t be easy for you to see, but I’m hoping you’ll recognize something about the shooter—the way he walks, how he’s dressed, or something he does. Even the smallest detail might help us identify him.”

  Javier had to hand it to McBride. He was doing his best not only to catch a killer, but also to keep from traumatizing Laura further. Then again, Nate wouldn’t have considered McBride a friend if McBride had been an asshole.

  “I’ll do my best,” Laura answered.

  McBride pushed Play, and a greenish image flickered to life, showing the entrance of the parking garage with a time stamp of sixteen hundred hours—a good two hours before Laura had arrived at the television station.

  “What you’re seeing was taken from hours of footage we spliced together from several different cameras at the garage. In a moment you’ll see Tower drive up. Here he comes.”

  Tower appeared at the wheel of a metallic bronze BMW X3, rolled down his window, and took a ticket, disappearing as he headed into the garage. The footage cut to the top floor of the garage, where he emerged moments later, parking directly across from the position Javier thought the shooter must have taken.

  McBride pointed at the television. “He drives straight to the upper floor of the parking garage. He doesn’t get out. He doesn’t do anything but sit there.”

  “So the bastard must have known what was about to go down.”

  “It seems so.”

  The footage cut back to the entrance of the parking garage, the time index in the corner showing that about forty minutes had gone by.

  “Here’s our shooter,” McBride said.

  Javier felt Laura tense as a blue Honda Civic pulled up, a man with a white glowing ball for a head at the wheel.

  She frowned. “He’s hiding his face using infrared LEDs.”

  “How did you know about that?” Javier was fairly certain this wasn’t common knowledge.

  “Oh, please.” She gave him a look. “Investigative reporter?”

  McBride paused the playback. “Does anything about him look familiar to you?”

  Laura studied the image, leaning toward the TV. “No.”

  “We ran plates on the car, but it was reported stolen from in front of a private home Thursday afternoon. There are no city surveillance cameras in that neighborhood, so we’re hoping to find witnesses.” McBride pushed Play again. “Watch where the shooter goes. He stops on the fourth fl
oor—one floor down from Tower.”

  Javier watched as the shooter parked facing south. He climbed out of his G-ride, range finder in hand, and began to scope his shot.

  McBride paused once more. “Does anything seem familiar to you?”

  Laura watched intently, then shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Here’s where it gets interesting.” McBride pushed Play again. “If this gets too difficult for you, let me know, okay, Laura?”

  McBride fast-forwarded through an hour’s worth of footage, the image getting darker as the sun set. When it slowed again, there was a split-screen image, one side showing Tower, the other showing the shooter.

  Tower stepped out of his Beemer, looked around, then walked to the southern side of the garage and looked in the direction of the television station, the AR-15 in hand. He glanced at his watch, then looked down at the television station again through his night scope. Meanwhile, one floor down, the shooter got into position with an M110 sniper rifle equipped with a bipod—and a suppressor. He flipped out the bipod, rested the weapon on the concrete ledge, and began adjusting his sights.

  It sickened Javier to think the shooter was about to focus on Laura.

  Minutes ticked by, both men in position, Tower periodically checking his watch.

  “Here’s where the shooting began,” McBride said.

  A knot of dread in her stomach, Laura watched as the shooter, with his eerie ball of light for a head, held absolutely still—and pulled the trigger. That was the shot that had nearly killed her and sent concrete fragments spraying into her face. It was quickly followed by four more.

  On the other side of the screen, Tower turned and ran for the stairs, while the shooter kept firing, the jerk of the rifle the only sign that he’d pulled the trigger. One of those bullets had hit Janet, Laura realized, dread turning to nausea.

  Abruptly, the shooter stood and began to pack his gear. He froze and glanced toward the stairwell.

  “He’s made Tower. He can see him there.” Javier pointed to a section of the stairway that was exposed. “See?”

  The split-screen image became one as Tower reached the fourth floor, his weapon raised. But the shooter was ready for him, squeezing off two shots just as Tower fired. Tower fell back, arched and writhed on the concrete, then went still, a pool of blood spreading around him, while the shooter got quickly into his car and drove away, leaving Tower for dead.