Striking Distance ti-6

by Pamela Clare

  “Your brother is a murdering, raping terrorist asshole. He’s going to rot in hell. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you join him.”

  From somewhere nearby, he heard a woman cry out.

  And then Tower was there, a sleeping toddler in his arms, dark hair spilling over the blanket, her little face so much like Laura’s that Javier didn’t need a DNA test to know this was Klara.

  A woman appeared in the doorway, a distressed look on her face. She spoke in Arabic to the man, who hissed at her. She fell silent.

  Javier walked over to her. “Safiya?”

  Her eyes went wide.

  He held his rifle against her chest and glared down into her face, letting the full force of the hatred he felt for her come through. He asked Tower to translate. “Tell her that this little girl was never hers to take or hold. Tell her that it is only for the sake of her children that I don’t pull this trigger right now.”

  Tower translated, but the translation went on so long that Javier was pretty sure the man had added a few thoughts of his own.

  Trembling, Safiya sank to the floor, terror on her face.

  Javier turned back to Salman. “This ends here, dawg. You or any of your terrorist buddies try to harm Laura Nilsson or her baby girl, and I will personally hunt you down and rip your balls off. Got that?”

  Salman nodded.

  Javier turned to Tower and Reeves. “Time to go.”

  * * *

  LAURA BENT DOWN so that Karima Al Zahrani could kiss her cheeks.

  “You have restored Ali’s memory, Laura. Please know that you are always welcome in our home.”

  “Thank you.” Laura forced the words past the lump in her throat. “It was the least I could do.”

  Laura had spent the past few weeks putting together a feature package about Ali—his life, his dreams, his accomplishments—her way of helping Denver face the murder of an innocent young man whom most had been only too hasty to condemn. The article, which Laura had felt deeply driven to write, had finally run in today’s paper. She’d called Karima and Yusif to ask whether she could drop a copy of the edition by their house and had arrived to find their entire family gathered together. When they’d invited her to stay for dinner, she hadn’t been able to refuse.

  It was a balm to her heart to see smiles on their faces.

  Yusif offered her his right hand. “Thank you, Laura. You are a woman of good heart. Ma’salaam.”

  Farewell.

  “Thank you. And farewell.”

  Then Hussein Al Zahrani, Ali’s uncle, stood. A proud man and devout, he did not offer to shake her hand. Instead, he stood before her, a sheen of tears in his eyes. “As Ali was my nephew, so you are my niece, Laura. If there is anything you need, call upon me. I will help you if I can. Inshallah.”

  God willing.

  “Thank you. You are very gracious. Ma’salaam.”

  Under the watchful gazes of Ali’s father and uncle, she walked to her car. The night was warm, the sky bright with stars, the air scented with lilacs. Winter had finally given way to spring. She made the drive back to The Ironworks through quiet streets, her mind turning to Javier as it always did.

  God, she missed him.

  Two months had gone by since he’d left for Coronado. She’d gotten a few e-mails, and he’d called twice. He hadn’t been able to tell her where he was or what he was doing, but it had been wonderful to hear his voice. She’d been certain the last time they’d spoken that he was out of the country. It might have been the bad connection that had given it away. Or it might have been the goat bleating in the background.

  That had been two weeks ago.

  She’d been watching reports on the newswire since then, looking for international news that might indicate where U.S. SEAL teams might be deployed, but that had proven to be about as effective as consulting a crystal ball. She could do nothing for him but pray, and so she did, just as she’d done every night since her rescue. Only now she didn’t have to pray for “the tall SEAL,” because he had a name.

  About Klara she’d heard nothing—not a single call from Erik in weeks.

  She let herself into her loft, checked her e-mail for messages from Javier, then settled in for the night, fighting a growing sense of melancholy. She sank into a tub of hot lavender-scented water and tried to let her worries float away.

  Four years ago, a day like today would have felt like a great success. She’d put together a feature story she was proud of, a story that had made a difference in someone’s life. And although it did mean a lot to her, there was a loneliness to her daily routine that she couldn’t ignore, an emptiness that stole the shine off even the most positive moments.

  It wasn’t that she lacked friends. The ordeal with Kimball had brought her closer to her colleagues and opened the door to deep friendships with Sophie, Megan, and Janet. Laura was grateful to have them in her life, but friends couldn’t make up for the loved ones who were absent—Klara and Javier.

  She’d always been comfortable in her solitude, but without Javier the loft now seemed empty. She missed his voice, the music he played on his guitar, the sound of his laughter. And sex. Yes, she missed that, too. Having the evenings and weekends free to do whatever she wanted—something she had once cherished about being single—wasn’t nearly as satisfying as doing those things with Javier.

  But that’s what it meant to love a military man. Other women managed to cope with the long separations and periods of silence. So would Laura.

  She closed her eyes, inhaled the soft scent of lavender, let her mind drift.

  But rather than relaxing, she found herself wondering what it would be like to work and live in San Diego. She could get a journalism job pretty much anywhere in the world provided there was an opening. She liked the ocean, liked sunshine and palm trees. But was she willing to leave the paper, sell the loft, and move across the country just to be closer to a man?

  As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer.

  Yes, she was. Oh, yes, she was—as long as that man was Javier.

  But how would he feel about that? He’d never talked about living together or getting married. Then again, neither had she.

  She soaked until the water was lukewarm, then dried off with a fluffy towel and slipped into her bathrobe. Out in the living room, she set her iPod to play the mix Javier made for her—a mix of the songs that he’d played for her and songs that they’d danced to. She hugged her arms around herself to ease the ache and, without realizing it, began to dance in slow circles where they had danced together that special night.

  Her phone rang.

  She jumped, startled, and ran to get it from her handbag. “This is Laura.”

  “Erik here. Please don’t ask questions. Catch the next flight to Stockholm. E-mail me your itinerary, and I’ll send a car for you.”

  Laura’s pulse raced. “Erik?”

  Had they found Klara?

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  * * *

  LAURA LEFT A message for Tom, telling him she had to fly to Sweden for a family emergency, then called Janet to cancel their visit this weekend. She was sorry to do that because Janet, who’d been much more seriously injured than anyone had told Laura, was still adjusting to her new life and needed both help and company.

  Janet took it with good spirits. “Have a safe trip. I hope everything is okay.”

  Laura managed to catch a late flight to New York, then flew standby to Reykjavik, Iceland. From there, she caught another flight to Sweden, arriving at Stockholm Arlanda Airport twenty hours after getting Erik’s call. As he’d promised, a car was waiting for her at the airport, even though it was only seven in the morning.

  Sitting in the backseat, she called her mother, whose surprised squeal almost split Laura’s right eardrum. “I’m not sure why I’m here. He just told me to catch a flight, and so I came.”

  “This must have to do with Klara. Do you think she’s here?”

  Laura couldn�
�t fathom how that could be possible. “The last I heard from him, the Pakistani government had no idea where she’d been taken. Even if they’d found her again, it would take months to win custody of her.”

  Still Laura dared to hope.

  Was it possible that Klara would be flying home with her?

  The thought made her pulse trip.

  “Ring us as soon as you know.”

  “I will.”

  Pumped up on caffeine and adrenaline, she looked out the window, the familiar streets of Stockholm seeming strange to her, the city awash in the grays of clouds, sea, and rain. It was only when they passed Rosenbad, the street that was home to the foreign ministry, that she realized he wasn’t taking her to Erik’s office. He headed into Östermalm, passing Humlegården and the Royal Library before turning into a gate that led to a private courtyard of a three-story residence.

  The car drew to a stop. “The minister is expecting you, Miss Nilsson.”

  Laura thanked the driver and stepped out, the air chilly. She made her way to the black double doors and rang the bell, too tense to stand still.

  If the Swedish government had somehow won Klara’s freedom, why couldn’t Erik simply tell her so over the phone? Why was it so essential that she come to Stockholm at once? Was it possible that something terrible had happened, that they’d discovered Klara had been killed or . . . ?

  Laura’s stomach turned, even as her logical mind told her Erik wouldn’t have made her fly halfway around the world to get bad news. She drew a deep breath, tried to rein in her imagination.

  The door opened.

  Erik gave her a tired smile, lines of stress on his face, his blond hair looking like he hadn’t combed it since getting up. “Come in. Did you have a good flight?”

  “Yes. All the connections went smoothly.” Laura stepped inside and wiped her feet, wishing Erik would skip the small talk and tell her why she was here.

  “Let’s step into my office.” He motioned toward a closed door to her right.

  She followed him inside—and froze. “Javier?”

  He stood by Erik’s desk wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, a smile on his handsome face. “Hey, bella.”

  * * *

  JAVIER WAS IN deep shit, but the moment he saw Laura, that no longer mattered. He couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face. “God, it’s good to see you.”

  She rushed into his arms and held him tight, as if she thought he might disappear. “What are you doing here?”

  Had it been only two months since he’d seen her? It felt like an eternity.

  “That’s a long story.”

  Erik’s voice cut in. “Mr. Corbray is under house arrest. He claims he acted alone, but I find that rather hard to believe. He showed up on my doorstep early yesterday morning with Klara in his arms—”

  “Klara is here?” Laura looked from Erik to Javier, eyes wide.

  Javier nodded, unable to keep from smiling. “She’s a beautiful little girl, Laura. She has your face and the sweetest blue eyes—”

  Erik interrupted. “Mr. Corbray took Klara by force and entered Sweden illegally. I should report him to police, but instead I’ve confined him to my home and am doing my best to keep this secret. On the one hand, I don’t want it to become an international incident. On the other, I don’t want to break the law. But if I follow official procedure, I would have to hand Klara over to the Pakistani delegation. That is the dilemma Mr. Corbray brought to my door.”

  Laura’s eyes were still wide, and it was clear to Javier that she wasn’t picking up anything Erik was saying. “M-my daughter . . . is here?”

  “Yes, she is.” Erik went on. “I have been working round the clock with a few individuals in the Swedish government to ensure that Klara can remain in the country. We’ll give her Swedish citizenship, give her a Swedish passport, but this is all very irregular. If the parties in Pakistan come forward—”

  “I’ve already told you. Al-Nassar’s brother is not going to talk.” But Laura didn’t need to hear any of this. Javier cupped her face in his palms. “Klara has already been seen by a doctor, and she’s okay. They took DNA, and it checks out. She’s your little girl. There’s no doubt.”

  “But how—”

  Erik glowered at Javier. “Let’s hear that story again, because I don’t think you’ve told me the truth yet.”

  Javier hadn’t told the truth, but he wasn’t going to incriminate any of the guys who’d helped him out, not even Tower. He told Laura the basics, not mentioning that he’d been part of a team of five. If anyone was going to hang over this, it would be him. “I went in after dark armed to the teeth and demanded they turn her over to me.”

  Laura looked up at him. “I can’t believe the navy sent you by yourself.”

  Javier cleared his throat. “They didn’t send me, bella. When I went to Coronado, it was to resign from NSW. I was given an honorable discharge from the Teams and set this up on my own.”

  “Oh, my God, Javi.” Laura gaped at him. “You gave up the Teams?”

  In the end, it hadn’t been a hard decision.

  “I couldn’t let them keep her from you any longer.” Javier knew Laura’s mind must be reeling from all of this.

  Her blond brows came together in a look of worry. “Did Klara cry when you took her away? She must have been terrified.”

  “I sedated her.”

  Laura blinked. “You . . . You drugged her?”

  “I got a dose of sedatives from a pediatrician before I left the U.S. She slept in my arms the entire trip.” He’d watched her sleep, tiny eyelashes on her cheeks, one little hand tucked beneath her chin, and had fallen hard for the sweet little thing.

  Like mother, like daughter. They both steal your heart, cabrón.

  “Can I see her? I want to see her.”

  Javier was surprised she’d held out this long.

  Erik seemed to relax, anger fading from his face. He smiled. “Yes, of course. She’s upstairs having breakfast with my wife and the girls. I’m sorry to go on like this. I wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation.”

  She took Erik’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Erik, for all you’ve done.”

  Erik led the way up the stairs toward a kitchen, the sound of little girls’ voices and a woman’s echoing down the hall.

  Javier held Laura’s hand, an unreadable expression on her pretty face. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. The whole thing was more than a little overwhelming for him, and Klara wasn’t his daughter.

  Though he hoped maybe one day she would be.

  He watched Laura’s face as they entered the kitchen. Her gaze fell on Klara and went soft, tears shimmering in her eyes, a tremulous smile curving her lips.

  Klara sat on a booster chair, her dark brown hair in neat pigtails, a look of distress on her tiny face, little tears on her cheeks.

  Heidi, Erik’s wife, hurried over to Laura and hugged her, speaking in English for Javier’s benefit. “It’s so good to meet you at last, Laura. Klara is such a darling, such a sweet little girl, but she won’t eat. She won’t touch anything but her bottle.”

  Then Klara looked over at Laura, mother and child making eye contact for the first time. And Javier’s vision went strangely blurry.

  CHAPTER

  32

  LAURA LOOKED AT the daughter she’d never seen, taking in the sight of her from her long brown hair to her bright blue eyes to her sweet face, her features so like Laura’s that they reminded Laura of baby pictures she’d seen of herself. She felt a visceral need to hold Klara, her throat suddenly so tight she couldn’t speak. And although Laura didn’t know much about babies or children, she knew that Klara was desperately unhappy.

  She looked up at Laura, tears on her cheeks, her lower lip sticking out, a bottle sitting on the table before her.

  Laura went to her at once, kneeling down beside her and speaking in Arabic. “Are you hungry, sweet one?”

  Klara clearly understood her, her gaze
now fixed on Laura.

  Laura looked at the food on the table. Hard-boiled eggs. Cod roe. Cucumber. Knäckebröd. Corn flakes. “Heidi, do you have any French bread, maybe some yogurt or jam or a banana? I don’t think she recognizes any of this as food.”

  “Of course.” Heidi bustled around the kitchen, then set a half-eaten loaf of French bread on the table with a jar of strawberry jam and a ripe banana, her four-year-old twins Stella and Anette watching with wide eyes, their red hair in little braids.

  “She hasn’t eaten food like this before,” Laura explained to the girls in Swedish.

  She sat in a chair beside Klara, tore a small piece of bread off the loaf, and put a dab of strawberry jam on it, then held it out for Klara.

  Klara took it, stuck it in her tiny mouth, and reached for another.

  “More,” she said in Arabic, her tiny voice like bells.

  It was the first word Laura had heard her speak.

  “You want more?” Laura tore another piece off, dabbed it with jam, and held it out for her, unable to keep herself from smiling. “You’re such a sweet girl.”

  “Mama?” Klara glanced around, fear in her eyes, her little lip quavering again.

  Laura knew she was looking for Safiya.

  She couldn’t imagine what Klara was feeling—being taken from the only world she knew, falling asleep, and waking up in a scary new place surrounded by strangers, everyone speaking a language that made no sense. Though it was good for Klara that she was no longer living in a hive of terrorists, Laura would have done anything to make this easier on her, to minimize the disruption in her life.

  She stroked her little girl’s cheek. “You’re going to have a new mama, and a new name, a new home. I know it won’t be easy at first, but you’re safe now, Klara.”

  Laura tore several more small pieces of bread off the loaf and set them on the plate in front of her daughter, then did the same with the banana, watching in absolute fascination as Klara picked them up with her chubby little hand and put them in her mouth one by one. It stunned Laura to think this little person had come from inside her. Klara was so sweet, so perfect, so completely innocent.