Edge of Danger (Edge Security Series Book 3)

by Loye, Trish

  He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”

  He stopped when she called his name softly.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Good night, Firecracker.”

  10

  The smell of coffee woke Alyssa the next morning. The previous evening’s events raced through her mind. She didn’t know what was worse: her apartment break-in, the fact that she’d kissed a member of her team, or that that member of the team was now in her apartment making coffee.

  She buried her head under her pillow. Maybe she could just pretend to be asleep until he left. She groaned.

  She’d never run from anything before, and she wouldn’t start now.

  She dragged herself from bed and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt before throwing her hair into a ponytail. She’d shower after she had some of that delicious-smelling coffee.

  She stumbled into the main room to see Zach dominating it. He made the whole place seem smaller with his broad shoulders and formidable height. He’d removed his sweater and wore only a faded T-shirt and jeans, standing barefoot in her tiny kitchen.

  He smiled at her as he handed her a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar, right?”

  She nodded and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Was this every woman’s fantasy or just hers, to be greeted in the morning by a smiling, gorgeous man bearing coffee?

  She grunted something and took the cup.

  He laughed. “You weren’t kidding about the coffee, were you?”

  She had to turn from the sight of him or she’d be tempted to do something stupid, like jump on him and rip off that T-shirt to bare all those delectable muscles.

  She plopped down on the couch and sipped the coffee.

  Must find control.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I grabbed a shower earlier.”

  He’d been in her shower? Naked?

  “Well, that’s how one usually showers,” he said.

  Her face heated when she realized she’d spoken out loud. “I meant…I didn’t hear you. That’s all.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She could hear the laughter in his voice, but she refused to look at him. And now she couldn’t get the image of him naked, soaping himself, out of her mind. She was out of her mind.

  She gulped her coffee.

  Must find control.

  At least he was taking her mind off the break-in. Her gaze landed on the garbage bag of broken items that Zach had put by her front door. She sobered instantly, her body no longer heated.

  “I want to find the asshole who broke in here,” she said, facing Zach at last.

  All humor vanished from his face at her words. “We will.”

  “But first we need to find that a-hole Shabah.” She stood up. “I’m gonna shower.”

  A small grin appeared on his face. “Naked?”

  Her face heated and she ignored his comment and laugh as best she could.

  He opened her fridge door. “You don’t believe in food?”

  “What? I have milk, coffee, and leftover Chinese. All the basics.” She snorted. “Besides, this is New York. Nobody eats at home.”

  She went into her bathroom, listening to him chuckle. She could get used to hearing that deep, warm voice in the mornings.

  No. He was leaving when his assignment was over. She had to remember that.

  She showered quickly, trying not to think of Zach’s large body in her tiny shower. She placed her hand on the wall. Had his broad shoulders grazed the cool tile? Had the water sluiced over those shoulders to run in rivulets down his muscled chest?

  “Dammit,” she muttered as she shut off the shower. Her skin felt sensitized as she toweled off.

  She dressed in clean jeans and a blue sweater, and put her damp hair in a loose braid. She put on her shoulder holster and slid her Glock into it.

  Out in the kitchen, Zach had found a few eggs and scrambled them. He slid them on a plate for her and filled her coffee mug before placing both on the bar top. She hesitated before sliding onto the barstool. She bit her lip as she looked at the plate in front of her. It had been a long time since someone had made her breakfast.

  “Thank you,” she said before digging into her eggs. Her stomach rumbled happily. “You can sleep over anytime.” Her face heated when she heard her words.

  “I don’t often have the chance to make breakfast for a beautiful woman,” he said with a smile.

  “I can’t believe that. You probably have women throwing themselves at you.”

  He sat beside her with his own plate. “I’m no monk,” he said. “But one-night stands aren’t really my thing.”

  She stiffened. “So you have a girlfriend?”

  “No. My job just doesn’t really allow me to have long-term relationships.”

  Was he warning her of what his life was like? That he couldn’t offer anything besides one night? She shouldn’t care, but she fought to keep her face smooth of the disappointment sinking inside her.

  She stared at her eggs. It didn’t matter.

  His phone dinged from the coffee table and he picked it up. “Work,” he said to her.

  Hers began buzzing from her jacket. Her stomach twisted when she checked it. She shared a look with Zach. “Bureau,” was all she said.

  She walked into her bedroom to answer it, and to give Zach privacy with his call.

  “Al?” It was Drew on the line.

  “What’s up?”

  “Get to 306 East 26th Street. A bomb went off in a coffee shop.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Casualties?”

  “Just one. The bomber. Agent Dickhead is here barking orders. Get here ASAP.” He hung up. She strode into the main room to find Zach, jacket and shoes on.

  “You know where this place is?” he asked, handing her jacket to her.

  She nodded. “We’ll take my car.”

  She automatically went to lock her apartment when she left, and clenched her jaw against the anger when she saw the broken doorframe again. She shut the door as best she could and jogged out to her car with Zach following.

  Minutes later, they arrived at a scene that more closely resembled what she’d seen in Iraq than anything that should be happening in the United States. Her heartrate sped up and she pressed her fingernails into the palms of her hands. The small bit of pain focused her. Fire trucks and police cars flooded the area. Yellow tape and officers kept the bystanders and reporters back.

  She pressed her lips together and pushed her way through the crowd with Zach following behind until she reached the yellow tape. She ducked under after flashing her badge at the officer standing there.

  Now that she was out of the crowd, she could see the destruction in front of her and her insides froze. Glass and brick littered the area. The sharp bite of burned black powder lingered in the air, while concrete dust coated everything, including her throat. She swallowed hard against the building nausea.

  “Alyssa,” Zach said. “Alyssa, you with me?”

  He stood in front of her, compassion filling his eyes as he blocked her view. How long had she been staring at the scene? Fuck. She needed to get her head screwed on straight. This was not Iraq. She wasn’t the victim here.

  Focus on the facts.

  “I’m fine,” she said, shrugging off Zach’s concern.

  “You’re not fine,” he said quietly, but he moved aside so she could see the scene.

  The coffee shop had been on the ground floor of an apartment building. The front window and some of the wall had blown outwards.

  Masters and his entourage of agents were in a huddle by the bomb squad’s van. Drew and Riley conferred just outside the blast zone. Alyssa ignored Masters and went to her colleagues instead, avoiding looking at the coffee shop.

  “What happened?” she asked, hoping she could hear the answer over the blood rushing in her ears.

  “Looks like someone sitting in the front window was a suicide bomber,” Drew said. “Thankfully, the shop wasn’t busy. Only the bomber is dead. The custom
ers in the back are shaken up, but mostly okay. They were somewhat shielded from the blast by the counter.”

  “Anyone we can talk to?” Zach asked.

  “The barista.” Drew led the way to an ambulance, where a young woman sat while a paramedic put adhesive strips on a cut on her forehead. She wore a green shirt with a dancing coffee bean on it. Blood and dust smeared her face, giving her dark skin a ghostly, macabre appearance.

  Alyssa breathed a small sigh of relief to be facing away from the destruction. “Ma’am,” she said, speaking a bit louder, knowing the other woman would have ringing in her ears from the blast. “I’m Detective Harrison. Could you please tell us what happened?”

  The woman looked at Alyssa with wide eyes. “I don’t know why he did it,” she said.

  “Who did it?” Alyssa asked.

  “Tony,” the barista said. “I told the other officer all about him. He was a homeless guy. I thought he was harmless. I used to give him a coffee for taking my trash out.” She shook her head and then winced.

  “What happened this morning?” Alyssa prodded.

  The woman took a deep breath. “Tony came in and I gave him a coffee. He seemed happy. He had a new backpack. Or new for him, anyway. He took his coffee and sat at the front window. He liked to do that. He said it made him feel normal.” She shook her head. “Why would he do this?”

  Alyssa patted the woman’s shoulder. “We’re going to find out.”

  She stepped back and let Riley take over questioning the woman. She motioned to Zach and Drew.

  Agent Masters decided to come, too. She barely suppressed her grimace. “Harrison and Grayson,” he said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

  She clenched her jaw. He must have seen them come together. Her eyes narrowed even as she ducked her head. It wasn’t important what Masters thought of her, just that he let her continue on the task force. She took a deep breath before speaking.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” she said, looking up once more.

  Masters crossed his arms over his chest. “A suicide bomber is supposed to make sense?”

  “No,” Zach said. “She’s right. Something’s off. Most bombers go for big targets.”

  “And the barista said he seemed happy. Not nervous or anything.” Alyssa turned to Drew. “Security cameras?”

  “On it,” he said, avoiding looking at Masters. “I’ll get officers sweeping the block for anyone who might have seen something.” He jogged off.

  “We need to find out everything we can about the bomber,” Alyssa said. “Whether there’s a connection to Al Shabah, and why the hell he’d want to blow up a two-bit coffee shop.”

  Masters nodded grudgingly. “Let me know what you find.”

  “Of course,” she replied. Was he beginning to respect her?

  “Do a sweep of the interior,” he said. “And add that to your report.” He walked off to talk with another agent.

  She looked at the remains of the coffee shop and her legs refused to move.

  “I can do the sweep alone,” Zach said.

  She clenched her hands. “No,” she said. She forced her numb limbs to move. Zach followed at her side. She knew he watched her, but she couldn’t do anything about it. All of her attention was on getting through the next few minutes.

  “Concentrate on the present,” Zach said. “Focus on what you see, hear, and feel. Don’t think. Just catalogue it for me.”

  She nodded. Relief surged through her. She was grateful for his help, even though part of her cringed that she needed it. They walked into the coffee shop.

  “Blast radius suggests one bomb.” She pointed at the blackened, caved-in area in the front corner. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to keep her breaths even. “The blast origin. Which means he placed the backpack there.” She stared at the corner. Something wasn’t right. Her mind drifted for a moment while she considered it. An image of a boy in a dark tunic and pants surfaced in front of her eyes.

  The boy is overweight, rare where there is this much poverty. His rapid breathing draws her gaze, almost as if he’s been running a race. His wide eyes dart all around as he walks past her. The sunshine highlights his narrow face.

  She frowns. Something isn’t right.

  “Alyssa,” her contact says. “I’m sorry.”

  Alyssa turns back to the woman—the one who’d said she had information for her, but wanted to meet in the busy market.

  “You’re sorry?” she asks.

  Someone called her name from far away.

  The woman in front of her faded, to be replaced by a large man, his brown skin clean of dust and sweat.

  “Zach?” What was he doing here?

  “Alyssa,” Zach said. “Feel my hand. Stay with me.” Zach had his hand cradling her face. His palm was rough and warm, while his thumb rubbed her cheek.

  She leaned in to his touch and stared into his deep brown eyes. “Zach?”

  He nodded. “We’re leaving now.”

  She looked around at the blast-hollowed shop and couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her. “Okay.”

  He ushered her outside, blocking as much of her view of the blast zone with his large shoulders as he could. Once outside, she dragged in deep breaths, shuddering as she strode away from the coffee shop.

  Masters watched her and she ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. Riley and Drew came toward them, but she veered away and kept walking, aiming for the side of the building while Zach stopped and spoke to them. Bile burned in her throat. She swallowed hard.

  She would not be sick. There were too many witnesses and reporters around. She hugged her stomach and just breathed. Counting her heartbeats, willing it to slow.

  Fuck. She hit her hand against the wall. The pain barely registered. She did it again.

  “Fuck,” she said, wanting to scream, but she held herself in check. She’d be lucky if Zach didn’t report her. She had to figure this out. Maybe Dr. Martinez could help her. No. He’d just tell her to leave the task force, and no way was she doing that.

  She wanted a drink so bad her hands trembled. She stuck them in her jacket pockets and walked back to her team, averting her gaze from the coffee shop. She nodded at Drew and Riley, who both frowned at her but didn’t interrupt their report to Zach.

  “Any security video will be forwarded to CTB,” Riley said.

  Drew stepped in. “The barista said that the bomber usually stayed at a men’s shelter down in Kip’s Bay on East 30th Street.”

  “That’s our next stop, then,” Alyssa said.

  Zach looked at her and she knew what he was asking with those pulled-together brows. She nodded.

  She was fine.

  “Drew,” she said. “Get the Fire Marshal’s report. There’s something odd about the blast origin.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “If I was a bomber, I’d want the most casualties.” She forced back the remembered screams that crowded her head. “I would stick around other people. The bomber went to the window, where he sat by himself and set the bomb down.”

  “Good point,” Zach said. “You think it went off accidentally?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Which means this wasn’t the real target.”

  11

  Alyssa looked at Zach. “Shall we go visit a shelter, partner?” With her pale face and too-wide eyes, he knew she was hurting, dealing with memories he couldn’t protect her from. He had an urge to fold her into his arms, but she walked off through the crowd. How could he not follow?

  “Partner?” Zach called after her. He liked the sound of it from her lips.

  “Don’t make more of it than what it is,” she said.

  One minute she seemed fragile enough for the wind to knock her over, the next she was calling him out. It made him smile. “And what’s that?”

  “A working relationship.” She pulled her keys from her pocket. They shook just slightly before she folded them in her hand.

  “Want me to drive?” Zach a
sked.

  “No,” she said.

  He didn’t want to damage her pride, but there was no way he was letting her get behind the wheel. He could still see the aftereffects the bomb site had on her. He held up his hands. “Okay, Firecracker. It’s just what partners do. They offer to help each other.”

  “I don’t need your help. And don’t call me Firecracker.”

  He stopped and waited. He wouldn’t do anything drastic unless she actually tried to drive away. Alyssa finally swung around and faced him. He evaluated her with a medic’s eye: pale skin, rapid breaths, clenched fists—probably to hide any trembling. She was definitely feeling the aftereffects of a PTSD flashback.

  When he had her attention, he walked closer. “You’re jittery from your adrenaline spike,” he said calmly but implacably. “Your reflexes will be slowed. Give me your keys.”

  Her lips compressed and her gray eyes looked like storm clouds.

  He held out his hand. He was not negotiating on this.

  She finally dropped her keys in his palm and stomped off to the other side of the car. He got in and adjusted the seat.

  They drove in silence for the ten minutes it took to get there, except for the occasional direction she pointed out. He found the shelter and pulled over into a vacant spot. The street wasn’t the most prosperous in Manhattan, but then, considering how much it cost to live here, he didn’t think any street was considered low-rent. The men’s shelter blended right in among the apartment buildings and office buildings in Kips Bay on East 26th Street.

  Alyssa grabbed her door handle and made to get out. He snagged her arm. “Wait,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  She stared straight ahead. “No, we don’t.”

  “How long ago was the explosion?” he asked.

  She stilled. “Just over two years ago.”

  He liked that she hadn’t pretended not to know what he was talking about. “This was the explosion that killed your friends?” Her head snapped toward him. He kept all expression off his face, especially any sympathy he felt. Finally she nodded.