by Cheryl Biggs
After the exercise he’d been interviewed by several media reps, then spent what seemed like hours answering questions from visitors. He’d finally been able to hand the stage over to Cowboy when he was paged again.
He glanced at the phone and thought about calling Suzanne, then decided against it. His desire to talk to her had nothing to do with the investigation.
Hart sighed and lay down on his bed, not even bothering to remove his clothes and forcing his thoughts away from Suzanne.
Major Lewis had called him into his office, congratulated him for his team’s part in the success of the open house and thanked him for taking on the extra duty for Walthorp. Then he’d given him the bad news. Someone from Washington had called again. This time they were asking questions about his personal life.
Hart had laughed. On that point there wasn’t much to tell. His personal life was practically nil.
Except for Suzanne.
He ignored the whisper that floated up from his subconscious, rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.
An hour later the fact that he was not falling asleep was undeniable. He sat up, moved to his desk and flipped on the computer.
The first thing he saw was that he had a message from the senator.
Hart cursed himself for not checking his e-mail earlier and brought the message onto the screen.
“Do NOT make any more inquiries regarding Jaguar Loop, and do not trust ANYONE.”
Chapter 8
“I got your e-mail, Senator,” Hart said. The anxiety he’d been fighting to control all day suddenly intensified. This was the fourth time in less than half an hour he’d tried to reach the senator, and the secretary had finally put him through.
“Good. Hope you understood it, Captain.”
“Not completely, sir. But…” He filled Senator Trowtin in on what was happening. “I need to know exactly what evidence the feds have for suspecting Suzanne Cassidy of treason and possible murder, sir.”
“They suspect you, too, Captain,” the senator said, his voice gruff, his tone almost accusatory. “Don’t forget that.”
“No, sir, I haven’t. But I was hoping you could tell me—”
“No, Captain,” the senator said, cutting him off. “I’m afraid I can’t. Sorry.”
The line went dead.
Hart stared at the phone, surprised at what had just happened and knowing he shouldn’t be. Someone had gotten to the senator. But who? And how? He cursed, shot from his chair, paced the room, slammed a drawer, thought of throwing something through the window, then sat down again. It didn’t matter who’d gotten to him or what kind of threat they’d used. They’d gotten to him. The man was obviously frightened, probably with good reason, and he wasn’t going to help anymore. End of story.
Hart dialed Suzanne’s number, then hung up before her phone rang.
He called his commanding officer and got another evasive response. But he knew Major Lewis would do what he could, anyway.
Five phone calls and several long hours later he’d called in all the favors he could remember and was trying to decide on his next move when a knock sounded on his door, and Roubechard opened it. “Excuse me, sir, but I thought you’d want to know what I’ve found.”
Hart motioned him to enter and the aide approached his desk.
“Ms. Cassidy’s cousin and business partner, Clyde Weller…”
“Yes?” Hart said, his patience strained.
“Well, sir, it appears he’s had several questionable associates in the past, sir. His ex-fiancée’s brother is Antony Giani.”
Hart recognized the name of the well-known mob boss the government had finally been able to make a case against two years ago.
“Mr. Weller’s mother was once married to Senator Rollstad.”
Who’d been involved in a payback scandal, Hart recalled.
“And Robert Marsei is a customer of the gallery Weller owns with Ms. Cassidy.”
The infamous French spy.
“Terrific,” Hart snarled softly, more to himself than Roubechard.
“She spoke with Mr. Marsei last night, sir. He said the payment had been transferred, and he expected his goods delivered within the next two days.”
“Check the airlines, Roubechard,” Hart said, grabbing his car keys and standing. “See if she’s flying out. Or if her business partner has booked himself a trip out of the States.” He’d tried every variation of the name Weller he could think of while searching the Net and had come up with nothing. But that didn’t really mean anything. A lot of people used aliases when doing things they shouldn’t be doing.
“What about Ms. Cassidy’s mother, sir?”
“Check her out, too. And his,” Hart said. “And check out her stepfathers. Probably a wild-goose chase, but you never know.” He grabbed one of the office’s cell phones on his way out the door. “I’ve got number five,” he said, holding up the phone. “Call me when you get something.”
He hurried around to the side of the building and climbed into his car. Dammit to hell, enough was enough. It was long past time to lay it all on the line with her. He’d been putting this off—telling himself he’d need more answers first, but that had only been an excuse. He was trained in POW interrogation, of knowing how to read a person, how to get them to tell you what you wanted to know. Either she was innocent and he’d be able to tell, or she was guilty as sin.
That last thought sent his heart plummeting.
He sped off the base.
She was going to give him answers this time.
Twenty minutes later he turned the corner that led onto her street and Suzanne’s bungalow came into sight.
A man was standing on her porch.
Hart hastily swerved the Vette to the curb, pulled in behind a yellow Volkswagen Beetle and cut the engine. A large, white artificial daisy was attached to the Beetle’s antenna.
He silently ordered the man talking to Suzanne to turn so he could see his face. But when he did, Hart was shocked.
What in blazes was Carger doing at Suzanne’s place? Hart mulled the question over in his mind as he watched them.
Anger, hot and sudden, exploded within him when he saw the chief lean over and kiss her.
Was he her accomplice? Her lover? The thought filled him with disgust and threatened to rip control of his temper from his tight grip. Carger had been at Jaguar Loop. A gunner for one of the supporting Blackhawks and the squad’s crew chief and head mechanic. He could have stolen the plans and he could have easily sabotaged Rick’s Cobra. And he would know who to talk to, who to tip off, to get an investigation going into another soldier’s record if he wanted to get suspicion off himself.
“I don’t understand,” Suzanne said, uneasy beneath what she recognized as a very assessing gaze. He was standing too close, the look in his eyes too blatantly sexual and threatening, and he was talking nonsense. She had never been comfortable around him, even those nights he’d been at the house with Rick and some others, which was why now she hadn’t invited him inside when she’d opened the door and found him standing on her doorstep. And she didn’t like the fact that Hart’s aide had told him where she was staying. She’d have to mention that to Hart—and ask him to tell Roubechard not to do that again.
“I just thought, if you didn’t already know, you should,” Chief Carger said. “The captain isn’t exactly the kind of man who cares about anything much other than his career. He’s stepped on a lot of people to get where he’s at, and it’s a safe bet in my book he’ll be stepping on a whole lot more to get where he wants to go.”
She didn’t see what the accusation had to do with her. “Chief, I—”
“There’s always been talk among the men,” the chief said, interrupting her. “Speculation, you know? Especially whenever Captain Branson disappears for a bit.”
“What do you mean, disappears?” Suzanne asked, fear and anger fighting for control.
The chief shrugged. “He gets called away.”
Her lo
ok remained blank.
“His clearance is Cosmic,” he said impatiently, as if that should be explanation enough.
It was, and the word sent a wave of icy chills dancing across Suzanne’s skin, leaving it a blanket of goose bumps. She had been an army brat, army clerk and army widow. She knew what the divisions of top-secret clearances were, and she knew that Cosmic was one of the highest. She also knew that it was given only to someone who needed access to NATO plans, war strategies and nuclear information.
Was Hart, like Rick had obviously been, more than what he seemed?
Her knees felt suddenly weak, her world darker than it had been only a moment ago.
“I tried to warn you before,” the chief said. “He ain’t the kind of man a nice woman like you should get involved with. I like you, Mrs. Cassidy, always have, and I liked Rick. He was a good man. Good soldier. So I just figured you should know about the captain, if you didn’t already, and I figured you didn’t.”
He was right about one thing: she hadn’t known about Hart’s clearance. But it seemed there had been a lot she hadn’t known.
Did it make any difference, though? She smiled, and though she didn’t want to, she made herself offer the chief her hand. “Thank you, Chief Carger, I appreciate your concern,” she said. When his hand wrapped around hers, Suzanne felt the urge to cringe. Instead, she forced a smile. “But as I told you before, the captain and I are only old friends, that’s all.”
Liar, a little voice in the back of her mind said.
Before she knew what was happening, the chief bent and pressed his lips to her cheek. “You take care,” he said softly into her ear, then released her. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”
She gave a start and drew back. The words sounded like mere concern, but something told her they could also be a threat. She looked up and into his eyes, but all she saw in the dark-brown depths was the warmth of his smile.
“If you need anything at all,” he said, “you just give me a call.”
She watched him walk to his car, realizing the hair on the back of her neck had risen at his touch. For some reason she couldn’t explain even to herself, his comment seemed not so much one of simple concern as a warning.
Suzanne waited until the chief started to drive away before she entered the bungalow. She paused in the kitchen and stared at the phone. She should call Hart, tell him what the chief had said. There might be some reason for the chief having come to her, some reason he’d told her those things other than his “concern” for her. She picked up the phone and started to dial Hart’s number, then stopped. Was the chief right about Hart? Her own father had been like that—so dedicated to his career that he didn’t care who he walked on to get where he wanted to go. It was part of what had destroyed her parents’ marriage. That, and Lyla’s wandering eye.
She touched a finger to her lips, remembering Hart’s kiss.
Suddenly she missed him more than she’d ever missed anyone. She tried to shake the feeling away, but it wouldn’t leave. He hadn’t called or come by since she’d seen him at the open house, but maybe he had reason. She finished dialing his number, then hung up when Roubechard answered.
She glanced at the clock on the wall over the refrigerator. She would tell Hart what the chief had said, but not over the phone and not now. She had to leave for her appointment in Tucson…should have left fifteen minutes ago. Grabbing her bag and car keys, she ran out to her rental car. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late.
DeBraggo had seen Hart pull his car up behind the yellow Volkswagen and had watched with interest as the captain watched Suzanne Cassidy talking on the porch with Chief Carger.
He’d wished however, that Suzanne and the chief had gone inside, where the bug he’d planted would have allowed him to overhear their conversation. Maybe he should do a little checking into the chief’s personal life.
He sank down in his car seat until completely out of sight when Suzanne drove past, and remained there until he was certain Hart had pulled out and followed her. He had already searched both their residences and found nothing. Though she’d almost caught him in the act while he’d been going through hers. He’d had to climb out the bedroom window when he’d heard her enter the bungalow. He started the dark sedan and pulled away from the curb, swinging the car completely around and heading in the same direction Suzanne and Hart had taken.
Hart turned the corner after Suzanne, hoping she hadn’t noticed him behind her. Minutes later they’d traveled through the small downtown of Three Hills and left it behind. The long stretch of highway running through the desert was fairly deserted, so Hart pulled off several times in rest stops so that she wouldn’t be suspicious of the same car always being behind her.
He thought he’d noticed the same dark sedan behind him once too often, but it had disappeared about ten minutes ago, so he figured it was merely his imagination.
Unless she was going to someone’s ranch or meeting someone on the road, he knew she had to be on her way to Tucson. There weren’t any other towns between it and Three Hills.
Meeting someone she couldn’t afford anyone in Three Hills to see her with? his suspicious mind asked.
They were approaching the outskirts of Tucson when Hart noticed the dark car was behind him again. He slowed to let it pass. It didn’t. He pushed down on the accelerator. It remained behind him. He remembered the car the chief had driven away from Suzanne’s. It had been dark, but he hadn’t paid any attention to its make or model. Hart swore. If that was the chief behind him, the man was going to be repairing choppers at the North Pole for the next 120 years.
Suzanne drove toward downtown. The streets were crowded with cars and pedestrians, and Hart knew he couldn’t lose sight of her. If he did, he probably would never find her again.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. The dark car had pulled off about half a mile back and hadn’t reappeared. He chastised himself for imagining a problem where there wasn’t one.
Suzanne slowed, then pulled into the parking lot of Laurel Kay’s coffee shop.
Hart circled the block, not wanting to pull in directly behind her. By the time he returned, parked and entered the restaurant, Suzanne was seated in a booth toward the back of the spacious restaurant. Another woman sat across from her.
Hart stood at the door and peered past the fronds of a large potted plant that stood there. The woman was about the same age as Suzanne, her hair blond and cut short, her makeup heavily applied. She was pretty, but not strikingly so. Several gold bracelets adorned her right wrist, a watch her left, and a thick gold choker circled her neck. The jewelry looked real and expensive. Everything about her looked expensive.
But something about her made him think he might have seen her somewhere before. If he had, he didn’t remember where or when. He saw a waitress eye him curiously. Hart quickly took a seat at the counter. His back was to Suzanne and her companion, but he was able to watch them in the mirror that spanned the wall opposite the counter and gave a view of the entire restaurant.
A waitress paused in front of him, pad at the ready to record his order. “Haven’t seen you in here before, handsome,” she said, her loud twang as musical as an out-of-tune guitar.
He almost cringed as he imagined her comment bellowing through the restaurant for all to hear and drawing Suzanne’s attention. He forced himself to smile. “Just brought my wife into town to do a little shopping,” he said, hoping to discourage the woman. “Figured I’d wait for her a while in here.”
She nodded. “Sure, honey, whatever.”
“Just coffee, please,” Hart said. “And a bear claw.”
She clunked a heavy mug of coffee down in front of him a moment later, wished him well and walked away, eyeing another target who’d entered and sat at the counter several stools down.
Hart released a sigh of relief and glanced at Suzanne’s image in the mirror, hoping his conversation with the waitress hadn’t drawn her attention. He hadn’t had time to change out of
his uniform, but then, he hadn’t exactly known he’d be following Suzanne to Tucson and trying to look inconspicuous about it.
He sipped his coffee and took a bite of the sweet roll he’d ordered.
Within minutes he realized he was not the only one watching Suzanne and her friend. At a booth about thirty feet from theirs, another man sat watching the two women.
Hart’s first thought was that he was imagining things, but a moment later knew he wasn’t. He stared at the man. Was he a federal agent? It seemed logical, but the longer Hart watched him, the more certain he became that that wasn’t it at all. The man seemed too polished, too conspicuous, yet at the same time not quite conspicuous enough—for a fed.
There was something familiar about him that nagged at Hart, however, something that left him with an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. But the more he tried to figure out what it was about the man that bothered him, the more it eluded him and the more certain he became that he knew him, or had at least seen him somewhere.
Hart glanced at Suzanne again. She was picking her fork through a small salad and at the same time seemed deeply interested in whatever her friend was saying.
The waitress refilled his cup without comment and walked away. Hart sighed in relief at her silence and glanced back at the other man. He’d begun absently playing a coin around the fingers of his left hand while continuing to watch Suzanne, controlling the coin with his index finger, then rolling it over the middle, playing it with his ring finger, rolling it to the little finger, then all the way back and repeating the process.
Surprise robbed him of breath. Denial gave it back. Hart stared at the man’s hand and the coin he was effortlessly sliding about his fingers. It was an unusual and difficult trick, yet surprisingly Hart had known two people who were accomplished at it: Rick Cassidy and Brenner Trent, one of the corps’s former head mechanics. Rick had learned it as a child from his father, a banker who’d kept a rare, specially minted silver dollar in his pocket that he played with during meetings and conversations. He’d called it his lucky charm and he’d given it to Rick on his eighteenth birthday.
