by Jodie Bailey
“The fact is, you can’t stop anything. And you got lucky saving Ashley Kincaid.”
Sean didn’t move, although he wanted to drive a fist into Randall’s mouth. How did this guy know he’d saved Ashley and she’d married Ethan Kincaid?
“We went after Staff Sergeant Dylan at first because she’d seen us. She could identify our people. But then you got involved and stepped in as her protector. And you need to know this...” Randall’s voice dropped low, hard. “They’ll take her. They’ll torture her. And you can’t do a thing to stop it.”
ELEVEN
Clasping her fingers behind her back, Jessica eyed the door to the hospital room. She should be in there. And if Detective Altman wasn’t standing guard with the other police officer, she’d have charged through and made her presence known. She had a right to know why the man in custody thought she was better off dead. In fact, her right to know was greater than Sean’s.
She pushed air out through teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. He’d actually pulled rank on her. Up until that moment, they’d been in this together, but that single command put her squarely in her place. He was in charge and she was merely along for the ride because his orders were to watch out for her. Nothing more.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.
She laced her fingers tighter together. Well, he’d made his feelings clear, so she wouldn’t make the mistake of letting hers get drawn in by him again.
The door to the room eased open, pulling Altman and his officer to attention.
Jessica straightened as Sean stepped out the door and pulled it shut carefully behind him.
Her anger evaporated. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Sean Turner was always in control, but in this moment that control was calculated, riding the edge of a razor. Whatever had happened in that room, it hadn’t gone the way he wanted.
He flicked a glance at her, his jaw set tight, then found Detective Altman and jerked his chin up the hall. “Over here.” Sean stalked away without checking to see if anyone followed, his shoulders an unbreakable line.
Jessica fell into step behind the detective, careful to keep her footfalls nearly silent. She hadn’t been invited to this little sidebar, but there was no way Sean was keeping her out of the loop any longer.
Halfway to the elevators, Sean whipped around and fired a look at Detective Altman that forced the older man to take a step back. “Did you tell Randall I was coming? Mention my name? Tell him anything about me?” Anger colored the words red and hot.
Altman shook his head but, to his credit, didn’t seem fazed by Sean’s fury. “Not a word.” He looked back at the officer by the door. “And I was the only one who knew.”
“He had no way of knowing anything about me?” Sean’s words were hard, demanding answers.
Jessica stepped around Detective Altman. Sean had never once seemed rattled, but this... This anger wasn’t just anger. There was something else behind it, something she’d glimpsed in smaller doses before. “What happened?”
He seemed to see her for the first time, and it did something to his demeanor, something that couldn’t quite be explained but that relaxed his posture the slightest bit.
Jessica braced for him to issue another directive.
Instead, he seemed to be trying to memorize her face before he turned back to the detective, who watched the two of them with interest. “He confessed to coming after Staff Sergeant Dylan. And I want everything you have on him as soon as you get it. Everything, even if it seems completely insignificant to you.” He turned and stalked toward the elevators.
Jessica opened her mouth and closed it, turning to the detective. The female in her wanted to apologize for Sean’s behavior, but the soldier kept her mouth shut. “We’ll be in touch. Thank you.”
She practically had to run to catch Sean, who’d apparently decided the elevator was too slow and was pushing open the door for the stairs. She grabbed his arm as he stepped through, her anger resurging, voice sharp. “Hey.” She stepped aside to let the door shut behind her but kept her hand on his forearm. “What is going on?”
His muscles were steely beneath her fingers. Sean worked his jaw back and forth, not turning toward her, keeping his focus on the corner at the turn of the stairs.
“Talk to me.” Jessica relaxed her grip but didn’t let go. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
Sean exhaled and his muscles relaxed, but he still didn’t look at her. “The guy isn’t talking.”
This was what had him so spun up? “He’s not talking at all? That’s the problem? But you said he confessed.”
He finally met her gaze, but only for a second. “He’s almost totally mute. But the detective emailed me his file when we were on the way over. His name’s Kyle Randall. He has a record for making a very passable fake ID when he was underage and buying alcohol. His fingerprints caught up to him.”
“Wait. His fingerprints caught up to him? For a crime? There’s nothing to identify him as a soldier?”
He’d wondered if she’d catch that. “No. The guy isn’t a soldier.”
That was impossible. This made no sense. “But he was in uniform at the ID card facility. What was he doing there?”
“I don’t know. The question I want answered is was he there watching you? Or was he there working on a bigger plot? If he was following you, why would he need a uniform? Civilians go into the ID card facility all of the time. Even contractors have to have a common access card issued.” He shrugged, finally glancing at her, but turning away just as fast. “The more I know, the less I understand.” He pulled his hand from her arm and started down the stairs again, taking them as fast as he could without falling on his face. “I need to get you back to safety and then I need to get a secure message out to Ethan. Fast.”
Jessica followed, her boots echoing with his in a melody against the walls of the stairwell. “What are you not telling me?”
He stopped so abruptly she almost mowed him down. When he turned to face her, they were eye to eye on the stairs. He scanned her face, searching for something. “Kyle Randall and his people know about me.”
“We already knew that. They sent a message to you in your email. And your name tape is on your jacket.” Sean turned to walk down the stairs, but she grabbed his bicep. “Would you stop charging around like a mad dog and tell me something?”
He stopped and turned back, finally locking eyes with her. He studied her, everything else falling away as he searched her face. “It changes everything.”
“How?”
“They knew about Ashley, and he threatened...” He kept studying her face. Finally, he slipped his arm from her grasp and reached for her hand, holding it tight in cold fingers. “There are some things you don’t know. Things that happened to Ashley. Things about why I was in Afghanistan. And maybe it’s time—”
Before he could finish, her phone rang.
She ignored it vibrating in her chest pocket. The connection between them was too important, too raw. It tugged at her heart and swirled in her stomach. Her voice dropped lower. “What is it?”
He tipped his head toward her, dropping her hand. “Answer that. It could be important.”
“Or it could be nothing.”
He took a step backward down the stairs, opening the space between them and letting it fill with empty air.
Jessica tried not to shiver at the sudden chill as she drew the phone from her pocket and answered it, her free hand reaching for Sean’s arm. “Captain Alexander?”
“Staff Sergeant Dylan, we have a problem.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone. Surely she wasn’t about to get yelled at for leaving the office at lunch? That seemed a petty complaint in the midst of everything else. “What kind of problem, sir?”
“I just got a call from a sheriff in Lincoln County, Col
orado. They found a body out there, a Jane Doe.” The captain stopped talking, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “Well, they thought it was a Jane Doe until they got the DNA back and traced her to our battalion. Dylan, their dead body is Specialist Lindsay Channing.”
* * *
“I’m going for a run. Alone.” Jessica pushed the side door to her house open and threw her bag down by a wooden bench without stopping.
Sean shut the door behind him, weighing his next words carefully. That call from her commander had him rattled, too, and that was the precise reason he wouldn’t let her out of this house without an escort. Details of the horrors of Channing’s death only confirmed that Randall’s threats weren’t empty. These people would do exactly as they said—take Jessica and torture her.
Sean wouldn’t let that happen, for reasons he wasn’t even fully ready to admit even to himself. He steeled himself and called after her as she retreated up the hallway. “You’re not going out alone. Not after what we’ve learned today.”
Her booted feet thunked to a halt at the foot of the stairs, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she tilted her head toward the sky.
Was she praying?
Finally, her posture slumped. “Fine. But I’m going upstairs. Alone. I need to be alone.” She turned the corner and vanished, her footfalls growing more muted as she ascended the stairs.
Sean stared after her a long time. That was almost too easy. He’d been prepared for an argument, a showdown. Her acquiescence was a surprise. Maybe, like him, she was too overwhelmed to fight about the small stuff anymore.
Or she was going to sneak out the back window and climb down a hidden trellis.
Wrapping his fingers tighter around the strap of his backpack, he headed for the couch and settled the bag on the table, then dropped onto the cushions. He couldn’t fault her for needing some time to herself. The way his brain was spinning, the quiet would do him good, as well. Somehow, he had to find a way to put together everything that was happening. Somewhere, there was an answer to who was doing this—and why. If he could just get an anchor dug in, he could build the rest of the case around it. The problem was, he had no idea where to start. Might as well drag his laptop back out and go through the data from Channing’s cell phone. Again.
He leaned forward to pull his backpack across the coffee table, but a flash of light outside caught his eye. The red sports car Channing and her partner had escaped in slowed to a stop in front of the house and sat idling.
Pulse quickening, Sean eased his backpack closer and unzipped the front pocket, slipping his Sig from the holster tucked inside. It was doubtful the occupants of the car could see into the house, but he kept his movements small and easy, trying to watch the goings-on without being seen.
No one exited the car. No motion showed through the tinted windows. It was a silent standoff, one that Sean couldn’t get a read on. Were they merely watching, or were they waiting to let loose a barrage of gunfire? Was there a car bomb in the vehicle, waiting to unleash enough force to level the house and anyone inside? The uncertainty made Sean want to charge out the front door and confront whoever was in the vehicle head-on.
But he didn’t dare. Going out without cover would make him a wide-open target. He reached for his hip pocket to pull out his cell phone and call Tate in the guest room, trying to avoid any noise or movement that would set off the driver of the sports car. Just as his fingers brushed the case, the car squealed away from the curb and took off down the street.
Sean was up and out the front door but the car had disappeared around the next block. He pounded his fist against his thigh. He ought to jump in his car and follow them, but that would leave Jessica alone upstairs with Tate sound asleep in the guest room. If this was some sort of setup, his giving chase was exactly what they wanted.
That whole incident crawled down his spine. The driver of that car had wanted to be seen. There was no other reason for it. The question was why.
Keeping his weapon close to avoid anyone on the street noticing it, Sean backed toward the front door, scanning the trees and shrubs in nearby yards, searching for any sign of a hidden antagonist.
The street was silent in the middle of the day with kids in school and adults at work. Outside of a slight breeze, nothing stirred. But the stillness didn’t curb Sean’s apprehension. The quiet only served to heighten his senses. Something wasn’t right.
One quick look around the house, just to be sure, then he’d go back inside and check every single window and door personally. Until he did that, there would be no relaxing.
Keeping the open front door in sight, he tried to look casual, strolling to the side yard for a peek. The small grassy area by the porch was silent, the cars in the driveway seemingly untouched.
Surely they wouldn’t try the same window Kyle Randall had used. Sean passed the front of the house again, scanning the windows and porch roof, seeing nothing. The side yard was empty, the windows tightly closed.
If the driver of that car had wanted him paranoid, he or she had succeeded. It felt as though eyes watched him from every house on the street as he climbed the steps and went back in the front door, pulling it shut and twisting the dead bolt behind him. From the back of the house came the slight hum of water running through the pipes. Otherwise, there was nothing. He’d check the backyard and let that be the end of it.
Though he doubted he’d even catch his usual short sleep tonight, wondering if that sports car idled somewhere on the street, watching.
Careful to keep his footsteps light so as not to disturb Tate, Sean eased open the door to the laundry room, trying to hear over the sound of water running in Jessica’s upstairs bathroom. As his hand touched the knob to the door that led to the covered porch, a scraping sound came from outside and overhead. It stopped, then started again, louder, a heavy thud punctuating the soft noise.
Adrenaline surging, Sean pressed close to the wall and peeked through the thin curtains on a small window. No movement on the porch, which meant someone had to be on the porch roof.
The very roof that ran under Jessica’s bedroom window.
Whoever was up there must have assumed Sean had taken the bait and followed the sports car up the block, leaving only a sleeping Tate to guard Jessica—if they even realized Tate was in the house.
Sean tightened his grip on his pistol and twisted the doorknob. There was no time to wake Tate and no time to run upstairs. He was on his own. If he hesitated any longer, their intruder would be inside Jessica’s room before Sean could get to her and save her.
Weapon at the ready, he slipped out the door and onto the covered porch. Staying close to the wall, Sean scanned the yard for anyone who might be waiting in the silence, desperately hoping whoever was on the roof of the porch was acting alone. It was unlikely. With the red sports car in play, this was no one-man show.
There was no movement. Sean waited as long as he dared before he eased away from the house, focus turned upward to the low roof of the porch that ran halfway around the back of the house before wrapping around to the front.
Dressed in gray with a cap pulled low over his face, a man crouched low on the gentle slope of the roof, kneeling in front of the window past Jessica’s, the one that led into Angie’s room.
Sean’s jaw tightened. Somehow, the guy knew the layout of the house and knew Angie wouldn’t be home. He wasn’t going straight into Jessica’s room, which could get him caught. He was aiming for the room next to hers, trying to gain entrance to the house before going after Jessica.
And he had the guts to do it in broad daylight, when he knew their guard would be down. The realization ran acid into Sean’s gut and chilled his fingers. These guys were serious—and desperate.
Leveling his weapon, Sean took aim and made sure he had his target sighted before calling out. “Back away from the window.”
>
The figure froze, shoulders a hard line beneath his gray jacket. His chin lifted slightly, but he didn’t turn toward Sean.
“I said back away.” Sean drove all of his authority into the words, hoping Tate wouldn’t hear and come running into danger. Hoping even more that Jessica wouldn’t turn off the shower and open her window to investigate.
The intruder had to back down or else Sean would be forced to fire. At this range, with the ancient siding on the house, the bullet would likely penetrate the walls, and he couldn’t risk hitting Jessica.
“Now.” Sean held his hand steady, even though his insides quaked. If the man called his bluff and dove through that window, Jessica would be dead before Sean could get up the stairs.
The movement was imperceptible at first, but the intruder lifted his hands, tugging his hat lower over his face as he did.
Sean wanted to relax in relief, but he didn’t dare. This was far from over. He swept the porch, looking for a way off the nearly flat roof. The guy must have come up from the side. Tate had padlocked the gate leading to the side yard to prevent this very thing, but it hadn’t kept their uninvited guest from scaling the roof.
If he could kick himself right now, he would. How could he have missed the obvious entry point?
It didn’t matter now. He could worry about it all after he had the man in custody. “You should be able to climb down to the railing and slide off. Get moving.”
Sean kept his weapon steady as the man edged passed Jessica’s window along the roof toward the center of the porch. Just before he reached the point Sean had indicated, the intruder stood and ran for the corner of the house.
Sean’s finger went for the trigger, hesitating. He could blast through the wall and hit Jessica on the other side. Before he could sight in again, the man disappeared around the corner.
Running for the gate, Sean slid to a stop on the grass and pounded his palm against the padlocked entry as tires squealed from the other side.
He drove the side of his fist against the wood, relishing the pain that jolted up his arm. He’d blown it in the clinch. Hesitated when he should have fired. Missed the obvious plan and failed to call Tate in for backup.
