“Oh, no, wait a minute.” She twisted away from him, intent on a few more words with the smug Agent Holman. “You aren’t getting off that easy. I want my computer equipment back. I want all of Harley’s things. Most of all, I want the ring you guys stole and—”
“We need to go,” Alex urged in her ear.
Judy elbowed him. She was in the middle of the worst day of her life, and the ring was going home with her, no two ways about it. “What gives the FBI the right to—?”
“Judy!” Alex jerked her into his side. “We need to go. Now.”
One look into his fierce, blue eyes and she relented. Maybe now was not the time to rip into the man who’d trampled her rights as an American citizen. Alex tugged her out the door and down the narrow maze of hallways, finally exiting out the side door with his buddy, Jed McCormack, close behind. She had no choice but to speed walk to keep up. Alex barely gave her time. It wasn’t until she reached the final step that he released her.
“Don’t think for one minute it was easy getting you out of there. Get in the car.” His eyes flashed as he glanced at the nondescript federal building behind them. “Please,” he added.
Feeling a little meeker, she followed him to the street. At least he’d chosen one of his business cars instead of his monster pickup truck. A girl couldn’t climb up into the front seat of that thing without some guy manhandling her butt to boost her up. She smoothed her scrubs and fastened her seatbelt, still out of breath from the forced march and angry with Alex. He’d just treated her as if she were one of his minions. He had his nerve.
“They sure pull the terrorism card out of their butt, ah, excuse me, ma’am. I mean out of their hat, don’t they, Alex?” Jed McCormack remarked as he climbed into the back.
“Yes, they do. Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to help me get this done.” Alex looked sharply at Judy. “That’s why we couldn’t let you argue with them. You’re absolutely right. They’re wrong, but they’d have no trouble putting you in a cell if they thought you were in any way involved in the three assassinations.”
“Three?”
“Yes. Senator Covington was murdered this morning.”
Judy sank back in the passenger seat, blinking tears and turning to mush in front of Alex no less. Facing the side window, she brushed her emotions away and hoped neither man noticed. The strong hand on her shoulder told her otherwise.
“You didn’t know?”
“The FBI thinks Harley is the one killing them,” she whispered.
“They’re stupid.” Alex pulled away from the curb.
Silently, she agreed.
He dropped a cloth handkerchief onto her lap. Downtown D.C. flew by as he pointed his vehicle south across the Potomac. Tourist river cruises sailed beneath them, but all she could see were Harley’s smiling, hazel eyes. Only she didn’t have a clue where he was and neither did his boss. She composed herself and faced the last man on earth she’d expected to come to her rescue.
“Thanks, Alex. I’m sorry I acted like that. I’ve never felt so....”
“Helpless?”
“More like violated. They’re such... such....”
“Assholes?” Alex hit the nail right on the head.
“Don’t worry about it, young lady.” Jed McCormack spoke up from the back seat. “You had every right to ask those questions. The FBI owes you and Harley an apology. Don’t hold your breath waiting for one though.”
It took a few more minutes of driving through busy traffic, but shortly Alex pulled to the curb in front of a prestigious office building on the outskirts of Rosslyn. Graced by a semicircle of tall, spindly pines, it was a peaceful, elegant entry to a huge business plaza. Streaming water flowed from the top of a monolithic red granite rock standing on end in the center of a bed of red gravel. The name McCormack, Inc. etched in gold lettering on the rock gleamed for all to see.
“Close enough for you, Jed?” Alex stretched his arm over the seat as he shook hands with his friend. “Thanks again. You’re one of the few I could ask for help fighting the Bureau.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Jed unfolded his long legs and stepped onto the curb. He rapped on Judy’s window. When she rolled the glass down, he reached in and shook her hand. “It’s a privilege helping a lady in need, Miss O’Brien. Call me anytime.”
Judy nodded. “Thank you, Mr. McCormack.”
“Harley is a good man. When all this is said and done, you and he need to come over for dinner.” Jed peered into the car at Alex with a stern eye. “You and Kelsey too.”
Alex nodded, but Jed didn’t step away. His voice was uncommonly firm as he pointed past Judy to Alex. “Have faith in that little wife of yours. She’d tell you and I’m telling you. Have faith, Alex.”
“Yeah. Right. Thanks again.” Alex pulled slowly into traffic, leaving his good friend and trusted advisor at the curb. He drove in silence until Judy spoke up.
“Have you heard anything on Kelsey yet?”
“No.”
The temperature in the vehicle chilled. It was clear he did not want to talk. She changed the subject. “I didn’t think anyone used cloth handkerchiefs anymore.”
“Always carry one.”
“Why?” The old fashioned item was the perfect distraction for this crazy day.
“Guess I never know when I’ll run into a woman in tears.” His voice cracked while he maneuvered through the hectic traffic.
“We’re a fine pair,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. Agent Holman made me so mad.”
“The FBI has the same affect on me. Where do you want me to take you? Your apartment or my office?”
“Home. I want to go home. How are you holding up?”
“I’m good.”
“Come on, Alex, you can’t be good. You’ve got a—”
“I said I’m good. Drop it.”
Judy hugged herself as the temperature in the car dropped to frigid. The barrier Alex had erected crackled like an electric fence between them. He drove in silence. When the vehicle stopped at her apartment, she opened the door intent on a hasty escape. No such luck. He’d already hurried around the car as if he hadn’t just a moment ago snapped her head off. Alex opened her door and extended his hand to assist.
“Thanks,” she said woodenly, not knowing what to expect. One minute he was the perfect gentleman, but the next openly hostile. Without a word, he escorted her to her fourth floor apartment door. It wasn’t until they stood in front of it that she saw the tape stretched in a huge X across the frame. Police crime scene. Do not enter.
Her strength wavered. The FBI had been back. And that was the last straw.
“Damn it!” She beat the sealed door with both fists. “What do they expect me to do now? Sleep in the hallway?”
“I should have expected this.” Alex looked the door up and down. His lack of a more hostile reaction spiked her fury. Removing crime scene tape was illegal, but she wanted to do something. He, on the other hand, stood and stared as if he didn’t have a clue. At last, he gripped her elbow and steered her back down the hall to the elevator.
“Where are we going?” she snapped when they were once more in the car.
“To a hotel. You can keep in touch with me at the office, and... and...” Words failed him again. He sat staring into space with his hands clutching the steering wheel.
Judy turned to really look at Alex. Instead of evenly combed, his hair looked every bit as disheveled as Harley’s. He hadn’t shaved. Pronounced cords in his neck betrayed the inner torment only she could understand. “You’re worn out, Alex. You need to rest.”
“I don’t see that happening for either of us. Do you?” Impatiently, he started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Let’s just go.”
She tried again. “No. I mean… I guess what I’m trying to say is... Harley needs you.” Her throat squeezed shut while her eyes overflowed, not the way she wanted him to see her. “I need you. Please.”
He jerked t
he car back to the curb and shoved the gearshift into park. Angry did not begin to describe the lean man beside her. He didn’t so much as glance her way. His breath came in short, hard huffs against the fist clenched to his lips.
“Are you all right?” She clutched his arm, concerned he might be having a heart attack.
“What do you think? The police believe Kelsey and Harley ran off together; that her abduction is a hoax. The press is broadcasting lies that I killed her. And now the sonofabitchin FBI thinks Harley’s the sniper. What the hell else can possibly go wrong?”
Traffic buzzed by, an oddly normal sound in the middle of such a chaotic day.
“We’re in this alone,” she whispered. “What do we do? Tell me.”
“What the hell else? We find ’em.”
Diamond blue eyes stabbed her with their intensity. And Judy fell apart. Talking with this man was excruciatingly like playing with a rabid dog—one minute sociable, the next biting her head off. She pulled away from Alex, too full of her own despair to deal with his.
“I’m sorry.” Now it was his hand on her shoulder. His voice softened. “Judy. Please. I’m sorry.”
“No.” She shrugged him off, fighting a complete emotional breakdown. “Leave me alone. I can’t take much more today, and I don’t like you to begin with.”
She should have known he wouldn’t listen. The know-it-all’s hand tightened on her shoulder until he’d turned her around to face him. For that single moment, he was no longer Alex Stewart, powerhouse CEO and man in charge of the world. He was just a devastated husband doing the best he could on an enormously bad day. The hard diamonds had softened to sad sapphires.
Her resolve crumbled.
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Don’t give up,” he said, biting his lip hard. “Mark and Zack will find him. They’ve got my dogs to help. I know they will.”
She voiced her worst fears. “But what if he’s... dying? What if I never see him again?”
“Think, Judy. He wouldn’t have come home for his weapons if he was dying, would he?”
She gulped, every nerve raw from the horrible day and this fierce, angry man at her side. The worst part was she knew exactly how Alex felt. Every bit of her wanted to lash out too. The tsunami of rage and fear building inside her was more than she could hold back and the FBI’s confinement made it worse. They’d wasted precious time Harley might not have.
“Think,” Alex said softly. “Some logical thought process is going on inside that hard head of his. Harley’s on the move. He was coherent enough to know where he kept his gear and to come looking for it.”
She had to agree. Harley might be bleeding, but he was not dying. Not yet. “He even locked the apartment when he left. But the FBI is hunting him. What if—”
“Then we get to him first. It’s as simple as that.”
She nodded, wanting so much to believe the theory. If only she could offer the same encouragement. Judy inhaled a deep breath instead of speaking patronizing words. Alex knew better. Finding Kelsey was a whole different problem. “What can I do to help you?”
“Let me take you to a hotel. I’ll get you a room so you can get some rest. Then come into the office. You can hang out with us until we find him.”
Her breath hitched. He sounded so positive they’d find Harley, but did not mention one word about his missing wife.
“I’m sorry I said I didn’t like—”
“Never say you’re sorry.” He leaned back into his seat, the weariness of the day etched on his face. “I don’t like myself most days either.”
Harley ran for cover. He hadn’t seen a single military chopper until now, but these black birds had to be Iraqi. Had to. They skimmed too low over the ground with shemagh-wearing gunners leaning out the open sides looking for something to shoot. Maybe him. No longer sure what to trust, he stuck to the narrow corridors linking the impoverished villages. That would keep him undetectable. He hoped.
But he was in desperate need of rest and water. A bandage for his leg wouldn’t hurt either. The fire burning deep inside it forced him to limp slower. Dread at being discovered by insurgents rankled in his gut. They could be anywhere. Capture meant torture and death. It wasn’t going to happen, not to him.
Finally, he stopped in the dark corner of an ancient passageway that smelled of fish, an odd smell for the middle of the Iraqi desert. Fish? Really? His stomach gurgled in protest over his forced abstinence. It was hard to know the last time he’d eaten. Time was as abstract as catching up with his men. Shadows swirled in his head, either mirage or dreams. Nightmares maybe.
With a groan, he muscled the gear bag off his shoulder and dropped it against the wall of what he hoped would be a safer place to stop for the night. Gently setting his rifle flat to the ground, he crouched and let his good leg buckle while he straightened his bad leg in front of him. At last on his butt, he leaned against his bag. The hard lumps of ammo and magazines brought comfort to a soldier’s weary mind. It might not seem like much to civilians, but what did they know? Luxury was in the eye of the beholder, and a bag full of ammo nearby was the only way to catch any shuteye in the field.
He kept the rifle loaded and alongside his injured leg. It would be hidden from sight if he managed to doze off, but still readily available. The SIG, on the other hand, stayed secure in the holster on his thigh. One never knew who or what was around the next corner. He’d been primed for warfare all day, and he wasn’t going to stop now. Some XO’s wise words drifted through his mind. At all times, be prepared in all things, and you’ll never get surprised—or dead.
Grimly, he searched his pack for one of those chewy dry protein bars Judy liked to pack for him. She called them a treat, but—
Not again! Harley stopped cold. His mind had played another trick on him, but this time, he’d caught himself. He didn’t know any Judy, did he? Besides, there was no such thing as a protein bar in his pack. He’d checked the last time his mind tricked him. Damn, it’s getting old.
His mind wandered aimlessly. He let it go where it wanted. Thinking about the dream woman soothed him to his core. Slumping deeper into his pillow, his tired arms relaxed and went limp at his sides. The ground swelled up to cradle him. Tension lifted with every steady breath, and sleep became more essential than food.
The rifle at his side eased out of his grip. Gunfire erupted in some far off Iraqi neighborhood. While his ears registered the noise, he didn’t respond. Sleep deprivation demanded total compliance. His hard head came to rest on his outstretched arm with a soft thud. That was the problem with holding still too long after the stress of battle. Once a soldier stopped moving, he simply fell... asleep.
Eleven
“How you doing, sonny?”
Startled, Harley snapped awake, his SIG already out of its holster and in his hand, blinking hard to see where that voice had come from. The hair lifted off the back of his neck. “Who’s out there? Show yourself.”
“’S just me.” Someone moved at the edge of the dark, a shadow he could not distinguish for enemy or foe, male or female. Hell, it might be another figment of his imagination the way his day was going.
A struck match instantly blinded him, but his vision adjusted quickly. Two bright eyes glittered from a grizzled face that seemed wrapped in a black and white rag, possibly a shemagh. Yeah, that’s what it was, one of those scarves the Iraqis wore to cover their heads and necks. Nervous tension skittered up his spine like spider legs. This person didn’t sound Iraqi.
When he or she scuffled closer, Harley stiffened, not wanting to shoot until he had no choice, but damn it. Nobody should approach a soldier with a loaded gun. It just wasn’t done.
“Put your gun down. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
Harley blinked hard, not sure what or who he was looking at. “What’s your name?”
“Miriam.”
Harley shook his head. Miriam sounded like a woman’s name, but she sure looked like a man with a five o’clock shadow. The
long skirt covering her legs all the way to her boots might identify her gender. Maybe not. The boots looked new, but everything else seemed shabby and old. Several sweaters were layered over a hooded sweatshirt. Dirty gloves with the fingertips missing concealed most of her hands. She licked the lips of her open mouth, round and around.
“Miriam who?”
“Miriam Santorini. This is my piece of the tunnel. You shouldn’t be here.”
Harley glanced around. “State your business.”
“State yours. You’re the one with the gun. You a cop?”
“No, I’m not a cop.” Why would this guy, umm, gal think a soldier in cammies and battle gear was a cop? Harley reached for his helmet only... Oh yeah. He’d lost it. Confusion stabbed his mind as much as pain stabbed his leg. He double-checked his rifle. Still there. Good enough.
“You’re sick.” Her voice gentled, adding another dimension Harley did not expect. What was a woman doing in the middle of a war zone?
He offered the least amount of information. “Corporal Mortimer, Army, Fourth Infantry Division....”
It was hard to think with a memory that felt like a slippery slide. He shook it off. The only words that came back to him were Fourth Infantry Division. Even they seemed incomplete. He repeated it silently; sure he knew the name of his own company. Something about a battalion and combat team shifted through his brain. It belonged in the Army designation. Somewhere.
“What are you doing here?” And what the hell am I doing here?
Miriam faded in and out of the shadows. Something about the guy, umm, gal was fishy. She moved in closer, brushing his rifle aside, and he let her. Him. Whatever.
“I’m the oldest person in this part of the tunnel. You know where you are, sonny?”
“No.” He grunted, licking his dry lips. “Baghdad? Tikrit?”
“You’re sicker than I thought.” She smoothed gloved hands over his face, and he didn’t care if she touched him or not. As long as she spoke English, he allowed a small measure of familiarity. “What’d you do? Get in a knife fight or something? Your leg’s a mess and your head’s bloody.”
Harley (In the Company of Snipers Book 4) Page 9
