Why had she stayed with David for so long? Because you believed in the sanctity of marriage and, dammit, he’d been gone most of the time. She squeezed her eyes closed. Old memories weren’t helping today’s situation. “I hope I can get him to start drawing again soon, but he doesn’t always draw what I ask him to. Sometimes he draws whatever is in his head in no particular order.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Brennan shrugged like it was no big deal, but Michael’s life might depend on this.
She started to shake.
“Hey.” He gently gripped her upper arms and some of his strength seeped into her own tired muscles. “If we can’t keep two people safe from a known threat then we shouldn’t bother turning up for work every morning. We will catch these people, with or without Michael’s assistance. You’re both safe here. I swear on my life you’re safe.”
“O-k-kay,” she stuttered. “I’m just not very good at relying on others or…”
One side of his mouth turned up. “Or trusting men.”
She blew out a tense breath. “Or that.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. She froze. The pull of attraction zinged between them and he didn’t look any happier about it than she was.
“Some of us have work to do!” Killion shouted up the stairs. Impatient and pushy. Snapping them both back to the moment and why they were here.
“I didn’t realize I was your damn chauffeur.” Brennan gave her arm a last squeeze, then turned and jogged down the stairs.
A wave of loneliness stole over her. It was stupid to miss the man’s presence before he’d even left. It was stupid to trust him on such short acquaintance. He was just doing his job and would have done the exact same for anyone in their situation. But she believed in him. He made her feel safe.
If it weren’t for Michael she’d have run and disappeared until the threat was over, but she couldn’t risk it. Not with her son. She was trapped and she was in big trouble.
***
“So she’s latched onto you as her knight protector?” Killion planted his feet on Jed’s walnut dash. “She’s hot. I wouldn’t mind protecting some of that myself.”
Jed had two brothers. He was old enough and ugly enough to know when someone was trying to get a rise out of him. Didn’t mean they didn’t get a fat lip when they pushed it too far.
“Maybe it was saving her kid’s life that did it.” He maneuvered the SUV carefully up the slick driveway. “Or the fact I look like someone she can trust.”
Killion snorted. “Shows what she knows about the feds.”
Jed grimaced. Maybe he was using Vivi—using the red-hot attraction that simmered between them. He’d thought about kissing her on the landing upstairs—idiot—but he did not intend to cross that line. This case was complicated enough without getting involved with a witness. Hell, his life was complicated enough. But they needed to know what Michael had seen and heard. Jed wouldn’t let anyone harm the kid to get that information, but they really needed to know. And so did the Vincents.
“Shouldn’t you be driving nails through terrorist palms or something?” he asked the spook.
Killion checked his watch. “Right about now.”
“You’re letting them sweat?”
“It’s a tactic that works.” There was an edge to Killion’s voice. Vivi had managed to shake his cool back at the safe house. The guy wasn’t as impervious as he tried to let on. “I don’t have a choice with the guy in ICU; he still hasn’t woken up. Abdullah Mulhadre is another matter entirely. He doesn’t know that we know who he is. The Agency is trying to get me as much intel as possible before I go in there.” Killion’s expression grew hard. “We’re struggling to figure out who’s behind this or if there are more attacks planned. Mulhadre could play the diplomatic immunity card, but hasn’t. And that makes him look even more guilty of working for his own government. However, we can’t just accuse the Syrians of staging the attack without risking all-out war in the Arabian peninsula, which would draw in Israel, Iran, Russia and China, and basically fuck the planet. So, yeah, I’m waiting for more intel while Abdullah ‘sweats’.” Killion’s eyes were glassy from fatigue. Neither of them had slept. Jed watched him squeeze his temples between a thumb and index finger. “This whole thing sucks. It’s one thing when it happens thousands of miles away in Kabul—”
“Another when it happens at home.” Jed got it. “I doubt the victims feel any different though.”
“We’re all human beneath the skin.”
“Even the CIA?”
Killion grunted. “Except the CIA.”
“DOD?”
“DOD are human. Unfortunately they’re also a bunch of fucking morons.” Inter-agency politics were alive and well. “At least we have the FBI to bring everyone together under the white flag of truce.” Killion’s mouth twisted. Politics had gotten more than one person on the ground killed and they all knew it. “I’m not a monster you know. I’m not going to hurt the kid. I just need to figure out if he knows anything. Even the smallest clue might help. The mother isn’t telling me everything.” Killion grunted. “No surprise there.”
“You really going to get in touch with the father?” asked Jed. That wouldn’t win the guy any points with Vivi but he had a job to do, even if Jed didn’t like it.
“Only as a last resort.” Killion’s grin returned. “She’s fiery. I can see why you like her.”
Jed refused to be drawn.
“What have you got lined up for the rest of the day?” The CIA agent seemed to be way too interested in what he was up to. But information was king to these guys. “Shouldn’t you be constructing some sort of profile?”
Jed shook his head. “Not me. BAU sent people from the counter-terrorism unit to do that—I’m just another grunt chasing the evidence. You’re gonna give that cell phone to McKenzie as soon as we get to HQ, right?”
“Of course.” Killion tilted his seat back and closed his eyes. “Why are you even here? Don’t you work out of Quantico?”
“I’m on vacation.”
Killion opened one eyelid. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. What are the chances, huh?” Jed turned onto the main highway toward the city. “I’ll call Dr. Hinkle and see if I can get him out to the safe house today. Then I’m planning to go through witness statements, look for anyone who might have seen our mystery Black Widow. See if I can get enough description to build a sketch artist’s impression to circulate to the media.”
“Thus possibly eliminating the need to get the information locked up inside the boy’s mind,” Killion stated quietly.
“Hopefully eliminating the threat, yeah. He might not have even seen their faces. The cupboard door was almost fully closed. He might not have any actionable intelligence.”
“Yeah, but he might, and you know what? That could be enough to save lives, and that’s all I care about.”
A slow anger built inside Jed, dispelling the earlier sense of camaraderie. He got it, he really got it, but Michael wasn’t your typical witness.
“He’s an eight-year-old boy who doesn’t speak. The kid is messed up.” Jed’s hand tightened on the wheel as he thought about what the father had done to Vivi and her son. Sounded like a piece of work. “And as a minor and American citizen, good luck getting access to him if you piss off his mother or step on his constitutional rights.”
And that was it in a nutshell. That’s why this guy was shadowing Jed. The CIA’s authority lay beyond the borders of the United States. He needed the FBI’s jurisdiction, and Jed’s influence on Vivi to get access to the boy.
“We both want the same thing,” the spook assured him, reading his mind.
Sure. “Except I have a few moral values regarding how I go about things.”
“Didn’t stop you breaking that killer’s nose back in DC.”
Jed bared his teeth in a smile. “And don’t you forget it.” The intelligence officer had known why Jed was here all along. What else did he know that he wasn’t sharing?
The look in Killion’s eyes turned colder than a Minnesota winter. But Jed had grown up in Wisconsin so winter didn’t bother him. The other guy finally shut the hell up as they pulled into headquarters. Small mercies.
***
Pilah walked into the hospital with a large bunch of pink carnations. She’d called earlier to say she was trying to track down her “uncle” and find out if he was one of the victims of the terrorist attack at the mall. The admin people confirmed he was indeed a patient. Signs directed her to ICU.
There were cops in the corridor, talking to people, taking statements. Heat grew and expanded in a wave across her shoulders and rushed up her neck. Her fear was a tangible entity and she wondered if they could see it pouring off her like steam. “I’m here to see William Green,” she told the nurse.
The nurse’s eyes grew wide. “Are you the woman I spoke to who called a couple of hours ago?”
Pilah frowned. “I did call but I don’t think I spoke to a nurse. I’m his niece.” Damn. Was someone else about to arrive and blow her cover? Sargon would have no qualms about selling her young daughters off to some old, disgusting man if she failed him. Assuming he didn’t shoot them or let them starve to death first. Her stomach cramped. “Did they leave a name?”
The nurse checked a sticky note she’d posted on the counter. “Marie Thomas.”
“Ah, Marie.” Pilah nodded as if she’d heard of her. “I’ll give her a call to say I’m here. I was out of town and came as soon as I realized Uncle Will had been caught up in that attack.”
The nurse gave an upper-body shudder. “Those people should be ashamed of themselves, although I doubt they have a conscience. What they hoped to accomplish I don’t know. Did nothing but murder and maim a bunch of innocent people. I know what I’d do with them if I had the chance.”
The nurse was smug and fat. It was easy to sit in judgment when you lived in a democracy where your rights mattered. Where Pilah came from, entire towns had been massacred—men, women and children, tortured and killed on the orders of their own president. Pilah hid her feelings, her cynicism, her contempt. Americans knew little of suffering. She’d known little about it until the civil war had engulfed her nation in a fierce battle for freedom.
She’d expected rumors and speculation about Syria’s involvement to be circulating in the media by now, but nothing. Not yet anyway.
Had Sargon lied about their agenda or were the authorities keeping a lid on any information they uncovered? Both, probably.
“Is he still in a coma?” Pilah asked.
“He’s in a medically induced coma until the swelling in his brain goes down. It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she reassured her.
The nurse led the way and they entered a unit which contained three beds. Oh no… Pilah frantically scanned the people lying there. There were two unconscious men but she didn’t know which one was the man who was supposed to be her uncle.
Pilah stopped dead. “I forgot I’m not allowed to bring flowers in here.” She waved the bunch in front of her, stalling for time. “Let me take them outside and give Marie a call. Then I’ll come and sit with him if I may?” Her tactic worked because the nurse kept walking to the bed at the end, then looked up.
“It sounds like a plan. I was feeling sorry for the guy having no visitors. It’ll do him good to have some company.”
She recognized him. He’d been nearby when they’d detonated the blast that took out the Security Center. Amir had shot him when he’d approached them. She hoped to hell he didn’t recognize her if he woke up. Of course she’d changed her appearance. No headscarf, tight-fitting, western clothes. Her hair was naturally dark blond, something she’d inherited from her mother and the reason Sargon thought he could use her. She’d given herself bangs which came low over her eyes, and wore bright colored make-up and pink lipstick.
“He looks terrible.” Pilah really looked at the man’s face. Gray skin, mouth slack, big white bandage wrapped around his head. He looked as if he was in pain and somehow that was worse than seeing someone dead. She’d helped to do this. She had caused this suffering. For the first time she experienced real remorse for her actions. “Just give me two minutes and I’ll be back.” She went outside and walked down the corridor toward the main entrance. She dialed a number Sargon had given her, her fingers shaking so badly she misdialed twice.
When someone picked up she said, “This isn’t going to work. He has a niece who called earlier.”
“Name?”
She frowned. “Marie Thomas.”
Her contact was already typing on the computer. He reeled off an address. “Got her. Not married. Appears to live alone as far as I can tell.”
“Should I just leave?”
“No. Do exactly what you were told. Then later on you need to deal with this. I have other things that require my attention.”
“Me?”
A soft snort echoed through the phone. “Yeah, you. You have proved surprisingly resourceful so far. You know what to do.”
But I don’t want to do it! Inside she screamed. Outside she kept calm. How could she get out of this mess she had gotten herself into? “Did you find the child?”
“Don’t talk about it,” the man scolded her. The guy hung up.
The image of the redheaded woman and her son’s face had started to haunt Pilah along with all her other ghosts. Were they still out there? Could the boy identify her? Had he overheard anything of importance?
She put the flowers on the closest nurses’ station. Then she turned off her cell and entered ICU. She surreptitiously checked the notes at the end of the bed—something every relative did. William Green. Fifty-five years old. She sat beside him and picked up his hand. His skin was cool and dry. She squeezed his fingers and was unsettled to feel a slight pressure squeezing back.
CHAPTER NINE
Vivi paced. She’d gotten Michael up and dressed but he’d spent the whole day lying on the couch unwilling or unable to respond. Her jaw clenched. He was slipping away from her. She could feel it with every lack of reaction, every avoidance of eye contact.
“When is he going to get here?” she asked Inspector Patton for the fifth time in the last hour. Dr. Hinkle had agreed to come as soon as he’d finished his afternoon rounds at the hospital. The marshals had supposedly informed the CIA agent and FBI but she wasn’t delaying until they arrived. The wait alone was driving her insane. She felt so helpless.
“On his way.”
This whole setup was starting to feel like a massive waste of time and resources. The threat to them seemed ridiculous. The more she thought about it, the more she decided the authorities were overreacting. The news media suggested all the known terrorists were dead and the general furor was dying down. Some parts of the mall had already started clean up.
“I can’t believe anyone would go to this much trouble to find us. We don’t know anything.”
“You know what I can’t believe?” Patton replied evenly. “Is that so many of my fellow Americans were gunned down in my local mall yesterday. A little caution might be warranted, especially considering the guy at the hotel pool.”
Bile hit her throat. God, yes. But the whole thing just seemed so surreal.
Patton put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK to fall apart, you know. No one is grading you on how well you cope.”
“It’s a good thing they aren’t.” She gave a strangled laugh and shook her head. “But I can’t afford to fall apart. I have a little boy to protect.”
Patton rested his hand on his sidearm. He seemed like a good guy. Rogers, too, although he was sterner. “It’s my job too, don’t forget. Give yourself a break.”
Hard to do when she was holed up with nothing to do and Michael was drifting further and further away from her. “I do appreciate your help. I just want everything to go back to normal. Do you have kids?”
“Yup. Two boys. One in college. One just finishing up high school.”
“I hope they know how lucky they are
to have you.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a car pulling up outside stopped him. He went to the door, gun drawn. Cell phone to his ear. “It’s Hinkle,” he said.
Rogers led the doctor inside, the man’s glasses fogged up from being in the cold. He gave her a somewhat bemused expression. Yesterday, she’d refused to let him run any more tests on Michael after the MRI procedure had ended badly. Now she’d begged for him to come and see her son. “Dr. Hinkle. Thank you so much for coming.”
“Ms. Vincent. I’d say it was a pleasure to see you again so soon but unfortunately the circumstances…”
Vivi nodded. The circumstances were a bitch.
The doctor came inside the kitchen and stared at where her son was lying dejected on the couch. “He’s been like this since the attack?”
“Up and down, but basically, yes.” She nodded. “He isn’t eating unless I force the issue. He isn’t interested in much beside sleep. I’m worried—” Her voice cracked. Worried he’d just fade away and die and no one would care except me…
The doctor patted her arm. “Of course you’re worried. I’ll go talk to him but…”
“What?”
“It’s possible that this is a perfectly normal reaction to a very traumatic incident.”
Normal? “Like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”
“I doubt it’s even had time to escalate to that yet, but a normal reaction to trauma, certainly. We all take time to process fear, and grief, and even the guilt that we survived when others didn’t. Grief is a process. It takes time. Days. Weeks. Sometimes years.” Kind blue eyes met hers. “For you too.”
Vivi didn’t care about herself. She was strong enough to get through this as long as someone helped her with Michael.
“Because of Michael’s age and the fact he doesn’t speak we’ll need to devise some sort of specialized therapy schedule for him so he can appropriately process the events of yesterday and the emotions that go with them.”
“OK.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Action. She was good taking action. It was letting things slide that bothered her.
Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) Page 11
