by Dee Davis
"That's exactly what saved her. Whoever administered the poison overdid it. That, combined with the acidity in the apple pie, made Melissa throw up. And quite literally, vom-iting saved her life." Tracy shrugged. "Sometimes it's just a quirk of fate."
"What about residual effects?" Nigel forced his breathing to slow.
"Shouldn't be any. Most of what she ingested she threw up It wouldn't hurt for her to see a doctor though. Just to be sure."
"Seems odd that someone would use something so clearly traceable to try and kill her." Madison's brows had drawn together in thought. "I mean, if someone is trying to pin a murder on her, why in the world would they take her out in so obvious a way?"
"Suicide is one possibility," Tracy answered. "Melissa murders Celik here, and then in a fit of depression kills herself. Rat poison is an easy way to go."
"You're not saying..." Nigel's objection was clearly more intense than it needed to be and Madison reached over to pat his arm.
"She's only saying that someone might have thought that's the way it would play out. Two dead bodies, one of them clearly implicated in the death of the other. Open and shut."
"Except Melissa didn't die. And she didn't try to kill herself." The last was said for no one in particular but he couldn't stop the urge to vocalize it.
"I think we're all in agreement, Nigel." Madison's voice was soft but firm, her attention turning back to Tracy. "Did you find anything that might give a clue as to who poisoned her?"
"Nothing on the coat. And according to what Gabe told me, there were at least four people with an opportunity to put something in her coffee. Strychnine can take up to thirty minutes to work, too, so depending on the timeline, it's even possible that she ingested it before she got to the diner. Although I still hold that the coffee is the most likely culprit."
"What about the blood?" Nigel knew it was probably going to be damning but he needed to know.
"Definitely Celik's, I'm afraid." Tracy held her hand out in apology. "Perfect DNA match."
"So she had to have come into contact with him," Nigel said, feeling deflated.
"Actually, maybe not. The pattern on her coat is more consistent with pouring than rubbing. If she'd killed Celik and gotten his blood on her coat, it would most likely be from moving him or bumping up against him somehow. Maybe even bending over the body to check for life." Tracy demonstrated on the corpse with the casual air of someone who dealt with death daily. "The pattern would have been smeared and lighter in some places than others."
"But it wasn't," Madison prompted.
"Right, The stain saturated the coat. And based on Celik's injuries, I don't see how she could have gotten that much blood on her without help."
"So you think that someone poured the blood on her coat after the fact." Nigel blew out a breath, trying to find the pieces that secured Melissa's innocence.
"I can't say with certainty, of course, but the evidence seems to support something along those lines."
"But if someone followed her into the alley with the blood, wouldn't they have realized she wasn't dead?" Madison asked, still frowning.
"Odds are she was practically in a coma, so it's possible they could have mistaken it for death. It was dark, which would decrease visibility, and cold, which could slow respiration."
"But they'd have had to pick up her hand to secure prints for the knife and the forged documents." Somewhere along the way his brain had fallen into agreement with his heart. Melissa hadn't killed anyone. Period.
"It's possible, but it's equally likely that they got her prints off the cup or silverware at the diner," Tracy said. "It's fairly simple to transfer that sort of thing if you know what you're doing."
"But they'd still have to be in the alley to stain her coat. And I can't imagine not checking to see if she was dead," Madison said thoughtfully.
"Well, as I said, under those circumstances, it's not unrealistic for someone to have mistaken her coma for death. And even if they didn't, the amount of poison she'd ingested should have been a sure thing. It was just a matter of time."
"So we're saying that someone followed her outside the diner, waited for her collapse, then covered her with blood. And from there they went to the Turk's and planted the evidence." Nigel summed it all up, still trying to find the motivation. "Was there anything in Celik's autopsy to indicate that Melissa was involved?"
"Nothing. No fibers other than the two hairs they found on the scene. And no DNA under his fingernails. Although he was caught by surprise so that probably means he didn't have the chance to fight."
"But hair is easy to place at a scene," Madison said. "Were there any other prints?"
"None," Tracy said. "The place was wiped clean. Which runs counterintuitive to the fact that the knife had such a clear print and there were hairs at the scene."
"Not the kind of mistake a CIA agent makes," Nigel prompted.
"Exactly," Tracy agreed. "And there's more." She reached for the cadaver, flipping him over onto his back. "The knife entered the body here." She pointed to a blue-tinged two-inch wound just below his shoulder blade. "Based on the angle of the wound, I'd say that the killer would have to have been at least as tall as Celik, maybe even a little taller." She paused, her lips quirking at the corners. "Celik was six foot two."
The words hung in the air for a moment, and then sank in. Nigel smiled. "Melissa is only about five-six."
"So you're saying she couldn't have done this?" Madison studied the body for a moment and then looked up at Tracy.
"Not unless she was standing on a step stool. The body doesn't lie, and there's simply no way she could have inflicted this particular wound at this particular angle unless she were taller."
"What about heels?" Nigel needed to be certain. To cover all the bases.
"They'd have to have been eight inches or more." Tracy shrugged. "Even fashionistas don't wear them that high."
"All right then, we've got solid evidence for Melissa's innocence." Nigel rubbed his hands together in delight.
"Hold on." Madison raised a hand, her eyes still dark with concern. "While I believe everything Tracy's saying, it's still just one piece of evidence in the face of the prints and the hair, and those letters."
"You think she did it?" He seemed destined to repeat himself.
"No. But I don't necessarily think we have enough to prove it." Madison looked to Tracy for agreement, and she nodded "So Melissa's still got to keep a low profile. If she surfaces, someone will nab her. Either the authorities who are being hounded to find a culprit for Celik's murder and the resulting diplomatic brouhaha, or the people who actually killed Celik. Melissa alive is a serious threat to whatever it is they're trying to cover up. What about the weapon? Can it tell us anything?"
"It was a hunting knife." Tracy held up a plastic bag with the knife inside. "Nothing particularly special about it, except that it didn't belong to Celik. Which indicates premeditation. I'm running a check on murders involving the same kind of weapon on the off chance that there are priors."
"You can trace knife patterns to a wound, right?" Madi-son queried.
"In some cases. But the entry point has to be clean, and Nomeone in forensics has to document it, including photographs and measurements. The degree of detail in an autopsy frankly often depends on the priority a case is given."
"Or the importance of the vic," Nigel said.
"So what you're trying to say," Madison said, ignoring Nigel's sarcasm, "is that even if the killer has used this weapon before, there may not be ai record."
"The odds are against it." Tracy shrugged. "There are just loo many variables. But as I said, I'll check into it and let you know if I find anything."
"What about time of death?" Nigel asked, still groping for something that would clear Melissa of suspicion.
"I've got a range. Can't do much better, I'm afraid. He'd been there too long." She glanced down at Celik, reaching out to smooth the guy's hair. It should have been a gruesome gesture but wasn't.
"Conservatively, I'd say he was killed somewhere between twelve and two."
"And if you had to call it?" Nigel asked.
"I'd say one-one-thirty."
Madison turned to look at Nigel. "That puts Melissa in the diner."
"Potentially, without anyone to corroborate the fact." Nigel turned to Tracy. "Thanks for all your help."
"No problem." Her face softened for an instant and she reached out for his hand. "For what it's worth, Nigel, I don't think she did it. I just wish I could have given you conclusive evidence."
"Well, the poisoning and the fact that the killer was taller than Melissa is a start. Maybe we'll get lucky with the weapon hunt. And in the meantime, you can bet we'll be working overtime to try to figure out who's really behind this."
Tracy nodded, then hesitated, her dark gaze worried. "Hopefully you'll find something soon, because in the meantime, Madison's right. With Melissa alive, the killer's suddenly got a hell of a lot more to lose, which means she could be in real danger."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MELISSA STOOD IN front of the fire, trying to sort through her tumultuous thoughts. She'd come into Cullen's study to call her sister, Cullen having arranged for a secure line. But now that the task was completed she couldn't bring herself to re-turn to the others.
At least not yet.
Although the team's forays into New York had convinced them all of her innocence, the bottom line was that there simply wasn't enough evidence to counter what had already been falsely implied Add Ed Wyland's apparent flight, and the shit was getting pretty deep.
Not that Melissa believed for a minute that her handler had gone anywhere willingly. Someone had forced him. And if that was the case, she had no doubts as to the ultimate outcome. Ed Wyland was dead. She could feel it in her bones.
She blew out a long shuddering breath, her stomach twist-ing. Twenty-four hours ago her life had been a hell of a lot more simple. And now...
Well, there weren't even words.
"Did you talk to Alicia?"
Melissa jumped at the sound of Nigel's voice, spinning around to face him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, but you've been in here a long time. I thought maybe I ought to check on you."
She wasn't sure if she was delighted or insulted. He was standing so close it was hard to breathe let alone think. "I'm fine. Just taking a moment."
"What did you tell your sister?"
"As much of the truth as I dared. I hate lying to her, but I'm afraid it's become somewhat second nature. She'd heard a little. Apparently, Celik's murder made the papers this morning, but it hasn't been tied to me. At least publicly."
"Cullen's work."
"I guess I should thank him." She'd have moved back, except to do so would mean stepping into the fire.
"Or me." Nigel moved even closer, his breath warm against her face.
She tipped her head, opening her mouth to dispute the fact, but it was too late. His mouth brushed against hers, the sensation beyond anything she'd ever experienced except with him.
She knew she should stop. Knew that there was only trouble ahead if the two of them continued, but she wanted his touch more than she could possibly have imagined. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss, opening her lips so that their tongues could meet, the taste of him more intoxicating than the best of wines.
She was kissing the boy she'd loved, but she was also kissing the man he'd become. A meeting of old and new in the time-tested way of men and women. It would have been laughable except that she was living it, loving it.
With a groan, he threaded his fingers through her hair, kneading her scalp, each stroke matching the movements of his tongue. She relished the contact, leaning into him, giving as much as she was taking. It was ironic, really; she hadn't felt like this in over a decade and with just one touch he brought it all back—every sensory detail.
She reared back, her heated gaze meeting his. "I can't do this."
"You're probably right," he admitted, his eyes tortured, "but I can't seem to stop."
They kissed again, then disengaged, both of them breathless.
"I know what you mean." Her laughter was forced, desire making her giddy. "This is crazy. I mean, anything we felt for one another was years ago, and now, well..."
He smiled, mustache twitching, and then kissed her again so thoroughly her insides ached with the contact. She sighed, not caring anymore what the proper protocol was. She wanted him, it was as simple as that.
One hand slid to her breast, and she sucked in a breath as his thumb found her nipple, circling in a proprietary way that made her weak at the knees. She wasn't a slut and she wasn't a prude, but no man had ever affected her in this way. And apparently time had merely heightened her desire.
The fire crackled, the sound seeming to intensify the heat between them. His other hand found the small of her back and then the soft curve of her ass, the cupping sensation almost more than she could bear.
Naked was suddenly an important word, all thought of modesty taking flight for the hills. Nigel was the one. The concept seemed suddenly like a blinding glimpse of the obvious, and despite the blaring warning resounding in her head, she wanted nothing more than to yield to the magic of his touch.
But fate was, as usual, not on her side.
Someone at the far side of the room cleared his throat, and Melissa sprang away.
"I'm sorry to interrupt." Harrison looked more than embarrassed, he looked as if he wished the ground would swallow him whole. "The video feed is ready. And your team is assembled as requested. All that's missing is you." He shot a pointed look at Nigel, who had the audacity to smile and shrug.
"Priorities, my dear boy."
In the moment, Melissa wasn't sure whether she wanted to strangle him or continue to kiss him, the former being the better decision by a long shot. Instead she opted for noncha-lance, or her version thereof.
"You need to go."
The heat in Nigel's eyes quite honestly reduced her insides to a quivering mass of jelly, but her mother had taught her to hold her cards tight to the vest, and she'd be damned if she'd let him know the power he wielded.
"The team is in place." Harrison wasn't trying to support her position, but his words did exactly that.
"We're not finished here." Nigel's promise sent hot shivers racing through her.
"I'll be wailing." It sounded tike a sex-kitten reply and Me-lissa hated herself for her weakness, but she wasn't about tog close the door, her need as intrinsic as a heartbeat.
Harrison swallowed, his discomfort apparent, and sud-denly the mood was broken.
"So everyone I requested is in place?" Nigel's attention was centered now on Harrison and the arrangements that had been made. There was a part of Melissa that applauded his concentration. She'd been working undercover too long not to recognize the importance of giving an operation first pri-ority.
"Yes. And I've got a satellite connection that will allow you to command the team."
"Excellent," Nigel said, his accent making the pronounce ment seem even more important. "Melissa?" he queried. "Are you coming?"
Damned if she'd miss the show. With a nod and a forced smile, she followed the two of them into the operations room, wondering if loving Nigel when he'd been Special Forces had been better or worse than loving him now.
She sighed, recognizing the implication of her thoughts. Maybe loving was an exaggeration. Wanting, certainly—but loving? Frankly the idea scared the hell out of her—and in her line of work, that kind of emotion was certain to be deadly. N igel walked into the operations room, his heart still pound-ing in his throat. There was something intoxicating about Melissa Pope. All she had to do was walk into the room and he got a hard-on.
He could feel her presence now despite the fact that she was across the room. She'd taken a seat by Madison. He fought the urge to turn around and look at her, knowing that he was better off avoiding distraction. Gabe and Payton were already in place and Nigel blew out
a breath as he crossed to the main console, taking the headphones that Harrison was offering.
The monitor above his head showed a hazy nighttime view of the outside of the monastery. A digital readout at the bottom left of the screen marked the time to the second. Three ininutes to go.
"Haverton, you there?" Nigel slid into his chair, adjusting the headset so that the mike was centered in front of his mouth.
"Roger. Haverton here. Everything's ready, just waiting for the word." George Haverton had been in Special Forces with Nigel, following him to MI6 after his discharge from the military. They'd worked together off and on for over fifteen years. And although he didn't have the bond with George that he had with Payton or Gabe, he trusted the man completely.
"I assume by now you've been thoroughly briefed."
"And then some." Haverton laughed. "Your friend Payton isn't long on words, but he chooses them well."
Nigel shot a look at Payton, his friend's wry smile accompanied by a shrug. "He's definitely a to-the-point kind of guy. How many men do you have?"
"Eight. Two on each perimeter."
Harrison tapped a second monitor, this one with a blueprint of the building and property, blinking lights displaying each of the eight men. The monastery was actually an old hunting lodge. Octagonal in shape, it had been built in the 1400s, but a fire had destroyed it in the eighteenth century. A remodel in the late nineties had left the building functional but still somewhat run-down. It served as a museum and tourist haven, especially when the dervishes were dancing.
"Anyone spotted on guard?" Nigel studied the blueprint, then switched his focus to the live feed.
"Three that we've been able to identify. They're armed, but don't seem to be particularly on alert."
"Good. Much better that we catch them by surprise. My logistics expert—" Nigel smiled up at Harrison, who grinned back "—tells me the most likely spot for keeping the packages is the cells. The rooms are constructed of stone, and sit in a row on the first floor. They'll be easy to guard and more difficult to breach. You up to the task?"
