Deadly Bounty: SCVC Taskforce Romantic Suspense Series, Book 11 Page 7

  He eased his tight grip on the steering wheel. His pulse was still racing, and he commanded it to slow. Sam was with him. He could protect her, and he meant to do it right. “Somewhere safe.”

  A soft snort. “A safe place doesn’t exist for me. You shouldn’t be doing this. I never should’ve gotten you involved.”

  “They hired me to hunt you down. I already was.”

  The dark highway zoomed by under the tires. Jack-Jack shifted, turning around several times before lying back down with a huff. Absentmindedly, Sam stroked the dog’s ears, staring out the window at the passing landscape.

  “Okay, spill,” Joe said. “What did you find out at Kyle’s?”

  “He supposedly met a woman at a Fourth of July pool party put on by the head of the computer science department. She brought him home in a cab. The gal I was talking to said she was exotic looking with dark hair and bangs. Taller than me and thinner. Could be our killer, but I have no proof of that.” She stopped petting the dog. “Why would someone do this? Do you think it’s my fault? Did they kill Kyle because of me?”

  The anguish in her voice made his grip tighten once more. “We don’t know that. You’re jumping to conclusions, assuming she killed him. Maybe he truly had a bad reaction to the food.”

  Even to his own ears, the words sounded dubious. Kyle had been part of a top-secret, high-level government program, and Sam had mentioned how disposable he was to them.

  Focusing on Kyle wasn’t going to help anyone at the moment. Right now, he wanted and needed to focus on Sam.

  “I know I have a reputation of being a conspiracy theorist,” she said, “but this smacks of the conspiracy surrounding whoever set me up. I can’t believe after the success of Kyle’s program, they’d take him out, though. Whoever this woman is, she fits the profile of an assassin.”

  Joe passed a handful of mile markers before he said anything further, letting that soak in. Professional assassins weren’t his area of expertise, but it seemed like overkill for a guy like the computer geek. “Tell me about your bomber.”

  “Why?”

  “We need to start at the beginning.”

  She resumed scratching Jack-Jack’s head and seemed to gather her thoughts. “Jimmy T was his name. T for Talbot. He was an All-American kid with parents who made him into a white nationalist. Strawberry-blond hair, goofy smile, whacked out ideas about taking back America.”

  This was good. Keep her mind off Kyle and his death and put that highly intelligent brain of hers to work on the bigger problem. “And why were you assigned to him?”

  “Remember the Aztec Sports Arena bombing last year?”

  “Of course. You identified that Kunez guy who tried to blow up first responders at the training. How could I forget? That’s what started Alison’s slide into hell.”

  The reference earned him a wry smile. Alison Kendrick had been Sam’s boss. Sam had flagged Kunez as a potential terrorist and pushed it up the line. Following protocol, Alison should’ve notified Walsh’s taskforce to analyze him and decide whether to put him on the watchlist or not.

  The air conditioning had nothing on the chill in Sam’s voice. “Alison did it to herself. She had an alternative agenda, and her failure to notify the Domestic Terrorism Taskforce about Kunez nearly cost dozens and dozens of lives. I still wish I could punch her out for that.”

  After Kunez had been identified as the bomber, Sam had contacted Walsh about her report. He’d claimed never to have received it. When questioned, Alison claimed Sam never filed it or brought it to her attention.

  “You know how after that Dupé and Walsh got a hard-on for figuring out who Kunez was involved with? He wouldn’t give up his brothers, but after they ran him through Kyle’s software, he came back with an eighty-three percent likelihood of committing a terrorist act.” She wiped her face with a hand. “That put our taskforce on the bandwagon for discovering if his closest family and friends might do the same.”

  Joe hadn’t been around for all of that, having left the FBI by then, mostly thanks to Alison and her secret obsession with him. He and Sam had been together for three years at that point and he assumed he’d be with her for the rest of his life. Alison had other ideas.

  Jack-Jack seemed to pick up on Sam’s distress, opening his eyes and raising his head to look at her. She scratched under his chin. “I flagged Jimmy T and we put him in Kyle’s software. Seventy-nine percent. That’s when they sent me undercover to recruit him.”

  She used the word loosely, its meaning far weightier. She’d been sent undercover to see if she could get Jimmy T to take his beliefs to a level where he committed a crime.

  “You know the incident with Alison, especially her termination because of you, suggests strong motivation to frame you for something along this line.”

  Sam rubbed her forehead. After the fallout, Dupé had offered Sam Alison’s job. She’d refused, wanting to stay in the field. “She doesn’t have access to any of this anymore, though,” Sam argued. “Her termination severed the access to databases, contacts, pretty much everything.”

  He didn’t really want to think about that bitch, and the destruction she’d wrought on their relationship, as well as turning Sam into such a hardcore agent that nothing came before her job. “As conniving as she is, I believe she could do just about anything.”

  Sam was assigned to be at the Aztec Sports Arena that day for training. Through the grapevine, she’d heard Harris had been eyeballing her to join his taskforce, and she’d been excited about letting him see what she could do. Unfortunately, Alison had other plans, ruining Sam’s by sending her to serve a warrant.

  “The description of Kyle’s girlfriend doesn’t fit Alison either,” Sam said, sounding disappointed. “Alison, with her fair hair and generous curves, is about as far from an exotic model as you can get.” She toyed with the air vent. “Our assassin is good. I need to contact the comp sci department head and ask about that party, see if I can get more information on who our mystery woman is.”

  “If Kyle was murdered.”

  That earned another hard look. “There should be DNA, especially since they had sex. You need to make sure they do an autopsy and check specifically for that.”

  A sign let him know the turn for Carlsbad was a few miles ahead. “How exactly do you want me to do that? We illegally bugged Kyle’s, and in actuality, caught nothing but the fact someone came to visit him. Yes, it sounded like they were indulging in some fun, and maybe she left DNA behind, but I need to approach that fact-finding mission carefully.”

  She fell silent, leaning on the headrest and closing her eyes. For once, he was surprised she didn’t argue.

  Sam slept until he pulled into the drive. Instantly alert, she sat up, disturbing Jack-Jack, who stood abruptly and shook himself, hair flying.

  “You’re okay,” Joe said. “I didn’t take you to jail.”

  “Where are we?”

  In the dead of night, no one was near, and this place was never a bevy of activity for the most part. “Home, for now.”

  As they exited the car, Jack-Jack got down and started sniffing. Joe extracted his go-bag from the backseat and tossed it at Sam. He drew out a suitcase and two bags of groceries, hauling them up the front steps and plopping them by the door.

  “Is this where you keep your mistress?” Sam teased.

  At least she was getting the sarcasm back. “Yeah, you know me, always plenty of women hanging around.” The opposite was true. He hadn’t even looked at another woman since Sam had entered his life.

  Maybe he should get a dog. At least then he’d have some company.

  He let them in, flipped on the lights, and whistled. Jack-Jack relieved himself against one of the bushes before scrambling up the stairs. Joe reset the security alarm and allowed himself two seconds to release the pent-up tension between his shoulder blades.

  She’s safe.

  The shades were drawn. Sam studied the place, taking inventory. Knowing her, she was logging all the
entry and exit points. He offered a tour through the open living and dining rooms, to the rear of the place that contained the kitchen. While he put the groceries in the fridge, she surveyed the contents of the cabinets.

  She pulled out tequila and two glasses. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

  As she washed her hands, he poured each of them a finger or two. After this day, a stiff one sounded good to him, too.

  It was her favorite brand and she lazily accepted the glass he handed her and clinked it against his. “Thank you.”

  They both downed the shots and he set his glass on the table. “For the tequila?”

  “For everything.”

  In the soft overhead kitchen light, he saw the depth of her exhaustion. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. “I want you to stay out of San Diego for the time being and let me handle the investigation.”

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, then snapped it shut. She poured herself another shot. Downed it. Studied him.

  He went to a cabinet and removed a bowl, filled it with water and set it on the floor for Jack-Jack. The dog immediately helped himself and looked around. “Sorry boy. Left it in the car.” As he went past Sam, he said, “Be right back. Make yourself at home.”

  She touched his arm and stopped him. “You don’t have to do this, you know?”

  Instinctively, he leaned over and kissed her temple. “Of course I do.”

  Outside, he grabbed the bag of dog food and a box of treats from the trunk. If Sam was going down in flames, he guessed he was as well.

  Caleb and Malachi were gonna be so pissed when they found out. All he could do was find the proof he needed to clear Sam’s name, or cut his ties with them before the shit really hit the fan.

  Back inside, he filled the bowl and watched with satisfaction as the dog attacked the food. Sam had disappeared and he walked through the house following the lights she’d flipped on, discovering her in the large bedroom. She stood in front of the open closet doors lining the short hall between the bedroom and bathroom. “What is this?”

  “What does it look like?”

  She turned to face him. “An armory.”

  He shrugged. “I enjoy my toys.”

  “Are you planning for the apocalypse?”

  He leaned on the doorframe and motioned at the closet opposite her. “You should be able to find stuff in there to wear and plenty of items to disguise yourself the next time I allow you to leave this house.”

  She kept an eye on him as she did a one-eighty, opening the other bi-fold doors. “When you allow me?”

  He grinned, and she shook her head slightly, before examining the contents of the other closet. Once again, she appeared quite surprised. “Tell me you haven’t embraced life as a drag queen.”

  “It’s all for my mistress.”

  When she looked at him, he winked.

  She fingered a row of the clothes, examined the shelf of shoes. “Wigs? Jewelry? Is she in witness protection?”

  “Actually, there are times when I’m hunting a bail jumper that it comes in handy.”

  “I knew it. You’re all about drag.”

  He was definitely not, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. More fun to go along with the teasing. Mistresses, drag queens…it was nicer than conspiracy theories and dead college students. “I might use some of this on occasion in the field. You’d be surprised how criminals let down their guard when they see a pretty woman coming at them.”

  Her mouth hung open for a second. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You’ve never dressed like a woman in your life. But nice try.”

  He boosted off the doorframe, took her hand, and led her to the bathroom. Smiling to himself, he waved a hand like a magician at the contents of the linen closet. “Makeup, falsies, and other items to assist changing your look.”

  “Falsies? Do you even know what that means?”

  He did, but he played dumb. “Fake eyelashes?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, whose house is this?”

  Back in January, before things had gone topsy-turvy, he’d dreamed it would be theirs one day. “Just a safe house.”

  “You and your brothers run a bail bonds company. What do you need this for?”

  “We have interests on the side.”

  That silenced her, and he left her standing there to keep thinking. Sam loved a good puzzle, and he intended to keep her guessing.

  Returning to the kitchen, he gathered the ingredients to make a sandwich. He was finishing when she joined him. She filled a glass with ice and water this time and savored a long drink as she sat at the small kitchen table. “This feels like the Taj Mahal after the way I’ve been living.”

  “I’ll bring more supplies to your friends tomorrow,” he assured her. Slicing the sandwich in half, he placed a section on a plate for her. He stuffed the end of his half in his mouth.

  Jack-Jack had been busy sniffing the house, and was currently rolling on the couch in the living room with wanton abandon. For the first time in days, Joe felt…happy.

  If this all went to hell, he was going to be very unhappy, and the likelihood of that was strong. This was without a doubt the most high-risk situation he’d ever found himself in, and he’d been in plenty.

  Sitting across from Sam, he saw the tiniest amount of ease in her face, and that made every bit of risk worth it.

  She attacked the food with as much abandon as Jack-Jack had the couch. Her cheeks rounded and she held a hand to her lips as she tried to speak. “Oh my god, a turkey sandwich has never tasted better.”

  They ate in silence, a familiarity wrapping itself around him. For a heartbeat, Joe imagined what it’d be like if they’d gotten married and moved here as he’d planned. How they might sit here, sharing a meal, while their mutt got dog hair on the sofa. It made him smile.

  He allowed the dream to live while they finished their meal.

  And then it got more interesting when Sam leaned over and kissed him.

  11

  Carlsbad

  Cooper Harris sank further into his sofa, staring vacantly at his non-working fireplace. He toyed with the half-drank beer in his right hand and contemplated a theory that’d been niggling at his brain all day.

  “What are you thinking, boss?” Ronni sat in Cooper’s favorite chair, staring at the coffee table with an expression similar to his.

  He needed to get that fireplace fixed before fall came. Sure as hell didn’t need it right now, but before he could blink, the nights would start getting chilly and Celina would want to use it so she could cuddle up next to him with a glass of wine before bed.

  Cooper scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’ve been assigned a no-win investigation.”

  Celina trudged in, tossed a teething ring on the table and flopped down beside him. Her hair was tangled, eyes rimmed red. “Another one bites the dust,” she said, pointing toward the teething ring.

  Their daughter, Via, was ahead on the growth charts according to her pediatrician and all the books Celina read, except in one area—baby teeth. She still had at least four trying to come in, and apparently, they’d decided to do it at the same time.

  Cooper could run on little sleep, unlike Celina, who was similar to a cat and needed her beauty rest. She could crash for twelve hours if she wanted to. With this latest round of teething, however, Cooper found himself at the tipping point. It was one in the morning and he prayed Via would sleep the rest of the night, so both of them could sack out as well.

  Ronni sat forward, elbows on her knees. She’d taken a friend at the Bureau to lunch to do a little digging on Samantha Rosenthal. “Connie said Rosenthal was focused on what she called ‘the web’ between all of these cases. Not the specific perpetrators or their allegiance to the various groups they were associated with, but something a little less tangible.”

  Celina slouched into the cushions and closed her eyes, kicking her feet up. Her toenails were a bright orange. “What does that mean? The we
b?”

  Ronni yawned. “There may be connections between all the bombings in the past year, but I can’t figure out what it is. Rosenthal’s IQ is above mine, so she must’ve seen something that’s invisible to the rest of us, because none of her superiors took it seriously, according to my friend.”

  Connie, a department secretary, had typed up various notes for Rosenthal and sat in on at least one meeting where the agent had broached her web theory about a collection of six different bombings since the Aztec Sports Arena.

  “Okay,” Cooper said, “but our job isn’t to figure out her theory, only to bring her in.”

  “You don’t really think her ex is going to do that?” Celina cracked one eye open to glance at him. “Imagine if the situation involved you and me. You’d never bring me in. If anything, you’d help me escape the country.”

  She was right. “You and I wouldn’t be in this situation because you’d never mastermind a terrorist plot to blow up a bomb at an Independence Day parade,” he countered. “On the other hand, if you did do something completely out of character like that, I’d probably get you across the border and run away with you, even if you were my ex.”

  She opened the other eye and smiled. That smile was worth everything. “So why do you all believe Joe Cahill is seriously trying to find Samantha and bring her in?”

  “They weren’t a couple anymore,” Ronni said. “He proposed and she not only said no, she moved out.”

  Celina pushed herself upright. “Is there anything in her background that suggests she would commit such a horrible crime?”

  She and Ronni stared at each other before Ronni turned her dark eyes on Cooper. “Agent Rosenthal is squeaky clean—or was until this.”

  Cooper tried not to sigh too loudly. These two created more havoc in his life than he cared for. He’d rather stay up every night until hell froze over with Via than dive into rabbit holes with Celina and her former partner. Together they were a force of nature on steroids.

  “Before you go down that road, let me remind you again—the taskforce is assigned this case in order to assist Cahill in locating and bringing a fugitive to justice. We’re not determining guilt. They already have proof against her.”