Mountain Investigation (6 page)

That got his attention. “What game would that be?”

She was still standing just inside the door, as though she might slip away at any moment. She didn’t leave, though, didn’t move a muscle. She just stood there, her eyes locked with his, as though she were trying to figure out how much to tell him, how much to trust him. After a short pause, she said, “The game where he does and says exactly the right thing, the defensible, by-the-book thing, even when it’s the wrong choice under the circumstances. Let me guess…he wants to be governor some day.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s got his sights set on Congress.” Gray was reluctantly impressed, though. Not too many people saw through the SAC’s act, at least not until they’d known him for a while. Moving around the desk, he crossed the room to stand very near her, close enough that he could see the flutter of her pulse at her throat. “You want me guarding you because my boss doesn’t like me. Any other reason? Not to pry, but I didn’t get the impression you liked me very much, either, especially after what happened with your father two years ago.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” she said, surprising him again. At his startled look, she glanced away. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, for obvious reasons. It gave me an opportunity to think a few things through. One of the conclusions I came to was that the outcome
would’ve been the same even if you’d been all sweetness and light in the interview. My father was furious with himself for not seeing Lee for what he was. He was in the process of being forcibly retired from his company because of his involvement in the bombings, and he was trying to deal with a boatload of guilt. The interrogation just brought all that to the forefront at once, and his heart couldn’t take it.”

Something in her voice suggested that wasn’t the whole story, but Gray didn’t call her on it. Instead, he cleared his throat and waited for her to focus on him. Then he said, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about how it played out.” He’d called the hospital to check on her father, but didn’t think she needed to know that. In a way it’d probably be better if she saw him as the enemy, especially since he was getting the idea that they hadn’t yet seen the last of each other. Still, he found himself asking, “How’s he doing?”

That earned him a sharp look, but she must’ve seen that his question was sincere, because she answered civilly enough. “He had a second surgery a few months ago. I guess he’s doing okay now.”

“You guess?” When she didn’t respond, he pressed, “Are you afraid that this is going to set his recovery back?” By
this,
he meant her imprisonment and the continued situation with Mawadi, and indicated as much by sketching a wave around his office, ending with his badge, which lay on his desk beside his resignation letter.

She shook her head. “My parents moved away last year, said they were done with Colorado.” The way she
said it made it sound like Colorado wasn’t the only thing they’d turned their backs on.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

They fell silent, and in the quiet he became aware of how close he and Mariah were standing. He could feel her warmth reaching out to him, making him itch to be even closer still, to lift a hand to her face and touch her. To kiss her.

Before the mad impulse could supersede his better judgment, he said, “What, exactly, do you want from me?”

“Johnson is going to arrange to have me hospitalized, and let it leak that I was found on the ridgeline. I want you to be in charge of surveillance, and when Lee comes for me, I want you to take care of him.”

“Take care of him?” The idea of killing Mawadi in cold blood didn’t bother Gray nearly as much as it probably should have.

“Get him off the streets and out of my life,” she said, which wasn’t really a clarification. “And in the process, I want you to do your best to keep me alive.” There was a new thread of steel in her voice when she said, “I know you’ll do whatever it takes—rules or no rules. Since that’s the way Lee thinks, it’s the only way you’re going to be able to take him down before he gets what he wants from me, and undoubtedly uses it to kill again. Your boss doesn’t understand that, which is why I want you involved.” She held out her hand. “What do you say?”

He looked at her for a long moment, seeing her outstretched hand and the delicate bones of her wrist,
which he could break one-handed if he wanted to. But though her bone structure might be more delicate than he’d remembered—made especially prominent now by her days in captivity—the woman herself was far stronger than he’d thought. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice.

The part of him that still spent the holidays with his family, knowing it mattered to them, said he should decline, that he should put Mariah into protective custody, stay on the job and do whatever he could—or rather whatever Johnson would let him do—to bring Lee Mawadi, al-Jihad and the others to justice through official means.

But the other part of him, the part that awakened from nightmares drenched in sweat, seized with killing rage and the need for revenge—that part had him reaching out and gripping her hand. As he shook on it, he felt a twinge of guilt and regret, a premonition that pretty Mariah Shore would be the one to suffer the most from her choices.

In the end, though, he knew that nothing else mattered but getting justice for the dead. He was a little surprised to find that she knew it, too.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll do it.”

Over the next two days, Mariah learned that it was far easier to say “Use me as bait” than it was to actually
be
the so-called bait.

Gray and the others had installed her in a square private hospital room that embodied the word
drab.
The furniture was cheap prefab; the upholstery, paint and uninspired wall art were all variations on the same theme of beige, mauve and mossy green. The single window overlooked the parking lot and was on a low floor, so she couldn’t even see beyond the neighboring buildings to the mountains in the distance. Not that she’d even seen much of the parking lot, because Gray had ordered her to stay in bed, aside from necessary trips to the small bathroom located in a walled-off corner of the room. They had no way of knowing the sophistication level of al-Jihad’s local network, so she had to play the part of an invalid.

Round-the-clock guards stood outside her door, but they were mostly for the show of protective custody, and were on orders to let their vigilance slip now and
then for a bathroom break or conversation. Mariah’s real security came from electronic surveillance that had been installed in secret by a team dressed to look like a maintenance crew. Thanks to them, she was constantly being monitored by both video and audio. Hello, Big Brother.

Five years earlier, when she’d moved to New York, full of hope and enthusiasm, bursting with plans to launch herself into the world of fashion photography while becoming part of the “in” crowd, she might’ve seen the hidden cameras and microphones as no big deal; she’d tried out for that reality show, hadn’t she? But that period of her life had been a fluke, an aberration. She’d been trying to make herself into someone bright, glittering and interesting, someone very unlike the shy, uprooted loner she’d been throughout high school and college.

And for a time, she’d succeeded.

It had been during that time that she’d met Lee—or rather, he’d arranged to meet her. For the months he’d been courting her, she’d truly felt like the bright, glittering, interesting person she was trying to be. But she hadn’t been bright and interesting, she’d been desperate for attention, and so gullible that she’d bought his act right down to the last “I love you.” She’d thought it was her idea to move to Bear Claw in an effort to forge a better relationship with her parents, her idea for her father to help Lee get a job. In reality, she’d been played, and played badly.

She hadn’t been glittery or interesting. Worse, she’d been stupid. In retrospect, it seemed ludicrous that she’d
ever believed that a man like the one Lee had portrayed could have been interested in her, never mind being smitten, as he’d claimed to be. She simply wasn’t the type to inspire strong emotions in other people. Not her parents, not men, not anyone.

Drifting in her hospital bed, dozing in that half-aware state between sleeping and waking, she thought of the hopes and dreams she’d brought into her marriage, and how Lee had extinguished them one by one.

As if summoned by the memories, she heard his voice in her mind, low and beguiling.
You’re going to help us whether you like it or not,
he’d whispered against her cheek, his breath feathering the hair at her temple as she’d lain bound and helpless, slipping into drugged oblivion.
It’s simple, really, all you have to do is tell me where—

“Deep thoughts?” Gray’s low, masculine voice said, breaking the reverie.

Mariah jolted alert, yanking her attention to the doorway of her drab hospital room even as she scrambled to hold on to the memory. Or had it even been a memory? She wasn’t sure, didn’t know if it would help even if it had been real. Confusion churned through her, and it didn’t dissipate one iota at the sight of Gray standing there. If anything, her tension increased, not because she was afraid of him, or even because of the misplaced resentment she’d harbored against him for far too long.

No, this tension was purely a product of the situation and the man.

Deciding to keep the partially remembered whisper to herself for the moment, she shook her head and answered his question with a neutral, “Just resting.”

His gray suit hung on him a little, disguising the broad shoulders, flat waist and strong legs she now knew were part of the package. He looked as though he’d lost weight since he’d bought the clothes, making her think that in the past he might have carried some softness that was no longer evident in his tough, honed frame. That same toughness edged the sharp planes of his face and lent intensity to his expression as he crossed the room and took the visitor’s chair beside her bed.

Mariah was unable to keep herself from noting the smooth, almost feral grace of his actions. She was equally unable to squelch her body’s unexpectedly sharp yearn in his direction when he sat. She wanted to move closer, wanted to lean into his heat and steadying strength. Because she did, and because she knew she didn’t dare, she scooted away a few inches instead.

Ever since he’d rescued her in soldier’s guise, she’d been unable to go back to thinking of him as the cold, uncaring man she’d thought he was before. If he’d been motivated solely by the needs of his job, he would have tried to capture Lee and Brisbane as they’d chased her from her cabin. Or he could’ve let them recapture her, waiting until al-Jihad arrived to make his move. Instead, he’d sheltered her with his own body and carried her down the mountain when she’d been unable to walk. And now he was doing everything in his power to keep her safe. Granted, that was part of the job—it was
all
part
of the job—but she couldn’t help thinking there was something more there, something personal. Something that hummed in the air between them as silence lingered. Some of it was because they didn’t dare speak freely, due to all the FBI surveillance equipment, as well as the surveillance they assumed Lee and his terrorist colleagues were using. That meant they were careful to act as though he was nothing more to her than a federal agent assigned to the case. Not the man who’d saved her life, and not a bodyguard awaiting Lee’s next move.

That awareness, though, hung heavy between them.

Finally, she broke the quiet to ask, “Do you have more pictures?”

Several times during her hospital stay, he’d brought mug shots of men the FBI thought might be Brisbane, none of which had been a match. Other times, he’d stopped by to see if she needed anything, or to update her on the progress of the investigation. Granted, the latter snippets were undoubtedly doctored to avoid giving away anything to potential listeners, but she still appreciated knowing that her cabin had been released by the crime-scene techs, and that the intelligence community believed that al-Jihad was still out of the country. There had been no word on Lee, though, and the sense of creeping dread that stayed firmly rooted in her stomach made her positive that he was somewhere nearby, watching her.

She shivered involuntarily when Gray handed her a computer printout bearing a dozen photographs, some candids, some mug shots, all of different men with cold, killer’s eyes. A jolt of icy fear shot through her
when she finally saw the man who had played the curious role of keeping her safe from Lee, while holding her prisoner for some other purpose. She touched his photograph. “That’s Brisbane.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Gray nodded as though he’d expected the answer, and took the printout from her, but he didn’t seem pleased about the break in the case.

“Who is he?” Mariah asked, knowing Gray would only tell her as much as he wanted the terrorists to know.

“He was a guy we know of but don’t know much about, a ghost who called himself Felix Smith. He’s a midlevel thug we looked at in connection with the Santa Bombings, but didn’t pursue. Apparently, that was a mistake.” But she sensed that more than just the mistake was bothering him.

“He
was
a ghost?” Mariah pressed. “As in, he’s not anymore?”

Gray fixed her with a hard look. “Depends on your definition of
ghost.
His body turned up in a Dumpster this morning.” He paused. “Al-Jihad doesn’t take failure lightly.”

“Oh.” A shudder started in her gut and worked its way to her extremities. “Was there…” She faltered, then fell silent.

“There’s still no sign of your ex.” Though Gray was sitting close to her, he seemed very far away, his expression remote and businesslike.

Mariah pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to force
back an incipient headache. “Is that good news or bad?” Without waiting for him to answer, she continued, “From my perspective it’s bad news. If he was dead, I wouldn’t have to worry about him coming after me for revenge.”

Gray’s eyes lost their distance as he zeroed in on her. “You think he’d come after you even if al-Jihad didn’t need something from you?”

“I know he would. Lee took the ‘till death do us part’ thing literally.” She paused. “You’ve seen the letter, right?”

Several weeks after Lee and the others had been incarcerated, she’d picked up her mail from her post office box and found a large manila envelope addressed to her in block print, along with a badly smudged return address and a Denver postmark. Inside had been another envelope, blank. Inside that had been a three-page letter in her ex-husband’s elegant script, a cutting missive that could be summarized simply as: “When I get out of here, you’re dead. Nobody leaves me.” The Feds had tracked the letter as best they could, but the lead had dead-ended quickly. Somehow, Lee had smuggled it out of the ARX Supermax, and another member of the terrorist network had made sure she got it.

Gray’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. I’ve seen it. I wondered whether it was part of something else, though. Word is that your ex is more of a follower than an independent thinker.”

“I didn’t know that side of him,” Mariah said slowly. “The man I married was a golden boy. He was the captain of the football team, class valedictorian, the nice boy my mother always wanted me to meet. He was
handsome, charming and persistent, and it seemed to me that he always knew the right thing to say.”

“He did,” Gray said bluntly. “Someone in al-Jihad’s network studied you and drew up a game plan.”

“I know.” Lee had said as much to her, jeering from the witness stand. She tangled her fingers together and held on tight as she forced herself to continue, “And I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Pathetic, really.”

If Gray had tried to soothe her, she would’ve shut down. If he’d tried to tell her she wasn’t pathetic at all when they both knew that she—or at least her actions back then—had been exactly that, she would’ve snapped at him. Instead, he sat in silence, watching her with cool gray eyes that she now suspected hid far more emotion than she’d initially given him credit for.

She hesitated, torn. Her inner loner said that the details weren’t pertinent to the case, that there was nothing between her and Gray except the investigation. But another, less familiar part of her wanted him to know about her past, wanted him to know
her.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking to get back from him—absolution, perhaps? Understanding? Or maybe just a moment of feeling as though she weren’t alone in this mess. She, who almost always wanted to be alone.

“My parents were roadies with a heavy-metal band when they met each other,” she said, still not entirely sure where the words were coming from, or whether telling him was such a good idea. “My mom was an artist—still is—and my dad was taking some time to ‘find himself’ after spending nearly a decade getting an
advanced degree in structural engineering. He was burned out, she was looking for something more in life…It was love at first sight, and they married and got pregnant within the year. As soon as I was old enough to travel, they went back out onto the road, sometimes crewing for bands, sometimes working carnivals, sometimes just driving their RV from place to place, picking up work where they could and experiencing life to the fullest.” She paused. “That was what they called it. Experiencing life.”

“What did you call it?”

“It was what I knew. I just called it life.” But when he just sat there, looking at her as though he knew that was an evasion, she said, “Okay, maybe I saw the kids who came to the carnivals, how they hung together and knew each other so well, and maybe I wished I could have that.” This time her pause was longer, as old resentments banged up against newer guilt. “Sometimes my parents were so wrapped up in each other, there didn’t seem to be room for me. They knew I wanted to stay in one place for a while and go to a real school rather than being homeschooled, but that wasn’t in their game plan. When they finally did decide to put down roots in Bear Claw, I was applying for college.” She lifted a shoulder. “My dorm room was the first place I’d ever stayed for more than a couple of months.”

“That must’ve been a big change,” Gray said.

His comment reminded her of something she’d noticed about him before, back during the first two investigations. He didn’t ask questions as much as prompt with comments, and then let the silence hang between
them until the other person filled the airspace. Before, the tactic had grated on her, making her feel as though he considered himself the maestro, that he had only to gesture and his suspect would tell all. Now, though, it felt different, more personal, as though he wanted to hear her life story. And yeah, he probably did. But was that because he hoped it would give him some new insight into Lee, or because he was interested in her for her own sake? Did he feel the faint hum in the air, the faint tingle of warmth that zinged from him to her and back again?