Wanted (FBI Heat Book 3) (7 page)

Despite her headache, Kat spent the rest of Wednesday packing. Hauling the collapsed moving boxes and paper from the outside storage closet into the house almost did her in before she even started the actual packing. After lying down for a short nap, she forced herself to get to work in earnest.

First, she took down and carefully wrapped all the framed pictures, taking a moment with each to appreciate the significance of the passing of time in her daughter’s short life. The increasing absence of Skye’s precious image further darkened her mood.

After the photos, she tackled the lesser-used items in the kitchen and the bulk of the linen closet. With a toddler in residence, she didn’t have much breakable stuff sitting around, but she packed up the scented candles, which were her one indulgence. She tossed out old magazines and boxed up her paperback collection. By late afternoon, the bungalow was beginning to look bare.

Before her mother could show up with dinner and Skye in tow, Kat called to ask her not to come, making the excuse she was going to bed early. Obviously, she had to tell her parents soon about her imminent move, but she just couldn’t handle doing it today.

She fixed herself a bowl of soup and plopped down at the table. Packing all day was not what the doctor had ordered, and she felt much worse from all the activity.

In addition to being physically tired, her disappointment in the FBI’s refusal to open an investigation weighed her down. Regardless of what they thought about the attacks on her—and the two incidents were definitely attacks—surely, they could see the risk of the problem at Diablo Beach.

But what could she do? She had no evidence. After she quit and moved, she could contact the NRC or some other government agency without the fear of reprisal from Mr. Farook. Of course, if they knew about the negative reviews on her employment record, they might just write her off as a troublemaker.

She shuddered. The attacks scared her. And the thought of something happening when Skye was with her was unbearable.

Who would resort to violence just because she’d raised some questions? Was Mr. Farook so pissed at her that he’d react this way? She didn’t know much about him personally. In fact, he stayed distant and aloof from all the employees, as far as she could tell. The middle-aged, single man seemed to have only one interest: his job. No, that wasn’t fair. Farook was also religious. She’d heard stories of him walking out in the middle of meetings to…

“Pray,” she whispered, stopping the spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth. She frowned.
Muslim?
Had she heard his parents were from Pakistan? But where had Asad been born? Did it matter? These days the news was full of stories warning that the greater threat was from domestic, lone-wolf terrorist plots.

She pictured the short, balding, overweight, clean-shaven, conservatively dressed man. Not exactly the stereotypical terrorist. If there was such a thing after Paris and San Bernardino. They seemed to come in all shapes, sizes, and genders.

The US government and law enforcement agencies asked the public to speak up if they noticed something suspicious. Well, she’d tried, but no one would listen.

After another moment, she chuckled at the absurdity of Farook being a terrorist. Her boss might not like her, but he’d never demonstrated any jihadist leanings or a penchant for violence. Actually, he exhibited more behavioral signs of being OCD, a germophobe, and a male chauvinist. Not exactly a dangerous dude.

So if it wasn’t Farook, but it was related to Diablo Beach, who else even knew about her concerns? She hadn’t said a word to anyone, even her parents, before raising them with Dillon. Had Farook mentioned them to someone who saw her as a threat to the plant? Or maybe to the company?

She blinked. Nothing had happened until she’d contacted the FBI. Were these attacks related to that action and not to the irregularities she’d discovered? But no one knew she’d called Dillon—except other FBI agents. And what reason could they possibly have to come after her? Besides, they were the good guys. Not even breaking Dillon’s heart would push them to physically attack her. And his three friends were in San Francisco, not here.

She closed her eyes and laid her head on her arms. As implausible as it seemed, Farook was her only suspect. But still, she just couldn’t imagine him being behind the attacks. He drove a white Prius, and he was much smaller than the would-be intruder. Of course, he could’ve hired someone to do the dirty deeds for him. She rolled her eyes. Now that seemed too Hollywood-ish. Especially when all he had to do was fire her to get rid of her and her concerns. No, she concluded, Asad Farook couldn’t possibly be involved in the attacks.

All of which brought her back to the questions of who and why.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming toward her front door jolted her upright. A sharp pain shot through her neck. She jumped up and raced to the door to confirm both locks were engaged.

The doorbell rang just as she got there. She exhaled. Intruders didn’t ring the bell.

She checked through the peephole and slapped her hand over her mouth.
Oh God. Dillon. What’s he doing here?

“Open the door, Kat. I know you’re in there. I saw your silhouette through the drapes,” he called.

He’ll leave if I don’t answer.
Right?

Wrong.
He pounded on the door with his fist.

“Do you want me to make a scene for your neighbors’ entertainment?”

Damn him.
She undid the locks and opened the door a crack. “What do you want?” The dark, brooding look he gave her only added to his bad-boy aura.
Double damn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“Neither should you.”

He almost cracked a smile, but intensity dominated.

“You’re right, but you know what I mean. Someone’s trying to scare you or hurt you or both. Do you want to be an easy target?”

“Of course not. But I explained to Agent Regis that I won’t put someone else in danger, and I can’t afford a hotel. So here I am. I’ll be careful. Thank you for your concern, Agent O’Malley. Good night.”

Before she could close the door, he stuck his hand through the crack. She cringed at the thought she might’ve hurt him, but he didn’t even wince.

“Don’t be stupid, Katriona.”

Crap.
He only used her full name in two situations: one, when he was extremely serious, and the other was about as far from this situation as possible.

“Well, if you’re going to suggest I sleep in my car, I can’t because the police still have it.”

“That’d be stupid too.” He glanced over his shoulder, surveying the vehicles parked along the street. “I reconnoitered the area. I don’t think anyone’s watching. But just in case, let me in so we can talk.”

“We already are.”

His eyes darted back to hers, but she had to look away. Their blue depths used to shimmer with love. Now they contained only pain.

She had done this to him. Maybe it was time they talked.

She stepped back, and Dillon pushed the door open. He hesitated a moment before coming inside. While she locked the door, he scrutinized the living room and dining area. His inspection stopped when it came to the stacks of packed boxes along one wall.

“Running again?” he asked. He turned his head slowly and glared at her with disdain.

She stiffened. “No one believes me about the attacks or Diablo Beach. I’m better off leaving and finding a new job.”

“I believe you. Of course, that didn’t keep you from running before.”

Okay, so they were going to have it out, here and now.

She sighed with resignation. “No, it didn’t.”

He shrugged. “What made you run, Kat? What did I do wrong?”

You gave me the most miraculous gift in the world.
You got me pregnant. Nope, can’t say that.
“I realized we wanted very different things in life. Unfortunately, I didn’t figure it out until the last minute.”

“Different things?” He swept his arm to encompass everything in sight. “Doesn’t look that different to me.” He sauntered across the room with the confident, almost arrogant, stride of his and dropped onto the couch. He spread his arms along the top of the cushions as if he felt right at home. But she knew him too well. The intensity rolling off him in waves belied his true state.

For once, lighten up, Dillon. We’re not enemies. At least, I don’t think we are.
“I wasn’t thinking of material things.”

“Let me guess. It was the baby thing. Right?”

Her heart squeezed.
Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.

“You decided that you just couldn’t go through life without being pregnant, without giving birth to your own flesh and blood. Adopting unwanted kids wasn’t good enough. They weren’t good enough.
I
wasn’t good enough.”

“Dillon, stop. You know I was wholeheartedly in favor of adopting.” Tears threatened as the memories welled up inside. Once she’d known she was pregnant, nothing in the world could’ve made her give up the chance to bear
their
child. If he’d been reasonable, flexible, she would’ve been happy to adopt children as well.

“I don’t believe you. C’mon, Kat. It’s time to clear the air.” He paused. “Or I can’t help you.”

She blinked.
He might help me?

“Having your own baby meant more to you than having me,” he continued in an accusatory tone.

Our
baby, not just mine.
“You said I couldn’t have both.”

“Damn straight. It sucks to be unwanted. I know what it’s like.”

“I wanted you.”

“Bullshit.” He gave a cynical laugh. “When society decides there are too many unwanted kittens and puppies, they neuter the adult animals to slow the population growth. But humans…nah…we’re too civilized for that. People just keep having more and more and more babies. Not just planned ones, unplanned ones too. Did you know there are humane shelters for people?”

“No there aren’t.”

“Of course there are. They’re called orphanages and foster homes.”

“I understand your decision not to father children. I respect it, really I do. But wouldn’t it make sense that we should
not
get married if…if I decided I absolutely had to have my biological baby?” She scanned the empty walls where pictures of her baby had hung until this morning. If Dillon had insisted on coming inside last night, the conversation would have been entirely different. The unnerving thought made her knees wobble, but she managed to get to a chair before her legs shook too badly.

“That was it then? The reason you ran away?”

He shook his head. In disbelief or disgust, she couldn’t tell. Oddly, he also looked relieved. How could that be?

“Yes, Dillon, it is.”

“If—and I think that’s a pretty big if—you loved me as much as you said, why did you treat me like shit? Why couldn’t you just tell me, Kat, instead of putting everyone through hell?”

“Answer me this first: Have you changed your mind about wanting your own biological children?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Hell no.”

“There’s your answer.”

That’s it? I’ve waited two years for this?
All along, he’d suspected the no-babies-of-our-own ultimatum had been the underlying issue even though Kat had sworn she was okay with it. He’d been right—so why didn’t he feel vindicated? Why didn’t he feel better, period?

All he could do was stare at her, study her, try to see into her soul. Why wasn’t he yelling, putting a hole in the wall, or storming out the door? The moment felt anticlimactic. Was the same true of his feelings?

Relief?
Yeah, definitely relieved the two-year wait for an explanation was over.
Validated?
Sure, because he’d been right.
Disappointed?

His disappointment was harder to understand. If Kat had fallen in love with someone else, if she’d decided she couldn’t tolerate his career, or if she’d suddenly decided to become a nun—then he could be pissed. Really pissed. But strangely, he’d been so amazed when she agreed to his ultimatum that he’d thought it was a sign of how much she loved him. Man, had he been wrong. His disappointment came, apparently, from being unable to hate her for the reason she became the Runaway Bride. He cringed inwardly. Hating her and not having her would be so much easier than loving her and not having her.

Confused?
Yeah, confusion entered into the mix too. Part of him had expected her to say she didn’t love him anymore. But she hadn’t said those painful words.

He frowned as he scrutinized her, searching for answers. Her beautiful green eyes glistened with unshed tears, agony and longing reflecting in their emerald depths. Her lower lip quivered on the verge of releasing a sob. She should be overjoyed she’d escaped instead of being trapped in a childless marriage. But she appeared as distraught as he was about their failed relationship.

Well, shit. I’m way out of my comfort zone here. Now what?
Back to business. Yeah, business he could deal with. The emotional stuff he would compartmentalize until he could run it off, literally.

“You need to come with me,” he said abruptly.

“What?” She swiped at her eyes.

“You can’t stay here.”

“We’ve been over this. And going anywhere with you is not an option.”

“Look, Kat, we’ve just closed the door on our sordid past. It’s over. Done. Explained. Now let it go. We need to deal with the present. Someone is after you. We don’t know who. We don’t know why. But the car accident and the intruder must be connected.”

“You believe me?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Of course, but no one else does. And you’re going to help?”

“If you’ll…” All kinds of
if you’ll
ideas from the past shot through his mind, some zinging to his groin. It was a game they used to play, sometimes sexual, sometimes not. Hell, what was wrong with him? He’d just told her they’d closed the door on the past. He cleared his throat. “If you’ll…cooperate.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you just let me move away? It’d be less trouble and hassle for everyone.”

“Running only solves one problem. I also happen to believe you that something’s going on at Diablo Beach. Something…really bad.”

“Hallelujah! At least someone doesn’t think I’m incompetent.”

“I never said you were.”

“Mr. Farook thinks I am.”

“Farook? Who’s he?” Dillon frowned. Why did the name sound so familiar?

“Asad Farook is my boss. I know I’ve mentioned him before.”

“Yeah, but not by name.” Suddenly, the connection hit him in the gut.
San Bernardino.
The male terrorist’s name in that deadly attack had been Farook. And San Bernardino was less than a two-hour drive from Oceanside. Could Kat’s boss be related to the dead terrorist? Dillon didn’t want to freak her out so he kept the idea to himself. “We need to talk about your boss and a lot of other stuff. But first, we need to get you out of here.”

She glanced at the walls again and then down the hall. When she pressed her teeth into her quivering lower lip, he thought she might cry. She drew a shaky breath instead and stood up.

When she swayed, he bolted off the couch and caught her arm. Her muscles tensed beneath his fingers, and her back went ramrod straight.

He stood as statue-still as she did. He was touching her, touching Kat. The jolt took his breath away. He ached to touch more than her arm, but he forced his fingers to relax and let go.

“Dizzy?” he asked, his voice embarrassingly unsteady.

She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. Too much physical activity today.”

His gaze shot to the moving boxes. The sight of them made his throat tighten.

“Tell me where I can find a suitcase, and I’ll pack some things for you.”

Her eyes widened, and panic flickered across her face. “No. Stay here. Right here. On the couch.” She pointed to the piece of furniture as if he didn’t comprehend her order.

Her reaction annoyed him. Didn’t she trust him to throw some clothes in a suitcase for her? “Hell, Kat, I’ve seen…and removed…your unmentionables before. And I’ve touched and tasted what they cover,” he added just to embarrass her.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes but gave him a little shove back toward the couch. “I can do it myself.” She shuffled toward the hall and then looked back over her shoulder. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my man cave.”

Kat braced her hand against the wall as she hurried down the hall as fast as she dared without stumbling. She glanced over her shoulder three times to confirm Dillon remained on the sofa. She jumped when he sneezed twice in quick succession. Finally reaching the bedroom, she locked the door, leaned back against it, and released the breath she’d been holding.

Dread tightened her chest as she surveyed the room. Crib. Changing table with diapers, wipes, and baby powder. Toys, lots of stuffed animals, and educational games. Picture books. Stroller. The car seat from the Civic.
Oh, my God.
If Dillon had come to the bedroom to pack for her, she would never have been able to explain all of this.

Luckily, as part of her day’s work, she’d gathered all of Skye’s things from around the house and piled them in here. The only evidence outside this room of a baby in residence was the highchair, bibs, sippy cups, and miniature utensils in the kitchen. No way could she hide those items now without Dillon seeing her. If he remained in the living room, she should be okay.
If…

He sneezed again. She’d better hurry before he went in search of a tissue.

Quickly, she threw another pair of jeans, two tops, underwear, nightgown, robe, and the necessary toiletries into a small tote. She only had to sit down once from dizziness. In less than ten minutes, she was shuffling back down the hallway with the bag and her purse. Dillon sneezed as she arrived.

“I think I’m allergic to something,” he said. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?” she asked innocently, knowing full well it was the scent of baby powder that permeated the house.

He sniffed. “Don’t you smell it? Kinda…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sweet?”

“Oh, it must be one of the candles I was burning earlier…”

He surveyed the bare furniture surfaces.

“Before I packed them,” she added.

He looked back at her as he stood up. “Ah, I remember those things.”

Kat remembered too. Specifically, the scented candle she liked to burn when they were making love. She didn’t buy that particular scent anymore because it evoked too many painful memories.

“Ready?” Dillon asked.

She nodded.

He took the bag and ushered her out the door without touching her again. He scanned the area while she locked the door and then walked in front of her, always on alert, his head swiveling from side to side. He opened the passenger door and tossed her tote in the tiny backseat, but hesitated before helping her inside. She steeled herself for the impact of his touch, but it still felt like a shock wave.

He pulled away from the curb a few minutes later. Not wanting to look at Dillon, she stared out the side window as they passed the first cross street. She turned away from the glare of a vehicle’s headlights that came on while they drove past.

The silence lengthened into awkwardness.

“Where—” she asked at the same time he said, “How—”

“You go,” she said.

“No, you,” he insisted, checking his rearview mirror. Again.

She cleared her throat. “Where is your ‘man cave’?”

“Carlsbad. How are you feeling?”

“The headache and overall soreness are getting better.”

He angled a long look at the side mirror instead of responding. She glanced over her shoulder through the back window.

“Don’t. They might be able to see you,” he said.

“Who can see me?”

“The guys in the black Hummer.”

She started to turn again.

“Don’t look,” he hissed this time.

“Are those your new FBI friends?”

He shot her a get-real look. “Why would I care if my buddies saw you looking at them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re embarrassed to be seen with me because…you know.”

He shook his head and snorted. “Women.”

“Well, then who are they?”

“I don’t know, but they got on my tail as we pulled out of your neighborhood. I don’t want the jerks to realize I’m onto them before I try to lose them.”

She gulped. “You think they’re—”

“Just brace yourself, okay? I’ll try not to jerk your head around more than necessary.”

“Okay.” She pushed her head back against the headrest and gripped the armrests with both hands.

“Hang on.”

He cut a sharp right turn and accelerated. Kat leaned to the right so she could see in her side mirror. Sure enough, the Hummer turned also.

At the next intersection, Dillon slowed so he could make a sudden left turn as oncoming cars got close enough that the Hummer wouldn’t be able to follow immediately. But as soon as there was a break in traffic, their tail turned left also.

“Sonofabitch,” Dillon murmured.

Kat’s heart rate kicked up a notch, but strangely, she didn’t feel afraid. Anxious, yes. Worried, yes. But no fear. She knew Dillon would never let anything happen to her—despite what she’d done to him. How did she know that with such certainty?

As they approached a green traffic light, he looked over at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

The light changed to yellow as they neared the white line. He slowed.

“Good. When they get close, help me get the license plate.”

She leaned forward to peer intently into the side mirror.

“Look for a rear one also,” he said.

“How will I see behind—”

Before she could finish her question, the signal changed to red. Dillon stomped on the accelerator and spun a tight U-turn as the oncoming vehicles entered the intersection.

Horns blared. Brakes squealed.

Kat twisted around in the seat and pushed herself up to see out the back window.
Well, crap.
She plopped back down and sighed. “The good news is that the Hummer is stuck at the intersection. The bad news is that I couldn’t see either license plate. Sorry, Dillon.”

“I couldn’t either.” His hands flexed on the steering wheel. “That’s because there weren’t any.”