Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (31 page)

His call rolled to voice mail, which he’d never bothered to set up. Dammit.

He set down the phone. Physically turned his back on it and marched into his bedroom. It had been a week since he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep, but he doubted being home would change that. How could he sleep when Mara was out there, unprotected?

In his bedroom, he had his tie off and was unbuttoning his shirt when the phone rang. He lunged for it.
Jesus
, he was supposed to be control personified. A ruthless shark. But he couldn’t resist and proved to be all too human when he read the display. Mara.

His heart crashed wildly in his chest and tangled with other internal organs. He hit the Answer button so hard he jammed his finger.

“Curt?” she said.

The smooth alto of her voice took the starch out of him, and he dropped to the bed, clutching the phone to his ear. He might be pathetic, but he was happy. Maybe there was a benefit to this whole emotion thing. “Thank God. Dammit, Mara, don’t ever make me wait that long to hear from you again.”

She laughed. “It’s only been, what…twenty hours?”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected. “Where are you? Are you safe?” He wanted to see her, touch her. Hold her.

“I’m in Michigan.”

His heart picked up speed. “You didn’t return to East Lansing, did you? Crap, Mara, your hometown is the first place they’ll look.”

“No. I’m at a vacation cottage on a small lake. It’s a few hours away, close to Lake Michigan. No one is around because it’s off-season.”

The pounding in his chest eased. Slightly. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

“You need to call me every day. If I don’t know you’re safe, I think I’ll go insane.”
Jesus.
He’d just said those words to his defendant’s niece. And the scary part was he didn’t give a shit.

She huffed out a sigh, and he could picture the rise of her chest at the familiar sound. “Good, because I’m a little freaked out, and I need a friend.”

A friend. Truth was, he wanted much more than friendship from Mara, and now that she wasn’t going to testify, he could pursue her without consequences. “Court is in session weekdays from nine to four. I have a new cell, which Lee has promised is secure, so outside of court, even if I’m in a strategy session with Aurora, I’ll take your call.

“Aurora will love that.”

“I work twenty hour days; it’s none of her damn business who I talk to when I take fifteen minutes for myself.”

“God, you turn me on when you talk like that.”

He chuckled. “And you turn me on when you breathe.” He paused and turned serious again. “I paid back the nine thousand dollars. No one will search for you because of the money.”

“I’ll pay you back. I just can’t access my own money right now…”

“I know, love. Don’t worry about it.”
Love.
The word had slipped out—naturally. As if it were a word he used all the time.

“What the hell are we going to do about the bomb? And how long will I have to remain in hiding?”

“I’m working on both situations. We’ll find the bomb, nail the bastards, and then you’ll be safe.”

“It’s going to take months, won’t it?”

He hated the distress in her voice but couldn’t lie. “I hope not.”

“I can’t hide forever. I’ll run out of money.”

“Sit tight for now. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

R
OBERT
B
ECK POURED
himself a stiff drink, drank it in one swallow, and slammed the glass down. Something broke—either the glass or the tabletop, he wasn’t sure which. And he was fairly sure the blood that soaked the glass surface was his, but he couldn’t feel the cut, so it didn’t matter.

His son was dead. Gone. Killed by the bitch who’d ruined everything. He’d heard the allegations and thanked God he had allies who could derail the investigation. But he couldn’t think about that now. Right now all he had was rage.

Mara Garrett had caused his son’s death as surely as if she’d pulled the trigger. He’d been told Evan had turned the gun on himself, but he didn’t believe it. Evan was a fighter, not a quitter. If Garrett didn’t shoot him, then it was Curt Dominick. Regardless, he wanted them both dead. With Dominick publicly gunning for him, he’d have to be careful and bide his time. But Garrett? Well, he had a plan for her.

She would pay for Evan’s death. She would suffer. And then she’d die.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-TWO

M
ONDAY AFTERNOON,
M
ARA
returned to the university building, hoping Michael Reilly would be there. She wore heavy, almost garish makeup and a wig of long, thick, chestnut curls. She’d done the best she could to disguise herself.

Inside the building, a blast of heat enveloped her, causing her chilled skin to burn, providing the perfect excuse to cover her face. Pressing cold fingers to blazing cheeks, she headed down the main hall.

A door banged open in front of her, and she startled; then a sea of students spilled into the hallway. No one paid any attention to her. Her breathing eased as she wound her way through the crowd. Her short stature made it easy to avoid eye contact. She could do this.

She reached his office and hesitated outside the door. In coming to see him, she was endangering him. It was a horrible, awful feeling to know she was risking another person’s life without their knowledge or consent. But the alternative was to let Raptor get away with stealing a smallpox bomb.

Her days as a Star Trek geek offered guidance but little solace.
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

She pushed open the door without knocking and felt a rush of relief when her old friend uttered an absentminded “Office hours aren’t until three o’clock,” before he looked up to see her. His gaze was puzzled for a moment, but then turned startled as recognition settled over his features. As she’d feared, the wig and makeup delayed identification for only about ten seconds. But then, Michael knew her better than most.

She closed and locked the door as he said, “The wig really isn’t you, doll.”

She smiled at Michael’s familiar endearment. “It was the only decent one they had at the thrift store.”

“I’d ask why the getup, but I’ve been watching the news.”

She flopped into the chair in front of his desk. “I’m so sorry to do this to you, Michael, but I need your help.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to do something for me. But it’s a secret. And it involves national security. And it’s dangerous.”

“Mowing-the-lawn-barefoot dangerous? Or skydiving dangerous?”

“Hunted-by-mercenaries dangerous. It-could-get-you-killed dangerous.”

He flashed a wry grimace. “I’m so…
flattered
you thought of me.”

A half laugh, half sob escaped. “I’m sorry, Michael. There’s no one else who can help me. No one I can trust.”

He leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to run a blood test to prove I was ill with a virus, but it’s complicated, because I was also vaccinated.”

“That’s going to be tough. What virus are we talking about here?”

She took a deep breath and said the word that endangered them both. “Smallpox.”

Thirty minutes later, Michael escorted her outside—through the back door. After hearing her improbable tale, he’d taken a blood sample.

Curt had been saying all along they had no body of evidence to prove Raptor had been hunting her. Mara’s blood contained some of the proof they needed to remove the tarnish from Curt’s heretofore sterling reputation.

Michael understood she’d call him for the results. They stood next to the motorcycle, and she shivered, already chilled by the cold autumn wind. Her old friend hugged her. “You be careful,” he said.

“You too. If anything odd or suspicious happens—anything at all—contact Curt Dominick right away, okay? I’m so sorry to do this to you.”

He chucked her under the chin. “Are you kidding? I’m an epidemiologist. This is seriously exciting stuff for me.”

She lowered her voice. “Raptor doesn’t play games. I don’t want you to get hurt. If they find out what you are doing… What
are
you doing, anyway?”

“I need to get the lab techs to run cytokine assays on your blood, looking for evidence of recent infection. I can turn it around in twenty-four hours. Raptor will never know.”

“Good.”

She climbed on the bike and tugged on the helmet. In minutes she was back on the freeway. She’d lied to Curt about her location. She’d never gone near Lake Michigan or the lakeside cottage community. She’d spent the last three days in a dingy Lansing motel. Today she’d head south, then east, for a rendezvous with Jeannie. If Evan had been telling the truth and Jeannie was still alive, Mara had a plan to find her. Jeannie had some serious explaining to do.

T
HAT EVENING SHE
stopped at a library in Toledo and logged into her Twitter account for the first time in months. She sent a simple direct message to Jeannie: “You’ve really hit the jackpot. We need to talk.” She was in and out of the library in less than five minutes. Now all she needed to do was get to the rendezvous location and wait.

She had no doubt Raptor would see the message and trace her login to Toledo. She needed to put miles between herself and the library before she stopped for the night.

Four hours later, she settled in a Pittsburgh motel room and called Curt. Cold, tired, and knowing he’d flip if he knew what she was doing, she inserted buoyancy into her voice and described the flight of birds across the Lake Michigan sand dunes. Remembering the forecast for western Michigan, she added, “I think it’s going to snow soon.”

“Do you like snow?”

“Living in Hawai’i, I missed skiing and ice skating, all the things I did as a kid.”

“I like snow for about three days. After that, I’m done for the season.”

She flopped back on the motel bed, closed her eyes, and focused on his voice. “Do you ski?”

“I love skiing. I just hate dealing with snow when I’m not skiing.”

“We should go togeth—” She stopped herself. She’d entered the unspoken forbidden zone—talk of a future that included them spending time together.

“I’d like that,” he responded, crushing the boundary with ease.

She rubbed her temples and felt the shimmery ache of wanting the impossible. “Are you any good? Because I’m a black-diamond girl.”

“Mara, haven’t you figured out yet I’m good at everything I do?” The flirtation in his tone sent a rush of heat to her center.

She let out a long, slow breath. “You’re killing me here, Dominick.”

“Me too.” He sighed. “I wish we’d met in a different way. If things had gone as I’d originally planned, we’d have met when you were deposed.”

But what could have been wasn’t any better than what was. “I’d have been hostile toward you.”

“Yeah, well, I’d have been awed by your strength, intelligence, humor, and your seriously stupendous body.”

Mara glanced down, surveying her attributes. “You like my body?”

“Fishing, Mara?”

“A girl likes to know she’s attractive.”

“Throw me a bone first. What would you have thought of me if we’d met over a deposition?”