Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (5 page)

She slid down the slick wall and hugged her knees to her chest. Where was the euphoria of rescue? Why did she feel like the trouble had only just begun?

Jesus. Curt Dominick, of all people. Another painful, embarrassingly loud sob escaped. Even his selection as envoy was her fault. If he ever learned the truth, he’d hate her. More than he did already.

For a moment, when they stood in the courtyard and he held her, she’d met his gaze and the strongest, most head-spinning, gut-clenching emotion had shot through her. Hate was the last emotion she felt for Curt Dominick.

A
LOUD THUMP
jolted Curt from his light doze. He bolted to his feet. Mara. Was she hurt? He hurried down the short aisle. He’d been dozing for only a few minutes. It took him a second to get his bearings. Was she in the private cabin to the left or the shower to the right?

He shook his head to dispel sleep and heard a noise coming from the shower. He reached for the knob when the sound registered. A sob. His hand froze an inch from the door.

Shit. He was not cut out for this.

The woman had just been through a nightmarish ordeal. Her two-month-long imprisonment had culminated in a firing squad and ended with her being rescued by a man who was not known for his ability to sympathize.

Should he knock? Enter? Talk to her through the door?

Another sob sounded, and his heart twisted. He leaned his forehead against the panel. A better man would open the door, take her into his arms, and comfort her.

But he wasn’t that man. Where she was concerned, he had to be a prosecutor first, last, and always.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

R
ODDY
B
ROGAN WAS
dead. He’d been shot on Oahu sometime in the last four hours, and the death scene had been staged to look like a suicide.

Curt hung up his cell and ran his fingers through his hair, distantly registering he’d missed an appointment with his barber yesterday. Or was it today? They must have crossed the international dateline already. But he had far bigger problems than a missed haircut.

If his information was correct, Roddy Brogan—gifted linguist and cold-blooded mercenary—had provided translation for the Sudanese weapons deal. The man’s death could be the key to finally indicting the CEO, and Curt had a hunch Raptor’s sharp talons were all over the death scene.

The trial would start in twenty-one hours whether he was there or not. Without changes to their itinerary, they would reach DC in thirteen or fourteen hours.

But if he changed their refueling stop to Oahu…he was looking at two hours—three at most—added to their travel time. Cutting it close, but doable.

He pulled out his cell and dialed his co-counsel, Assistant US Attorney Aurora Ames. She was going to freak when he explained the delay, but when she heard why, she’d understand.

M
ARA EMERGED FROM
the bedroom when the plane started to descend, surprised they’d reached the mainland already. All she could see from the portside window was the vast blue ocean, but one of California’s coastal airports or military bases must be ahead. She hoped someone from the State Department would join them for the rest of the journey. Then the official debriefing could begin.

Once that was behind her, she could return to Oahu and find out if she still had a job, but deep down, she feared she already knew the answer to that question.

She hadn’t been able to sleep during the long flight. The dark, tiny room transformed into her cold cell every time she closed her eyes. She’d battled the illusion by turning on the bedside light, but the dim glow made sleep impossible.

Curt sat on the sofa with his laptop open before him, looking handsome and refreshed, his shirt crisp and tie straight, like he expected to argue before a judge at any moment.

Mara felt rumpled, frazzled, and haggard. Her hair was too long and had darkened after months of being out of the sun, the clothes provided for her were too big, and she had bags under her eyes from yet another sleepless night. She resented the hell out of the fact that he looked so damn good while she resembled an escapee from rehab.

“I’m glad you’re up,” he said, lifting his gaze from his computer. “I have something for you.” He picked up a file from the seat next to him and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“We’re getting ready to land on Oahu, and I want you to understand why you have to continue with me to DC.”

She dropped the file and turned to a starboard window. Sure enough, Oahu was in the distance as they passed Kauai. “Oahu? I’m going home?” Her heart surged with joy.

“No. We’re just refueling here, then continuing to DC.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “But surely I can stay—”

He picked up the discarded file and pressed it into her hand again. “No. We’re going to DC. That’s a subpoena. I’m calling you to testify for the prosecution in the case of the United States of America vs. Andrew Stevens.”

C
URT FELT A
slight stab of guilt but shoved it aside. He had a job to do.

“I—I—don’t believe you. You’re supposed to be my hero, the man who flew halfway around the world to rescue me… My blindfold dropped, and I see the most handsome face I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s
you
, with a subpoena.”

He ignored the jolt of pleasure her compliment caused. “I’m no one’s hero, Mara. I’ve never been accused of being anything but a shark.”

“Really? Maybe you should hire a new publicist!”

He couldn’t help it, he laughed. She had a gift for making him laugh while insulting him.

“Why the hell would I testify against my uncle?” The hostility in her voice revealed a fire she’d shown only fleetingly earlier, and he was relieved she’d turned angry. An angry Mara would be far easier to deal with than the wounded sprite. He could be his usual, ruthless self without qualm.

“You’ll testify because you’ve been subpoenaed.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I want to know why you think I can help your case. I haven’t even seen my uncle since he visited me in Egypt a year and a half ago. I don’t know a damn thing about influence peddling.”

“You work with Raptor operatives, and you dated one for five months.” Five months, two weeks, and three days, according to his information, but it tended to creep people out when he spoke in such precise terms.

“So I dated Evan. That doesn’t mean I know anything about my uncle’s work for Raptor.”

“You know far more than you think you do.”

“Like what?”

Two beeps preceded an announcement by the captain. “We’ve begun our final descent and are cleared to land at Marine Corps Base Kaneohe, Mr. Dominick. We’ll be on the ground in five minutes.”

He hit the intercom button, more thankful than he could say for the interruption. “We’re preparing for landing,” he said, then gathered his papers into a neat stack. After stowing his laptop and papers, he moved to the seat-belt-equipped recliner and signaled for her to sit. “This is just a refueling stop. So don’t get any ideas about staying.”

“If we only needed fuel, we’d have gone to California as planned. Why are we really here?” she asked as she dropped into the facing seat.

She was smart. No doubt about that. “I have business here.”

“How long are we going to be on Oahu?”

“A few hours.”

They were both silent as the jet approached the runway. Finally, Mara spoke. “You’re making a mistake, you know. My uncle is innocent.”

He looked down at his cell and typed out a text message for Palea, informing him of their arrival. “No, he isn’t. He took bribes and covered up other crimes.”

“You’re chasing phantoms. I know him, and he would
never
take a bribe. No crimes were committed. There couldn’t be a cover-up, because he has nothing to hide.”

He met her gaze. “No, Mara, I’m chasing Raptors—whether the person I need to take down is your uncle or a field operative, I don’t give a damn as long as they bring me closer to indicting the slippery weasel of a CEO, Robert Beck. And this stop on Oahu might give me the evidence I need.”

She flinched at his mention of her ex-boyfriend’s father. Yes, Mara Garrett had far too many connections to Raptor to be as ignorant as she’d claimed. She’d paint an ugly picture for the jury.

M
ARA EXPECTED A
light breeze when she emerged from the aircraft, but the trade winds had taken a vacation from paradise, and the heavy air was a stifling eighty degrees. Her internal clock didn’t know what time of day or even month it was, and Hawai’i’s perpetual lush weather didn’t ease her disorientation.

This should have been a triumphant moment. Her homecoming. But suddenly, Oahu felt as foreign as the first time she’d landed in Papua New Guinea. The air was thick, unforgiving, the familiar scent of tropical flowers masked by the acrid stench of hot tarmac.

She paused on the top step of the gangway. A few meters from the plane, a line of marines stood at attention in eerie similarity to the firing squad she’d faced in North Korea.

Curt waited at the bottom of the stairs with his satchel in hand. He urged her forward with an impatient wave. She descended. The moment her feet hit the tarmac, the marines saluted in perfect unison.