Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (7 page)

The blast had taken out the windows of the nearest building. The medics would have plenty of patients to care for, but he hoped no one inside the building had been seriously hurt. He hated killing military personnel.

He hadn’t believed his luck when he’d been told Mara’s jet had rerouted to Oahu, providing him with the perfect opportunity to take her out before she reached DC and said the wrong things to the right people.

Now she was dead. Despite what Mara believed of him, this wasn’t the outcome he’d wanted. But he had no other choice. Rectifying Roddy’s fuckup in allowing her to escape him in North Korea was more important.

With binoculars, he watched the colonel at the periphery of the scene. The man held a cell phone to his ear. With the touch of a button, he accessed the speaker on the colonel’s phone and eavesdropped on the conversation.

He smiled, hearing Dominick say he’d return to the base. When Dominick arrived, a sniper shot would be the cleanest way to take care of the last loose end. He had the long-range rifle ready.

The boat rolled over a low wave. He rocked with the motion, steady on his feet at the helm as he waited for Dominick to say more, but the conversation had halted.

Then a third voice carried over the line, and his blood ran cold.

His gaze returned to the scene on the airfield. Firefighters pumped water on the smoldering ruins. People limped out of the wounded building, and the colonel paced.

All for nothing.

Mara was alive.

I
F SHE DIDN’T
think it was impossible, Mara might believe the unfazable Curt Dominick was, well, fazed. He gripped the porch railing and looked as if he’d fall without the support.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked.

He stooped and picked up his cell phone. In that one swift motion, she saw him transform from rattled to composed. His left hand adjusted the knot on his silk tie, while his deep voice was clear and steady. “Colonel, Mara’s here. She just arrived.”

Damn, he’d probably been looking for her.

“I don’t know,” he said into the phone. “I’ll find out.” He stared at her but surprisingly didn’t appear angry. He looked…hungry. Her belly fluttered at the intensity of his hazel eyes. “Keep this under wraps. I’ll call when I know more.” He shoved the phone into his pocket, his gaze still locked on hers.

She found his silence and stare unnerving. “I wanted to pick up some stuff.”
Crap.
He hadn’t said a word, and she’d already gone on the defensive.

“Dominick! I want you to see this.” The words carried through the screen door.

Shocked, she pinned Curt with a glare. It was one thing for him to be here, quite another for a stranger to be inside her house. “Who’s inside?”

Curt’s cell buzzed. He fished it out and glanced at the caller ID.

“Don’t you dare take that call without answering me. I have the right to know who is in my house.”

He tucked the phone away. “The FBI,” he said.

The sense of violation took her breath away. Finally, she found her voice. “I was subpoenaed, but that doesn’t give you the right to search my house.”

“We have every right—”

“Show me the warrant.”

“We don’t need one—”

“The hell you don’t!”

“It’s a crime scene. Your buddy, Roddy Brogan, ate a bullet in your kitchen.”

The words knocked her backward. “Roddy’s dead?” Her voice dropped to a pathetic croak. “Here?”

“His body was removed before we landed, but yes, he’s dead.”

“Is that why we rerouted to Oahu?” Her brain spun, and her breathing turned shallow.

“Yes.”

“Roddy can’t be dead.” Panic rose. “He’s the one who—”

“I know. He’s the reason you were arrested on the edge of the DMZ.”

Questions crowded against each other in her addled mind. “Why was he here?”

He leaned against the side of her house and crossed his arms. “I was hoping you could answer that.”

She stiffened. “I can’t possibly be a suspect.”

“Did Roddy have a key?”

“I was in North Korea. Then I was on a plane—with you.”

“Did Roddy have a key?”

Exasperation won out. “No.”

“Were you and Roddy ever involved?”

“No.”

“Never?” His tone conveyed disbelief.

“I wasn’t interested. He was your typical sexist pig.”

“And Evan Beck wasn’t?”

She flinched, as she always did when Evan’s name came up, but quickly recovered. It was futile to hope the eagle-eyed prosecutor hadn’t noticed. She shrugged and aimed for flippant. “Egypt was lonely, and Evan was hot.”

“Did you ever give Evan a key?”

“No.”

“You dated for a long time.”

“What’s with the obsession over my relationship with Evan? Are you jealous, Curt?”

His eyes narrowed, but still, he smiled and shook his head. “They must have loved your mouth in North Korea.”

She’d tried to rein in her glib tongue during interrogation but had failed on a few memorable occasions. She looked away, unable to suppress a shudder at the memory.

He grabbed her hands and squeezed. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

Since her arrest, she’d had very little human comfort, and the touch of his hands triggered a sharp need. She stepped closer, and his arms enfolded her. A hand stroked her hair and the other rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, Mara. I’ll try to remember what you’ve been through and not be such a prick.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest and murmured, “Thanks.” He smelled pleasantly musky, and his broad shoulders and firm body made her feel protected. Safe. She didn’t want to think; she just wanted to feel.

“Dominick,” a man called from inside the house. “I need you in here.”

She took a deep breath and stepped out of his arms.

He studied her with unreadable eyes, then ran his fingers through his hair and glanced away. “I need to confer with Palea, but before I do, back to my earlier question. There’s no sign of breaking and entering. I was trying to establish if there is any way Roddy—or his murderer—could have gotten a key.”

“A copy of my key is at JPAC headquarters—so other JPAC teams can watch over my place when I’m deployed. I do the same for them.”

His intense gaze was probing, analyzing. Filing away information about her in his sharp mind. But now she saw compassion in his eyes as well. One of the numerous walls that separated them had fallen. She wondered if the change would be permanent or fleeting.

“Ordinarily, we’d never let you enter a crime scene, but I’ll make an exception for two reasons. One, you might be able to tell us what’s changed since you were here last.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“You’ve been through hell. You can pick up a few personal items before we head to DC. I was going to throw together a bag for you.”

She regarded him for a moment. “Curt Dominick, you might actually be a nice man.”

He winked at her. “Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.” He turned and reached for the door handle, then glanced over his shoulder. “Brace yourself.”

Inside, a man was taking pictures on the other side of the low partition wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Another man pawed through her neatly stacked mail with gloved hands.

The second man looked up, and his dark, native-Hawaiian eyes widened at the sight of her. “This is a crime scene. She can’t be here.”

She bristled. “This is my house. Who are you?”

“Assistant Special Agent in Charge Kaha’i Palea. I repeat, you shouldn’t be here.” The man glared at Curt. “Dammit, Dominick. You’ve gotten sloppy.”

“We need her. She can tell us what’s out of place.”

She headed toward the kitchen to look over the low partition wall.

“Wait—” the agent said.

She ignored him and rose on her toes to peer over the divider, to see what the other man was photographing. The smell of death was bad enough, but the mess in her kitchen was worse. Blood pooled on the floor, spattered the walls, cabinets, and dripped in red streaks down her airy curtains.

“The blood is new since I was here last.” She turned away from the gruesome scene and landed right in Curt’s arms. Tremors started in her center and spread to her extremities.

“There’s always more blood than people expect,” he said.

Her forehead pressed against his heart. The steady beat became a calming cadence. “God, I’m having a crappy day,” she whispered.

His arms tightened around her. “You’re determined to milk the firing squad, aren’t you?”

The trembling dissipated in the wake of her laugh. She met his gaze. What a time for him to reveal he had a heart, let alone a sense of humor. “I’d be a fool not to,” she said.

His cell rang again. Thankfully, he ignored it, but she forced herself to step out of his arms. Turning to face the carnage in her kitchen, she hugged herself and said, “I’d say Roddy had a worse day than I did.” She turned her back on the mess. “Are you sure it was Roddy? I mean, given what’s left in my kitchen, identification must be difficult.”

The FBI agent nodded. “The medical examiner has already matched Brogan’s tattoos for a positive ID.”

Of course. The JPAC skull symbol had been tattooed next to a raptor on his shoulder. Roddy was really and truly dead. Later she’d process grief, horror, and outrage, but right now she was concerned about the living. “Have you checked on my neighbors? The gunshot must have terrified them.”

“Roddy was considerate in his suicide and used a gun with a silencer,” Agent Palea said.

“Raptor has the best toys,” Curt added.

“You don’t really believe this was a suicide,” she said.

“No,” said the agent.

“The ME has placed the time of death around the time the president announced we’d safely left P’yŏngyang,” Curt said. “Listen, we have some questions for you, but I need to speak with Agent Palea alone first.” Curt’s gaze raked her from head to toe. “Why don’t you change while we talk?”

“What, you don’t like my outfit?”

With thumb and forefinger he pulled a loose strand of yarn at her collar. The sweater unraveled. He flashed a wry smile. “It’s entertaining, certainly.”

Thoroughly confused by Curt Dominick’s unexpected attitude shift, she escaped down the hallway to her bedroom.

C
URT WATCHED
M
ARA
leave the room with quick strides. The explosion had rattled him or he never would have made the stupid, cruel remark about her flippant tongue. But what worried him was his willingness to hold her, which had been triggered by an overwhelming need to appease the crazy part of him that feared she was a haunting angel—or demon.

As he followed Palea outside where they could talk in private, questions inundated him in rapid-fire succession. Had the jet been rigged to explode from the beginning? If they’d flown to San Francisco as planned, would they have exploded in the air? The pilots had guarded the jet in North Korea, but what if they’d missed something? Was Mara the target? Or had someone finally followed through with one of the many death threats he’d received?

Palea swung around and said in a low voice, “What the hell was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“With the sweater. And the embrace.”

He gave Palea a look that usually made opposing counsel back off. “There’s nothing going on. She’s part of a case.”

“She’s also beautiful, vulnerable, and looks at you like you’re Superman.”

“She’s got a little hero worship going, which is understandable, considering I arrived only moments before her execution. It doesn’t have anything to do with
me
.” Great. He sounded defensive.

“You’re prosecuting her uncle. She could be using the oldest trick in the book to sway you.”

“I’m not some novice assistant district attorney, so you can cut the condescending lecture. I was relieved to see her because that wasn’t a sonic boom we heard. It was our jet—exploding. I ordered her to wait for me on the jet. If she’d listened to me, she’d be dead.”

Palea’s suspicious gaze fixed on the house. “For someone who just escaped an explosion, she seemed pretty nonchalant.”

His cell phone rang again. Caller ID indicated the president’s chief of staff. He also had missed two calls from the secretary of state. “She doesn’t know about the explosion.”