Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (8 page)

“What are you going to do?”

“The trial starts in thirteen and a half hours, and I’m stuck on Oahu without a jet. I need to make some calls. I can probably arrange a military flight.”

“Before you do that, I want to show you something.” Palea led the way back inside the house and headed down the hall to Mara’s den. “I found this behind the file cabinet.” He held up a clear plastic evidence bag containing a small padded manila envelope. “It’s empty. Whatever was inside the envelope was dirty—soil and organic residue coat the inside. The postmark indicates it was mailed from the Camp Casey—South Korea—APO the day after Mara was arrested.”

“When JPAC was evicted, they left the country through the Joint Security Area and went straight to Camp Casey,” Curt said. “A day later, they caught a military flight back to Honolulu.” He paused, considering multiple scenarios. “Anyone on the crew could have sent the package to Mara’s address. You think Roddy came here last night to retrieve it?”

“The package would have arrived weeks ago.”

“Maybe the package didn’t matter until Mara was released,” Curt said. He studied the printed address label. It revealed nothing about the identity of the sender. “You think he grabbed the contents before the shooter arrived?”

“Maybe,” Palea said. “Then he heard someone and dropped the envelope behind the cabinet before meeting his killer in the kitchen. The killer might have lifted whatever was in that envelope from the corpse.”

“Call the ME and tell him to look for the same dirt residue on the body.” Curt leaned into the hall. “Mara?” She didn’t answer immediately. “Mara,” he said again, more loudly this time.

She stepped into the hall, tugging down her shirt. “Keep your panties on.” She’d changed into khaki shorts and a sleeveless top that highlighted both her full cleavage and flat belly. She’d swept her long blond hair into a ponytail and looked refreshed, comfortable, and disturbingly sexy.

“You’ll freeze in DC,” he said.

She made a face. “I’m not wearing this in DC. I’m wearing it in Hawai’i. I packed mainland clothes.”

“Ms. Garrett,” Palea said. “I have a question. Follow me, please.” He left the den and led them into the living room. “Who collected your mail while you were away?”

“The post office held it.”

He pointed to the secretary. “Your mail is here.”

She stopped short and looked puzzled for a moment before understanding lit her face. “I always have the post office hold my mail when I’m away, and set up delivery to resume on the day I’m scheduled to return. I was supposed to be in DPRK for two months, not three.”

Curt and Palea exchanged glances. “The mail was inside the house,” Palea said. “Not on the porch nor in the box.”

“My neighbors have a key. They probably saw the stack and moved it inside for me.”

“You didn’t mention that your neighbors had a key,” Curt said.

“You asked how Roddy could have gotten in—and Roddy would have gotten my key through JPAC. He doesn’t know my neighbors.”

The manila envelope wouldn’t have been accessible to Roddy until the mail was delivered a month ago. An FBI agent would contact the post office for the exact date and check with the neighbors to ascertain if they’d moved the mail inside the house and if they’d noticed the manila envelope. But he didn’t need to tell Palea how to do his job. “You have questions to answer, and I have calls to make,” he said and walked outside.

His first call was to Colonel McCormick. The man didn’t even bother with hello. “What did you find out?”

“I haven’t told her about the explosion. I needed her mind clear for questioning.”

“Get on it, man! I’ve got a crater where a jet used to be, and I need answers.”

“And I’ve got a gallon of blood where a man used to be. I need answers too. The woman’s been through an ordeal. If we push her too hard, she might break, and neither of us will get the information we need.”

“Listen. I’ve got news copters over the bay threatening my restricted airspace, my assistant tells me they’re reporting that you and Garrett are alive, and all the networks are demanding a statement. To top it off, the secretary of state and the president’s chief of staff are on my ass because you aren’t answering your phone. I don’t give a shit how fragile Mara Garrett is. You need to stop pussyfooting around and find out what she knows or bring her here so
I
can.”

“They’re reporting we’re alive? And how do they even know the jet that exploded was ours?”

“How the hell would I know? Maybe Garrett called someone.”

“That would only make sense if she knew about the explosion.” He looked back toward the house. He’d assumed he had more time—an hour at least—before word they were alive made headlines, but the news had leaked within minutes of the blast.

The bomb could have been set before he even left DC. Or it was planted after they arrived on Oahu. Either way, someone wanted one—or both—of them dead. And here they were, sitting pretty in the first place any smart assassin would look.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

“
M
ARA, GET YOUR
bag. We’re leaving.” Curt stood in the front doorway, tension coiled in his gut.

Mara glanced away from Palea and frowned at him. “In a minute—”

“Now. I don’t have time to explain.” He heard his abrupt tone and winced, but this wasn’t the time for soft, coaxing words.

“I’m not done questioning her,” Palea said.

“We have to go. She can answer your questions on the phone.”

“What’s going on?” Mara asked.

“I’ll tell you, but only if you’re in the car in the next thirty seconds.” He brushed past her and headed down the hall. “Is your bag in the bedroom?”

“I haven’t finished packing.” She hurried after him.

“I don’t care.” He found her duffle and nearly crashed into her in the hall as he headed back to the front door.

“Curt, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.” To Palea he said, “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

Palea nodded. “Be careful.”

Thankfully, Mara followed without further argument. In the carport, he said, “Give me your keys.”

“You aren’t driving my car.”

“Yes. I am. Keys. Now.” He held out a hand.

She glared at him. “They’re in the bag. Side pocket.”

He dug out her keychain, then looked at the battered Honda Accord. “Does this thing even run?”

She rolled her eyes. “It runs fine. Are we going back to the jet?”

“We’re going to the base.”

“That’s not what I asked. Curt, what is going on?”

“Get in. Get buckled. Then I’ll tell you.”

The car smelled musty, but thankfully, the engine purred. Once they were on the highway, she said, “Tell me, Curt.”

“Someone blew up the jet. We needed to get the hell away from your house before they figured out where you were and tried to kill you again.”

She met his words with silence. Several minutes passed. He’d known this would be too much for her. How many hours ago had she faced the firing squad? Fourteen? Fifteen? The hollows under her eyes told him she hadn’t been able to sleep during the flight, and now she had a blood-soaked kitchen and someone had just tried to kill her.

Crappy didn’t begin to describe this day.

He signaled a left turn at a Kaneohe cross street. He’d find a restaurant and get her some food while he made calls. “No,” she suddenly said. “Go straight. Take a left on Likelike Highway.”

“We can stop. Regroup.”

“No. Let’s get to the base. Maybe that colonel can get us another flight.”

“I hope so.” They reached the busy intersection and stopped at the light. He cast a glance sideways. Mara huddled in her seat, appearing small and fragile, but he’d witnessed her formidable inner strength before and hoped to hell she could draw on that now. “You okay?”

“Not by a long shot. But I’m alive.”

He patted her shoulder. “Good girl.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Condescend to me.”

“I thought I was being encouraging.”

“You withheld something from me—you found out about the explosion before I arrived at the house, right?—and now you’re patting me like I’m a dog. Don’t. Don’t hold things back from me, and don’t talk down to me. It demeans us both.”

“Fair enough.” The light changed, and he turned onto the highway. He was more than happy to skip the kid-glove treatment. “Did you call your uncle today?”

“No.”

“How about your mother, have you called her?”

“How the hell could I do that? I don’t have a phone.” She hit her thigh. “Crap, I plugged it in to charge, and we left so fast, it’s still at my house.”

Traffic moved slowly. They inched along the highway toward the next light as the air blowing through the vents got progressively hotter. “Someone told a reporter we’re alive.” Sweat dampened his shirt. He fiddled with the controls.

“The air-conditioning only works sometimes.” She rolled down her window.

“Maybe the person who gave you a ride off base talked.” He rolled down his window, but the relief was minimal. The vehicle wasn’t moving fast enough to create a breeze.

“I got a ride from a friend. I don’t think she’d tell anyone, and like me, she probably doesn’t know about the explosion.”

“Who is she?” He loosened his tie.

“I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

“By getting you off base, she saved your life. She’ll need to talk to investigators.” The light changed, and he stopped unknotting his tie in favor of operating the stick shift.

“She doesn’t matter. She’s just a friend who gave me a lift when I needed one.”

The prosecutor in him had to ask. “Like Roddy in North Korea?”

“No. Roddy
abducted
me.”

A welcome breeze wafted in as they picked up speed. “Conveniently, Roddy is dead. He cannot confirm or deny your story.” The road narrowed to one lane in each direction. He merged into the remaining lane, then resumed working the knot on his tie.

“I thought you were going to stop being a prick.”

“And I thought you wanted me to stop being condescending. Which do you want?”

She huffed out a sigh and grabbed his tie, unknotting it while he drove.

“Thanks,” he said as he popped open the top two buttons. Sweat had plastered his shirt to his skin, but now he could feel the airflow.

“At least you’re easy on the eyes,” she said. “This would suck completely if your face matched your personality.”

A sharp laugh escaped. He glanced sideways and caught her amused expression.

Mara gasped. “Look out!”

He swung his gaze back to the roadway and saw a huge pickup truck coming at them head-on. He swerved to the right, but there wasn’t enough shoulder to evade it. The truck clipped the Accord, sending it into a spin. He gripped the wheel and tried to recover control. He turned into the spin, and they came to a stop.

He glanced at Mara. “You okay?”

“I think so. You?”

They faced the wrong way on the highway. A line of cars was stopped before them, some having narrowly avoided their own collisions.

The behemoth white pickup that had started the accident had ricocheted to the left after clipping them, and now rested with the front tires off the road, the fender against a palm tree. The engine roared as the vehicle revved, then lurched in reverse, dropping off the curb with a thunk. The truck paused, then surged forward, barreling down the narrow highway and disappearing from view.

He pulled out his cell to call the police. To Mara, he said, “I got the license plate.”

“You don’t need it. I know that truck—but I can guarantee the owner wasn’t driving.”

Startled, he turned to her. “How do you know?”

Her face had lost all trace of color. “His brains are splattered all over my kitchen.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“
Y
OU’RE CERTAIN?”
Curt asked.

Mara nodded, unable to speak as the enormity of what had just happened sank in. One moment they were driving and bickering, and the next, Roddy’s beast of a truck tried to take them out in a head-on collision.