Deadly Dance (35 page)

“I could eat.” She slipped onto a barstool, picking up a piece of bacon. “But there’s enough food here to last a couple of days at least.”

“Have you seen me at the table?” he asked, the question rhetorical. It was true; Harrison could put away more food than anyone she’d ever known. It was a wonder he didn’t weigh four hundred pounds. But after last night’s intimacy, she was more than aware that wasn’t the case.

Her body tightened at the memory, and she smiled.

“Thinking of me?” he asked, turning off the burner and dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he came to sit beside her.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I was,” she said, poking him in the ribs as she bit into the crispy bacon. “I was thinking that, based on what you eat, you should be a fat boy.”

“But I’m not.” He reached over to wipe a smear of bacon grease from the corner of her lips, his touch sending electricity sparking through her.

“I know.” Her breathing was coming in little gasps now, and as he bent to kiss her, she had the thought that nothing in her life was ever going to be the same. Which, if it meant waking up to this every morning, was fine by her.

The kiss heated up, but the smell of pancakes was
tantalizing, and so with a satisfied sigh, she pulled away. “Nourishment first?”

He laughed, and after another quick kiss, reached for the pancakes. “A girl after my own heart.”

“So how long have you been up?” she asked, sipping her orange juice, her breathing still not back to normal. The man had a definite effect on her.

“A while,” he said, sobering. “I wanted to study the old case files for the cyber killer. I guess I was hoping that I’d find something that might lead us to finding Draper now.”

“And did you have any luck?”

“No. He could be anywhere.”

“So we just have to redouble our efforts,” she said. “Maybe if I look at the files, I’ll see something you didn’t. Fresh eyes and all that.”

“It’s worth a try,” he agreed, helping himself to more pancakes.

“These are really great,” she said. “They don’t even need syrup.”

“Which is good, because I can think of all kinds of things to do with the leftover syrup.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she actually blushed, her stomach back to quivering. The man made her crazy.

“Maybe for the moment we should stick to the pancakes?”

“All right—but only because I’m still hungry.” He grinned.

“So where’d you learn to make them?”

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” he said with a smile. “She always fixed them for us on Sundays.”

“You’ve never mentioned your parents.”

“It was just my mom. My dad passed away when we
were just kids. But she was great. Died a few years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

“Don’t be. It was for the best. She was really sick. And besides, she was never the same after Bree was killed.”

“All the more reason for us to find the bastard and make him pay.” She pushed away her plate, draining the last of her orange juice. “I think we need to tackle the files first.”

“Agreed,” he said, looking resigned.

They walked into the dining room, Hannah heading over to the file folders spread across the table. But as she reached out to pick one up, the morning exploded, the walls literally shaking as the windows across the front of the house shattered. Harrison dove for her, pushing her to the floor, his body protecting hers as glass flew like shrapnel.

For a moment, they held position, her mind spinning as she tried to decipher what had happened. Then he rolled away, the roar subsiding as a wave of heat washed through the now open windows. “You okay?” he asked, his eyes searching for signs of injury.

“I think so.” She nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she said, testing various limbs to be sure. “I’m fine. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. An explosion of some kind.” He pushed to his feet, grabbing his gun from the table, moving cautiously toward one of the windows.

She followed behind him, wishing she had her weapon, but not willing to leave him alone until they were sure what was happening. “Can you see anything?”

“Yeah,” he said, moving aside so that she could see, too. “It’s my car. Somebody blew up my fucking car.” The burning remains of Harrison’s Jeep sat on the street in front of the house, debris still raining down, a plume of black smoke belching up into the sky. “Stay here. I’m going to check it out.” He started for the door, but she reached out to stop him.

“I’m coming, too,” she insisted, still holding his arm. “I’m not letting you go out there on your own. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I do. I swear. But if anything happened to you, I’d…” he trailed off, his eyes saying it all. “Look, I’ll be fine. You can watch me from here. And as soon as I’m sure it’s safe, I’ll signal you. Okay?”

She nodded, knowing there was wisdom in his words. Besides, she could see Avery emerging from his house across the street. Drake right behind him. At least Harrison would have reinforcements. She watched as he moved out into the yard, still on alert, gun at the ready, but except for having to dodge charred pieces of the Jeep in the grass, there seemed to be no further threat.

Still, Hannah knew she’d feel better if she had her gun, so after watching a couple more minutes, she turned and walked into the kitchen where she’d left it last night in the lock box on the counter.

Harrison’s empty pans sat on the stove, the breakfast bar still littered with dishes. Everything looked absurdly normal, considering the blast that had just occurred in her front yard. She ought to be freaked, but these days nothing was normal. Which was both good and bad. She crossed the floor, heading for the lock box, her mind drifting to Harrison and last night.

She knew that she should stay focused, but it was hard. Her body ached in the delicious way of a woman who’d been thoroughly and completely loved. She paused at the word. Neither of them had mentioned it. But it had stretched between them—unspoken. Or at least she’d wanted it to be so.

She shook her head, pulling her focus back to the bomb in the front yard. Better to stay in the present. The future would take care of itself. Walking around the counter, she reached for the box, but paused when she realized the back door was open. Her nerves went into overdrive, and she started to spin around, but before she could take a step, someone grabbed her from behind, a hard arm encircling her throat.

She shoved her elbows backward, kicking as she tried to scream, but the arm pressed harder, cutting off her voice. Panic warred with training, the latter winning as she twisted, trying to break the hold. Harrison and Avery were just outside; surely they’d hear her if she could just manage to make some noise.

She kicked out again, this time connecting with a barstool, sending it crashing to the floor. Her assailant swore softly and slammed his fist into the side of her head. The world went fuzzy, pain ripping through her brain. But she fought through it, determined not to give in.

Letting her body go slack, she pretended to have passed out, praying that he’d loosen his hold. For a moment, she thought it was working, his grip on her throat lessening. She opened her mouth to scream, striking out, trying to break free, but before she could make a sound, he’d regained his hold.

Frustrated, she kicked backward, hoping to throw
them off balance, but he held her steady, stabbing something into her arm, a line of heat working its way along her nerve endings. The son of a bitch had drugged her.

It felt as if her nerves were shutting down one by one, first her arms, and then her legs. Nothing seemed to be working right. Even her brain felt sluggish and heavy.

Across the kitchen, she could see Asha pressed against the wall, spitting with fury. And summoning all of her strength, she reached up and raked her nails against her assailant’s face with the intention of drawing blood. It had worked for Asha, maybe it would work for her.

Cursing again, he pulled her toward the back door, and as he pulled her through, Hannah managed to slam her hand against the wall, satisfied to see a print. He jerked her onto the back porch, and she realized she could no longer feel her arms and legs at all. He swung her over his shoulder, and she struggled to hang on to consciousness, but the drug was winning the war.

And with a sigh she slipped into blackness, her last conscious thought that she should have told Harrison she loved him.

T
his is all my fault,” Harrison said, fighting both fear and panic as he paced in front of the dining room table. Members of Tracy’s team carefully combed over every inch of the kitchen, trying to find something that might tell them what had happened to Hannah. From his vantage point, he could see the remnants of their breakfast on the counter, reminding him again of how completely he had let Hannah down. “I shouldn’t have left her on her own.”

“You did exactly what any of us would have done,” Avery responded, as he closed his phone. “There’s no point in blaming yourself.”

“Yeah, well that’s not going to happen.”

“Understood,” his boss said, “but we haven’t got time for you to melt down. I know how much you care about Hannah. We all do. But the only way we’re going to find her and beat Draper at his own game is to focus. And you can’t do that if you’re busy blaming yourself.”

“I know.” He blew out a breath, pulling himself together. For Hannah. “So who was that on the phone?”

“Tyler. She and Nash are taking the first flight in from Montreal. If anyone can find something amidst the wreckage out there, it’s her. And besides, they want to be here for you. And for Hannah. Annie’s going to hold the fort in Montreal.”

Harrison nodded, thinking how much all of these people had come to mean to him in such a short time. And it was because of him that this maniac had landed in their midst.

“Draper wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the Consortium,” Avery said, correctly reading his mind. “They’re the ones who stirred the pot. Not you. And believe me, they’re going to get theirs. But obviously our first priority is to get Hannah back alive.”

The last word hovered in the room and Harrison felt as if he might explode. Emotions rocketed through him. Guilt. Anger. Fear. All of them threatening to eat him alive.

“So what about the handprint?” he asked. “Is it Hannah’s?”

“The print is hers,” Tracy said, walking into the room. “But not the blood.”

“That was fast.” Avery turned to face her, leaning back against the table, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I figured it was important—so I handled it myself. It was easy to rule out Hannah. You have her DNA on file here. And thanks to the U.S. Army, I’ve got a record of Draper’s DNA as well. So I didn’t have to run the complete panel, just a microscopic comparison. And the blood on the wall appears to be Draper’s. I’ve sent it off for full DNA analysis.”

“So the son of a bitch does have her,” Drake said, walking into the room, glass crunching under his feet. “Simon’s outside now with the local fire marshal. He doesn’t think it was a bomb. All the signs seem to point to a simple accelerant. Probably paint thinner or some other solvent. Enough to start a fire and let the gasoline in the car do the rest. Tyler’s team can run the tests when they get here. But the bottom line is that the explosion wasn’t meant to do anything but create a hell of spectacle.”

“And pull our attention away from Hannah,” Avery agreed.

“Well, it worked.” Harrison ran a hand through his hair, fighting to keep the frustration from his voice, but it was no use.

“What I don’t understand,” Tracy said, her forehead creasing, “is how he could have known you wouldn’t bring Hannah outside with you.”

“It was a calculated risk,” Avery acknowledged. “But he’s bound to know that we’d assume she was a target, and as such, take every precaution to protect her. Which in this case would mean keeping her away from what we perceived as a direct threat.”

“The explosion,” Tracy nodded.

“Exactly.”

“So how the hell did he get into the house?” Drake asked.

“Through the back door,” Tracy said. “There’s no sign of forced entry, so either it was open or he picked the lock. We think he took her out through the back gate. There’s access behind the fence for the grounds crew.” One of the perks of Professor’s Cove was having the college’s landscape crew take care of their yards as well.

“Looks like she didn’t go easily,” Drake observed, standing in the kitchen door taking in the fallen barstool and bloody handprint.

“Hannah’s a fighter,” Harrison said between clenched teeth.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Drake turned, his cool gaze assessing. “I’ve worked with her a hell of a lot longer than you.”

“Hey,” Avery said, “there’s nothing to be gained by fighting amongst ourselves. And trust me, Harrison doesn’t need any help beating himself up over this.”

“I’m sorry.” Drake lifted a hand in apology. “This is just hard.”

Harrison shook his head, feeling as if the world had somehow gone off kilter and he was reliving the worst days of his life. The night Bree had been taken, he’d been supposed to telephone—the weekly chat, she’d called it. But a case he’d been working detained him. And he hadn’t even thought about it until nearly midnight. And by that point, it had been too late.