FEARLESS (14 page)

Her only thought was to get him to the ground and out of the main shooting area. With her arms locked around his waist, she dragged him against her and dropped. His body fell hard against her, pinning her half against the wall.

Hard cubes dug into her skin through her jeans. She glanced down and saw the glass had broken into what looked like a million perfectly smooth squares. It must have been safety glass of some sort. Whatever it was, she loved it.

Everything else had her heart hammering. She looked around, catching the last glimpse of the attacker’s shoes as he disappeared down the hall and around the corner with Connor a few steps behind. She struggled to find Davis, desperate to see him safe and hidden behind something.

He stood over her. “You okay?”

Her relief at seeing him turned all of her muscles to liquid. She had no idea how or when he’d got to her and she didn’t care. “Fine, but Ben is—”

“Fine.” Davis’s glance dropped to the man in her arms. “Stay here. Shoot anything that isn’t me.”

* * *

U
NABLE
TO
WASTE
even a second holding Lara and checking to make sure she was fine or checking on Ben’s injuries, Davis took off after Connor and the attacker. Glass crunched under Davis’s feet and his shoe slipped on the desk chips and flurry of magazines and papers that had been kicked up during the shoot-out.

He blocked Lara’s face and the blood all over her hands.
Not hers.
He repeated that five times as he pivoted to turn the corner and grab the door to the emergency stairs before it slammed shut. Momentum sent him shooting across the landing and right to the railing.

Leaning over, he looked down the spiraling steps.

He saw flashes of black one floor below him and another splotch the floor below that. Footsteps thudded on the metal stairs and harsh breathing thundered all around him.

Connor yelled twice for the attacker to stop. The guy answered by firing over his shoulder and into the air. The crack echoed through the confined space as the bullet pinged and ricocheted, chipping into the wall a few feet from Davis’s head.

He took off. Ignoring the tug from his sore ribs, he jogged, taking two steps at a time and gaining space on Connor. They were still more than a floor behind each other and the attacker when the door clicked on the main floor. Picking up speed, Davis hit the main floor a few seconds after Connor. They both slammed into the door but Connor yanked it open.

The door led to a small hallway, then to an emergency exit. Davis pushed against the bar and winced when a shrill siren split the air. The sun nearly blinded Davis and the humidity smacked him in the face.

“Where did he go?”

Connor slid his gun into his vest. “Maybe another door. He didn’t sound the alarm.”

The noise in question wailed as a light next to the door flashed.

Davis’s mind wouldn’t accept that answer. Frantic, his heart racing with the need to finish this, he turned his head back and forth, looking for the retreating attacker. When Davis decided to try left, Connor grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Look around you.” Connor panted as he said the words.

Davis noticed for the first time the groups of people walking the streets. Moms with kids in strollers. Couples with dogs. Many people using their cells and one guy frantically waving at a security guard a few doors down and yelling about the police.

Several people stared at them and a few pointed. Probably more than one had taken their photo and Davis had no idea how to fix that.

Yeah, the attacker had dumped them in a busy Georgetown area. People used this path to get from M Street, the main shopping area, to the water. And there they stood wearing their vests and holding guns.

Not good.

Connor’s mouth turned to a grimace. “Let’s get out of here before we have a PR disaster.”

“The attacker is—”

“Gone.” Connor finally looked at Davis. “Lara needs you.”

Guilt smacked him as he remembered the blood. “She’s trying to save Ben.”

Chapter Fifteen

The men crowded around Ben as he sat on the Corcoran conference table, his shirt balled up beside him. Discarded bulletproof vests had been piled right behind him, and they all watched as Joel cleaned and dressed the injury.

He’d been hit just under his vest, almost in his armpit. A few more inches and the attacker could have caused unbelievable damage. Joel said something about hitting a lung.

Ben took the ad hoc medical attention and accompanying chorus of questions well. He jerked when Joel hit the wrong spot and swore through most of the treatment, but he never showed any other sign of weakness. Never demanded an ambulance or trip to the hospital.

Lara thought about rolling her eyes but barely had the energy to stand. Even now she held on to the back of a conference chair to keep from sliding to the floor in a less-than-graceful exhausted faint. Keeping her eyes open proved harder.

But just once she wanted one of these guys to suggest calling in the police, the fire department—heck, even the coast guard—when something went wrong. They functioned as an independent unit and ignored the rules the rest of society followed for this sort of thing. To her, dialing 9-1-1 was a no-brainer.

Maybe clunking their heads together would help. They’d spent the first ten minutes, as Ben stripped down and Joel collected supplies, trading stories about their battle wounds. It was sick and deranged and so macho it had hair all over it.

Joel dropped the last bloody cloth in the small bowl Ben held. Joel eyed the bandage. “It’s a through and through. You lost some blood but will be fine in a few days.”

“Are you a doctor now?” Ben asked.

Joel’s smile looked less than wholesome. “Nervous?”

She shook her head. Here she was ready to fall over and possibly sleep for six or seven solid years, and they were joking. Gunfire, chases—nothing slowed these guys down.

Davis was the worst. He stood to the side, by the doorway to the kitchen, and watched over the medical activities. With arms crossed over his chest, he’d shift now and then and bite down on a wince. His ribs hurt but heaven forbid he admit that or ask for treatment.

Stubborn idiot.

As if he read her mind, Davis pushed off from the wall and came over to stand in front of her. The other men continued their one-upmanship on scars as Davis stared at her with his gaze wandering over her face and down her neck.

This was the calmer version of Davis, not to be confused with the Davis that had nearly squeezed the life out of her when he’d got back upstairs after the office chase. He had asked her repeatedly if she had been hit. Even though she’d answered no, he’d brushed his hands all over. She’d half expected him to strip her down right there on the broken glass. He’d refrained, but she guessed the control cost him.

“How are you?” he asked.

His husky voice washed over her and she had to fight off the shiver at the back of her neck. “Still fine.”

“What—never seen a guy get shot before?”

She didn’t realize the male conversation had stopped and all eyes had turned to the couple in the middle of the room until Pax shot his sarcastic question her way.

Fine, she’d shoot right back. “Not before the past few days.”

Ben slid off the table, half bent over, and with a loud groan turned to face Davis. “You going to make good on your threat?”

Davis held out his hand. “Thank you.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the outstretched arm. “I let the guy get shots off.”

Her head still was reeling from Davis’s uncharacteristic gratitude when the reality of Ben’s comment hit her. So, that was what this was about. A case of rescuer’s guilt. They all seemed to be suffering from it.

Never mind that she was fine except for a few cuts from the safety glass. “The attacker was hiding in the ceiling. Who could prepare for that?”

Davis didn’t drop his arm. “And you blocked Lara. You could have run or done anything, but you protected her. I saw it and appreciate it.”

Ben blew out a long breath as he shook Davis’s hand. “Anytime.”

“I’d prefer if the attacks didn’t become a habit,” she mumbled.

Connor brought out the omnipresent coffeepot and a handful of mugs. The fact it was almost ten at night didn’t appear to faze him. “Look at us all getting along.”

“So, now what?” Pax sat down and looked at the stack of files in front of him. A second later he distributed them around the table to the other guys.

For some reason the move, so normal and out of touch with the danger pulsing around them, ticked her off. “Maybe we could take a second and feel bad for Greg.”

“That goes without saying, honey,” Davis said without looking up from the file in his hand.

He still didn’t get it. She’d seen flashes, moments when his fear for her or anger of a situation would take over, but mostly he was a blank emotional slate. It was so unhealthy and so intimidating. She hated that side of him.

She also despised this thing where they compartmentalized human beings into body counts. “We should say it. He deserves that much while whomever Connor called goes over the murder scene and does whatever he does to separate it from Corcoran.”

Davis dropped his arm and the file dangled from his fingers. “What’s wrong with you?”

Even Ben winced over Davis’s tone.

“Oh, I don’t know, Davis. My boss was massacred, likely because of something I saw, Ben got shot—”

He waved her off. “I’m fine.”

“—and I got trapped in the middle of a shoot-out that should have killed me. If you hadn’t turned that corner when you did...” Her voice cracked and she wanted the floor to split open so she could sink right into it.

Something hard moved in Davis’s eyes and he looked away for a second before turning back to her. The file crumpled in his hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

No one made a sound. It was as if they held their collective breaths, waiting for her response. “Are you even listening to me?”

His mouth flattened into a straight line. “I thought I was.”

“I was worried for you.” She stepped up and poked him in the chest before sweeping her gaze across the room. “For all of you, and in light of the ongoing attacks, I would like you to admit, just once, that a man being killed is a big deal.”

Davis’s head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “What are you talking about?”

When Joel and Connor started shifting and looking at the floor then the ceiling and Ben shot her a sympathetic smile, she gave up. “Forget it.”

She shifted to circle around Davis and leave. She needed a few minutes to think. A few more to regain her game face and figure out how to go along with the crowd on this, to pretend she was as hard as they were. She didn’t want them dropping her out of this because she was too emotional. But she needed some air before her head exploded.

Davis stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Of course it’s a big deal. People are dying.”

“Then why act like you don’t care?”

“To survive.” The answer came from Connor but they all nodded.

Davis’s hold turned to caressing fingertips against her elbow. “That’s exactly it.”

“Explain it to me.”

Davis looked around the room with an icy glare. When none of the other men even pretended to have something better to do, Davis let out a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s take this somewhere private.”

Pax folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “We’re all good with hearing this conversation.”

“I won’t feel bad about punching you.”

The room whirled until Lara wasn’t sure what she should say. Now that she remembered her audience, the idea of privacy sounded good. Problem was privacy likely meant a bedroom, and the bed could prove to be a distraction.

She’d promised herself she’d tell him the truth once she got him alone, to explain everything that had happened eleven months ago and everything that bothered her now. She’d tried before and he wouldn’t listen; then she was too hurt and devastated to give it a second try.

But she wanted his comfort and his strong arms wrapped around her. If the heat in his eyes and desire pulsing off of him were any indication, he wanted more than that. One step upstairs and they’d probably be all over each other. She couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Connor took the decision away from her. He pointed toward the staircase. “Head up and we’ll regroup tomorrow.”

Ben reached for his shirt. “I’ll head home.”

That fast, Davis’s attention snapped from her to Ben. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Excuse me?”

“The second you walked into this office you made yourself a target. The safest place for you to be is with us,” Davis said.

Connor nodded. “I agree.”

The I-don’t-think-I-do expression on Ben’s face suggested he fell into a different camp on this issue. “Well, I don’t need a babysitter.”

Joel put his hand over the bandage. “And we don’t need a dead NCIS agent, so listen to the boss or we will knock you out.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open as Joel’s hand pressed harder.

Ben’s eyes actually watered. “You’ll have to do better than that. This isn’t my first interrogation.”

Connor nodded. “You heard the man.”

“The guy’s been in the field. Press harder. He can take it, though it would be smarter if he broke sooner rather than later,” Davis said.

Before she could speak up and stop the testosterone-fueled nonsense, Joel obeyed, even holding Ben still when he started to squirm. “Do you agree now, Special Agent?”

“I can’t...” Ben’s voice died on a sharp intake of breath.

Connor shook his head. “Ben, don’t be dumb. Think of it as an opportunity to study us.”

Much more of this and they’d accidentally send him to the hospital, so she tried to step in and offer a spark of common sense. “Pretend it’s part of your assignment.”

Joel shifted his weight. “This has to hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Ben said with a strained voice.

Men.
It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. “You’re about to pass out.”

Ben tried to shove Joel away. When that failed, Ben treated them all to a small nod then slumped in a panting heap when Joel finally let go.

“See, it’s always easiest if you just concede,” Davis said to Ben, but looked at her.

She wondered if he realized that theory ran both ways.

* * *

R
ONALD
PACED
M
ARTIN
’
S
gourmet kitchen. Nancy had dragged their lifeless but impeccably dressed children off to the symphony or some nonsense that young kids would dread. Glancing out over the acre of backyard, Ronald wondered if those poor kids ever got to play out there. No swing set or toys. There hadn’t even been a bike in the driveway when he’d pulled up.

But that was Nancy, always more concerned with appearances than anything else. Ronald knew from talking with Martin that she only agreed to live here, in a house she found inferior and a neighborhood she described as pedestrian, until Martin secured his NCIS position. He didn’t want her wealth to be an issue and insisted they maintain the pretense he paid most of the bills.

Ronald didn’t know if it was an ego thing or spite. It was hard to tell when dealing with a marriage based on lies and deceit.

Waiting until she left the house had tested Ronald’s patience. He’d never liked her and that opinion hadn’t changed one bit over time. If anything, he liked her even less now.

“This situation is exploding,” he said, jumping right to the point.

Martin wandered around the kitchen, picking up stray cups and wiping off counters. “Meaning?”

“Lara Bart’s employer is dead.”

Martin stopped while brushing some crumbs only he could see off the marble island. “I don’t know anything about that.”

That was Martin’s party line. He professed to never know about anything that could harm his reputation. “This all traces back to Steve. Who else could he have told?”

“I still don’t believe he intended to tell anyone.”

“He asked to be included in your security clearance. He contacted this Hampton company to add his name to the list. Who does that?”

“His loyalty never wavered.”

Ronald looked at his friend of over twenty years and wondered what life he was living. “When was the last time you talked to him before he was killed?”

“It had been more than a year. He tried after, but we didn’t connect.”

“What does that mean?”

“A few weeks ago he called here to talk to me, but I was out. He may have called back.” Martin waved the thought away. “Doesn’t matter. The point is Nancy and I talked about it and decided I should ignore the call. We agreed nothing good could come from renewing that friendship.”

Nancy—of course. Ronald figured she’d be at the center of any Martin screwup. Nothing had changed over the years on that score. “You didn’t think to tell me that piece of information? It explains everything. Steve didn’t just blurt something out. He tried to talk with you.”

“No. Steve wasn’t agitated or making threats. It was a routine check-in and nothing more.”

No, Ronald thought. It was the beginning of the end and Martin had missed the signs.