Striking Distance (13 page)

Kissing him had felt like coming home, everything about it precious, familiar—his scent, his taste, his ability to make her lips burn. Yes, she had enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed it so much she’d forgotten about everything else, an almost desperate need overtaking her. Not lust. It had been far more than lust. A need to touch and be touched. A need for intimacy. A need to reclaim her sexuality, to put bad memories to rest, to feel like a woman again.

She’d sat through dinner watching Megan and Nate, catching their glances. The love in Nate’s eyes as he looked at his wife. Megan’s absolute devotion to her husband. Their shared love for little Emily, the daughter Megan had lost and reclaimed, the child Nate had adopted, not caring how she’d come into this world. And some part of Laura had dared to hope that she could have the same thing—her daughter, a man who would love Klara no matter who her biological father was, a family.

But Megan deserved her happiness. She’d fought like hell for Emily. She hadn’t turned her back and walked away from her.

Nothing—and I mean
nada
—can change the way I feel about you.

Javier believed that, but if he knew . . .

God, how she wished she could go to him right now. She’d walk to his room, take off her nightgown, and show him the faint silver lines on her belly. She could tell him how she’d turned her back and left her two-month-old baby girl in the hands of terrorists to flee with the SEALs.

He would stare at her, a horrified look on his face, and he’d ask questions.

Yes, of course, she’d known the baby girl was hers. How could she not? What woman could carry a baby for nine months and not realize she was pregnant? Or give birth on a dirty floor and not understand that she’d just had a baby? She would have to be crazy, wouldn’t she?

Wouldn’t she?

Laura rolled onto her side, a bitter torrent of regret surging through her, followed by an overwhelming sense of loathing for the weak, broken woman she’d been. If only she’d taken time to think before she’d run. If only she’d grabbed Klara from Safiya’s arms. If only she’d told the SEALs.

If only . . .

Whatever mistreatment Klara suffered, she suffered because of Laura.

Oh, Klara, I’m so sorry! I am so sorry!

Laura’s cell phone rang, startling her, making her gasp.

She sat and reached for it. “This is Laura.”

“Hi, Laura.”

Her heart gave a thud.

Derek Tower.

“What—”

“Here’s what’s going to happen. Tomorrow, you’re going to find out that the U.S. Marshal Service has taken me off its list of fugitives and issued an apology. You’ll read in the paper how I offered to consult with federal authorities on the car bombing in an effort to help them find whoever it is who wants to kill you, and you’ll issue a statement thanking me for my help.” He paused for a moment. “Okay, maybe not that last bit, but the rest of it
will
happen. Then you and I are going to meet face-to-face and have a nice, long conversation about the good old days in Pakistan.”

Her temper kicked in. “So you’re psychic now as well as psycho?”

“You disappoint me, Ms. Nilsson. I had you figured for a smart chick, but maybe what they say about blondes is true. Or maybe it’s that bump you took on the head. Do you really believe I’m mixed up with terrorists and trying to kill you?”

If he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done it that night in her car. Then again, he’d gone away angry that night.

“Are you?”

“I want the truth about why my men are dead. Since you’re the key to my getting that info, terminating you wouldn’t make much sense, would it?”

Laura started to answer, only to realize Tower had already ended the call.

CHAPTER

11

THEY STAYED UP
at the Cimarron for the rest of the week. Surrounded by the stillness of the mountains and the hospitality of the West family, Laura felt herself begin to relax. She slept away hours of each day, likely a result of the concussion, spending the rest of her time getting to know her hosts, savoring Jack’s amazing home-cooked meals, and enjoying the fresh mountain air.

While Javier helped Nate tend the ranch’s horses and its herd of Angus, Laura spent time with Megan and Emily. She found herself fascinated by Emily’s sunny smile, her quick mind, and her imagination, whether Emily was trying to braid her hair, drawing pictures with crayons at the kitchen table, or showing Laura how to feed treats to her favorite horse, a big palomino gelding named Buckwheat. Watching Megan and Emily together put an ache in Laura’s chest, the love between mother and child sharpening her regret—and her determination.

That was how it would be for her and Klara one day.

Laura and Megan had lots of time to talk. Laura found that despite the dramatic differences in their upbringings, she felt a deep connection to Megan, the violence they’d survived marking them as women in such a way that their differences didn’t matter. How strange that something horrible could lay a foundation for friendship.

Time seemed to stand still up at the Cimarron. After reporting Derek Tower’s call to Zach, she’d turned off her cell phone and wasn’t even checking messages. Apart from checking in with her mother via e-mail a couple of times, she ignored the Internet, too. She didn’t want to know what was going on in the world. Monday would come soon enough and with it a return to so many things she didn’t want to think about. Besides, there were too many fun distractions here.

On Wednesday, they went on a sleigh ride, Laura and Javier sitting in the back under a warm wool blanket while Nate held the reins, Megan and Emily beside him.

On Thursday, she went cross-country skiing for the first time in years, sticking to easy terrain both because she was out of practice and because she didn’t want to fall and bump her head again. On Friday, she went out with Nate and Javier to see the north herd, watching while the men spread hay for the hungry animals.

When they got back to the house, Jack told them the news: Al-Nassar had been found guilty by the jury on all charges against him, with a sentencing hearing set for the middle of March—a month from now. Jack made a big chocolate cake to celebrate the news, even putting candles on the top for Laura to blow out. Turning the verdict into a party wasn’t something that would have occurred to Laura, and it felt special to share that precious, hard-fought triumph with them.

The only downside of being at the ranch was spending so little time alone with Javier. The kiss they’d shared in the sauna had reignited something inside Laura, a raw current seeming to arc between them with every touch, every glance, every word they shared. All Javier had to do to make her heart beat faster was smile. She felt like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush—except that there was nothing childlike about her feelings for him and nowhere for her feelings to go. And yet, apart from the times when he was out on the land with Nate, he was never far away. He sat beside her at meals, put his arm around her shoulder when they watched DVDs in the evening, walked her to her room and kissed her on the cheek every night when she went to bed.

Their last afternoon at the ranch was spent grilling on the porch, the day unusually warm, the sky bright and blue. They’d just finished eating when Emily got down from her booster seat, took her grandpa Jack’s hand, and disappeared into the house, a secret smile on her cute little face. When they returned, they were each carrying a big gift-wrapped box topped with a bright red bow. Emily brought hers to Laura, while Jack handed his to Javier.

“What is this?” Laura asked Emily, who popped a finger in her mouth and smiled, looking over at her grandfather.

“Open it and find out,” Jack offered.

Laura tore through the wrapping paper and ripped open her box to find a white cowboy hat. She laughed, lifted it carefully from the box, and realized it was the real thing. “Will you show me how to wear it, Emily?”

Emily nodded, stood on the picnic bench beside Laura, and helped Laura settle it on her head. “Now you’re a cowgirl like me.”

Laura hugged Emily, the little girl precious in her arms. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Now we’re talking.” Javier’s was black. He took it out and settled it on his head, pulling it low over his eyes. “How do I look,
bella
?”

He looked incredibly, unbelievably . . .
hot
.

Laura met his gaze, saw the warmth and humor in his brown eyes, and found herself struggling to form a coherent sentence. “He . . . um . . . looks very handsome, don’t you think, Emily?”

Emily looked over at Javier and gave a shy smile.

Javier grinned. “Maybe the ranching life is for me—getting up early to feed the cows, fixing fences, eating steak.”

“Steers, bro. Those were steers.”

Laura laughed along with the others.

“I bet some of your best rodeo stars are Puerto Rican. Am I right?” Javier adjusted the hat on his head. “We
Boricuas
—we are everywhere, man.”

“That’s the Javier I know.” Nate rolled his eyes, shook his head.

“We wanted you to know you’re always welcome here, come rain or shine, tarnation or hellfire,” Jack said. “You’re both a part of this place, and it’s a part of you.”

Laura smiled. “Thank you, Jack. Thanks to all of you.”

* * *

“I SAW YOU
playing with that little girl,” Javier said as they drove toward the highway, his gaze warm. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother some day.”

He had no idea how deeply his words cut her.

* * *

THEY ARRIVED BACK
in Denver Sunday evening to find that Tower had told Laura the truth, the backlog of e-mails and news articles like an onslaught after five days of quiet. Laura read through them one by one, determined not to lose the sense of peace she’d gained from her time at the ranch, but it wasn’t easy. The media were making Tower out to be the selfless hero who was helping to keep Laura safe despite her suspicions toward him. He was no longer a suspect in the bombing, and the Washington office of the U.S. Marshal Service had, indeed, apologized in what must have felt like a smack in the face to Zach and the Colorado office.

Laura called her attorney and left a message asking her to begin the process of getting a restraining order against Tower. He might not be behind the bombing, but that didn’t mean she had to put up with him.

“Don’t let him get to you,
bella
,” Javier said when he kissed her good night, leaving her to sleep alone while he took the guest room.

* * *

MONDAY MORNING FOUND
Laura sitting at her desk, joining the morning I-Team meeting via Skype, while Javier took a shower. As much as she had enjoyed her time up at the Cimarron, it felt good to be getting back to work again, even if that meant enduring the image of Tom Trent’s scowling face on her monitor.

“You’re late, Harker. What’s on your plate?” he asked Matt.

Matt’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “The city is moving to condemn a stroke palace on Colfax—a place called Candy’s Emporium.”

“A stroke palace?” Kat asked. “What’s that?”

Laura had no idea what that meant either.

“Uh, yeah . . .” Matt stammered.

“Candy’s is basically a cross between a porn arcade and a strip club.” That was Alex. “Men go there to jack off.”

Stroke
palace?

Ew.

“Apparently, customers get a helping hand at Candy’s. Police have been trying to shut it down for years but have never been able to prove what was happening there, so the city decided to take a different approach and went after the building’s owners for violating fire codes. I’m guessing about fifteen inches.”

“Can we get photos?” That was Syd, the managing editor.

“Done.” Joaquin said. “I went by there yesterday. That place is pretty seedy.”

“See if you can get interviews with some of the working girls,” Tom said. “Find out what impact this has on them.”

“I’ll be happy to take that on if you don’t have time, Harker,” Alex offered.

Laura rolled her eyes.

“Carmichael, since you seem to have energy and spare time, you’re next.” Tom’s gaze shifted to his left. “You’ve got follow-up stories about the bombing and the Al-Nassar verdict.”

“The feds aren’t sharing anything new at this point. I can see what the talking heads at the alphabet soup agencies have to say, write an update, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the same as Friday.”

Judging from his expression, Tom didn’t like this. “I want the bombing on the front page every day until it’s resolved. Some asshole tried to take out one of my reporters and damned near killed the entire I-Team staff. What about an interview with the kid’s parents?”

“I’ve called four times. I’ll try again.” Alex sounded irritated.

Then Tom looked directly at Laura. “Are you privy to any info the feds haven’t felt like sharing with the public?”

Laura stiffened. “No. I haven’t spoken with anyone from the FBI or the Marshal Service since last week.”

Surely Tom realized she couldn’t share information from an active investigation just because she worked for the paper.

His gaze shifted back to Alex. “Get me something—an interview with a source close to the investigation, the kid’s parents, witnesses. I want at least ten inches on this, enough for a decent headline.”

“Whatever you say.” Alex was definitely irritated. “There was a gang-related killing in the state pen overnight. The suspected head of one of the Mexican nationalist gangs was found dead in his cell this morning with his throat slit. Word is that the head of the white supremacist group green-lighted the murder from his cell in D-seg. I’d like to report this—maybe ten inches—and use it as a springboard for a bigger piece about gangs in Colorado prisons.”

While Tom and Alex discussed possible angles for Alex’s proposed story, Laura looked over her notes, knowing it was almost her turn in the hot seat. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Javier. Her breath caught, her mind going blank. He stood in her office doorway wearing nothing but a towel. In the sauna, seeing him dressed like this had been one thing. But seeing him standing in her office, daylight highlighting his muscles, making his dark skin gleam . . .

“Can I use your washer?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, unable to keep from raking him with her gaze.

“Nilsson, you there?” Tom looked into the computer screen.

“Yes.” Laura glanced down at her notes. “I need to finish my interview with Ted Hollis, the man I was speaking with when the bomb went off. I’ve got two more soldiers I’d like to interview after that. I’m slated to talk to the local coordinator for the VA’s PTSD program tomorrow. I’d like to talk to the regional VA director, as well, but he keeps shunting me over to the PR flack. I hope to have a story by Friday.”

Laura glanced back over her shoulder, but Javier was gone.

* * *

MCBRIDE SHOWED UP
with Callahan at fifteen hundred hours to brief Laura on the investigation. Javier could tell the man was pissed. So was he.

“I’ve never known the Marshal Service to back down like this. Tower must have powerful friends in Washington. He also has an alibi. A friend of his claims he was in D.C. at the time the bomb went off. I’m sure it’s false, but I can’t prove that. He came in voluntarily and answered our questions, even offered to help, which makes him look good. Officially, he’s no longer a person of interest in this case, but unofficially . . .”

Laura nodded. “I understand.”

Javier stood to her right, the tension inside him making it impossible for him to sit. “What about all the phone calls, the way he followed her to her car? What about the bruises he left on her wrists?”

McBride didn’t seem to take Javier’s frustration personally. “The district attorney has declined to prosecute the case. He bought into Tower’s claim that Tower would never have touched Laura if she hadn’t held a gun on him. He says one incident of following Laura to her car doesn’t constitute stalking. But if Tower continues to call you or comes near you again, Laura, we’ll arrest the son of a bitch and charge him with violating the restraining order. He won’t be able to squirm out of that.”

The order, signed by a judge on his lunch hour, thanks to Laura’s very determined attorney, sat on Laura’s coffee table beside half-empty coffee cups.

Tower was making the most of his fifteen minutes of fame to repeat his lies about her being to blame in some way for her own abduction and the deaths of his men, and this time some of the papers had taken the bait, dredging up old news stories, reexamining the State Department’s report. The bastard was a master schemer, and he’d taken advantage of the bombing to manipulate the media.

But Javier was willing to bet Laura knew more about the media than Tower did—and she had her own contacts. She’d already been interviewed by her editor for a piece in tomorrow’s paper, and she’d left a message for her former anchor, who’d been more than happy to give her a segment on Thursday’s primetime broadcast.

Laura reached out, touched McBride’s hand. “Thanks. This isn’t your fault.”

McBride turned to Detective Callahan. “I believe you wanted to update Laura on your investigation.”

Detective Callahan nodded, dark circles beneath his blue eyes proof he’d been putting in long hours. “We’ve collected debris from the bomb site and from the body and have been able to piece together the explosive device.”

“Have you learned anything definite so far?” Laura asked.

Callahan nodded. “We know that the bomber used dynamite stolen from a construction site in Adams County to use as a primer. The dynamite was detonated by cell phone. A call was made to a cell phone connected to an SCR switch.”

When it was clear that this meant nothing to Laura, Javier knelt down beside the coffee table, took her reporter’s notepad and pen, and began to sketch. “A call to the cell phone sends current through the phone. The current passes through a nine-volt battery that is wired into a blasting cap. The blasting cap is what sets off the dynamite, which in turn ignites the ANFO. We saw shit like this all the time in Iraq and Afghanistan.”