The Spy Who Saved Christmas (6 page)

So when had she made up with her sister? Eileen was the name, he thought. He was dialing his FBI handler as he headed back to his car.

“Hey. The asset we lost tonight… Her apartment was trashed. Send someone out here for fingerprints. See if the neighbors noticed anyone coming and going and maybe have a description. Can you get into her police file right now? Okay. I need her sister’s ad dress.” He memorized the information. “I’ll call if I have anything.”

He was in a cutesy cul-de-sac near Philly less than two hours later, bungalow houses that were probably thirty, forty years old lined the street, each sitting on about a fifth of an acre. He pulled into the driveway of a house with the number he’d been looking for. The lights were on.

Which meant he couldn’t push in a back window and investigate on his own. He would have to ask permission. Because he sure as hell didn’t have time to wait for a warrant.

He got out of the car, walked up to the door and knocked. It was seven in the morning.

A red-eyed woman opened the door. She was a few years older than Jen had been, same color irises, different color hair. She was clutching a wad of tissues in her hand.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Reid Graham. I know I’m coming at a bad time, but I need to ask some questions about your sister.”

Tears welled. “I already told everything to the detective.” She swallowed a sob, pressing the wad of tissues to her nose.

She assumed that he was another cop, like the one who’d come to inform her of her sister’s death, and he didn’t correct her. The assumption worked fine for him.

“We’ve had some developments since,” he said simply.

That did the trick. She motioned him in.

The house was as modest inside as it was outside, clean and well-kept, like Lara’s place. Except this home was decorated within an inch of its life with ribbons and ruffles, a Victorian medley of roses and lace that made him dizzy. The Christmas decorations were equally overwhelming and exuberant. He sat in a pink flowery armchair—accented with a red-and-white candy-cane patterned throw and matching decorative pillow—refusing to let it intimidate him.

She sagged onto the couch, which was smothered in Christmas pillows. “Do you know who killed her?”

“Not yet.”

“I told the other detective that she was running with bad people. Kenny, her boyfriend… Creepy guy. Even violent.” She sniffed.

“We’re certainly investigating that angle. Could you tell me when you last saw your sister?”

“Yesterday.” The word brought a new batch of tears. “We haven’t really talked in years. She showed up out of the blue. She said she regretted running off with Kenny. I called Mom right after she left. We were so happy that she came to her senses. She was going to have a baby.” Eileen gave a loud sob.

“How long was she here?”

“She was in a hurry. I shouldn’t have let her go. Oh, God, if I only knew…”

“Can you tell me exactly what she did while she was here, what rooms she went into, everything she touched?”

A few rapid blinks came. “Why?”

“I have reason to believe that she left something here.”

“She didn’t.”

“She wouldn’t have told you.”

Eileen’s back stiffened. “But I would have seen her.”

“Mind if I look anyway? If I’m right, the evidence can put her killer away for a long time. And it can save the lives of many others.”

Eileen hesitated for only a second before she nodded. Then she stood and walked toward a hall closet. “Jen came in. She took her coat off. I put it in the closet for her.”

“Mind if I check?”

“Go ahead.”

He rifled through coat pockets, even checked inside boots. Then he pulled out a large, brown purse and handed it to Eileen. “Would you look through it to make sure there’s nothing in there that shouldn’t be?”

She did as he asked, shook her head when she was done. “Just the things I always carry.”

“Thank you. What did she do after she came in?”

“We had coffee.” She led the way to the kitchen. “She sat here.”

He checked all the drawers within arm’s length. Nothing. “And then?”

“We talked a little. She was nervous. And then she left.”

“Are you sure?”

Eileen nodded. But then she said, “She used the bathroom first.” She pointed down the hallway.

He strode into the small space, looked around. A pine-scented candle burned in the window. Nothing seemed out of place. He looked in the medicine cabinet. It held the usual: makeup and pills, toothbrushes. Nothing but cleaning supplies under the sink. He picked through the garbage, even looked under the trash-can liner. Nothing. He looked under a snowman-patterned floor mat. Nothing. He opened the tank. Empty, save for water.

Dammit.

He needed the information on that CD. He glanced at his watch. It was close to 8:00 a.m., Sunday. He had six days until Christmas. Every instinct he had said that whatever attack Kenny’s group was planning was going to come on Christmas Day. Their communications had become more and more frequent as the holidays approached. There was a marked increase in their phone and Internet activity. The cell leader’s identity was unknown. The FBI had a list of foot soldiers, but had determined that picking any of them up would gain little information while resulting in increased security within the cell, putting them on guard. Only the men at the very top would know the exact details of the attack. They’d keep everyone else in the dark until the very last moment to prevent a leak.

Kenny Briggs, however, had earned a promotion not that long ago, according to an informant who’d dropped off the face of the earth since his last report. Unfortunately, the FBI hadn’t been able to find him for further questioning. Neither could they find Kenny. He kept slipping through their fingers.

Reid had been counting on Jen’s CD.

They’d been this close before. In Hopeville they’d almost had Jimmy Sparks, another thug who’d worked his way up in the cell. But then Reid’s cover had been blown and Jimmy had disappeared. He couldn’t let that happen again.

He was ready to turn when his eyes caught on the open toilet lid. It was decorated with a fuzzy toilet cover, held in place by a circle of elastic. He closed the lid, pulled the cover off—same snowman pattern as the bathmat.

“Hot damn,” he whispered under his breath.

“You found it?” Eileen’s eyes were round with surprise when he came back to her.

“Lucky for everyone involved. I need your permission to take it, or I’ll have to call in for a warrant.”

“You can take it.”

Of course, he still had to have her sign a form giving him permission to take custody of the evidence. Luckily, he had just such a form in his pocket. He’d taken one to the meeting with Jen, in case she had something for him. Never got around to having her sign it for that cell phone. Which was now with Ben. Ben was a whiz with everything electronic. He could break the code and download the call history from the cell, even if it had been deleted.

He whipped out the sheet and slid it on the counter. “Would you sign here?”

Five minutes later, he was in his car, heading away from Philly, talking on his phone to Mark Adams, his FBI handler. “I have the CD. I need someone to meet me and pick it up. Then I’m heading back to the safe house. As soon as you have the info from the CD, you can send it over there for me. I’ll ask Ben to leave his laptop.”

“Good work, Graham. Where are you?”

He gave his location.

“Okay. Take the next exit. Pull over at the back of the truck stop. What car do you have?”

He gave make, model and license plate.

“I’ll have someone there to pick up the evidence in an hour. And, hey, the Allen guy you were asking about was found. Apparently, he was shaken up and went out back for a smoke. Then he had a panic attack or some thing and passed out. He’s fine now. They let him go home.”

He called Ben’s cell phone next to check up on them. The line was busy. He had call waiting, so he’d know Reid was trying to check in. If he couldn’t talk now, he’d call back later. And he remembered that he hadn’t called out for food before he’d left. They’d probably gotten hungry. Ben was probably ordering.

He tossed the phone on the passenger seat and took the next exit. Once he’d pulled behind the truck stop, there was nothing to do but wait, which did little for his resolution to not think about Lara and the babies.

Over the years, he’d talked himself into believing that she hadn’t meant any more to him than the others, that there hadn’t been anything special between them. The last couple of hours had blasted that nice, comfortable facade to hell.

Dammit.

He should have known all along. If she hadn’t been anyone special, he wouldn’t have broken all the rules and slept with her in the first place. If she didn’t mean more than the others, he could have forgotten her over the past two years. The truth was, he had little power to resist, and even less good judgment when it came to Lara Jordan.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have kissed her tonight in the safe house’s kitchen.

Otherwise, he would now be thinking of nothing but the job, instead of wishing for impossible things.

Getting distracted was the very best way to get both of them killed. He wouldn’t have it. They had a past. A past that had more to it than he’d thought.
Zak and Nate.

That had been a shock. He could have kids. At some point, he needed to sit down and think about the implications of that. His life was partially based on the assumption that he would never be a family man, never be a father. He was now. A father. To twins.

Well, he was the worst person ever to attempt to raise kids. He’d never be around, for one. Two, his job was dangerous. What if someone figured out that he had a family? What if they decided to use his family to get to him?

Having any kind of relationship in the future with Lara and the boys was out of the question. For their sake.

He would help financially. Through a third party. Make sure the money couldn’t be traced. That was the best thing he could do. That was the safest thing he could do.

Logic said he needed distance.

A dull ache deep inside his chest said something else. He decided to ignore that ache.

It wasn’t like he would miss them. The very thought was completely illogical. He barely knew Lara and he didn’t know the boys at all. You couldn’t miss people you didn’t know.

The pickup car’s arrival interrupted his musings. The agent showed ID. Signed for the evidence. Bagged it properly.

Then Reid was on his way back to the safe house. His mind swam with all the thoughts and questions he had regarding those kids. Lara and he needed to have a good, long talk about this.

He picked up his phone to call Ben again to make sure that everything was okay, but it rang before he could dial.

“Have you heard from Ben?” Adams asked.

“I was just about to call him.”

“He’s not answering his phone. Gunshots were reported in the neighborhood. Local law enforcement is on the way.”

He closed the phone and tossed it on the passenger seat, stepped on the gas and shot down the highway, ignoring when horns blared all around him. The very thing he wanted to avoid the most—Lara and the boys in danger because of him—had already become reality.
Dammit.

He was at least thirty minutes away. Even as the needle on the speedometer climbed up, he knew he’d be too late.

The drive to the safe house was the longest of his life. He’d been tortured before, brutally, when the pain that seemed to have no beginning and no end had the power to bring time to a standstill. Now, as then, the seconds ticked away with a desperate, agonizing slowness that drove him crazy.

It was nearly noon by the time he was finally flying down the right street. The sight of cop cars and two ambulances by the curb was enough to make him go gray. He pulled over and jumped from his car, burst into the house—and nearly got shot.

“Reid Graham, I’m with the FBI.” He flashed his temporary badge as guns pointed at him. “Where are they?”

The two officers inside the living room lowered their weapons, scowling at him for causing unnecessary excitement.

“Your man?” one of them asked, gesturing to the corner.

Ben, unconscious, lay on the floor, a pool of blood under his head. Half of one ear was missing. Looked like he was shot from behind.

Anger twisted through Reid. “How is he?”

“Massive head trauma,” an EMT said without looking up as they transferred Ben onto a waiting stretcher. “But if he makes it to the hospital he has a chance.”

“The woman and the babies?” Reid demanded.

Then Lara’s broken voice came from somewhere in the rear of the house, and his heart gave a hard thud. He pushed his way past the men as they rolled the stretcher out. In the hall, another officer was coming from the babies’ room. Reid identified himself again. The man nodded and kept going, letting him pass.

The first thing he saw in the small bedroom was another EMT. Then the man shifted, and Reid spotted Lara sitting on the bed, a large bruise on her cheek. She looked catatonic, her eyes staring but not seeing, tears shining on her checks, trying to get away from the man who was treating her.

No babies.

Some people reacted to strong emotions like fear and anger by blowing up like a volcano. Reid had a stone-cold rage that others sometimes mistook for calmness, missing the killer instinct behind the controlled facade. He held strong and still, when what he wanted to do was tear the whole damn house apart. But he would wait and focus his powers of destruction until he found the men who were responsible. Then God help the bastards.

“Lara?” He stepped closer.

The EMT was treating lacerations on her knuckles and wrists with one hand, holding her on the bed with the other. “Take it easy. I wish you’d lie down, ma’am.”

She didn’t say a word, just tried to get past him. If she weren’t so drugged, she would have evaded him, but as it was, her movements were too slow and uncoordinated.

“How is she?” Reid’s control kept his voice even. The EMT glanced at him for a split second before focusing back on his work, wrapping gauze around Lara’s wrist. “They tied her up. Wounds are mostly superficial, but she’ll have to keep them clean to prevent infection.”