06 Double Danger Page 13

  “But if the explosion destroyed the apartment where they were making the bombs, then shouldn’t that have been the end of it?” Simon asked.

  “There could have been more than one location. Or even if there wasn’t, it’s easy enough to put together the kind of explosion they rigged for the SUV. Little bombs like that can be made pretty much anywhere. It’s the bigger ones, like the one at the seaport, that need specialized equipment and special handling.”

  “Great, so now it could have been anybody,” Drake said, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “For all we know, the attack wasn’t even related.”

  “I’ll know more when I’ve had a chance to look through the rubble, but I think I can safely say that it was related. We just don’t know how. Or more specifically, why.”

  “Why is easy,” Simon said. “The bastards hate us. We keep cutting them off at the knees.”

  “So if these guys are so bomb happy,” Harrison mused, “why not an explosion at the gallery or Lester’s apartment?”

  “I don’t think Lester thought either was in danger of giving anything away. And he was right about the apartment. The forensics team found nothing.” Tyler shrugged. “And as to the gallery, so far Nash hasn’t found anything that might link to Dearborn, Wilderman, or any of the other players.”

  “So what have you found on Lester so far?” Simon asked, turning his attention to Avery.

  “Nothing to tie him to the bombings yet, but Hannah is still digging and Nash is still at the gallery. It’s a big place, maybe there’s still something to find.”

  “But you don’t think so?” Drake prompted, his gaze on Avery.

  “No. I don’t. I think Lester was too smart for that. The only hope we really have, evidencewise, is the computer.”

  “Still running diagnostics to try to restore it,” Harrison said. “But the presence of the key logger on Wilderman’s machine would point to Lester as a major player.”

  “Agreed.” Avery nodded. “And his death might very well mean that we’re actually past endgame.”

  “With them on the losing side,” Drake agreed.

  “Yeah, well, I’d say trying to blow us up is a funny way to end the chapter,” Simon said.

  “I meant the threat to the city. I’m thinking that it was a one-two punch. First the hospital and then the seaport. But we managed to avert the bigger of the two strikes, thanks to you, Simon. I’d say anyone else involved is probably running for cover right about now.”

  “So what about the SUV?” Simon asked.

  “I’m thinking that the attack was personal. Someone who wanted payback for our thwarting their plans. And possibly for killing Lester.”

  “That would explain his dying comment,” Drake said. “But somehow, I can’t help but feel as if the other shoe is still waiting to drop.”

  “We should know more by the morning.” Avery stood up as J.J. walked into the waiting room, her gait measured and her face pale. If there’d been any doubt that the night had taken its toll on her, there was none now.

  “You okay?” Simon asked, rushing over to slide an arm around her, not caring what the hell it looked like. He just needed to touch her—to reassure himself that she was all right.

  “Just a couple of cuts and a few new bruises,” she said. “The doctor said I was lucky.”

  “I think we should all count our blessings tonight,” Avery agreed. “And to that end, Jillian, I want you to go back to the brownstone. Simon will take you. You need some rest.”

  “But, I…” she started, then faded as she stumbled and leaned into Simon for support.

  “You’ve been through a lot, and you need some down time. Nothing major is going to happen tonight,” Avery assured her. “But if something breaks, we’ll come get you. Okay?”

  She nodded, pulling away from Simon, clearly determined to stand on her own two feet. And Simon felt a rush of something both possessive and proud. J.J.—Jillian was a force to be reckoned with. Although he had no right to feel either emotion. J.J. wasn’t his. And no amount of wishful thinking on his part was going to change the fact.

  CHAPTER 11

  The sitting room on the third floor of the brownstone was dark, which suited Jillian just fine. Her head was spinning, images of the carnage of the past few days running on an endless loop—the final scene with Lester, eyes widening slightly in surprise as her bullet ripped through him.

  She’d killed a man. A man linked to two terrorist attacks, but still a living, breathing human being. And she’d shot him without a second’s hesitation, her only thought to save Simon. And now she had blood on her hands. And like Lady Macbeth, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be truly clean again.

  She knew that it had been justifiable, but it didn’t change the fact that in the moment, she’d been carried forward by rage. Emotion winning out over logic with lethal consequences. Was that how it had been for Ryan? His rage so powerful that it overcame any sense of love—of basic decency?

  She’d been raised in a military family. And she understood that there were times when violence was unavoidable—even called for—but it had always been an abstract concept. Something affecting other people. Until it had become part of her everyday existence.

  She’d always wondered why a woman wouldn’t just walk away. Run for her life and never look back. But then she’d never understood the guilt. The shame. The feelings of complete worthlessness. Even with Ryan dead and buried, she’d still been trying to justify it. Find ways to forgive him. As if in doing so, she was somehow forgiving herself. But those days were behind her. She’d fought the darkness and come out on the other side. And she’d sworn it would never happen again.

  So she should feel elated. She’d not only stood her ground, she’d fought the enemy and she’d won. Wasn’t that why she’d joined Homeland Security in the first place? But instead, she just felt sick to her stomach, as if she’d stepped off of a precipice into an endless abyss.

  She blew out a breath, wrapping her arms around herself, the lights of the building across the way twinkling in the deep shadows of what had to be early morning by now. She was supposed to be sleeping. But closing her eyes only made it worse. So she’d decided to go downstairs, offer her help. Harrison and Hannah were still working, trying to find something on Lester. Surely doing something beat the hell out of sitting here trying to keep from falling to pieces.

  But despite her best intentions, she hadn’t made it farther than the sitting room and the sofa, her eyes on the trees outside the window, her mind replaying the last moments of Norman Lester’s life over and over again.

  Behind her a floorboard creaked, and she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her reaction was intense and immediate. She jerked to her feet, twisting around, leading with a fist. But he caught her wrist before she could make contact, his fingers burning into her skin. Fear raced through her, and she fought to free herself, her mind still locked on the events in the warehouse.

  “Easy, J.J.,” Simon said, as the little voice in her head insisted that he wasn’t here to hurt her. “It’s just me.”

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Confusion warred with her fear, and suddenly she just felt tired. As if all the life had been sucked out of her. She sagged, and Simon caught her, his strong arms supporting her as he helped her back to the sofa.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” she broke off, the recent past blending with other, more painful memories. Ones she’d sworn never to share with Simon. Ryan had been Simon’s best friend, and Ryan was dead. There was nothing to be gained by opening old wounds.

  And yet, they’d been opened, the little voice stubbornly whispered. The minute she’d seen Simon again.

  “Sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said, almost as if he’d read her mind. “Everyone deals with taking a life differently. But no one handles it easily. So you don’t need to apologize for anything.”

  She sighed, relieved and disappointed all at the same time. She’d believed once that they we
re connected on some cosmic level. But she’d been a fool. A silly girl who believed in fairy tales and fantasy. Now, as a grown woman, she knew better.

  And yet, sitting here, his fingers massaging her palm, his deep green eyes full of concern, she found herself doubting, some part of her wanting to give in to the comfort she knew he was offering.

  “I’m just having trouble sleeping,” she said, pulling her hand free, forcing herself to push aside her rioting emotions. “I keep seeing… him… you know, just before I… It’s like a movie I can’t turn off. It just keeps playing over and over again.”

  “I know this doesn’t help,” he said, his voice gentle, “but it will get better. And for what it’s worth, you probably saved my life. Even with the vest, if Lester had gotten off a second shot—”

  She shivered, the image of Simon lying on the floor of the gallery presenting itself front and center, and this time when he slid an arm around her, she didn’t shrug him off. “Were you like this? The first time you had to kill someone?”

  There was silence as Simon considered her words, the darkened room somehow making the question seem more intimate. “It was different for me, but yeah, I had nightmares for a while. Still do sometimes.”

  “Different how?” she asked, feeling his warmth seep into her.

  “Well, it was the heat of battle for one thing. Bullets and mortar shells flying every which way. We were jammed up in a mountain pass. Cut off and waiting for help to arrive. You can’t imagine how chaotic it is. Sometimes you can’t even tell who’s shooting at whom.”

  “Oh, my God, did you?” Her eyes widened as a horrible thought planted itself in her brain. “It wasn’t…”

  “No, not friendly fire. I didn’t kill one of my own. Although it happens. More often than anyone wants to admit. No, the way we were situated, it was easy enough to tell friendlies from hostiles. It’s just that the latter were mostly kids. Armed to the teeth and determined to take us out—but still kids. So that’s who I see in my nightmares. A kid who was barely old enough to shave. He wanted me dead, and in my own way, I suppose I wanted him dead, too. So we fought. Each of us trying to win the day.” He paused again, clearly remembering. “In the end, I made it out of there alive, and he didn’t.”

  “But you had no choice,” she said, surprised at how important it was to defend him.

  “There’s always a choice, J.J. And although I believe I made the right one—the only one, all things considered—it didn’t make the idea of it any easier to stomach.”

  “So why did you keep doing it then? The incident you’re talking about was years ago, right? And yet, you kept on fighting. Kept reupping and going back. Surely there was a moment when you wanted out?”

  “There were a lot of times I wanted to run. Usually in the heat of a firefight, when leaving wasn’t an option. But even if I could have left, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Because you’re an honorable man.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He shook his head, a muscle tightening in his jaw as he shifted, breaking contact. “We all have things in our lives that we’d change if we could. But I believe in what I’m doing. Whether it’s on the front lines in Afghanistan or here on the home front with A-Tac, I honestly believe I’m making the world a safer place. At the end of the day, I’m a soldier. Which means that what I do is always going to be dangerous. And I’m always going to hold other people’s lives in my hands. It’s not an easy life, but it’s what I’ve chosen. And I’m good at it. At least most of the time.”

  “I’d say more often than not.” She sighed, tipping back her head so that she could see him better, the street light highlighting the strong line of his jaw. “You have to take comfort in the fact that you’ve saved far more lives than you’ve taken.”

  “But you know now that it doesn’t work that way.” His voice held a trace of bitterness, and she thought about how many years had passed since the carefree days of college. They’d both grown up. Simon into a warrior. And she… well, she was still working on it.

  “No. You’re right.” She sighed. “It doesn’t. But if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t handle it differently. I’d still kill him.”

  “And you’d still feel remorse. It’s the one thing that sets us apart from serial killers and psychopaths. We care. And as long as that’s there, then I think we have to believe we’re going to be okay.”

  “But it’ll never be the same. You can never go back to the way you felt before.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But that’s not always such a bad thing either. I believe that things happen for a reason.”

  “Like Ryan dying.” She could feel him tense, even though they were no longer touching.

  “I should have qualified my statement.” His words were clipped, pain coloring his expression. “I should have said most things happen for a reason.” He looked down at her hands, his frown deepening. “You’re not wearing Ryan’s ring.”

  It was a straightforward question, but the answer was far from simple. “I… just…” She tucked her left hand under her leg, searching for the right words, a feasible explanation. One that wouldn’t demand that she bare her soul. “It was easier. Seeing it there was just too painful.”

  Silence swelled, Ryan’s specter floating between them, creating a gulf she wasn’t sure they could ever cross. Maybe it was for the best. And yet, when Simon made the move to go, she reached for his hand again.

  “Stay with me, Simon,” she whispered. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

  He nodded, reaching out to pull her into his arms, his strength surrounding her. She closed her eyes, letting the cadence of his breathing soothe her. And from somewhere out of the mists of memory, she remembered another night—long ago.

  College. Freshman year. She’d had a date for a dance with an upperclassman. A jock. The kind of guy every girl went wild for. She’d spent days finding the right dress. And on that night, she’d spent forever getting ready, wanting to look perfect. Only he’d never shown. He’d gone instead with another girl. She’d been devastated—and mortified.

  But Simon had found out somehow, and he’d come to her dorm. He threatened to murder the guy. And then he’d taken her to the dance. It had been the most wonderful night of her life—the upperclassman completely forgotten. She could still feel Simon’s arms as they’d tightened around her, the two of them swaying to the music, the scent of his aftershave surrounding her, his breath warm against her cheek. He’d been her knight in shining armor.

  Jillian sighed, closing her eyes as she listened to the steady cadence of his heart, the past and the present, at least for the moment, seeming one and the same.

  The sky outside the window was starting to lighten, which meant, of course, that it was almost time to get up and face the day. Simon looked down at J.J., still curled up against him, her hair splayed out across his chest.

  He wasn’t usually big on regret, but just at the moment, he was feeling more than just guilt. He was feeling as if he’d lost something he’d never really had in the first place. And she was still lying here beside him. He’d held her through the night, watching as she slept. Remembering the past. Wondering if he could have done something to make it all turn out differently.

  But there was no pushing back the clock. Even though she’d reached out to him last night, Ryan’s shadow still hovered between them. And when she woke, she was going to remember who he was and what his rash decisions had taken from her. His heart constricted at the thought.

  Ryan and Jillian had been happy. That much he was certain of. Of course, he’d stayed away as much as possible, but he’d spent a hell of a lot of time holed up in Godforsaken places with Ryan, and his friend had been fond of talking about his wife and their life together. Hell, he’d been so proud of her. How well she’d fit in as a Navy wife and how he couldn’t possibly live without her.

  And Simon had smiled and agreed and never let Ryan know just how deep his jealousy had gone. How much he had wanted J.J
. for himself. Jesus, he was a fucking bastard. He’d not only coveted his friend’s wife, he’d sent him into an impossible situation and gotten him killed. And now… shit, now he was holding her as she slept, thinking about how badly he wanted to bury himself inside her.

  What kind of man had he become?

  One who wanted Jillian Montgomery, for the girl she’d once been and for the woman she’d become. It was as simple as that.

  He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and her eyes flickered open. He knew the time had come for them to talk. He could see it in the shadow that chased across her face, but he couldn’t bear the idea of breaking the spell, so instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. They might not be able to surmount the events in their past, but right now, in this moment, he was determined to keep reality at bay for at least a little while longer.

  It was selfish. But he didn’t care. He needed to feel himself inside her, to create something he could hold on to after all of this was over and she’d walked away. He’d made his choices—and there was always a price to pay, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish it were different sometimes. Especially right now, holding J.J.

  He pulled her closer, relieved when she responded in kind, her body pressing tightly against his. He kissed her lips, and then her cheeks, and the tender place on her neck that made her shiver. He ran his palms over her shoulders, letting them slide along the curve of her back, and across her ass, then up again until he cupped both breasts.

  She moaned low in her throat, grinding against him, and he circled each nipple with the pads of his thumbs, delighting in the fact that she responded to him so quickly. With a little cry, she opened her mouth, their tongues tangling together as their desire took control. They thrust and parried—taking and giving, every touch ratcheting up the degree of pleasure.

  He traced the line of her lips with his tongue, nipping the corners of her mouth, before trailing kisses along her cheek to the soft lobe of her ear. He bit against it, feeling her respond beneath his touch. He knew her so well, and yet he didn’t know her at all.