Survive the Fire Page 4

  “I don’t care! Make him leave.”

  Bewildered, Murphy fixated on Kate. The big dog tensed, waiting for a cue from him. Okay partner, what now? You’re not treating this scared female like a bad guy.

  “Down, Murph. She’s a friend.” Murphy sat. Liam turned to Kate, his heart sinking. Not adrenaline. Fear. “Why are you scared of dogs?”

  “I’m not.” She squared her shoulders. “But I don’t like big snarly ones.”

  Liam shook his head. What the fuck, Fate? The woman he couldn’t forget detested his best friend? “He’s not snarly.” Liam offered her his hand. She ignored it and clambered out on her own. He clenched his jaw. Shit, she mistrusted him as much as the dog.

  More than her appearance had changed. She’d erected a Kevlar shield around her heart.

  Doubt assailed him. The answer was as obvious as the difference between a hearing aid and a hand grenade. Maybe he’d imagined the connection between them. Maybe all this time, he’d been chasing a dream.

  Then why did the idea of walking away and never seeing her again hurt like a goddamn roadway spike-strip through his chest?

  Liam signaled the waiting teams all clear. The incident commander jogged over, followed by the Explosives Ordnance Disposal Unit and SWAT. The FBI agent heading up security training beat them all there. Special Agent Chuck Hanson’s skin had been baked by the desert sun to the same color and texture as his rattlesnake skin boots, and his merciless squint was vintage Dirty Harry.

  Liam normally collaborated well with the Feds. One of his best friends since junior high was a Feeb, which was why Riverside SWAT had received an invite to regional training. But getting along with Hanson took effort. The man had a hard-on for his job that made working with him a major ass-pain. Team members had deflected his know-every-damn-thing attitude and verbal barbs all week.

  The Vegas and Riverside SWAT teams—including Liam’s brothers Aidan, Con, and Grady—now secured the area while the EOD Unit secured the car.

  Hanson stalked up to Kate, thrust his face into hers. “Special Agent Chuck Hanson, FBI. Show me some ID. Now.”

  As Kate shifted uneasily, Liam moved to her side. “She’s the victim, Hanson, remember?”

  “That’s Special Agent Hanson, SWAT monkey. You’re no longer needed. Dismissed.”

  So much aggression thrummed in his graveled voice and taut stance that Murphy rumbled out a low growl.

  Hanson gripped his holstered pistol. “If you can’t control that animal, I will.”

  Liam had a rep as the easygoing brother, the family peacemaker. Sometimes, the most effective weapon to diffuse a volatile situation was a joke. But he couldn’t find one damn thing remotely funny about the current scenario. He signaled Murphy to heel, which put Liam between his dog and Hanson’s gun. “I don’t know what’s lodged up your ass and don’t give a chicken-fried fuck. But don’t take it out on Kate. And if you draw down on my dog, there’ll be no question about what’s lodged where.”

  “Threatening me, pretty boy?”

  Liam rested his palm on the Glock in his hip holster. Growing up in the middle of four brothers had taught him a thing or three about testosterone. And as a K-9 officer, he was trained to be the pack’s alpha male. Good-old-boy wanted a pissing contest? He’d oblige. “Just the facts, Chuck.”

  “Liam,” His oldest brother Aidan called from behind him. “What do you want EOD to do with the device before we tow the car? Leave it or contain it?”

  Aidan’s question throttled back the tension several notches, no doubt as his brother intended. Hanson eased his hand off his weapon. Liam turned his head and caught dual WTF? stares from Aidan and Con.

  Ignoring his perplexed brothers, he reached into the car for Kate’s black purse, which he passed to her over his shoulder. “It’s dead now. Leave it. I want to study that double anti-tamper switch, and figure out why it was ice-packed.”

  He swiveled to see Kate awkwardly fishing out her wallet with her left hand. And his heart damn near stopped. Multiple faded-to-pink scars streaked her right forearm from elbow to wrist and her right hand was stiffly curled inward at an unnatural angle.

  Holy Christ.

  The knife in his gut made it hard to breathe. She’d been badly hurt. Had lost the use of her hand. Lost the ability to paint. Lost the most meaningful thing in her life.

  What kind of accident had stolen her dreams—and her livelihood? Brutally murdered her future. Was she wounded anywhere else? Traumatic injuries would account for the weight loss and haunted expression. And her closed-off emotions.

  She held out her driver’s license to Hansen with a shaky left hand. “Someone’s been stalking me for over a year. He’s left notes and calla lilies, but this is the first time he’s tried to hurt me.”

  Hanson took the license. He reached inside his brown suit jacket—which he insisted on wearing even during the withering heat wave cooking Las Vegas—and extracted a cell phone. He stabbed out a number, raised the phone. “Run wants and warrants and current intel on Katherine Marie Chabeau.” He spelled her name, snapped out her birth date, model of car and license plate number.

  Liam concentrated on squelching his sorrow for Kate and his fury at Hanson. He studied her graceful profile. Katherine Marie Chabeau. He now knew her full name and birthday. And despite everything he still didn’t know about her, he’d fight legions of both heaven and hell to keep her safe.

  “No warrants, no priors, ten-four.” Hanson tucked away the phone. “You received a message from this ‘stalker’? Show me.”

  Kate pressed pale lips together. “I know this sounds ludicrous, but they ... crumble into ashes after I open and read them.”

  Hanson shot a skeptical look at Liam. “Bomb guy, explain that.”

  Hmm. “Hell, you can make explosives by mixing toilet bowl cleaner and tinfoil.” Liam shrugged. “Oxygen activates certain chemical compounds. If the right combo was applied to paper, then sealed airtight, it’s theoretically possible to create a note that’d ‘destruct’ after a few moments exposure to air.”

  “Theoretically?”

  “I’ve never lab-tested the idea. Obviously, Kate’s stalker mastered advanced chemistry.” To a scary degree.

  Hanson snorted at Kate. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies, missy. What the hell is really going on?”

  “I’m telling the truth. The lily is still in my car.”

  “Flowers are available at every supermarket. What did the note say?”

  “The same thing they all say. ‘I burn with passion for you, Katherine.’” She shuddered. “Except this one had an addition—‘I’m done waiting for you to come to your senses.’ I thought maybe he’d finally decided to leave me alone.”

  Liam tensed. Just the opposite.

  Hanson scratched his chin. “You just happened to see the bomb in time?”

  “When I started the engine, the domed lid slid off my mocha frappuccino. I leaned down to pick it up.” She gulped. “That’s when I saw the contraption under my seat.”

  Bile rose in Liam’s throat. She’d come so close to dying. A hankering for chocolate and a careless barista had saved her.

  Hanson stared at Kate’s license for several taut moments, then stared at her. “Dispatch told me you’re employed by Renée Allete, the French photographer.”

  At her nod, Liam did a double-take. Another freaky coincidence. The collector’s photography book on his coffee table lay open to one of Renée Allete’s now famous black-and-whites. He’d thumbed through the pages in a gallery and the picture hit him in the gut like a battering ram. He’d been compelled to buy the book.

  “Renée Allete is conducting an auction at the Venetian day after tomorrow.” Hanson looked pleased with himself. “A bomb scare would generate an ass-load of free publicity.”

  Kate’s jaw dropped. Before she recovered enough to reply, Liam jumped in. “Watch the shit-slinging, Hanson. I neutralized that device. It came damn close to turning us both into pink mist.”
<
br />   “Or that’s what Ms. Chabeau wanted you to think.”

  “That bomb was no publicity prank. It was built by someone who knows what they’re doing, and intended to kill. My dog didn’t recognize the accelerant.”

  Hanson frowned suspiciously as he returned Kate’s license. “A professional job?”

  Kate fumbled with her wallet. “I’ve made police reports about every note, in every city the past year. Madrid, Rome, London ...”

  “You’ve recently been in those specific cities?” Hanson’s eyes narrowed. “Turn around and put your hands on the car.” He reached inside his jacket for his cuffs. “I’m taking you in.”

  Kate gasped. “What? Why?”

  “Suspicion of terrorist activities.” He spun Kate and pushed her against the car. “I said turn around.” He yanked her left arm behind her and slapped on the cuffs, then the right. He gave no consideration to her disability, and she uttered a soft cry of distress. He shoved her legs apart and started to frisk her.

  Rage flashed through Liam’s veins, a det cord igniting C4. Years of training and discipline exploded in a red haze.

  He lunged for Hanson’s throat.

  Chapter 3

  1:00 p.m.

  Liam crashed into a wall of male bodies clad in battle gear. As the bloody haze dimmed, he recognized his brothers. Muscling him to the other side of the car took all three of them.

  Murphy growled and snapped. If anyone else had manhandled him, the dog would’ve already torn them apart.

  Liam struggled to break free. “Goddammit, get off me!”

  Aidan immobilized him in a loose chokehold. “What the hell put your balls in a vise?”

  Liam was forced to watch while Hanson marched Kate to his black SUV. “That fuckwit has his hands all over my woman! He hurt her!”

  Aidan, Con, and Grady exchanged silent communication. They clearly thought he’d lost his ever-loving mind.

  Maybe he had.

  Grady, the SWAT team’s paramedic, fisted his fingers in Liam’s hair. “Look at me.” He pulled Liam’s head back. “Did you inhale exhaust fumes while you were disarming the bomb?”

  Liam snarled. “Fuck you very much, asshole!”

  Murphy responded to Liam’s distress and leaped at Grady. Liam mustered enough self-restraint to call, “Murphy! Down!”

  Growling and trembling, Murphy reluctantly backed off and put his belly to the ground.

  Grady shrugged at Aidan. “Middle bro’s not foaming at the mouth, but maybe his rabies shot isn’t current.”

  Con’s grip relaxed and he ran his hands up and down Liam’s arms in a soothing motion. “C’mon, boyo, dial it down. What’s happening here?”

  Liam set his teeth as Hanson revved up the SUV and peeled out of the parking lot, taking Kate away. “Turn. Me. Loose.”

  With Hanson gone, his brothers released him, but surrounded him in a deceptively casual circle. Liam sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. He wasn’t going any-damn-where until they let him.

  Murphy moved to his left side and pressed against his thigh, offering silent backup. I’m here. Say the word, and we’ll take these cocky pups down.

  He ruffled the dog’s thick fur. “I don’t know if you remember, but Kate is the woman I met in Brogan’s Pub, two-and-a half years ago on St. Patrick’s Day.”

  That long ago night, the instant he’d seen her, Liam felt as stunned and disoriented as if a flash bang had exploded in his face. Then their lovemaking had forged a strange, compelling link between them. He’d thought she might be The One.

  Over the past two years, he’d stood up for both Aidan and Con as they’d happily married women they’d loved at first sight. In fact, friends and family had recently attended Aidan and Zoe’s barefoot beach wedding in Hawaii—everyone bedecked with purple flower leis. And Liam’s previously not romantic brother surprised the hell out of the guests, and the bride, by serenading her with “You Really Got a Hold on Me” during their first dance together as a brilliant sunset melted into the ocean. Though Liam still didn’t get why that’d sent Zoe into a fit of giggles.

  Liam rested his hand on Murphy’s head, taking comfort in his partner’s loyal support, his solid, unshakable presence. Why had the whole destiny thing gone ass-backwards for him? Maybe Pop had foreseen disaster. Maybe he’d known Liam would need the knowledge to sustain him until he could find her again.

  The woman he’d loved and lost the same night.

  The night an ancestral gift turned into a terrible curse.

  Liam stroked Murphy’s soft coat. “She’s ...” I think she might be my soul-mate. I have to know. Even though the idea makes me want to gear up in a blast suit. Even though I’ve only been with her once. Even though she seems to hate my guts, hate my dog, and believes I’m stalking her.

  Yeah. That sounded so fucking sane.

  He struggled for an explanation that wouldn’t have Grady reaching for a white jacket that buckled in the back. “Hanson will steamroll Kate. I have to protect her.”

  Three sets of serious stares regarded him for several seconds. Then Grady grinned. “Yee-haw! Love-’em-and-Leave-’em finally met a woman he can’t turn his back on.”

  But would she stomp all over his heart? Then walk out again, leaving a gaping hole in his chest? Regardless, he had to help her.

  Aidan nodded at Liam, brown eyes dark with empathy. “A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

  Con cocked his head. “But play your hand smart, not hard, little brother.”

  If they hadn’t intervened, he’d be cooling his jets in jail. Useless to Kate. “Okay, I hear ya.” He glanced at the thronged reporters in the distance. Shit, the media would’ve salivated over footage of him assaulting a federal officer.

  Aidan’s wife Zoe was somewhere in that media mob. She’d convinced Riverside station KKEY to let her accompany the SWAT team to Vegas and cover non-classified sectors of regional Homeland Security training. Zoe was smart, sympathetic, and chock-full of integrity, but even she couldn’t put a positive spin on Liam throttling a Fed.

  The last time he’d fully unleashed his temper was ... He couldn’t even remember.

  And he’d never lost his shit on the job. For Kate’s sake, he’d better calm his ass down. Fast. Tactical strategies, not tantrums. “Stand down, wankers. I’m over my case of the stupids.”

  His brothers opened the circle around him.

  “Hate to leave when the party’s just getting started, but I have a damsel in distress to rescue.” With Murphy trotting at his heels, Liam sprinted toward his Mustang, parked at the outer perimeter.

  Grady’s groan carried on the sweltering air. “Sonofabitch ... Deputy Dog’s been leashed.”

  * * *

  Law enforcement officers crowded the room where Kate perched stiffly on a metal chair, facing Agent Hanson across a narrow table. He’d briefly removed the cuffs for fingerprinting, but her arms were again bound behind her as he fired out question after question.

  The stocky incident commander from the bomb site, still in body armor, sat across the table flanking Hanson’s right. A redheaded detective in a dark suit and navy tie along with a uniformed gray-haired captain from the Vegas police department sat on Hanson’s left. A balding officer Hanson had addressed as Jerry guarded the door with his hand on his pistol as if she might make a break for it.

  Like she was nuts enough.

  Although, sitting in this stuffy, sweltering room with all these sweaty men? Ugh. Too much longer, and she might try.

  The testosterone patrol had angrily argued about who had jurisdiction after Hanson brought her in well over an hour ago. He’d Mirandized her but she hadn’t been charged. Although Hanson badgered her with questions, he wasn’t accepting her answers.

  None of the jerks were listening to her.

  Kate glanced at her pale reflection in the wall mirror. Who was on the other side looking in? Her arms ached, and the tension winching her temples had intensified into a screaming headache. Perfect tim
e for one of her recently-acquired migraines, when she needed a clear head. She shifted in the unforgiving chair. If only she could rub away the pain.

  Stay calm. Once she made everyone see it was all a huge misunderstanding, surely she’d be released. “Could you please remove these handcuffs? They’re hurting me.”

  “You bet.” Graveled voice falsely cheerful, Hanson gestured at the table that held a sweating pitcher of ice water and one clean glass. Everyone but her had something to drink. “Tell us who you work with, and we’ll uncuff you, get you water, aspirin, whatever.”

  Her headache must be obvious, big surprise. Jerry could probably hear her pulse clanging against her skull across the room. “I’ve explained four times it’s just me, with help from my admin assistant.”

  “Her name?”

  His name was Etienne Duplais. And she’d sit there until her brain leaked out her ears rather than sacrifice him to Hanson. If Etienne found out she’d been arrested, he’d pitch the mother of all hissy fits. Confronted by police, he’d completely lose his English. Who knew what he’d say? Her young protégé was impassioned and impetuous, but his artistic elan was infallible. “Not important. I’m responsible for overseeing everything.”

  “So you admit you planted the bomb yourself?”

  “No! The person who’s stalking me planted the bomb.”

  “With mysterious notes that self-destruct?” He snorted. “You expect us to swallow that shit sandwich?”

  “It’s the truth.” Liam had explained how. She glanced at the mirror once more, almost imagining she felt his electric presence. But Liam had gone into a huddle with his brothers during her arrest. Though her innocence must be obvious, the SWAT team apparently didn’t want to challenge the FBI. Liam hadn’t shown up at the police station, either.

  Why on earth would he? They’d had a one-night stand ages ago. She’d used him, then fled. But she’d never forgotten him. Never gotten over him.

  Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten her either. He claimed he’d tried to find her for four months. Had called over fourteen-hundred women. Obsessed much?