They made love face-to-face, eyes open, both of them knowing how lucky they were to be alive—and together. It felt to Laura like a celebration of love and life, and when she came, pleasure shimmering through in liquid waves, she couldn’t stop tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Afterward, Laura called her mother and grandmother, waking them to tell them what had happened. They listened, their faces showing Swedish stoicism until she finished. Then her mother insisted on speaking with Javier.
“Thank you once more for saving my daughter,” she said, tears in her eyes.
Laura and Javier made a supper of eggs and bacon together, then snuggled on the sofa, Laura still in her bathrobe, Javier in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Navy sweatshirt, the gas fire burning.
“I feel sick when I think of all the people who died because of
him
.” Laura couldn’t say his name. “Drew, my cameraman. Nico, Cody, and Tim, my security team. Sabira Mukhari, the safe house director. Ali Al Zahrani. Sean Michael Edwards. They all died because he wanted to kill
me
, to get back at me for doing my job.”
“Believe it or not,
bella
, the person he hated most was himself. He wanted to believe he was Special Forces material, when some part of him knew you were right—he was just a loser.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a true sociopath until today. I should have known from that first interview that something was wrong with him. He got so . . .
personal
.”
“Nah, how could you? You genuinely care about people. He was a manipulator. Hell, that
mamabicho
used me to commit murder. I thought it was strange that Edwards was laughing, but I never would have thought . . .” Javier’s eyes closed for a moment, and Laura knew he felt remorse. “I wish I’d kicked the shit out of the poor guy instead of pulling the trigger and killing him.”
The conversation drifted, and soon Laura found herself telling him about those last terrifying minutes when she thought she was going to die.
“Random thoughts started running through my mind. How bad I felt for my mother and grandmother that they would have to go through this again. How I hoped they would keep up the fight to free Klara. How much I wished . . .” Laura’s throat went tight. She swallowed. “How much I wished I’d gotten to hold my little girl.”
Javier stroked Laura’s hair. “One day, you will.”
Oh, she hoped so.
“It wasn’t all regrets. I felt so grateful for every moment that I’ve spent with you. It might sound strange, but I was glad I was going to die as myself and not as Al-Nassar’s victim.”
“It makes sense to me.” Javier held her closer. “Strength of the spirit is harder to build than physical strength, and you fought a battle of spirit today. I heard what you said to him. You kept your fear under control. You were a warrior.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“A hunch.”
She listened as he told her how he’d remembered that the dynamite had been stolen from a construction site in Adams County. When Zach had told him the construction site was just to the north of him, he’d decided it couldn’t be a coincidence. Kimball hadn’t had much time to plan and was falling back on something familiar.
“Your hunch was right. Lucky for me.”
“Lucky for us both. When I saw your car . . .
Ay dios mio.
” He swore softly in Spanish. “I haven’t felt that way since the State Department declared you dead. It hit me in the gut so hard that I . . . All I knew was that I had to get to you. I can’t imagine my life without you.”
He’d never told her he loved her, but Laura knew it all the same. Those words were proof to her. She wrapped her heart around them, held on to them.
“You’ll be leaving on Sunday. I’m going to finish the VA story tomorrow morning, and then I’m taking the rest of the day and Friday off. I don’t care what Tom has to say about it. I want to spend that time with you.”
Javier kissed her temple. “I’d like that.”
* * *
LAURA WENT INTO
the paper the next morning and rewrote the VA article, pulling out the bogus interview that Kimball had given her, and left the paper early, telling Tom not to expect her till Monday.
Tom wasn’t happy. “You
do
plan on returning to work full-time at your full-time job at some point in the near future.”
“Yes, starting Monday.”
“And when Carmichael needs to interview you for a follow-up piece on your abduction and all this shit with Al Zahrani and Edwards—”
“He can call me at home.”
She arrived at the loft to find a surprise waiting for her.
Derek Tower.
The only thing more astonishing than the sight of him sitting on her sofa was the fact that Javier hadn’t thrown him out.
“I didn’t call because I knew you’d say no,” he said. “I came to apologize. I was hired to keep you safe, and I failed. I’ve read the report. I know how Kimball turned your cell into a roving bug. I’d heard of that technology, but never imagined anyone outside federal law enforcement or military intelligence could get their hands on it. I wish I’d taken it more seriously. I’ve already issued a statement to the press retracting my allegations against you and taking responsibility for Tower Global’s failure to protect you. Bottom line, Ms. Nilsson, I owe you, and I’m a man who pays his debts.”
He handed her his card. “Call if you need me.”
Laura was left speechless.
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER
had just come back from dinner at the Wynkoop Brewing Company, the restaurant they’d have gone to if the paper hadn’t been car-bombed, when Zach and Petras called and asked to come by.
Zach went first. “Over the past twenty-four hours, we’ve been following Ted Hollis’s trail—that’s Theodore Hollis Kimball—and we’ve been able to piece together a good picture of his activities using his cell phone records, a laptop we found in his motel room, and the information he gave you, Laura. Fill them in if you will, Petras.”
“Kimball has been hiring himself out as a mercenary in the Middle East for some time, using a series of aliases and falsified documents. But after you came back to the U.S., Ms. Nilsson, he began working his way back here. He arrived in Denver roughly four months ago and began planning to kill you. He probably followed you, observed your routine. We know he studied the location of city surveillance cameras.”
Petras told them how Kimball had gotten reacquainted with his old war buddy Sean Michael Edwards, taking advantage of the man’s cognitive disabilities to use him to buy materials for the bomb. Always careful to wear gloves, he’d mixed the ANFO and assembled the detonator at Edwards’s house.
He’d found Ali Al Zahrani’s name on a list of members of the Middle Eastern Connection, a student club, and had followed Ali and learned his daily routine. After that, he began visiting the Al Zahranis’ home when no one was home to plant evidence for investigators. He wanted to make the bombing seem like an act of terrorism.
“On the morning of the bombing, he shot and killed the boy when he was on his way to class, stuffing him into his own car, packing it full of ANFO, and rigging it to explode. Careful to avoid streets with surveillance cameras, he drove it to the newspaper, parked, and walked a few blocks away to a coffee shop, which is where he was when he detonated the bomb.”
A cold chill ran down Laura’s spine. “He told me he wanted to hear me die.”
“He didn’t get that chance, did he?” Javier said.
“When the car bomb didn’t work, Kimball waited for another crack at you,” Zach said. “That opportunity came when he heard about your appearance on Channel Twelve.”
“A very ill-advised television appearance, I might add,” Petras said.
Zach ignored him. “We’ll probably never know exactly what went on with Edwards. We believe Kimball tried to get Edwards to hate you—which may explain the photos of you on his wall. Most came from old articles about the investigation that exposed them. It could be that he hoped to use Edwards as a weapon against you, Laura, but that didn’t work. Then Kimball decided to use Edwards in another way. If he could convince police they’d found their killer, your security detail would be called off, and he’d have another chance at you. All the evidence was in place—the traces of explosives at Edwards’s apartment, the firearms Kimball stored there. All he had to do was put Edwards in an incriminating position—and make sure he couldn’t talk.”
Javier finished the thought. “So he groomed Edwards to commit suicide by SEAL, playing games with those replica pellet guns, and then handing him the loaded M1911 with the painted muzzle.”
Laura squeezed Javier’s hand. She knew how much he regretted causing Edwards’s death.
“That’s it exactly,” Zach said. “And it almost worked. You played a key role at a critical moment, Corbray. You both played key roles in this. Laura, your insights into what had really happened with Ali Al Zahrani were vital.”
Petras took over again. “From what we can tell, he planned to go into hiding for a while, but then you called and offered to come to him. He didn’t have much time, so he bought gas—we found receipts for a half dozen gas stations—and used what was actually a garage door opener to convince you he had a detonator.”
“A garage door opener?” Laura was astonished. She looked over at Javier. “Did you know it wasn’t a detonator? Is that why you just went ahead and shot him?”
Javier shook his head. “Stupid
cabrón
had it clutched tight in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was.”
“Thank God it’s all over.” Laura didn’t want to think about it any longer.
“Being on a terrorist kill list is a lifetime commitment,” Petras said.
What did he mean by that?
Javier glared at him. “A month ago you gave her shit for wanting you to take the threats against her seriously, and now you’re telling her she faces a lifetime of this?”
“I don’t know that it’s that grave.” Zach glared at Petras, too. “In the wake of the bombing, various federal agencies that monitor suspected terrorist sympathizers found an uptick in interest in you, Laura. As a result, we’ve upgraded our threat assessment. There’s no immediate danger, but you should continue to take precautions. You have my word that we will stay on top of it.”
Laura refused to let this news shake her
. “Thank you, Zach. Thank you both.”
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER
ignored the world for the next two days. No news. No Internet. No e-mail. Javier played his guitar and sang love songs for Laura in Spanish. They talked and laughed and made love with the same abandon they’d known in Dubai. Except that this wasn’t a fling between two people determined to maintain their independence. It was love between a man and a woman who knew how easy it was to lose
everything
.
* * *
AS MUCH AS
Laura tried to ignore it, Sunday came, dawning far too early. She made Javier’s breakfast while he packed, checked in with his flight, and printed his boarding pass. They ate together, Laura doing her best to be cheerful when inside she felt like she was breaking.
She’d vowed to herself she wouldn’t cry. He was returning to his job, a job for which he’d spent his life training, a job few men could do, one that was vital to the security of the nation. How selfish it would be of her to try to hold him back or make him feel worse about leaving by forcing him to deal with her tears. He was a special operator, a SEAL, and loving him meant accepting the fact that he would be gone—and in danger—much of the time.
She drove him to the airport, where Nate was waiting to say good-bye. Javier checked in his duffel bag and guitar case, and the three of them stood talking, the minutes seeming to race by until it was time for Javier to go.
He and Nate embraced, slapping each other on the back.
“Thanks, bro. You’re the best friend a man could have. Do me a favor and watch over Laura, okay?”
“You got it. She’s welcome at the ranch any time.” They shook hands. “Happy hunting, Corbray. Damn, it was good to see you.”
“I’ll be back.”
Nate glanced over at Laura, raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you will be.”
And then it was time for Laura to say good-bye.
She sank into Javier’s embrace and held him tight, savoring the precious feel of his arms around her. She turned her face up to his and kissed him, unable to hold back her tears. “Promise me you’ll do everything you can to stay safe. I love you, Javier Corbray. My world wouldn’t be whole without you in it.”
“I promise.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t know when I’ll be in touch again, but you’ve got my numbers. I’ll answer e-mails when I can and call you whenever I get the chance. If you need anything, call Nate or McBride.”
She nodded, sniffed, tried to smile.
He ducked down, kissed her. “I love you. Remember that, okay? No matter what,
bella
, you remember that.”
Laura nodded, then watched, her heart aching, as he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER
31
Two months later
JAVIER CROUCHED DOWN,
his suppressed HK416 raised and ready, NVGs giving him a clear view of the darkened street beyond. He watched for motion, for any sign that they’d been noticed, covering for Ross as he placed an explosive charge on the locked front gate. They took cover.
BAM!
A dog across the street barked, roused by the blast.
The gate swung open.
They moved swiftly and silently toward the front door, the men lining up on either side, staying out of the line of fire.
Javier tested the handle, found it unlocked. He nudged it open and caught a glimpse of an empty hallway.
He entered, Desprez and the rest of the team following him in a tight line. They cleared room after room, finding mostly sleeping women and children, Javier making a mental inventory of people old enough to offer resistance—men, women, older boys.
They found him in a room upstairs. He lay asleep on the floor on a bed of cushions, an AK propped against the wall near his head, a young woman sleeping beside him—one of his wives. Javier confiscated the AK and handed it to Reeves, who was watching his six with Tower, the rest of the team downstairs to cover their exfil route.
Javier moved in on the bastard and jabbed him in the head with the tip of his suppressor. “Wake up, motherfucker.”
Salman Al-Nassar’s eyes opened, and he sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at Javier, reaching for the missing AK and muttering something in Arabic.
“Look at him,” Javier said to Tower. “It’s a nightmare—and it’s real.”
Tower barked something at the bastard in Arabic.
Javier stuck with English. “I know you understand me, so listen very carefully. We don’t want to hurt any of the women or children here, but if you fuck with us, we’ll take this place apart—starting with you. Have I got your attention?”
Salman nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. “Yes.”
“You know why we’re here?”
The man nodded again. “You came for the girl.”
“Wake the woman. Tell her to be quiet. Send her to get the girl.”
The man shook the woman beside him and woke her, covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. She stared wide-eyed up at Javier as her husband spoke in rapid Arabic. She climbed out of bed and hurried past Javier and out the door, her long, dark hair hanging down her back, Tower following behind her.
Salman glared at Javier. “My brother is going to be a martyr.”
“Your brother is a murdering, raping terrorist asshole. He’s going to rot in hell. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you join him.”
From somewhere nearby, he heard a woman cry out.
And then Tower was there, a sleeping toddler in his arms, dark hair spilling over the blanket, her little face so much like Laura’s that Javier didn’t need a DNA test to know this was Klara.
A woman appeared in the doorway, a distressed look on her face. She spoke in Arabic to the man, who hissed at her. She fell silent.
Javier walked over to her. “Safiya?”
Her eyes went wide.
He held his rifle against her chest and glared down into her face, letting the full force of the hatred he felt for her come through. He asked Tower to translate. “Tell her that this little girl was never hers to take or hold. Tell her that it is only for the sake of her children that I don’t pull this trigger right now.”
Tower translated, but the translation went on so long that Javier was pretty sure the man had added a few thoughts of his own.
Trembling, Safiya sank to the floor, terror on her face.
Javier turned back to Salman. “This ends here, dawg. You or any of your terrorist buddies try to harm Laura Nilsson or her baby girl, and I will personally hunt you down and rip your balls off. Got that?”
Salman nodded.
Javier turned to Tower and Reeves. “Time to go.”
* * *
LAURA BENT DOWN
so that Karima Al Zahrani could kiss her cheeks.
“You have restored Ali’s memory, Laura. Please know that you are always welcome in our home.”
“Thank you.” Laura forced the words past the lump in her throat. “It was the least I could do.”
Laura had spent the past few weeks putting together a feature package about Ali—his life, his dreams, his accomplishments—her way of helping Denver face the murder of an innocent young man whom most had been only too hasty to condemn. The article, which Laura had felt deeply driven to write, had finally run in today’s paper. She’d called Karima and Yusif to ask whether she could drop a copy of the edition by their house and had arrived to find their entire family gathered together. When they’d invited her to stay for dinner, she hadn’t been able to refuse.
It was a balm to her heart to see smiles on their faces.
Yusif offered her his right hand. “Thank you, Laura. You are a woman of good heart.
Ma’salaam.
”
Farewell.
“Thank you. And farewell.”
Then Hussein Al Zahrani, Ali’s uncle, stood. A proud man and devout, he did not offer to shake her hand. Instead, he stood before her, a sheen of tears in his eyes. “As Ali was my nephew, so you are my niece, Laura. If there is anything you need, call upon me. I will help you if I can.
Inshallah.
”
God willing.
“Thank you. You are very gracious.
Ma’salaam.
”
Under the watchful gazes of Ali’s father and uncle, she walked to her car. The night was warm, the sky bright with stars, the air scented with lilacs. Winter had finally given way to spring. She made the drive back to The Ironworks through quiet streets, her mind turning to Javier as it always did.
God, she missed him.
Two months had gone by since he’d left for Coronado. She’d gotten a few e-mails, and he’d called twice. He hadn’t been able to tell her where he was or what he was doing, but it had been wonderful to hear his voice. She’d been certain the last time they’d spoken that he was out of the country. It might have been the bad connection that had given it away. Or it might have been the goat bleating in the background.
That had been two weeks ago.
She’d been watching reports on the newswire since then, looking for international news that might indicate where U.S. SEAL teams might be deployed, but that had proven to be about as effective as consulting a crystal ball. She could do nothing for him but pray, and so she did, just as she’d done every night since her rescue. Only now she didn’t have to pray for “the tall SEAL,” because he had a name.
About Klara she’d heard nothing—not a single call from Erik in weeks.
She let herself into her loft, checked her e-mail for messages from Javier, then settled in for the night, fighting a growing sense of melancholy. She sank into a tub of hot lavender-scented water and tried to let her worries float away.
Four years ago, a day like today would have felt like a great success. She’d put together a feature story she was proud of, a story that had made a difference in someone’s life. And although it
did
mean a lot to her, there was a loneliness to her daily routine that she couldn’t ignore, an emptiness that stole the shine off even the most positive moments.
It wasn’t that she lacked friends. The ordeal with Kimball had brought her closer to her colleagues and opened the door to deep friendships with Sophie, Megan, and Janet. Laura was grateful to have them in her life, but friends couldn’t make up for the loved ones who were absent—Klara and Javier.
She’d always been comfortable in her solitude, but without Javier the loft now seemed empty. She missed his voice, the music he played on his guitar, the sound of his laughter. And sex. Yes, she missed that, too. Having the evenings and weekends free to do whatever she wanted—something she had once cherished about being single—wasn’t nearly as satisfying as doing those things with Javier.
But that’s what it meant to love a military man. Other women managed to cope with the long separations and periods of silence. So would Laura.
She closed her eyes, inhaled the soft scent of lavender, let her mind drift.
But rather than relaxing, she found herself wondering what it would be like to work and live in San Diego. She could get a journalism job pretty much anywhere in the world provided there was an opening. She liked the ocean, liked sunshine and palm trees. But was she willing to leave the paper, sell the loft, and move across the country just to be closer to a man?
As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer.
Yes, she was. Oh, yes, she was—as long as that man was Javier.
But how would he feel about that? He’d never talked about living together or getting married. Then again, neither had she.
She soaked until the water was lukewarm, then dried off with a fluffy towel and slipped into her bathrobe. Out in the living room, she set her iPod to play the mix Javier made for her—a mix of the songs that he’d played for her and songs that they’d danced to. She hugged her arms around herself to ease the ache and, without realizing it, began to dance in slow circles where they had danced together that special night.
Her phone rang.
She jumped, startled, and ran to get it from her handbag. “This is Laura.”
“Erik here. Please don’t ask questions. Catch the next flight to Stockholm. E-mail me your itinerary, and I’ll send a car for you.”
Laura’s pulse raced. “Erik?”
Had they found Klara?
“I’ll see you when you get here.”
* * *
LAURA LEFT A
message for Tom, telling him she had to fly to Sweden for a family emergency, then called Janet to cancel their visit this weekend. She was sorry to do that because Janet, who’d been much more seriously injured than anyone had told Laura, was still adjusting to her new life and needed both help and company.
Janet took it with good spirits. “Have a safe trip. I hope everything is okay.”
Laura managed to catch a late flight to New York, then flew standby to Reykjavik, Iceland. From there, she caught another flight to Sweden, arriving at Stockholm Arlanda Airport twenty hours after getting Erik’s call. As he’d promised, a car was waiting for her at the airport, even though it was only seven in the morning.
Sitting in the backseat, she called her mother, whose surprised squeal almost split Laura’s right eardrum. “I’m not sure why I’m here. He just told me to catch a flight, and so I came.”
“This must have to do with Klara. Do you think she’s here?”
Laura couldn’t fathom how that could be possible. “The last I heard from him, the Pakistani government had no idea where she’d been taken. Even if they’d found her again, it would take months to win custody of her.”
Still Laura dared to hope.
Was it possible that Klara would be flying home with her?
The thought made her pulse trip.
“Ring us as soon as you know.”
“I will.”
Pumped up on caffeine and adrenaline, she looked out the window, the familiar streets of Stockholm seeming strange to her, the city awash in the grays of clouds, sea, and rain. It was only when they passed Rosenbad, the street that was home to the foreign ministry, that she realized he wasn’t taking her to Erik’s office. He headed into Östermalm, passing Humlegården and the Royal Library before turning into a gate that led to a private courtyard of a three-story residence.
The car drew to a stop. “The minister is expecting you, Miss Nilsson.”
Laura thanked the driver and stepped out, the air chilly. She made her way to the black double doors and rang the bell, too tense to stand still.
If the Swedish government had somehow won Klara’s freedom, why couldn’t Erik simply tell her so over the phone? Why was it so essential that she come to Stockholm at once? Was it possible that something terrible had happened, that they’d discovered Klara had been killed or . . . ?
Laura’s stomach turned, even as her logical mind told her Erik wouldn’t have made her fly halfway around the world to get bad news. She drew a deep breath, tried to rein in her imagination.
The door opened.
Erik gave her a tired smile, lines of stress on his face, his blond hair looking like he hadn’t combed it since getting up. “Come in. Did you have a good flight?”
“Yes. All the connections went smoothly.” Laura stepped inside and wiped her feet, wishing Erik would skip the small talk and tell her why she was here.
“Let’s step into my office.” He motioned toward a closed door to her right.
She followed him inside—and froze.
“Javier?”
He stood by Erik’s desk wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, a smile on his handsome face. “Hey,
bella
.”
* * *
JAVIER WAS IN
deep shit, but the moment he saw Laura, that no longer mattered. He couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face. “God, it’s good to see you.”
She rushed into his arms and held him tight, as if she thought he might disappear. “What are you doing here?”
Had it been only two months since he’d seen her? It felt like an eternity.
“That’s a long story.”
Erik’s voice cut in. “Mr. Corbray is under house arrest. He claims he acted alone, but I find that rather hard to believe. He showed up on my doorstep early yesterday morning with Klara in his arms—”
“Klara is
here
?” Laura looked from Erik to Javier, eyes wide.
Javier nodded, unable to keep from smiling. “She’s a beautiful little girl, Laura. She has your face and the sweetest blue eyes—”
Erik interrupted. “Mr. Corbray took Klara by force and entered Sweden illegally. I should report him to police, but instead I’ve confined him to my home and am doing my best to keep this secret. On the one hand, I don’t want it to become an international incident. On the other, I don’t want to break the law. But if I follow official procedure, I would have to hand Klara over to the Pakistani delegation. That is the dilemma Mr. Corbray brought to my door.”
Laura’s eyes were still wide, and it was clear to Javier that she wasn’t picking up anything Erik was saying. “M-my daughter . . . is
here
?”
“Yes, she is.” Erik went on. “I have been working round the clock with a few individuals in the Swedish government to ensure that Klara can remain in the country. We’ll give her Swedish citizenship, give her a Swedish passport, but this is all very irregular. If the parties in Pakistan come forward—”