06 Double Danger (13 page)

“You’re sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? I mean, after everything you’ve been through.”

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” Hannah said with a laugh as she walked out of the room.

“She has a point.” Simon had moved closer now, standing only inches away, his breath warm against her cheek. “You were injured to start with. And now…” he trailed off, looking at the bloody gauze in the trashcan.

“I told you it’s just a cut and a few stitches. Nothing to worry about. But your leg—”

“Is going to be just fine.” He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “Thanks to you.”

“I already told you it was nothing.” Her brain was telling her to move. To widen the distance between them, but the rest of her wasn’t listening, concentrating instead on the cadence of his breathing and the silvery flecks in the depths of his eyes.

“Like hell.” He leaned closer, framing her face with his hands. She tried to ignore the feel of his skin against
hers, but memory surfaced, and she caught her breath, waiting. “You’ve always had my back, J.J.”

“I just reacted in the moment,” she whispered. “I saw what he was going to do, and all I could think was that he was going to hurt you. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The minute the words were out, she regretted them. But he took them as an invitation, his lips closing on hers, the heat of contact setting her nerves on fire. And for just a moment, she allowed herself the pleasure, opening to him, their tongues touching, tasting. Drinking deeply. Sharing a passion born of fear and relief and other emotions she wasn’t willing to put a name to, the past and the present blending together, the horrors of the last few days receding against the power of their attraction.

In the circle of his arms she felt safe.

And trapped.

She’d been here before. And she knew the cost was too high. She’d only just found herself again. And she’d sworn that she wouldn’t let anyone take that away. Not even Simon.

Especially not Simon.

She pushed away, rubbing the back of her hand against her lips. “I’m sorry. We can’t. I can’t.” The words were low, almost a whisper, but he reacted as if she’d yelled them, stepping back, his expression impossible to read.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I took advantage—”

“No. I was right there with you. It’s just…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say. There was so much standing between them.

“Ryan,” he said, having no idea just how right he
actually was. “I know. And like I said, I was out of line. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

She nodded, knowing it was the right decision, and yet wishing somehow that it could be different. And as he turned to walk out the door, she reminded herself that loving a soldier came with a high price. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Hannah that losing Ryan had been far worse than anything she’d ever imagined. What she hadn’t said, however, was that on the day the soldiers had stood at her door, when she’d been so frightened for Simon, she’d also wished Ryan dead. And the guilt still clawed at her, refusing to let her go.

“Okay, people,” Avery said, settling in at the head of the large table in the brownstone’s war room. The whole team was gathered there. Harrison and Hannah in one corner, huddled around their computers. Nash and Drake flanking Avery on the right side of the table with Tyler and J.J. on the left, their blonde heads bent together as they whispered about something.

Simon settled at the far end of the table, his gaze still on J.J., who was smiling over at Avery now. She’d certainly managed to make herself an integral part of the team in short order. Not that he begrudged her the fact. She’d already proven her mettle, saving his ass in the warehouse. Hell, maybe that was the problem. He was supposed to be the one doing the saving.

Or maybe it was just the fact that he’d let his emotions get the better of him and kissed her. What the hell had he been thinking? Even if there wasn’t the ghost of Ryan standing between them, there was still the matter of behaving in a professional manner. He sure as shit
wouldn’t have kissed Drake for saving his life. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. J.J. had always managed to get under his skin.

But her heart had always belonged to Ryan.

A small voice at the back of his head reminded him of a crisp spring night at an off-campus party, but he ignored it. It had always been Ryan. And even if it hadn’t, she’d sure as hell picked him in the end. And now, thanks to his own arrogance, she’d lost Ryan forever.

Same song. Millionth verse. He’d been out of line. And he wasn’t going to let it happen again. Not that he had a choice. She’d made it pretty damn clear how she’d felt about things. And now—well, now she could hardly look him in the eyes.

He was a first-class shit, no question about it.

And yet, truth be told, he wasn’t actually sorry he’d done it. She tasted just exactly the way he’d remembered. Her lips soft and pliant. And if things were different…

But they weren’t. And there was a hell of a lot more at stake than his libido. He blew out a breath and forced himself to focus on Avery.

“Bottom line,” Avery was saying, “it looks like we’ve had two terrorist attacks in a matter of days. And the only culprits we’ve been able to directly tie to the events are dead.”

“But we can’t know for certain that the second bombing was meant as an actual attack,” Nash said. “It’s possible that Simon and Jillian interrupted the bomber, and he fled the scene, detonating only when he had no other choice.”

“Well, even so, I don’t think that lessens the impact,” J.J. said. “The warehouse was destroyed, the FDR
overpass seriously damaged, and at least eight people lost their lives.”

“So we’re damn lucky that Simon and Jillian got there when they did,” Tyler said.

“Don’t look at me.” J.J. shook her head in protest. “Simon is the one who tackled the guy and then chased him into the warehouse.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one that kept me from getting blown to hell.” He waited, hoping that she’d finally look at him, but instead she lifted a shoulder, her attention still on Avery standing at the front of the room.

“Look, the point is that without the two of you being on the scene, things might have been a hell of a lot worse,” Hannah said. “If that guy had detonated in the actual seaport… There were literally hundreds of people present.”

“But what if the seaport wasn’t the target?” J.J. asked. “What if the guy wouldn’t have detonated at all if we hadn’t arrived at the apartment and spooked him?”

“At least from my perspective,” Tyler said, resting her chin in her hands, elbows planted on the table, “I’d have to say the seaport was the target. First off you have the proximity of the apartment. It’s not practical to try to transport a bomb any great distance, no matter how portable.”

“Especially with the city on alert after what happened at the hospital,” Nash agreed.

“And second, you have the fact that the guy was wearing the bomb. You saw the vest, right?” Tyler turned to Simon.

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded on a sigh. “Believe me, the image is burned into my head.”

“Okay, so if he wasn’t planning to detonate at the seaport, what the hell was he doing wearing the bomb?”

“Testing it?” Hannah suggested. “For weight or something?”

“It’s possible,” Tyler admitted, “but not likely. Even the most dedicated zealot isn’t going to want to lounge around in the thing. Even for a test. You’re lucky the damn think didn’t go off when you tackled him, Simon. Besides, there’s also the fact that the apartment was rigged to blow.”

“They could have triggered it,” Harrison said, glancing up from his computer where he was studying something on the monitor.

“I’ll certainly know more after I’ve had time to go over the site, but from the way you guys described it, I’m thinking it was more likely that it was already set.”

“Meaning that the attack was already in play before Simon and Jillian ever arrived,” Avery said, leaning against the edge of the table.

“On first blush, I’d have to say that that seems the most likely scenario. But the pieces still don’t fit together in any kind of coherent whole. Even if we agree that we’ve got an organized, disciplined group of players ready and willing to sacrifice for the cause—”

“Or not so willing in the case of Dearborn,” Drake inserted.

“We’ve still got completely different MOs. The first, hijacking a helicopter to crash into a hospital with a very limited population, and the second, a suicide bomber set to take out a major tourist hub.”

“So they’re escalating.” Nash shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe, but there’s still got to be some kind of
plan or pattern. Some logic to the progression, and I’ll be damned if I’m seeing it.” Tyler blew out a breath, clearly frustrated.

“Another thing that feels off about all of this,” Hannah said, her eyes narrowing as she considered her words, “is that there’s been no chatter. Nothing to point at any of this happening. The whole reason for acts of terrorism is to take credit for the blow. And there’s been absolutely nothing.”

“Not to mention the efforts to cover everything up.” Simon stood, needing movement to better order his thoughts. “First there was the switch with the real Wilderman. And then fake Wilderman and Essex, the pilot. And the second explosion in the helicopter to destroy evidence.”

“And then there’s Dearborn moving out of his old apartment to a new one that was wired for destruction,” Drake continued. “Not to mention the guy in the warehouse and his one-way ticket straight to hell.”

“It seems like they’re more interested in covering their tracks than taking credit for any of their actions,” Tyler agreed.

“Well, to some extent you’d expect that,” Avery said. “In most situations with a plot this intricate, there’s a hierarchy. And the people at the bottom levels rarely have knowledge of anything more than their small, unique part in the grand scheme of things. It’s only at the upper levels that the big picture is revealed.”

“That sounds familiar,” Nash said, exchanging a look with Drake.

“Yeah, the Consortium is up to its old tricks. They’ve definitely got hierarchy down to a science.”

“What about the backpack?” Hannah asked. “Was there anything inside?”

“No.” Avery shook his head. “It was completely empty. No fingerprints. Nothing.”

“Maybe it was meant to be a decoy?” Nash suggested.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Simon said, blowing out a breath in frustration. “Nothing these guys do makes any sense.”

“What if these weren’t terrorist attacks at all?” Tyler mused. “What if they’re something else altogether? It’s not uncommon for a criminal to use overkill to hide something much more specific.”

“You’re suggesting that this could be about taking out a particular person.” Nash leaned forward, his brows drawn together into a frown. “Someone who was at the hospital and escaped and then was present again at the seaport.”

“I already thought about that,” Hannah said, with a shake of her head. “And I ran a cross-check against the list of witnesses from the seaport and the people present in the hospital the day of the crash. Except for Simon and Jillian, there are no matches.”

“How about Dearborn’s old apartment?” Simon asked. “Did the forensics folks find anything?”

“No,” Drake said. “Lester was right about the apartment being cleaned. There wasn’t anything at all to tie it to Dearborn. And they even checked the drains for hair. Not a damn thing.”

“And the super’s place?” Nash asked.

“Sanchez.” Drake nodded. “Only he was the building owner, not just the super.”

“Either way,” Nash shrugged, “did the techs turn up anything?”

“Again, that’s a negative,” Drake said with a frown. “The blood was Sanchez’s, and there weren’t any prints besides his and a couple of tenants who’ve already been cleared. They did retrieve the bullet, and they’re checking against the one they found in Wilderman. But even if it turns out to be the same, they ran it through the databases, and there was no match to a gun.”

“Have we established time of death?” Avery asked.

“Not yet. The ME is working on the autopsy, but definitely less than twenty-four hours. Which puts him in the bloody middle of all of this.”

“Anything in his background that might link him to the other players?” Tyler asked.

“Besides renting to Dearborn, there’s nothing,” Hannah said. “He wasn’t exactly landlord of the year, but he wasn’t in any trouble either. And there’s nothing in any of his records that would signal involvement.”

“My guess is that he just got caught up with the wrong people, and they took him out. Another loose end.” Simon leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And considering he’s the one that posthumously pointed us to the apartment by the seaport, I’d say they were right. We’re just lucky they didn’t find that Duane Reade bag.”

“So has it occurred to any of you that maybe we’re being played?” J.J. sat back, her gaze encompassing the entire group. “I mean, hasn’t this all seemed just a little too easy?”

“You wound me,” Drake said with mock severity. “We make it seem easy because we’re so damn good at what we do.”

“I know.” She smiled. “Believe me, the unit’s reputation precedes you. But seriously, it’s almost like we’ve
been playing connect the dots. First the watch, and then the dead guy in the Dumpster, and then identifying Dearborn. I mean, usually these kinds of cells recruit unknowns. Idealistic kids who are trained to be martyrs. But Dearborn doesn’t fit that image at all. And then there’s Dearborn’s second apartment, the one that was coincidentally rigged to blow. The address was on a sticky note.”

“She has a point,” Simon said, warming to the idea. “It’s almost as if they wanted us to walk into that apartment.”

“And get blown to bits.” Drake was frowning now. “Wouldn’t be the first time the Consortium’s tried to get rid of us.”

“We don’t know that it’s the Consortium,” Avery cautioned. “But I agree that something here doesn’t feel quite right.”

“So if the plan was for you guys to walk into the apartment on Fulton and get blown up,” Hannah queried, “then why was the bomber still outside?”