A Murder in Time (7 page)

Her father was right about one thing.

Life goes on.

4

One month later

“You're killing me!”

“Don't be a baby. Two more. Keep your legs up, abs tight. C'mon, Kendra.”

“I. Hate. You,” Kendra puffed. She would have glared at the six-foot son of a bitch who stood over her, but it would've taken too much energy. And she needed that to work the Pilates machine with the appropriately sadistic name the Reformer. Her muscles burned and trembled, and for a second, she honestly considered giving up. She wouldn't do it; she
couldn't
do it. She dug deep for her willpower, determinedly pulling her body forward, inch by sweaty inch, with the straps.

“You're the one who wanted to push yourself,” Brian—a blond-haired, blue-eyed, amazing male specimen, otherwise known throughout the physical therapy department as the Terminator—reminded her cheerfully. “This is the big day, huh? Formal discharge.”

“God!”
Kendra groaned, releasing the straps with a rush of relief. For a second she lay there, limp and panting. Then Brian tossed a towel at her. It landed on her face. “I think I'm dead,” she muttered, unmoving.

“You're remarkably healthy for a dead woman.” He grinned.

Muscles aching, Kendra sat up and swept off the towel. As she used it to blot the sweat streaming down her face, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrored walls and grimaced. She didn't look healthy. She looked like a prisoner of war. Her dark eyes were too big in a face now gaunt and pale. The bandage that had swathed her head had been removed a week ago. Her scalp had been shaved for surgery, but a half inch of dark hair had grown in. Better, she supposed, than the bald look, but a far cry from the thick, straight mass that had been long enough to hit the small of her back.

She'd never considered herself a vain woman. But she discovered that she really, really liked having hair.

Turning away from her reflection, she stood on legs that were still wobbly from the aftereffects of the workout.

“How's our star pupil?” Annie asked as she pushed the wheelchair into the room.

“I'm getting discharged today. Do I really need that?” Kendra glanced at the wheelchair.

“Hospital policy.” The nurse smiled brightly. “And after a session with the Terminator, I'd think you could use it.”

“I hate that nickname,” Brian grumbled good-naturedly, as he watched with sharp eyes as Kendra eased into the wheelchair, her movements slower and more careful than either one of them would've liked. Not in a million years would she have admitted it, but Kendra thought that Annie was probably right about the wheelchair.

“We'll get the kinks worked out with a good rubdown,” he promised when he saw her wince.

“Not today, I'm afraid,” Annie said. “She'll have to settle for a hot shower. Associate Director Leeds will be arriving shortly.” She wheeled Kendra toward the door. “I believe he's escorting you home, Agent Donovan.”

“I'm looking forward to it.”

“Don't think you're getting out of physical therapy so easily,” Brian warned, as he walked with them down the hospital corridor. At the elevator, he leaned forward to push the button. “I'm scheduling you for three times a week on an outpatient basis.”

Kendra smiled at him as the elevator doors opened and Annie efficiently swung the wheelchair around, backing into the empty car. “You really shouldn't worry about being called the Terminator, Brian. By the time we're finished with those physical therapy sessions, I'll have come up with a few more nicknames for you.”

Kendra felt halfway human after the hot shower. And she felt nearly human by the time she dressed for the first time in more than two months in something other than hospital-issued cotton gowns or T-shirts and sweats. Since the clothes—black sweater, khaki trousers, serviceable cotton panties and bra, black socks, and brown loafers—were her own, somebody had obviously been to her apartment in Mount Pleasant, Virginia. The makeup case tucked into the overnight bag made her think that the anonymous someone had been a woman.

The feminine tricks inside the makeup case couldn't quite erase the time she'd spent in the hospital. Still, she felt better when she swiped her mouth with a raspberry lip gloss and dusted her high cheekbones, which jutted out too sharply, with a bronze powder that was supposed to make her look sun-kissed. It fell short of the mark, she thought ruefully.

Stepping out of the tiny bathroom, she gave a start when she saw Phillip Leeds standing beside the window, staring outside. He swung around, his eyes running over her in quick appraisal. “You're looking much better, Agent Donovan.”

Self-consciously she put a hand up to her severely short hair. “I . . . thank you, sir. I'll be glad to go home.”

“You'll be on medical leave until Dr. Campbell signs off on you returning to active duty at the Bureau. But we'll be looking forward to getting you back. We've missed you.”

She doubted that. Other than Leeds and the top brass, she hadn't had any visitors from the Bureau. They'd sent her a bouquet, wilting on the built-in dresser, and a card. For the first time, Kendra was struck by how solitary her life had become. She'd always been an outsider (
a freak
). But ambition to prove herself, to make a life beyond her parents' prepackaged, narrow expectations had left her with few friends.

She moved to the small bag that had come with her street clothes, and stuffed her few personal items into it. Five books. Three magazines. She left the newspapers.

“You know that you'll have to talk to someone.”

She glanced up at Leeds, not pretending to misunderstand. “You mean a shrink.”

“I don't think they like that term.”

“Then we're even. I don't like shrinks.”

“Agent Donovan . . .”

“I'm fine.” She closed the bag and was grateful when Annie arrived, pushing the wheelchair through the door.

She gave Kendra a wink and patted the back of the wheelchair. “Hop on, Agent Donovan.”

Gingerly, Kendra sat down in the wheelchair, putting her bag on her lap. She summoned a smile for Leeds. “I'm fine. And you didn't have to come all this way to escort me home. I could've managed.”

“That I have no doubt about. But I think I already told you that you're a valuable member of our team, Special Agent Donovan.” Deliberately, he kept his tone light. He was grateful when the nurse chimed in, either urging or ordering Kendra to keep on her diet and exercise program, and teasing her about somebody called the Terminator.

Dr. Campbell was waiting on the first floor and added his own encouragement, reminding Kendra about her physical therapy schedule as well as follow-up exams.

Kendra was relieved when she was finally able to get out of the wheelchair. Waving at the doctor and nurse, she walked over to Leeds's BMW. She still felt sore from that morning, but no longer shaky. And God, it felt good to be outside again. The sun lightened the sky to a brilliant blue, and the temperature, if she wasn't mistaken, was on the plus side of seventy. Not bad for early May.

She'd gone into the hospital in mid-March. More than two months of her life gone, vanished like a puff of smoke. That depressed her. But it could be worse, she supposed.

She could be dead.

Sighing, she slid into the passenger's seat. Her finger itched to buzz down the window. But that could wait. When she got back to her apartment, she'd sit out on her tiny balcony, with her face turned up to the sun. God knew she could use some color.

Right now, though, she had more important issues at hand. She waited until after Leeds had steered the car onto the I-495 before she turned to look at him. “So . . . what happened to Sir Jeremy Greene?”

Leeds's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. As far as tells went, it wasn't much—but then Leeds had always been good at Texas Hold 'em, Kendra thought.

“I don't think it would be appropriate to have this conversation now,” he finally said, glancing over at her.

“I see. Then when?” She kept her tone cool and calm, but her heart began to accelerate. “When we get to my apartment? Tomorrow? Next week? Never?”

“Agent Donovan—”

But she was already shaking her head. “You know that you can't keep it a secret. You've done a good job keeping me isolated, but you know that as soon as I walk in my front door, I'll get on the Internet and I can find out any damn thing I want to about Jeremy Greene. It doesn't matter how deep it's buried, I'll find it.”

Leeds sighed. She would, too. She was the reason the FBI—hell, the U.S. government, not to mention MI5—had finally managed to get their hooks into the bastard.

“It wouldn't require much digging. You're not going to like it,” he warned.

“No shit.” It was her turn to sigh. “Sorry. I'm a little . . . wound up.”

Leeds only nodded, a frown settling on his face as he maneuvered the BMW through traffic. Kendra wondered if he was stalling, and again felt an uneasy sensation, like static electricity, pop along the surface of her skin. If she were more superstitious, she'd have called it a premonition.

“Sir Jeremy was shot . . . in the arm. Barely a scratch, really.”

“How . . . unfortunate.”

“They patched him up quickly, and brought him to Washington. Very few people know about it. Only top officials . . . and now you.”

Kendra stared at him. “How's that possible? Everyone who was involved in the operation knows that he was there that day. They'd know we got him.”

“Not necessarily. They know we picked him up. But Sir Jeremy immediately got word to his lawyers. The U.S. government didn't want the political firestorm. He's a British national. He's a billionaire. It's plausible.”

“Plausible,” Kendra said slowly. “But not true.”

“No. We had him a little longer than anyone realizes. And he agreed to flip.”

“Flip . . .” Her mouth tightened. She'd known that was their original intention. Hell, she'd argued for it. But that was before. “I see. We're working with the goddamn bastard who's responsible for members of my team being killed?” Despite her best efforts, her voice rose. She wanted to strike out at something, but ended up curling her fingers into her palms.

“We're not working with him,” Leeds disagreed. “He works for
us
.”

“Where?”

Leeds frowned. “Where?”

“Where's he working for us?” she demanded sharply. “He's not behind bars, is he? Not feeding us information about his clients from a military fucking prison, is he?”

“No, of course not.”

“We've let him go back to his life, haven't we?” This time she couldn't stop herself. She slapped the console. “Goddamn it! I was
there!
I
saw
Daniel's head blown off right in front of my eyes! Allan . . .” Her breath hitched, and she struggled against losing control. “God, Allan had a wife . . . they'd just gotten married,” she whispered, anger draining away and leaving only an unsettling despair. “So many died . . . and we're letting that asshole go free.”

“He's not free. Not technically.” He shot her a frustrated look. “Shit, I don't like this any more than you do, Agent Donovan. But it's not like you didn't know this would happen. Sometimes we need to get involved with a few bad guys to take down someone even worse.”

“Like when we helped Osama bin Laden fight against the Soviets in Afghanistan?”

Leeds's jaw tightened at the cutting tone, and he focused on his driving. Equally silent, Kendra folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window. For the next five minutes, the only sound was the traffic outside and the hum of wheels against asphalt. He let out a sigh when he let up on the accelerator, moving the BMW off the expressway into the Mount Pleasant area.

He snuck a glance at his silent passenger. “Look, I hate that it looks as though the bastard's life is the same,” he finally said in a much quieter tone. “But he's been working with us to set up several undercover stings. His intel has been good. The brass is pleased.”

“Oh, well. I guess that makes it all right, then.”

“Kendra—”

“I understand.” The heat that had blasted him only seconds before was gone. Her words could have been chipped out of ice. Oddly, Leeds preferred the hot anger. He shot her a wary look, met the onyx eyes. The expression in them wasn't cold, exactly. But he couldn't read it, either.

“I wasn't supposed to talk to you about Greene.”

“You know I would've found out.”

Leeds steered the car into the lot outside her apartment complex and parked. “That's why I told you. I thought it would be better coming from me.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the ride.” She opened the door and slid out. “I can manage from here.”