Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (15 page)

“It’s bullshit that he can be alone with her when he plans to put her on the stand.”

“He’s alone with her because he saved her life, Andrew.”

Andrew’s forehead wrinkled as he pursed his lips. “Dammed North Koreans should have asked
me
to get her.”

Yes, that would have solved all your troubles with one tidy trip.

“But they asked for Dominick,” Andrew continued. “I heard it was because of the
TIME
article. How the fuck did
TIME
learn Dominick identified her as a potential witness during discovery?” Andrew flushed red.

Ben stood straighter, suspecting where Andrew was going with this diatribe. “Subpoenas are public record.”

“If your office leaked it, I’ll sue your ass six ways from Sunday.”

Ben fought the urge to roll his eyes. “We need to talk about the jury—”

“That dammed article made Dominick look like a saint and me like a crooked politician.”

Ben refrained from pointing out the accuracy of the article. Clients rarely liked that. Andrew wasn’t a stupid man, but he’d been spiraling as the trial neared. Ben had seen it before. The threat of real prison time caused a panic that lowered a defendant’s IQ by at least three points per day. Andrew would be a blithering idiot by the time the jury was seated if he didn’t get his shit together.

“We can use the situation to our advantage,” Ben said.

“How?”

“I’ll impeach her as a witness. He saved her life—she’ll say anything to please him.”

Andrew’s jaw clenched, and he looked like he wanted to punch somebody. “I don’t want my niece testifying. Period.”

“You should have thought of that before you introduced your niece to a Sudanese warlord and conducted an arms deal right under her nose,” Ben said, revealing for the first time exactly what he’d figured out over the last months.

The former vice president’s eyes bulged. “You’re fired.”

Ben shook his head, feeling an indulgent pity for his client. “Judge Hawthorne will never allow that. And even if she did, you’d have one hour to hire a lawyer to face
Curt Dominick
without preparation. He’s the finest prosecutor I’ve ever squared off against, and I’m one of the few who has beaten him. You’ll get five—no, make that ten—years.” Ben took two steps toward the exit.

“Can you have her barred from giving testimony?” Sweat beaded on Andrew’s upper lip.

Ben smiled. “No. But I can destroy her if she does.”

T
HEY SPENT THE
morning inside a Honolulu Internet café not far from the airport. They couldn’t log into personal e-mail accounts without the potential to alert Raptor of their whereabouts, but, much to Mara’s delight, they could anonymously search the web for news. With hours to kill and nothing to do, browsing the Internet was a satisfying way to get caught up on what had happened in the world over the last three months, and something she usually did after a deployment anyway.

Life felt almost normal.

Except her companion was the US attorney who—according to Wikipedia—was the odds-on favorite to be named the next attorney general of the United States. And, because she was feeling naughty, from the moment she’d walked in the door, she’d begun behaving as though he were her boyfriend and he’d had to play along or make a scene.

She glanced up from the screen. “You’re thirty-eight and you’ve never been married? What’s wrong with you?”

He sent her a playful glare. “I’m married to my work.”

“Oh, I get it.” She turned back to the monitor. “Good thing I know how to update Wikipedia. Do you prefer the term ‘Gay’ or ‘Homosexual’?”

He laughed. “Gay, please.” Then he pointedly looked at his watch. “In another minute, you need to move on.”

She grinned. “Just enough time.” They’d agreed not to look at any news story about either of them, her uncle, or Raptor for too long, for fear of raising red flags. It was crazy to think Raptor could monitor all Internet browsing in all of the Internet cafés on the island, and yet the desperation that led a man to blow up a jet on a Marine Corps Base couldn’t be underestimated. So in addition to catching up on the media’s take on her situation, she also learned more about tabloid celebrities than she’d ever wanted to know. She pulled up the
People
article from a year ago, when after a high-profile prosecution that involved Iraqi artifacts, an Indian Casino, and an engineering firm owned by a US senator, Curt had caught the public’s attention and made the magazine’s sexiest men issue. But Curt closed the page before she could read the article.

“I was looking for pictures of Brad Pitt,” she said.

A waitress refilled her coffee cup. “Honey, you don’t need pictures of Brad Pitt when you’ve a hot
haole
hunk sitting by your side.”

Curt smiled at the woman. “She doesn’t appreciate me.”

The woman perused Curt from head to toe. Clothed in Mara’s landlord’s T-shirt and shorts, with a day’s growth of beard and a baseball cap, he looked nothing like the polished US attorney. Today he was Matthew McConaughey hot. “Sugar, I’ll appreciate you.” She glanced sideways at Mara. “You pretty, honey, but you ain’t no Angelina Jolie. A man like him might stray if you don’t take care of him. And I’m just the sort of woman to take in strays.”

Curt’s gaze fixed on Mara with surprising intensity. “Mar—nie is ten times more beautiful than Angelina Jolie.”

Her belly fluttered. He sounded like he meant every word.

The waitress chuckled. “Oh, you are a charmer. Marnie, honey, you get bored with him, you let me know. ’K?”

Mara saw a perfect opportunity, and fixed her “boyfriend” with a challenging stare. “I’d be happier if he were a better kisser.”

Curt’s eyes narrowed, promising revenge.

The waitress’s jaw dropped. “A mouth like that and you’re complaining? Sweetie, you must not be doing it right, because his mouth was made for kissing.”

“Oh, I’m doing it right. He’s the one who needs help.”

The woman set the half-full coffeepot on the table between them and crossed her arms. “Well, c’mon. Let’s see. Kiss her. Auntie Shirley will tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

Mara had always loved elderly hapa-women who called themselves by their first name, and vowed to make this one an honorary auntie for life. She sent him a victorious look, and her heart went wild at the heated, promising look the prosecutor couldn’t hide.

Oh yeah. He was definitely going to extract revenge. She could hardly wait.

Curt leaned forward and grabbed her chair, swiveling it so her knees met his straight on. Then, nudging her knees apart so he could get closer, he leaned toward her, his face set in a menacing scowl.

“Oh honey. There’s your problem. You look like you’d just as soon bite her head off. Save biting for when you are alone.”

Mara burst out laughing at the sideline coaching. “I tell him that all the time.”

Curt’s shoulders shook with laughter as he closed the distance. Her heart pounded as his lips hovered over hers; then finally his mouth caressed her in a fleeting, sensual brush of soft lips and breath. Shivers raced down her spine.

She parted her lips, but his mouth trailed along her cheek to her ear, where he whispered, “This is nothing compared to what a real kiss would be like.” Then he lifted his head and faced Shirley. “Good enough?”

Auntie Shirley sucked in a deep breath and patted her robust bosom. “Yes. I don’t think the problem is you.” She fixed Mara with a stare. “You don’t like that kiss, you’re
lolo
.” Then she grabbed the coffeepot and marched away.

Curt leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Mara was anything
but
satisfied. She’d had a tiny taste and wanted more. How did he do that? Her libido had gone into overdrive. She wanted to jump him right here in the middle of a Honolulu café, based on nothing more than a tongueless, fleeting, wisp of a kiss.

She stood. “Be right back.” She hurried to the ladies’ room, where she could gather her wits. This was
not
the way to make him lose control. As far as she could tell, the only one about to lose anything was her.

In the restroom, she splashed cold water on her face and relived every second of the chaste but somehow still debilitating kiss. Then she squared her shoulders, pulled open the door, and stepped into the tiny corridor. And there was Curt.

His smolder was on full blast as he corralled her into the alcove behind the pay phone. He planted a hand against the wall above her head, blocking her in. “You want a real kiss now? Without a scorecard from Auntie Shirley?”

Her voice disappeared for a moment but eventually came out as a low rasp. “Yes, please.”

And then his mouth was on hers, no longer soft or sweet, a hard pressure that had the power to melt all the bones in her body. His lips parted and—

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated against her hip.

He lifted his head.

“You answer that, and I will knee you in the groin.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s probably Lee, telling us our plane is landing.”

“I don’t care. I will still hurt you.”

He closed his eyes, then sucked in a deep breath. “Break’s over. Back to reality.” And he answered the call.

T
WENTY-FIVE MINUTES
later, Curt pulled up to the guard gate at a secondary access road to Honolulu International Airport. Dread pulsed through his veins when he saw the guard’s uniform. The man was a Raptor-employed security guard.

Crap. He’d gotten complacent and failed to plan for this scenario. The guard made one call after another. Each delay ratcheted Curt’s tension up another notch.

Holy hell. They were so damn close to getting off this rock.

At last the guard handed him back his ID and raised the barrier. Curt drove straight to the small terminal that handled charter flights and private jets. “The jet better be fueled up. We need to take off the moment we reach the plane.” Lee had assured him two well-rested pilots were ready to take over, but the refueling could take time. This jet lacked the range of the previous one, meaning they’d need to refuel before they crossed the Rockies—a complication they would figure out en route.

Relief surged when he saw a fuel truck driving away from the jet with the name TALON & DRAKE emblazoned on the side. He bypassed the parking area and headed directly for the jet. A flagger waved his wands, frantically signaling for Curt to stop. He did, but not until he was only ten yards away from the waiting jet. Reaching into the backseat to grab their bags, he said, “Crouch low and zigzag, and above all, be fast.” Then, on impulse, he kissed her—a hard, fast meeting of mouths that was the least he wanted to take but the most he could give.

The flagger jogged across the pavement, reaching the vehicle just as Curt climbed out of the car. “Sir, you can’t park there!”

Curt tossed him the key. “Then move it. We’ve got to go.”

Mara ran toward the jet, and Curt breathed a sigh of relief when she was safely up the short flight of stairs. He darted forward. A moment later, he was inside and hit the button to raise the steps and seal the door.

A glance into the cockpit showed two pilots, a middle-aged man and a younger woman.

“Let’s roll,” Curt said. The shooter from the previous day might not be able to get a shot at Mara, but yesterday had proven a fifty-caliber round could disable the jet. He wouldn’t feel safe until Honolulu was far below them.

The woman responded, “We need clearance for takeoff.”

Curt gave her the code for priority takeoff. Mara stowed the bags and dropped into a seat. The pilots called in to the tower. A jet already in position landed; then all commercial traffic at Honolulu International halted. Curt closed the door to the cockpit, took the seat next to Mara, and fastened his seat belt. Less than five minutes after clearing the guard gate, they were speeding down the runway.

He held his breath. The nose lifted. At last they were airborne. If all went well, they’d be in DC in less than twelve hours. He studied his companion, the beautiful, amazing pixie he’d picked up in North Korea, and wondered how he’d ever be able to trust someone else with her safety.