Concrete Evidence (49 page)

The whirr of a helicopter grew louder and louder, until it sounded as if it hovered above the building. An amplified voice said, “Senator Talon, drop the gun. The building is surrounded.”

Lee knew the exact moment when Joe’s grip on the gun tightened. The man had nothing left to lose and was going to shoot. Lee lashed out with a solid kick at the gun.

A loud thump came from the balcony.

The weapon went flying at the same moment the windows behind them exploded inward. He used his grip on Erica’s fingers to yank her to the couch, where he fell on top of her, shielding her as glass rained down.

He felt a stabbing pain in his arm, while sharp, needle-like jabs pricked his back and legs. He held her close, taking comfort from the feel of her warm body beneath his. Behind him, he heard men shouting orders to Joe.

“Mr. Scott, are you okay?” a man asked.

He lifted his head and took in the scene. A half-dozen SWAT officers had entered from the balcony. Joe was on his knees on the floor, holding his wrist, which was bent at an odd angle. Three officers had guns trained on him. He howled in pain as a fourth cuffed his broken and bleeding wrist.

Lee gingerly moved his arms and legs. He stood up. He’d been cut by several shards of glass, but that was all. He took Erica’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She was okay.

He held her and whispered in her ear, “It’s over, honey. It’s over.”

She met his gaze with a weak smile; then her eyes widened, and she gasped.

The world went black.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-
F
OUR

B
LOOD SEEPED BETWEEN
E
RICA’S
fingers as she tried to staunch the spurting wound in Lee’s arm. Paramedics arrived seconds later and pushed her out of the way. She stood nearby, frantic with worry.

“His brachial artery’s been nicked,” one said, applying pressure to the wound.

She felt lightheaded. She was going to be sick. “Is he going to be okay?”

The bleeding stopped, and the medic wrapped Lee’s arm in gauze. “He’ll be fine. We’ll get him on an IV to get his fluids up. He’ll probably wake then. We’ll take him to the hospital for monitoring.”

They took pity on her and let her ride along in the ambulance. Some part of her registered the sea of reporters who followed their progress from the building to the ambulance, but the rest of her was focused on Lee’s pale face.

He woke before they turned off Seventh Avenue. He saw the bandage on his upper arm and tried to sit up. “Was I shot?”

“A shard of glass cut your brachial artery,” the paramedic said.

“I passed out because of a shard of glass?” He lay back down and closed his eyes. “That isn’t the least bit manly. JT will never let me live it down.”

The paramedic chuckled, and even Erica found a small laugh inside her.

He opened his eyes and squeezed her hand, then brought her fingers to his lips. “You have the most beautiful smile. I want to see it more.”

She burst into tears.

“Hey, Shortcake, I told you to smile. You have to do what I say; I’m the injured one.”

“Because of me. My stupid plan to trap the senator could have killed you,” she said.

“It could have killed
you
. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Everything you’ve done has been for Joe.”

“I was wrong about him.” His voice dropped as he squeezed her hand again.

She kissed him, telling him without words she’d be there for him as he dealt with Joe’s betrayal. This wound, she knew, would take a very long time to heal.

The ambulance arrived at the hospital. Erica was told to wait while Lee was examined. An hour later, they finally let her inside the treatment room.

He lay on the bed, shirtless. She took in his sculpted biceps, his handsome face, his crooked, sexy smile, and for the first time since he’d passed out, she was able to take a deep breath.

“Come here,” he said.

As soon as she was within reach, he grabbed her with his unbandaged arm and pulled her onto the mattress alongside him.

She squealed. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“It’s just a nick. I’m fine. They’re going to release me soon.” He snuggled her against his side. “I need to hold you.”

She settled her cheek against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. “I’ve been watching the news in the waiting room. The FBI arrested Drake.”

“Good.”

“And you bled all over the new sofa.”

“Damned inconsiderate of me.” She felt his chuckle against her cheek. He played with her hair, his nails grazing her scalp.

She let out an exaggerated purr, and he laughed aloud.

“I wish we’d met at a different time,” he said, turning serious. “Different place. I’d have treated you so much better than I did as your lying, manipulative intern.”

She traced circles on his chest. “I’m not complaining. You saved my life. Twice.”

He flashed a cocky grin. “Well, you have a nice ass. It’s a shame to see you fall on it.”

She nipped his smooth skin with a chuckle, then settled back on his chest. “Lee, tell me something about yourself.”

“What?”

“Anything. I know almost nothing about you.”

“I guess we’ve never been properly introduced.” He stroked her hair. “My name is Lee Scott. I’m thirty-two, I’m a computer and cell phone security consultant, and I love you. Those are the most important points.”

She smiled. “I’m Erica Kesling. I’m twenty-nine. I used to be an underwater archaeologist before I destroyed my reputation working for a treasure hunter who turned out to be a drug smuggler. I’m deeply in debt, have a bad credit rating, and just destroyed the man who owns the company I work for. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with my life, but whatever it is, I hope I’m with you, because I love you.”

“That’s all that matters,” he said. “For now.”

A
UTHOR’S
N
OTE

S
EVERAL REAL EVENTS INSPIRED
parts of this book. Some may be familiar to readers, some probably aren’t. Many readers will likely remember the looting of the National Museum of Iraq in 2003 but may not recall the twelve billion US dollars that went missing in Iraq in 2004. In 2007, the US Department of Defense created a deck of cards to educate troops about protecting cultural resources in the Middle East. For links to articles about these cards, please visit my website at
Rachel-Grant.net
.

I drew upon a sad chapter in our nation’s history in placing Joseph Talon in an Indian boarding school. Starting in the 1870s, the US government really did force Native American children to attend off-reservation Indian boarding schools with the purpose of erasing the cultural identity from the students.

Something that may be familiar but which did not inspire this story are the questions raised about President Barack Obama’s birth certificate by the Birther Movement. The first draft of this story was finished in 2007—before the first ballots were cast in the 2008 campaign and before (to the best of my knowledge) the media began repeating the questions. I was never quite sure how to handle that development and need to thank my clever editor for suggesting a way to address the Birther controversy in this story.

Last but most important on the list of real inspirations for
Concrete Evidence
: Thermo-Con is real. In 1998 the engineering firm I worked for was contracted by US Army Garrison Fort Belvoir to write an environmental assessment of a house made out of a strange, yeasty concrete. They didn’t know who had built the house on the post or why, and wanted a detailed history as part of the EA. As in the story, I went to the National Archives and found a journal entry that gave me the date the house was built and the name Higgins. Three days later, after rereading a 1949 article in the army post’s newspaper,
Belvoir Castle
, I was inspired to try to track down the patent.

For story-line reasons, I changed both the year Thermo-Con was developed and the location of the house. But the information about Thermo-Con’s relationship to Andrew Jackson Higgins is accurate, and the newspaper article Erica reads is nearly a word-for-word duplication of the
Belvoir Castle
article (Vol. VIII, No. 43, Friday, April 22, 1949). The bones in the basement, of course, are pure fabrication.

When I researched Thermo-Con in 1998, information for older patents could only be found in card-catalog file drawers located in an old storage room. The patent office has moved now, and much of the information has been scanned into an online database, but I took fictional license and kept the old patent office and research methods, preferring the way it really happened to how it could happen now.

Lastly, as in the story, the day before the Thermo-Con EA was due, I ran a simple Internet people search on the inventors listed on the patent card and ended up on the phone with Andrew Jackson Higgins’s great-grandson. He gave me his father’s number, who in turn put me in contact with the wife of the man who ran the Thermo-Con development team. The Higgins family members’ names were purposely left out of this story, and I wish to thank them for their help and enthusiasm back in 1998 and hope they appreciate this fictionalized account.

T
HANK YOU FOR READING
Concrete Evidence
. I hope you enjoyed it!

If you’d like to know when my next book is available, you can sign up for my new release e-mail list at
www.Rachel-Grant.net
. You can also follow me on Twitter at
@RachelSGrant
or like my Facebook page at
www.facebook.com/RachelGrantAuthor
. I’m also on Goodreads at
www.goodreads.com/RachelGrantAuthor
, where you can see what I’m currently reading and post reviews.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
’D LIKE TO THANK WRITER, ENGINEER
, and fellow Pixie Chick Sarah Castleberry for brainstorming cranes with me. In appreciation, I named the crane after her. Thank you to Amanda Burgess Murphy and her brother James Eric Burgess, retired US Navy, for responding to my request for information on aircraft carrier garbage-dumping protocol. Thanks also to Kathryn Rand, Associate Dean for Academic Affairs at the University of North Dakota School of Law for providing information on tribal gaming as it relates to election laws.

As a debut author, I have so many writers to thank, not just for their help with this work, but for their ongoing encouragement over the years. Thank you to the Pixie Chicks, who have provided amusement, encouragement, and support since we all met in 2008. Thank you also to my Golden Heart sisters from 2011—the Starcatchers (AKA Fire Breathing Unicorns) and 2012—the Firebirds.

Thank you, Jill Barnett, for your infinite patience, wisdom, and mentoring. Thanks to all the authors who have critiqued this manuscript in one form or another: Kris Kennedy, Darcy Burke, Natasha Tate, Elizabeth Heiter, Courtney Milan, Amanda Brice, Rebecca Clark, Kristina McMorris, Cathy Perkins, Amy Atwell, Adrianne Lee, Carey Baldwin, Manda Collins, Sarah Andre, and Krista Hall.

A special shout out to the Northwest Pixie Chicks and honorary Pixie Elisabeth Naughton. Thanks for the critiques, the plotting sessions, and companionship. I adore you all!

Thank you also to my blogging sisters, the wonderful women at KissandThrill.com, who have supported me in this mad publishing experience.

Thank you to my fabulous agent, Elizabeth Winick Rubinstein, for your support and enthusiasm.

I also owe a special thanks to Janet Friedman, who was my boss when I worked on the Thermo-Con project in 1998. Janet died of leukemia in January 2002, and I miss her terribly.

Naomi Raine, my cover artist and web designer, thank you for your artistic eye, attention to detail, endless patience, and for being a wonderful friend and sister. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.

And lastly, a huge thank-you to underwater archaeologist David Grant, who provided valuable information on many aspects of the story line. Thanks, Dave, for getting me a deck of the coolest Department of Defense playing cards ever, for brainstorming story ideas with me, for taking our kids on adventures so I could write, and for your endless encouragement and support. I love you.