Crossfire (29 page)

Just as had happened the last time they’d been together, Cait woke up alone. But this time, rather than needing to escape, she would’ve preferred to have Quinn sprawled beside her, his leg heavy over hers.

There was a strange, soft clicking she wasn’t used to hearing coming from the next room. She paused a moment, then realized that it was the sound of a computer keyboard.

She climbed out of bed, snagged her terry robe from the back of the closet door, and went out into the living room, where, in the reflected lights from the Somersett bridge and the illumination from his computer monitor, she saw Quinn, clad only in the jeans they’d ripped off him earlier, sitting alone in the dark.

Surprisingly, given what she’d learned about a sniper’s heightened senses, he didn’t seem to realize she’d come into the room. She padded barefoot over to the table where he’d set up his laptop, touched a hand to his shoulder, and jumped back when he leaped up, knocking over the chair.

‘‘Shit.’’ He dragged that wide hand that earlier had created such glorious havoc on her body down his face. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

‘‘I’m the one who should apologize. Sneaking up on you that way.’’

‘‘I’m a SEAL.’’ He bent down and picked up the chair. ‘‘No one’s supposed to be able to sneak up on me.’’

‘‘A former SEAL,’’ she reminded him. ‘‘Who seemed to be somewhere else.’’

‘‘Yeah. Try hell.’’

‘‘I’m sorry.’’

She was not going to press. Nor was she going to allow herself to so much as peek at that screen to see what he’d been writing. But she was curious as hell.

‘‘You know those guys? The ones at the meeting.’’

‘‘Sure. Since it was only a few hours ago.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ He managed a faint, crooked smile. ‘‘Seems like a lifetime ago. While other things’’—he shut the laptop’s lid—‘‘seem like yesterday.’’

‘‘Other things like the war?’’ she asked carefully.

He didn’t give her a direct answer. ‘‘Those guys talk about it. Zach had to work it out in his own way, which involved some therapy, wearing himself out by pounding a hammer all day for his dad so he could fall asleep.’’ This time the smile brightened his eyes. Just a little. ‘‘And apparently the love of a good woman.’’

‘‘And you write about it.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘But that’s not enough to let you sleep.’’

‘‘It appears not.’’

She could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. And, for the first time, she realized that the big strong SEAL could be as vulnerable as she herself was. And as reluctant to admit it.

In that moment came understanding.

And, she realized, without as much surprise—or fear—as she would have expected to feel, love.

‘‘When was the last time you slept all night?’’

He shrugged his bare shoulders, which she took to mean so long ago he no longer remembered.

Cait’s heart went out to him. But she also knew that sympathy was the last thing he needed.

‘‘Well, then.’’ She went up on her bare toes and twined her arms around his neck. ‘‘Did I mention I woke up feeling sexy as sin?’’

‘‘I don’t recall that. Then again, I didn’t exactly give you a chance.’’

‘‘Well, I did. But there was a problem.’’

She ran her hands over his shoulders. They were broad, amazingly muscled, capable of carrying heavy burdens. Too heavy, she suspected. And for too long.

‘‘What problem is that?’’ His voice was deep and rough and irresistibly sexy. Of course, she’d always found everything about Quinn irresistibly sexy. Which is why she’d had to work overtime to resist.

What a waste of time and effort.

Refusing to allow regrets for time lost, Cait trailed her palms down his chest, loving the way his heart, strong and hard against her stroking fingers, picked up its beat. And, she hoped, began to be soothed.

‘‘I was all alone.’’ She could also feel the tension starting to leave his body. Replaced by an entirely different kind of pressure against her stomach. ‘‘Seems my lover left me in the lurch, so to speak.’’

He bent his head. Nuzzled her neck. ‘‘I should be keelhauled.’’

‘‘That’s one suggestion.’’

Cait pulled just far enough away to untie her robe’s belt, letting it slide onto the floor. Then, without even the slightest bit of self-consciousness, stood naked in front of him.

‘‘Or you could just come back to bed and let me use your fabulously buff SEAL body.’’

‘‘Typical female trick,’’ he scoffed. ‘‘Offering sex to make her man feel better.’’

She was not going to challenge his chauvinistic statement. He was her man. As she was his woman. And as ridiculously caveman as that sounded, even ringing in her own mind, Cait couldn’t deny it also sounded absolutely, positively right.

‘‘I’m told it’s a tried-and-true method.’’

‘‘And was this feminine trickery passed down from mother to daughter?’’

‘‘Hardly.’’

Cait could more easily envision Quinn in a loincloth, throwing her over that massive shoulder and carrying her back to his cave than imagine her mother ever actually discussing sex.

‘‘I seem to recall reading it last month in Cosmo. At the dentist’s office, while waiting to get my teeth cleaned.’’

He threw back his head, a rich, deep laugh rumbling up from that ripped dark chest.

Then he kissed her. A long, slow, deep kiss that had her blood pounding in her veins from the sheer, unspeakable pleasure of it.

They walked, hand in hand, fingers laced, back to the bed, where she pleased him, and herself, for a long time, again and again, until her own body was finally sated and his had gone lax with release.

And finally, wrapped in her arms, as the rain tapped on the roof and the moon rode across the midnight sky, Quinn slept.

Although classes had not yet started, due to the solemnity of the occasion the decision was made by the governing board of the academy to switch from the summer white uniform to the winter ‘‘salt and pepper’’ —Confederate gray tunics with three rows of shiny brass buttons over white pants with a gray stripe down the side of the legs. The accompanying gloves were white, the covers—hats—black, as were the shoes, which were spit-polished to a mirror shine.

‘‘It’s true,’’ Cait murmured as she drank in the sight of Quinn, dressed in the uniform he’d brought from his house.

‘‘What’s that?’’ he asked as he rinsed his coffee mug and put it in the dishwasher. They’d agreed that since each of them had a different duty to perform at the memorial, it only made sense to take separate cars.

‘‘That there’s just something damn sexy about a man in a uniform.’’

‘‘You continue to surprise me,’’ he murmured. ‘‘Because I was in uniform the night we met and I could’ve sworn you hated me at first sight.’’

‘‘You scared me,’’ she admitted. It was the first time she’d said the words out loud.

Quinn could not have been more surprised by that admission. He remembered every detail about that blind date, and she damn well hadn’t looked scared.

‘‘Me?’’ He slammed a hand against his chest, which just happened to be loaded down with ribbons, most depicting missions he’d just as soon forget. ‘‘Why? I’d never hurt a woman. Well, unless she was trying to kill me,’’ he amended.

‘‘You reminded me of my father.’’

‘‘You don’t like your father?’’

‘‘I love him. But although you were decades younger, and just out of BUD/S training, while he was a vice admiral, I could see so much of him in you.’’

She sighed as she slipped into the low-heeled black shoes she’d carried in from the bedroom. ‘‘Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it also hadn’t made me feel too much like my mother.’’

‘‘I met your mother at a cocktail party when I first came on staff,’’ he volunteered, feeling a little twinge of regret as she covered up her breasts, which looked so soft and inviting beneath the gray silk blouse, with a somber black jacket that matched her slacks. ‘‘She seemed really nice.’’

‘‘She is. She also spent most of the early years of her marriage trailing my father from post to post and having his babies. Partly, I think, to keep from being lonely all the time he was away at sea.’’

Quinn thought about that. ‘‘Makes sense to me. But maybe, if we’d given it a try, we might have been able to make things work out.’’

She splayed her hands on her hips. Lifted her chin. Although he might have discovered that this woman was the hottest he’d ever had in bed, all those orgasms she’d had last night obviously hadn’t suddenly made her stupid.

‘‘How?’’

‘‘I don’t know,’’ he admitted. ‘‘But it’s a moot point, since we’re talking bygones. I’m not in the navy anymore, and I don’t recall asking you to have my babies.’’

She tilted her head. ‘‘Are you saying you don’t want kids?’’

Christ. Quinn felt the collar of his gray tunic getting tighter by the minute. He was choking here, and he realized that whatever he answered, he had a fifty percent chance of being wrong.

‘‘I like kids,’’ he said. That much was true. ‘‘But since I didn’t exactly have any role models as to how to be a dad, I’ve never figured I’d have any. However,’’ he tacked on, holding up a hand to cut off any planned response, ‘‘since SEALs have to be flexible, I’m certainly willing to take any arguments under advisement.’’

‘‘Well, that’s certainly big of you,’’ she said dryly.

‘‘Are you saying you want children?’’

Could he be more confused? Quinn suddenly felt as if he were crossing a conversational minefield.

She blew out a long breath. ‘‘I don’t know.’’

Quinn glanced down at his watch. ‘‘Well, since we both have jobs to do, maybe we’d better table this discussion for now.’’

She nodded. Scooped up her bag from the table. ‘‘Agreed.’’

‘‘But you know,’’ Quinn said, as they left the apartment, ‘‘just because neither of us is ready to start making babies, there’s nothing to prevent us from keeping in practice. Just in case we might change our minds down the road.’’

She laughed. ‘‘Now that’s definitely an idea I can sign on to.’’

The shooter stood across the street from Magnolia Flowers and Gifts, watching through the plate-glass window as the florist took six bloodred roses from the cooler and put them into a long white box, while the man on the other side of the counter, as instructed, wrote a message on a card, which the woman in the pink smock then put into the box.

She was chatting away, a smile on her face, as she tied the scarlet ribbon around the flower box, then rang up the sale.

The man came out of the shop.

‘‘All done,’’ he said.

‘‘What were you talking about?’’ the shooter asked.

It was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. If the guy answered wrong, he was a dead man. If he answered right, he’d live another day. Unless, of course, he walked in front of a bus or something.

‘‘The lady was talking about how Valentine Snow is her favorite newswoman,’’ he said.

‘‘And you agreed?’’

‘‘Well, sure. I mean, why the hell would I be sending her roses if I didn’t like her?’’

‘‘Good point.’’ Deciding the guy had followed instructions, the shooter took two twenties and a ten out of his wallet and handed them over. ‘‘You never saw me.’’

‘‘Roger that,’’ the vet said. Pocketing the money, he walked away.

Letting him go was a risk, the shooter knew. But if everything went according to plan, by the time the cops tracked the guy down, he’d have pulled off his grand finale.

Then, after getting rid of Special Agent Cait Cavanaugh, he would blow this town.

But not alone.

With thoughts of all the things he wanted to do to Valentine Snow, with her, the shooter was humming as he drove toward the academy.

There could not have been more security if the president had decided to pay a visit to the Admiral Somersett Military Academy. As it was, three U.S. senators who were ASMA alumni had been asked not to come, for fear of making the target even more appealing.

Although the politicians were understandably not happy about losing such super photo ops, particularly in an election year, each reluctantly agreed to stay in Washington. Where, natch, they were also all going to hold press conferences explaining why they wouldn’t be on hand to honor two of America’s finest.

‘‘Like the maid and the crossing guard don’t count?’’ Cait muttered when the SAC filled her in on the discussions with the various staffers.

Despite the weather, people had lined up two and three, even four people deep on the sidewalk along the route the cortege would be taking from the funeral home, to which the bodies had been moved after Drew Sloan had finished the autopsies, to the academy. Although caissons had been suggested, because of the rain the decision had been made that the flag-draped coffins would be transported in two black hearses.

Adding to the pomp and circumstance, a pair of bagpipers would follow the hearses, and behind them would be two riderless horses, a symbol of a fallen leader that, the academy’s protocol officer informed Cait, went back to President Abraham Lincoln’s funeral procession.

A perimeter had been established, enclosing a two-block area of the academy’s grounds.

Rope lines were being manned by uniformed police. Inside, in concentric circles, were more cops, ATF, FBI, and Secret Service agents.

Heavily armed and armored SWAT teams from all three branches were on rooftops overlooking the street.

One good thing, Cait thought, as she looked up at the gloomy gray sky, which continued to drizzle over the city, was that the viewing and the memorial service had been moved from the parade ground into the academy’s rotunda. Which allowed better control over the situation.

The rain kept the Secret Service agents from wearing their trademark sunglasses, but they all had the requisite microphones on their wrists and their radio receivers in their ears. Their eyes were never still, scanning the crowd, looking for that one person who appeared out of place.

As good as she’d always thought she was, as good as the FBI was, Cait had to admit these Secret Service guys might just have the edge.

Which was a good thing. Because she’d sure as hell be willing to be topped in the security detail if it meant preventing an incident.

Anyone trying to breach the security would have to get past not only these guards but also the armed guards at the tall stone gate leading into the academy grounds. Because the shooter had been able to kill his second victim by aiming straight through the gate, down the row of trees to the parade ground, a black canvas awning, completely opaque, had been erected between the curb and the doorway of the rotunda building.

The plan was for each hearse to back up to the front of the awning, which would allow the two caskets to be unloaded out of view of any would-be sniper.

In addition, anyone entering the building would have to show ID and pass through a metal detector.

Meanwhile, nearly every patrol car in the SPD was cruising the streets in a five-block area and law enforcement helicopters circled overhead. Although the media had squealed like stuck pigs, the Secret Service—the one agency no one was allowed to argue with—had grounded their television copters.

Cait knew there was no such thing as perfect security, but they had done everything possible to prevent an incident at the academy.

Provided that was what their killer was targeting.