Mountain Investigation (8 page)

He and Fax might have met as adversaries, but in the months since then they’d become cautious and somewhat unlikely friends, drawn together because both of them were viewed with serious suspicion by the bulk of the local and federal law-enforcement professionals. Fax was distrusted because no matter how much evidence proved that he’d been acting on orders, the fact remained that he’d helped al-Jihad and the others escape from prison. Heck, even Gray would’ve probably mistrusted the other agent, if he himself hadn’t come under a similar cloud of suspicion not long after he’d arrested Fax. Back then, when Johnson had accused him of colluding with al-Jihad, Gray’s only and best defense had been to blame his personal problems for the choices he’d made, when, in reality, he’d gone with his gut and had been wrong.

Well, after what had just happened with Mariah, his gut was 0-for-2. He’d thought he could use her without letting things get complicated. He’d been dead wrong.

“From your utter silence, I’m guessing that whatever’s going on, it’s complicated,” Fax said. “Are you in the hospital?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I just hit the parking lot, and I’m about to get in the elevator. See you in a couple of minutes.” Fax hung up.

At least something was going his way, Gray thought. If Fax was already there, he could take over Mariah’s protection immediately. That’d be better for everyone involved. And if the decision kindled an acid burn in Gray’s gut, nobody else needed to know about it.

Gray was standing by the elevators when Fax stepped out. Just shy of six feet, with close-clipped black hair, hard blue eyes and the faint thread of a scar running through one dark eyebrow, the other agent was a tough, no-nonsense scrapper from a police family, not unlike Gray’s own. Fax kept his own counsel, went outside the box when the situation called for it and had only one vulnerability Gray was aware of—namely Chelsea.

Fax was one of the few men Gray would trust at his back in a firefight, which made him the man for this particular job, too. And if a small voice at the back of Gray’s head pointed out that he’d just put Mariah’s safety on a par with his own, when he’d been so careful to tell her that wasn’t the case, then he ignored it just as he’d ignored the sense of disquiet that had poked at him when he’d put the cop in her room and abandoned his surveillance post. Those were gut-level twinges, and his gut had been less than reliable of late.

Fax nodded in greeting. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Any news?” Gray asked, though he had little hope
that the case had broken in the thirty minutes since his last update.

“More of the same,” Fax replied. “There’s a good chance that al-Jihad is out of the country, and there’s been no word on Mawadi, Jane Doe or the others. The Bear Claw PD’s Internal Affairs Department is taking a look at the local cops, trying to figure out whether there’s an in-house conspirator, and, if so, who it might be. The investigation’s being led by Romo Sampson. Career cop, has the reputation of being a hard-ass, but usually he calls it right. At the moment, he’s looking long and hard at the coroner’s office. I guess the head coroner has both friends and enemies in high places, and she and Romo have a past.”

“None of which gets us any closer to Mawadi,” Gray said, frustration riding him hard. Aware that they were exposed even with the normal hospital bustle swirling around them, Gray moved them into a nearby alcove and kept his voice pitched low. “I need you to take over the protection detail. I’ve got to get out of here.”

Fax’s scarred eyebrow rose, but he said only, “You’ve got another angle to work?”

If he said yes, Fax would accept that without further explanation, Gray knew. But it would be a lie. Shaking his head he said, “I’ve got to get out of here. This assignment’s making me crazy.”

“The assignment or the woman?”

Gray shot his friend a quick look. “Why? What have you heard?”

“Nothing. I saw the two of you together in the interview tapes, and again the other day when you pulled
her down off the ridgeline. From the way you were acting with each other, I thought there might be something going on. Sparks, at the very least.”

Scowling, Gray muttered, “I think all that wedding planning has fried your brain. She and I weren’t sparking, we were arguing.”

Fax snorted. “Whatever. Are you trying to tell me it’s my imagination?”

Gray started to…and then exhaled on a curse, scrubbing both hands across his face in a vain effort to relieve some of the tension—and wipe away the memory of a very big mistake that had felt like something else entirely. “I kissed her. Just now, in her room, under the damn surveillance cameras. We were fighting over something—I don’t even remember what. One second we were going at it, and then we were…” He trailed off.

“Going at it?” Fax offered, looking devilishly amused.

“You’re not helping.” Gray shook his head. “Anybody could’ve come in gunning for her, and I would’ve been beyond useless. What kind of an agent does something like that?”

Fax shot him a level look. “This one, for starters. Been there, done that, bought the diamond ring. Not that I’m advocating that method of courtship, but if you’re looking for someone to warn you off, you’ve come to the wrong guy.”

“I’m. Not. Courting.” Realizing he was clenching his jaw hard enough to crack a molar, Gray consciously relaxed his suddenly strung-tight body. “And if I were,
Mariah wouldn’t be where I’d be headed. She’s closed-off, short-tempered and stubborn as an ox.”

“So are you,” Fax retorted. “And I don’t think too many oxen look like her. Then again, I’m a city boy. What do I know?”

Gray glared because Fax knew damn well he was another city boy, straight from the rough side of Chicago. Yeah, maybe he was the first in his cop family to go to a big college out of state, the first to take the plunge and go federal, but still. Even city boys knew it worked best to keep policework in the family. Cops understood other cops. People on the outside—people like photographers, or whatever Mariah would be when this was all over—didn’t understand the life, didn’t grasp the dangers and demands. His ex-wife, Stacy, had come from a cop family, and even her familiarity with the demands of policework hadn’t been enough to overcome the difficulties created by his job.

That, and the fact that they might’ve had lust going for them, but when the sex had mellowed, they had belatedly realized they didn’t have a damn thing in common.

“None of it matters right now,” Gray said, as much to himself as to Fax. “I’m out. I’m done. I want you to take over the surveillance detail while I do what needs to be done.” The frustrated anger inside him needed an outlet. He was stirred up, churned up, and he wasn’t going to do anybody any good in that state. And when it came right down to it, he was tired of playing by the rules. Forget due process—he was looking for results.

This time, he was damn well turning in his resignation and making it stick.

Fax took a good long look at him, then shook his head. “All indications say that al-Jihad’s not even in the country anymore.”

“Maybe not. But Mawadi is.” And if Gray’s need to hunt the bastard had suddenly become far stronger than before, and far more personal, nobody but him needed to know it.

“If we can’t find him,” Fax said, meaning the FBI, “then how do you expect to?” He shot Gray a sidelong look. “If you’re serious about this, I’d think you’d be looking to use the woman, not leave her behind.”

Gray growled, but Fax had a point. He was being inconsistent and reactive, neither of which were good traits when it came to doing the job. But that was exactly why he needed to get away from the hospital, away from Mariah. She was stirring him up, distracting him. When he was near her, he wasn’t focused on the case—he was thinking about her, looking at her. Wondering how she would feel against him, how she would taste on his lips.

Now that he knew, it would only be worse, because he couldn’t pursue the attraction without risking her safety and the vow he’d made on a tiny grave.

“The dead deserve my full attention,” he finally said. “And Mariah needs a bodyguard who’s protecting her, not climbing all over her.”

“The dead are gone,” Fax said quietly. “You’re not.” He held up a hand to forestall Gray’s knee-jerk response. “That’s not to say the dead don’t deserve justice—of course they do. But their being dead doesn’t mean that you don’t get to have a life.”

“She’s not what I want,” Gray said starkly, though there was so much more to it than that.

Fax looked at him for a long moment before he nodded slowly. “Okay, then. I’ll watch out for her. You want to introduce me? The changeover might come easier from you.”

“I doubt it,” Gray said, largely because he was too tempted to see her one last time. “You go ahead. She’ll understand.”

“If you’re sure.” Fax stuck out his hand. “I’ll keep her alive. You keep yourself alive. Deal?”

“Deal.” Gray was reaching to shake when all hell broke loose.

Gray was sprinting for the source of the alarmed cries—Mariah’s room—before he was even aware of having moved. Fax pounded at his heels. The hospital staffers’ shouts of “Where is she?” and “She was there a minute ago!” warned him that they were already too late.

A uniformed cop stood in the doorway, wild-eyed. It wasn’t the officer who’d been on duty when Gray had left her, maybe five minutes earlier, which was a very bad sign. When the cop saw Gray, he snapped, “What the hell happened?”

Gray didn’t answer. He pushed past the cop into Mariah’s hospital room, expecting to see signs of a struggle, and the officer on duty injured, maybe down for good. Instead, he found the room nearly pristine. The bed was badly rumpled, though he suspected he was at least part of the cause of that—and the memory brought a kick of heat and anger. He was furious at himself for letting emotion override duty. He’d been sulking in the hallway when he should’ve been in the surveillance room, doing his damn job.

Which was exactly why he’d wanted Fax to take over, because his growing attraction to Mariah was distracting him, churning him up and causing him to make mistakes, perhaps even fatal ones. But the heat eating at him didn’t emerge as rage; it turned to ice. He felt the change, felt himself closing off and going killer-cold.

“Call it in and seal the room,” he said to the cop, then spun away, gesturing for Fax to follow as he jogged to the surveillance room. “Come on. The bastard is bound to be on tape. That’ll give us a starting point, and information.”

They would see whether the cop had taken her, or been taken along with her, and where they’d gone. The tapes would tell Gray where to start looking, and what he was looking for. That was the upside of being part of a well-stocked organization like the FBI.

Gray and Fax grabbed chairs, and Gray started running back the tapes, first taking a few precious seconds to erase the part where he had kissed Mariah and then working forward, moving as fast as he could, knowing every second counted.

Gray scanned the film, muttering curses under his breath as his blood beat with the need to find her. Mariah was his. Or rather, he corrected himself, she was
his responsibility.
And if she suffered—or worse, died—because he’d fouled up, then it would be on his soul. Again.

M
ARIAH AWOKE IN DARKNESS
, swathed mummylike in sheets and gagged with a towel jammed in her mouth. She fought to struggle but could barely move; she was
strapped down to something hard and flat, bound by restricting strips that crossed her chest, waist and ankles.

Panic seized her, as she felt the vertigo of motion and heard the growl of engine noise. She inhaled to scream, and nearly choked on the heavy, chemical smell suffusing the air around her. The fumes had her nasal passages closing, making her gag and fight for breath. When lack of oxygen made her even more terrified, threatening to send her over the edge, she told herself to calm down, to think. Focus.

It wasn’t easy, but she managed it. Her heart still hammered and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she slowed her breathing through sheer force of will. She could get enough air—barely—through her nostrils, and suck some through the towel. She wouldn’t suffocate, at least not immediately. But that was small comfort as she began to suspect that she was bound to a backboard and zipped inside a coroner’s body bag. She could feel the heavy plastic with the tips of her fingers, and it stood to reason. Lee and the others had escaped from the ARX Supermax in body bags, on gurneys transported out of the jail in a coroner’s van. If she had to guess, from the tip and sway as the vehicle transporting her rounded a corner, that was exactly what had been done with her as well.

It fit with Lee’s twisted sense of irony. Knowing him, she was probably lying in the very body bag he planned to use to dispose of her when the time came.

Revulsion tore at her, alongside despair, but she fought both with the hard practicality she’d been forced to learn over the past two years. If she vomited with a gag in her mouth, she’d aspirate and die. If she de
spaired and gave up, then Lee had already won, and that wasn’t acceptable. Over the past few months, as she’d reawakened to herself as a person, she’d begun to see beauty once again in the dawn and dusk, and the woods around her home. She’d discovered a new sense of purpose, of determination. And she’d kissed a man and felt the burn of lust. Maybe he hadn’t been the right man, maybe it hadn’t been the right time, but the kiss had proved that she was able to respond sexually. She’d worried now and then, late at night when her brain insisted on replaying hurtful segments of her marriage, that that capability had died. She was still alive, dammit. Kissing Gray had proved that, if nothing else.

The burn of remembered heat hardened her resolve. She wasn’t giving up without a fight. Not this time. But what could she do from where she was? She was trapped. Helpless.

Panic washed through her at the thought, but she forced it away, made herself think and remember what had happened, how she’d gotten where she’d wound up.

The cop,
she thought, remembering that she’d rolled onto her side so the officer sitting just inside the door couldn’t see her tears, which had been mostly out of frustration and anger, and a bit of self-pity following Gray’s precipitous exit.

Her eyes filmed again, and a desperate wish shimmered through her.
Please find me,
she thought, as though her brain waves could magically reach inside his thick skull.
I don’t care how you feel about me, or whether you walk away afterwards, as long as you get me out of this before Lee does…whatever he’s going to do.

The thought brought a shudder of dread, one that threatened to undermine her sense of purpose. But she fought not to give in to the terror.

Lee needs something from me,
she reminded herself, trying to breathe through the panic.
Otherwise, I’d already be dead.
But how long would that logic hold? At what point would the terrorists decide that keeping her alive was too much of an effort and just kill her?

As if answering her question, the driver swerved, hit the brakes and brought the vehicle to a skidding halt. Inertia made Mariah’s insides slosh sickeningly, but the flat surface beneath her didn’t move, except to give a metallic rattle, adding weight to her suspicion that she was strapped to a gurney that’d been locked into place in a coroner’s van. Lee would’ve liked the convenience, as well as the psychological torture, of her waking up inside her own shroud.

Bastard,
Mariah thought, fanning the anger and hatred because both were better than fear.

Then she heard muffled footsteps approaching the rear of the vehicle, and the fear took over. She whimpered involuntarily behind the gag, hoping against hope that the footsteps belonged to a savior but knowing deep down inside that they didn’t.

The door locks popped and she heard a door open. A man’s voice asked, “Did anyone see you take her?”

It was Lee.

Sick dread rolled through Mariah in waves at the sound of her ex’s too-familiar tones, draining her resolve in an instant.

“No.” The second voice, coming from very close
to her, was thick with emotion. She thought it was the cop from her room and became sure of it when he said, “I did what I was told. You said you’d tell me where my wife—”

“Help me switch her to the other car,” Lee interrupted. “Someone will call and tell you where to find your family.”

That explained the abduction, Mariah thought, her heart clutching for the cop. The terrorists had gotten to the officer, using the best leverage of all. Family.

A slice of despair suddenly surfaced as Mariah inwardly acknowledged that she might never see her parents again, that she should have tried to fix that relationship when she’d had the chance. She hadn’t understood why they’d needed to move away any more than they’d understood why she needed to stay. That, combined with Mariah’s awful guilt over knowing she’d brought Lee into their lives only to have him destroy her father’s career and self-respect, had driven a wedge into their already estranged family unit.

She should’ve apologized a thousand times over, should’ve done more to help them start over. Instead, she’d walled herself away in her isolated cabin.

Mariah felt sick, then even sicker still when the men climbed into the back of the van with her. The vehicle shuddered under their weight. Moments later, she felt the men approach her and pause. She held herself still, trapped and terrified.

An unzipping noise reverberated through the dark space that enclosed her, and suddenly there was light again, she could see again. But that wasn’t a relief,
because what she saw was Lee’s face as he bent over her, wrinkling his nose at the smell coming from the bag’s lining. His beautiful blue eyes were lit with unholy satisfaction and excitement.

“Hello, Mariah,” he said, his voice sounding as cultured and urbane as ever, his whole demeanor giving no evidence that he was talking to a woman bound in a body bag. “This shouldn’t take long at all. A short drive, a little session with al-Jihad where you’ll tell us what we want to know, and after that…well, we’ll see what happens after that, won’t we, sweetheart?”

The Feds had said Lee was a follower, with the undercover agent, Fairfax, even going as far as to call him a lemming, a weak personality who chased the leader. But they didn’t know him the way Mariah did. When it came to his wife—or the woman he perceived as still being his wife despite the paperwork that said otherwise—Lee was no follower. He went his own way, and didn’t give a damn what anyone else said, least of all her.

She’d married him thinking she was in love. But she’d found herself in hell. And now he was going to do everything in his power to put her right back there, or worse.

Heart pounding with fear and rage, Mariah narrowed her eyes, not caring that tears leaked from their corners as she screamed against her gag, telling him how much she hated him, and that she wasn’t afraid of him, not anymore. She struggled against the straps, wanting to rake her nails across his lying face, needing to do something, anything, to prove that she wasn’t the doormat she’d become while she was married to him.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek, though she struggled and turned her face away. “I missed you, too. This time I’ll be very certain not to let you get away from me. We can’t have the others thinking I’m unable to control my wife, can we?”

Refusing to look at him anymore, Mariah focused on the second man. The cop stood nearby, tense and unhappy, and coated in the stink of fear. His eyes were unfocused, turned inward, as though he were picturing what the terrorists were doing to his family.

Mariah could relate, but she felt no sympathy. She felt only anger.
How could you?
she wanted to shout at him.
You’re one of the good guys!

Then, in the distance, she heard the rattle of an engine being driven too hard, too fast. Fear seized her. Was it al-Jihad?

But Lee jolted and cursed at the sound, suggesting that the other car was unexpected. “Come on. Let’s get her transferred to the minivan.”

The cop obeyed, but his expression didn’t change; it was as though he were acting on autopilot, beyond himself with fear and shock.

The two men unlatched the gurney and started muscling it off the van, but had difficulty with the folding legs in their haste. Mariah’s pulse pounded and her thoughts raced as the surface she was bound to lurched this way and that. She saw forest on either side of her, and caught a glimpse of a brown sign that told her she was somewhere within Bear Claw Canyon State Park. The park, which covered thousands of wilderness acres, offered a steady stream of tourist income, along
with the perfect hiding place for nefarious deeds, ranging from teenagers sneaking time alone, to drug deals and even murder and body dumps.

That was what Lee and the others had used it for the day they had escaped from prison, disposing of the bodies of four slain guards and an assistant coroner in a small cave off the main drag. Mariah whimpered at the back of her throat, wondering if this was the same place.

Once they had the gurney off the van, they started hustling it toward a second vehicle, this one a minivan with its back deck wide open and the engine running. Another figure was visible in the driver’s seat, though Mariah saw him only briefly as the men approached the minivan.

“Hurry up, damn it,” Lee snapped. “If you don’t help me get the bitch out of here, your family’s dead.”

“They’re already dead, aren’t they?” the cop asked in a dull monotone, his face hardening from shock and grief to a mask of rage.

“Of course not. They’re fine.” But Lee’s answer was too quick, and his eyes showed the lie.

Cursing, the cop exploded into action, shoving the gurney straight into Lee, trapping him against the minivan’s back deck. Lee swore as the gurney yawed in his grasp, threatening to tip over.

Surprise and vertigo seized Mariah for a second before she saw her chance to escape. Once she saw it, though, she grabbed on to it, knowing it might be the only shot at freedom she had. Shouting inwardly, she threw her weight in the direction in which she was tipping, hoping against hope that would be enough.

It was. Lee yelled profanities as the gurney flipped and Mariah plummeted to the ground.