Rescue Me (31 page)

She didn't miss the disappointment in his
expression. “Of course. Go ahead.”

Kat went into the bathroom, locking the door
behind her, and undressed after she started the shower. She stepped
into the tub and allowed the streams to massage her weary muscles.
She felt violated after the break-in and the water couldn't get hot
enough to kill the microbes crawling all over her.

After washing her hair three times before she
felt satisfied, Kat turned the water off and quickly toweled dry.
Her robe hung behind the door and she threw it on. Poking her head
out the door, she saw Travis sitting on the couch, eating something
and watching TV. She ran into her room to dress.

When she emerged, she felt rejuvenated. She'd
decided on a nice pair of khakis with a light cotton sweater. Her
makeup highlighted the baby blue in her eyes and when she smiled,
Travis smiled back.

“If I wasn't a married man, Kat.” He shook
his head and winked. “But I am, and Sheila and the girls would
never understand that I have a boss who looks like you.”

“Thanks.” She smacked him in the back of the
head as she passed by. “I think.”

“Ow,” he grumbled and grabbed the back of his
head, laughing. “Jeez, it was a compliment.”

“I notice you don't wear a ring.” Kat grabbed
a fresh cup of coffee and joined him on the couch. “Why is
that?”

He lifted his naked ring finger. “Most men in
construction don't so I guess it's just habit. When I got out of
demo to work SAR, I never went and got one.”

“It must be too dangerous to wear one.
Wouldn't want it to get caught on something you were trying to blow
up.” She teased and he made a face at her.

“Yeah. Losing a finger in my trade could mean
trouble. You need all ten to push that little button.”

She looked at the clock. It had only been two
hours since she nearly beat him to death with his own golf club.
“Well, I'd better get you back. You said you wanted the day off.”
She stood and grabbed her keys before walking out of the apartment,
Travis on her heels. She locked the door behind them and descended
the stairs. “Was demolition good money?”

“It paid the bills.” She pushed her remote to
unlock her doors and accidently pushed the lock button. Travis
jumped when he walked in front of her Xterra just as the horn
sounded. “You did that on purpose.”

She laughed and pushed the right button,
silently unlocking the doors. “You've never hit the wrong
button?”

“I'm stuck in a beat up old Blazer. I don't
even bother to lock the doors. I figure if someone wants it that
bad, they can have it.” He looked around as they pulled out. “It's
a nice neighborhood. Why do you bother locking your doors?”

“Because I love my truck. If anything ever
happened to it, I'd be crushed. It's my baby.”

Her phone beeped, letting her know she'd
missed a call. She brought it up and looked at the screen. Wow. He
started early today. She scanned through the missed calls. Spencer.
Spencer. Spencer. Rand. Spencer. Spencer.

Odd that Rand would call her outside of a
search. She dialed his number and stuck in her earpiece.

Travis turned to her. “Who are you
calling?”

“Rand,” she answered just as he answered the
phone. “You rang?”

“What the hell is going on?”

Her blood slowed.
God, please.
Not
another search. “What's wrong?”

“Spencer told me he couldn't find you. He
said you told him you were home last night. I couldn't reach you.
He couldn't reach you. He finally went over there and your door was
wide open.”

“My door was open?” She glanced over at
Travis. “But it wasn't open this morning.”

“Spencer said he looked around and closed up
when he left. Why weren't you home?”

“I stayed at K-SAR last night.”

Rand didn't sound pleased at that news and
barked out, “Why?”

She sighed. Rand treated her like his little
sister. Her head hurt from all of this testosterone-induced
chivalry. At least Travis didn't treat her like a delicate flower
that needed to be locked in a bubble.

“I'm fine, okay?”

“Are you alone?”

“No. Travis is here.” She looked over at
him.

“Where's Spencer?”

“I don't care where he is.”

“Don't give me that bullshit, Kat. I know you
better. You do care. Call him.”

Jesus, not him too. “I don't want to call
him.”

“You sound like you're twelve. Stop being
such a baby and call him so he'll quit calling me. You know, I
haven't gotten much sleep lately. Does trouble just follow you
around?”

“I think it pretty much knows where I am.
Bye, Rand.” Kat ended the call and removed her earpiece.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.
Kat pulled up to the office and stopped. “Thanks for coming with
me.”

He laughed. “I was such a big help.”

“Just having someone there helped.”

“Next time, don't be so stubborn. If you're
in trouble, go to the cops.”

Kat swallowed. Travis was right and she knew
it. She just hoped there wouldn't be a next time. “See you at the
next search if I don't see you before.”

He nodded. “Wouldn't miss it.”

Spencer threw out a round of his favorite
curses while pacing his living room. He could always try calling
Kathryn again, but it wouldn't do any good. She'd already made it
perfectly clear how she felt. On top of the fact that she refused
to take any of his calls, it just killed him that she actually
believed she hated him.

The worry drove him insane. He hadn't slept.
He'd barely eaten. His gut churned with anxiety. Was she all right?
Why wasn't she home when she said she'd be?

When he went to her apartment and found her
door open, his heart raced at the thought of what he'd discover.
With his gun drawn, he searched the apartment from top to bottom
and didn't find a thing out of place. He spotted half a glass of
wine on the coffee table. But no Kathryn.

What day was it? Tuesday? Spencer couldn't
remember ever having a more miserable week. He longed to talk to
her, to see her again. His body ached with the need to be with her
again, if nothing else than just to hold her.

But now that she knew the truth, and he
hadn't told her, he could count his chances of ever being with her
again on a hand with no fingers.

What the hell were the odds that Sam Green
had some sort of involvement with the Haynes search? Talk about
dumb fucking luck.

Spencer had received his order from HQ and
had been assured the entire operation would remain top secret.
Top secret, my ass
. Everyone and their bald little brother
now knew about that goddamn search and his role on it.

With a harsh sigh to break through the
silence of his dimly lit living room, Spencer walked to the window
to stare at the water. Now Kathryn wouldn't even talk to him, and
who could blame her? She'd found out the man she thought she knew
and trusted had, in fact, destroyed her life. She'd just had her
heart ripped apart by him. Again.

Everything that had happened this week
reaffirmed his belief. Agents were meant to live a life of
servitude. They were never meant to fall in love, to experience the
life of normalcy. Every day spent with her drew him deeper into a
life he knew he'd never be able to keep. What in the hell had he
been thinking gambling with the fates like that?

Kathryn was now miserable because of him. He
didn't blame her. Why hadn't he listened to his head instead of
following his heart? If he would have just left her alone in the
first place none of this would have happened. Or would it have all
gone to shit anyway?

He went back to the phone. There he paused
and studied the receiver, contemplating whether to call her again.
It was almost eleven o'clock at night. Maybe too late to call?

To hell with that. They used to spend hours
on the phone when they weren't wrapped in each other's arms,
sometimes until the sun came up.

He lifted the receiver and speed-dialed her
cell number. After the fourth ring, he hung the phone up and
grabbed his keys. There was more than one way to reach her. He'd
corner her in that tiny excuse of an apartment and force her to
talk to him. She'd had a week to come to terms with everything.
Enough was enough.

As he started for the door, he passed by the
TV and paused as a news report flashed across the screen.

“Joggers discovered the body of a male
Caucasian on Alki Beach this morning. Officials place his age
between thirty-five and forty years old. He was found next to the
miniature of Lady Liberty. Here is Samantha Cook with the
story.”

A pleasant looking woman smiled into the
camera, the landscape of Alki Beach behind her. “The body was found
here.” She turned and pointed at the mini of the Statue of Liberty
before giving the camera a smile again. “Joggers out for their
usual morning run came across something that was anything but
usual.”

The camera flashed to a man, his face blurred
and his voice distorted. The news anchor held a microphone up to
him.

The man spoke. The station added subtitles
due to the digital distortion in the voice. “It was like those
movies you see where they torture the guy. He was all beat up. And
from what I've seen on
CSI
, the body don't bruise like that
if the guy is already dead, you know? That dude was still alive,
even when some of his fingers were chopped off.”

Spencer pegged him as eighteen to
twenty-five. Over six feet. Skinny. Dark hair. A t-shirt with one
of the local bars front and center. They may have blurred his face,
but they didn't bother covering up the tat on his lower arm. He'd
done time in prison. It wouldn't take more than a few hours to
track him down.

So much for protecting his identity.

The camera returned to the anchorwoman on
location, who had a grave look on her face for effect. The press
didn't give a rat's ass about the stories they reported on or how
their stories affected those around them. As long as they got their
ratings, they'd sensationalize any story they could.

“Police are treating this as a homicide. What
really baffles them is the note attached to the body identifying
him as a member of a cult-like group known as
the
Order.”

Spencer stilled as a mix of fury, disbelief,
and gut-wrenching fear almost blinded him. He grabbed the remote
and turned the volume up.

“Taunting them is the promise of another
death to follow. The Seattle police are currently working on leads
but need your help. If you were anywhere near Alki Beach between
nine o'clock last night and six o'clock this morning and you saw
anything suspicious, please contact the police. I'm Samantha Cook,
reporting for KNWS, Seattle.”

The camera flashed back to the news station
and another anchorwoman smiled into the camera. “Thank you,
Samantha. Police are asking for any help. Take a look at this
composite drawing of the body.”

“Fuck!” Spencer focused on the picture and
made the connection, his worst fear realized. God
damn
it.
The picture on the screen was the subject he knew as Sam Green.

He ran out of the house, a deep foreboding
controlling his actions.

The thought of Kathryn in danger consumed him
as he raced to his car. The tires screeched in protest to his
sudden acceleration, but Spencer didn't let off the gas until he
was at Kathryn's apartment and skidded to a stop on the other side
of the parking lot. He spotted her Xterra, relieved to find it
here, and jumped out of the car. Taking the steps two at a time, he
reached her second story apartment and pounded on the door.

“Kathryn! Kathryn!” No response. Spencer
pounded harder. “Kathryn!” He heard a click on the other side of
the door and instinctively reached for his sidearm.

As the door opened, Spencer brought the gun
forward. When he saw her, her eyes wide as she focused on the gun,
he immediately brought it back.

“What the hell?” She watched with a gaping
mouth as he forced himself past her and searched her apartment.
“What are you doing?” She followed him from room to room while he
methodically hunted for any signs of imminent danger.
“Spencer?”

“Turn on the news.” He ran his fingers
underneath tables, feeling for wires. Not that it mattered. He and
Kathryn wouldn't be staying.

“Why? What's going on?” Her tone was a cross
between confusion and irritation.

“Just do it.”

“Damn it, Spencer! I'm not doing anything
until you tell me what is going on right now!”

He stopped and stood rigid, his gaze riveting
to her face. It wasn't up for negotiation. She thinned her lips and
marched to the TV, turned it on, and then crisply folded her
arms.

“There, are you happy? Now tell me what the
hell is going on.”

But he didn't have to. She had her TV tuned
to a different station than his was and the story about the body
had just come on. The composite sketch of Sam Green flashed onto
the screen. Kathryn took a breath to say something but fell silent
when she eyed the screen. “Isn't that...” She gasped and brought a
hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, it is. You killed him. I can't
believe TREX killed him.”

“TREX
released
him,” he corrected.
“Green was helping track Salazar.”

She sucked in a breath and widened her eyes.
“I forgot about that.” She hurried and grabbed her phone. “He
called me.”

He slammed his gun into its holster as his
suspicions inched higher. “Who called you?”

“Damon Salazar.”

Spencer grabbed her phone out of her hands to
view the number. It had a local area code, but that didn't mean
anything. He knew without tracing it that it would track back to
another burner phone. Salazar definitely covered his tracks. “Why
did he call you?”