Against All Odds (15 page)
Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
“Don’t you get nervous in front of a big audience like that?”
At Mark’s query, Monica removed her hand. Coop missed the connection at once. “Not usually. You gain a comfort level with practice. I thought I might have a problem today, given all that’s going on, but I attribute my calmness to you guys. I trust you to keep me safe.”
“No pressure there.” Mark grinned at her over his shoulder, but Coop heard the serious undercurrent in his partner’s voice. And felt the same way.
Trust was good. It induced cooperation. But there was a downside too. When someone trusted you, it added to your burden. Increased your sense of responsibility. Failure became less of an option.
It hadn’t taken Monica’s profession of trust to solidify Coop’s resolve to keep her safe, of course. He’d been determined to do that from the moment Les gave him and Mark this assignment. It was his job.
But in the past three days it had become more than that. He would do everything he could to live up to Monica’s trust not only because it was his job but because he was coming to care about her far more than the duties of this assignment dictated.
There was one problem with keeping her safe, however. And it had nothing to do with his professional abilities. He was well trained and experienced. He was good at what he did. Skill wasn’t an issue.
Luck, however, was.
Along the way, he’d learned a hard lesson. In his business, total commitment and tactical excellence didn’t always equate to success. Sometimes, on rare occasion, an HRT mission failed.
Coop wasn’t about to admit that to Monica.
But that unsettling reality compelled him to say a silent prayer that this assignment wouldn’t be one of those exceptions.
9
“Sit tight while Mark sweeps the house.” Coop directed his comment to Monica, then resumed scanning the neighborhood outside the SUV’s windows.
“I’ve got the routine down. Don’t worry.”
Lowering his left wrist from near his mouth, Mark spoke from the front seat. “Nick says everything’s been quiet since we left.”
“Shouldn’t take long, then.”
The agent behind the wheel pulled into the driveway. As soon as the car came to a stop near the front walk, Mark slid from the front passenger seat and headed for the house while the escort vehicles continued down the street. Within a couple of hours of their arrival on Saturday, someone had made copies of her key for the agents on duty. She’d lost track of who all had one at this point, but she knew Mark and Coop did.
The driver stepped out of the vehicle as well. As Coop started to follow suit, Monica restrained him with a hand on his sleeve.
“Coop? I’d like to place that call to my father once we get inside.”
She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes—and a hint of warmth she classified as approval.
“No problem. I’ll arrange it.”
He took up a position on the other side of the car, and Monica settled back in her seat, grateful to have a couple of minutes to catch her breath.
She hadn’t been surprised she’d slept late this morning, considering she hadn’t nodded off until almost five. It had taken Coop’s firm, repeated knock and concerned query through her door to rouse her at eight-thirty. Then it had been a mad dash to get ready for her speaking engagement and drive a winding route to the Jefferson. They’d arrived for her appearance with mere minutes to spare.
Given the hectic pace of her morning, there’d been no chance to call Kabul. But during the drive into Richmond, she’d had the opportunity to pepper Coop with questions about the outcome of her father’s trip to the bazaar, and to reassure herself he was back in the embassy, safe and sound. There’d been no word yet from the informer, but hopes were high that the promised information would be passed on soon. If all went well, the hostage situation could be resolved in a matter of hours.
And Monica would have her life back.
As far as she was concerned, that couldn’t happen soon enough. In the past few days, she’d learned she wasn’t cut out for cloak-and-dagger stuff. But she was grateful it didn’t seem to faze the FBI personnel assigned to protect her.
Her door opened, and Coop leaned down. “We’re clear.”
She took the hand he extended and swung one leg to the ground. The hem of her black A-line skirt inched toward her thigh, and she tugged it back into place—but not before Coop gave her exposed leg a discreet, appreciative scan.
He might not be the most communicative guy around, but Monica got the message loud and clear.
He found her attractive.
And for reasons she refused to consider, that pleased her.
“Let’s wait on the call to my father until I change.” Monica needed a few more minutes to let the adrenaline rush from her speech subside before jumping into another emotional fray.
“Okay.” Coop fell into step beside her, his gaze sweeping their surroundings as they walked toward the porch.
The front door opened as they approached, and Mark ushered them in, closing it behind them. Monica watched as he locked the new deadbolt that had been installed Saturday afternoon while she was holed up in her office trying to pretend everything was normal.
“How about I order Chinese for a late lunch/early dinner?” Mark pocketed the key and grinned at Monica. “I know it can’t compete with that great meal you fixed yesterday, but it would be easier than cooking again, after your busy morning.”
“Chinese gets my vote,” she confirmed with a smile. “Coop, if you’ll give me fifteen minutes, I’ll be ready for that call.”
“No hurry.”
As she headed down the hall, Monica knew her comment wasn’t quite truthful. She doubted she’d ever be ready for a call to her father. But in light of his selfless gesture in the marketplace, she needed to take this first step toward forgiveness.
And trust that the Lord would guide her on the difficult journey ahead.
“I need a soda. Want one?” Mark moved toward the kitchen as Monica’s door clicked shut.
“Sure.”
Coop followed Mark, rotating the kinks from his shoulders. “I’m glad the speech is over.”
“Me too. No matter how hard you try to secure a public venue, the margin for error is too high for my taste.”
“I agree.” Coop took the soda Mark handed him and pulled the tab. The hiss of carbonation as the pressure released was a good metaphor for his own dissipating tension now that the speech was safely behind them.
“You need to work on the book signing.” Mark opened his own soda. “That one makes me nervous.”
“How about we work on it together?”
“There’s a better chance she’ll listen to you.”
“Are you going to start that again?” Coop took a long swallow from the can and gave his partner an irritated look.
“My eyes don’t lie.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I see how the lady looks at you. It’s not the same way she looks at me. Trust me, you have more . . . influence. Despite that remark about her book.”
Heat warmed Coop’s neck again. “Okay. I admit it. The compliment didn’t come out quite the way I intended.”
“Compliment? ‘Your book kept me awake’ was a compliment? Man, you’re in worse shape than I thought. Now, smooth talker that I am, I’d be happy to give you a few—”
A scream pierced the air, cutting Mark off mid-sentence.
Choking on his soda, Coop drew his Glock and sprinted down the hall, Mark at his heels.
They heard a thud. Like the sound of someone falling. The screams ratcheted down to ragged, sobbing whimpers.
Coop stopped beside Monica’s door, his pulse pounding. Mark took up a position on the opposite side.
With a nod to his partner, Coop pushed the door open, bracing himself for whatever lay on the other side.
It wasn’t what he expected.
Monica lay sprawled on her back at the foot of the bed, braced on her elbows. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wide with shock and horror. There was no obvious sign of injury. A quick inspection of the attached bath and the open closet confirmed there was no one else in the room.
Dropping to one knee beside her, Coop laid a hand on her shoulder, struggling to keep his panic from registering in his voice. “Monica, what happened? Are you hurt?”
He gave her a quick visual scan, spotting the blood on the fingers of her right hand at the same instant Mark spoke.
“Coop.”
His partner was standing by an open drawer in Monica’s dresser, his expression grim.
Rising, Coop covered the distance between them in three strides, keeping one eye on Monica.
At the dresser, he found the source of both the stains on her fingers and her terror.
The lingerie in the drawer was soaked with blood.
Fresh blood.
Cold terror gripped Coop. “Call Nick. We need backup ASAP. And get forensics. Including a K-9 bomb sniffer. I thought you swept this place?” Accusation—and anger—sharpened his voice.
“I didn’t go through the drawers.”
The response was delivered in a neutral rather than a confrontational or defensive tone—much to Mark’s credit, Coop acknowledged, a muscle clenching in his jaw. His implication—and implied indictment—were uncalled for. No one was more careful than Mark. After nearly three years of trusting each other with their lives, Coop knew that better than anyone. His anger was misdirected. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Check her out.” Mark jerked his head toward Monica and pulled out his BlackBerry.
Gun in hand, Coop moved back to Monica. She was sitting up now, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared at the blood on her fingers. And she was shaking. Badly.
As he dropped back down beside her, she drew a shaky breath. “I found the blood and backed up too fast. I t-tripped over the footboard.”
Though she was making an obvious effort to control her panic, the catch in her voice was telling. He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her but settled for a gentle touch of her cheek. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Her focus remained on her fingers.
Pulling out his handkerchief, he cleaned them as best he could. Her hands were like ice. Balling the stained square of cotton, he set it on the floor and rose, holding out a hand.
“Let me help you up.” He pulled her to her feet in one smooth, sure movement, maintaining his grip until he was certain her legs were steady enough to support her. “We need to leave here, Monica.”
Somehow she managed to dredge up the trace of a smile. “That safe house you recommended is suddenly sounding very appealing.”
“It’s all arranged.”
“Can I pack a few things?”
“No. We’ll get you whatever you need later. The ERT won’t want us to touch anything.” He didn’t mention the bomb-sniffing dog.
“ERT?”
“Evidence Response Team.”
“The agents on duty will cover us to the SUV, and our escort vehicles are on their way back.” Mark joined them, his gun still drawn. “You ready to move out?”
“Yes.” Coop was as anxious to leave as Mark was. Whoever had drenched Monica’s lingerie drawer with blood could have planted a bomb somewhere else in the house, though he doubted it.
A shiver ran through Monica, and she rubbed her upper arms. “Can I put that on?” She gestured toward the bed where a black turtleneck sweater lay.
Her attire suddenly registered, and Coop realized her ecru-colored camisole top with spaghetti straps wasn’t meant to be a blouse. And that it was the same lacy garment that had peeked above the V of the business suit she’d worn for her speech, subtly softening the tailored garment—and kicking his hormones into overdrive.
Stifling his inappropriate thoughts, Coop reached past her, snagged the turtleneck, and handed it to her. Once she’d pulled it over her head and smoothed it over her jeans, he took her arm. “Let’s move.”
He let Mark lead the way. Nick was entering when they arrived at the front door, his expression somber as Coop helped Monica into her coat.
“The escort vehicles have been recalled and will join you at the end of the street.” The agent shook his head. “I have no idea how anyone managed to get into this house. We’ve had it under surveillance the whole time, front and back.”
“Figure it out.” Coop didn’t care if he sounded curt. A slip like this could have cost Monica her life. Would have, if the intruder had wanted it to. Meaning the intent hadn’t been to kill but to send a very strong message that despite their best efforts, she was vulnerable. And that they could get to her whenever they chose.
It was not a comforting thought.
And Coop didn’t even want to
think
about Washington’s reaction to this incident.
think
about Washington’s reaction to this incident.
Mark and two other agents surrounded them as Coop hustled Monica to the SUV, where the agent who’d driven them to the speech was again behind the wheel. Coop slid in beside her, and Mark rode shotgun.
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