Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (12 page)

***

Vivi woke with a start. A door slammed downstairs and her heart hammered. Then she heard the murmur of conversation and subdued laughter. The US Marshals going about their normal day.

OK. It wasn’t bad guys. They were safe.

She pushed up onto her elbow and stared down at Michael. He had his eyes pressed tightly closed. Faking it.

“OK, sleepy head. Time to get up and eat some breakfast.” He squeezed his lids even tighter.
Crap
. Although this was better than the trance-like state he’d arrived in, it wasn’t exactly business as usual. “How about I bring you breakfast in bed? Special treat?”

He didn’t answer and a little drum of panic fluttered just beneath her ribs. The attack in the pool last night had undermined any progress they’d made after the mall shooting. She’d promised no one would hurt him but a stranger had held him under the water until he’d almost drowned.

What sort of parent did that make her?

Flawed.

Inadequate.

Struggling.

Normal
.

Time. He just needed a little time and space from what had happened. They’d be OK.

She eased out of bed, wincing as her injured feet hit the ground. She showered, ignoring the slight throb of discomfort, and put on fresh salve and bandages. She pulled a pair of jeans, a green blouse and thick socks from her case. One look in the mirror had her dragging out her make-up case—she’d seen zombies with more color. Subtle eye shadow, mascara, and a light coating of lip gloss made her look almost human. With another glance at Michael’s sleeping form—he’d drifted off again—she went downstairs to see if she could rustle up something good for him to eat.

Two strangers stood in the kitchen, both wearing dark suits and shoulder holsters. It was an unwelcome slap of reality. They both looked up as she entered.

“I was wondering when we’d get to meet you.” One guy, not tall, but blond and nice looking in a rough and rugged way came toward her with an outstretched hand. He shook hers vigorously. “We’re the day shift. I’m Inspector Patton and this here is DUSM Rogers.”

She nodded at Rogers who appeared a little older—in his fifties with graying hair and a hard edge to his face that made him look both capable and dangerous.

“How’s your son doing?” Patton asked. He wore a wedding ring and seemed easy going. The title “Inspector” suggested that Patton was the boss.

She cleared her throat. “Not great actually. I was hoping to take some warm milk and a bowl of cereal up to the room to try and get some fuel inside him.”

“You sit and have coffee. I’ll make his breakfast.” Patton was already in the fridge getting the milk. He was either a family man or had lots of siblings growing up. “Does he like Cheerios?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Not all men were as good with children or as comfortable doing for others.

FBI Agent Brennan had been good with Michael too, she thought with a pang. Perhaps they were the norm and her expectations of the male of the species had been skewed unfairly because of Michael’s father. Sad that she’d found more caring in the presence of strangers than she’d ever experienced with her ex.

The other marshal, Rogers, handed her coffee and joked. “Thank God you’re awake. This guy can’t sit still. The next phase was to redecorate the living room in soft, pastel colors that feel more ‘homey’ and then sew new drapes.” He winked at her. “He’s heading toward retirement at lightning speed and, personally, I can’t wait for him to get there.”

“Yeah, well wait until Dr. Phil is on TV this afternoon and see who the little homemaker is then,” Patton taunted him back. Rogers winked at her. They were obviously people who’d worked together for many years, both easy with their authority and, in turn, trying to put her at ease. She smiled back. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed the company of men. Nowadays her world was filled with Michael, his friends, and a couple of other moms she knew from school. She worked over the internet. Had no close male friends. Certainly no dates and absolutely no lovers.

Her mood dropped.

The guilt of motherhood was prodding her not to enjoy anything about this terrible situation. People had
died
yesterday. Michael had almost died twice. But everything that had happened also made her realize how lonely her life had become. She had no one who cared if she never went home. It was a sobering thought.

She edged up onto a tall stool. Patton slid a plate of toast and marmalade across the kitchen island toward her. It tasted delicious and she was ravenous.

Roger’s cell phone rang and he checked the window that overlooked the long, winding driveway. “Just make sure you both have your ID out and hands outside your pockets until I verify the new guy.” Rogers hung up and dialed someone else. “Visitors,” he told her and Patton, who left cook duty and went to check the back door.

“Who is it?” she asked nervously.

“Jed Brennan and some intelligence officer.”

Her stomach somersaulted. Had they figured out who Michael’s father was? What would she do if they tried to take Michael away from her, or lock him up? She’d scream bloody murder, that’s what. No. David hadn’t even returned her call from yesterday. He’d lost interest in them years ago, but he did like wielding power just to prove he could. She stood rigid with indecision and told herself she was being stupid. Every counter-terrorism agency in the world would want to see what they could get out of Michael. They’d see him as an asset, a tool.

Even if Michael had been a normal kid this would have been a traumatic time, but with his brain so delicately balanced between this world and some unknown place, it was even more difficult. She would not let them push him.

Rogers waved to get her to move out of sight behind the kitchen counter. She crouched, knowing these guys had a job to do and she could make that job harder or easier. Michael’s safety and well-being were all that truly mattered. Not David. Not the CIA. Not Jed Brennan. Just Michael.

She heard voices at the door. Footsteps. When she looked up she found herself staring at a very tall Special Agent Brennan. There was some distance in his expression which helped her see him as a federal agent again, rather than an attractive male. It settled her. Made her think that maybe they could do this. She climbed to her feet, feeling slightly foolish. Another man spoke to the marshals in the hallway. She couldn’t see him.

“Everything OK?” He sounded tired. Eyes red-rimmed from fatigue, the shadow of a dark beard sweeping his jaw. He still wore the jeans and plaid shirt he’d changed into yesterday, but the whole outdoorsy thing looked even better on him than the tailored suit. As a woman who’d always preferred tailored suits that was troubling.

“Michael’s asleep.” She grimaced as she realized she was once again hiding behind her son.

“What about you? Sleep OK?” Brennan watched her with something akin to pity. The fact he saw straight through her, made her want to hunch her shoulders and turn away.

Instead she straightened her spine and went with honesty. “Hanging in there. What about you?”

“A little too busy for sleep.” His dark hair was ruffled as if he’d run his hands through it countless times. His ears were pink from the cold.

“Have you made any arrests yet?”

Brennan shook his head. “We’re working on it. I called the hospital like you asked. The woman whose kids you saved woke up in the ICU. Looks like she’ll make it.”

“Thank goodness.”

He grinned, and that wave of attraction hit her again, harder this time.

He was the same tall, dark and handsome that had been her undoing ten years earlier. He had the same broad-shouldered, lean frame, the same confident-competent manner. But there the resemblance to her ex ended. Brennan’s eyes were warm, his grin easy. His voice was calm and non-threatening, even though power radiated from the way he held himself and the way he commanded attention. Even when she’d met the take-charge version of the guy yesterday he hadn’t yelled or gotten angry. He hadn’t lost his temper or lashed out.

It could all be an act though—she’d been fooled before. She couldn’t afford to forget that the FBI had an agenda when it came to her and her son.

A stark reminder of that fact appeared behind Brennan’s shoulder.

Everything inside her went quiet and still, the way a mouse froze when a buzzard hovered above. The newcomer’s eyes were pale blue; his gaze dissecting her like a surgeon’s scalpel. The long, sun-bleached hair softened the overall effect but she knew exactly the sort of man he was. Cold. Hard. Ruthless. No way in hell was he getting anywhere near her son.

Jed introduced them. “Vivi, this is Intelligence Officer Patrick Killion. He’s hoping to speak with you and Michael about what you experienced yesterday.” There was something in his voice that she didn’t know how to interpret. Almost humor.

The two marshals stood close by and watched the exchange.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. I was just hoping to ask Michael a few questions.” Killion held out his hand and she took it.

Despite the firm handshake his touch made her skin crawl. A shiver climbed up her spine but she didn’t give herself away. “Did no one tell you my son is mute, Mr. Killion?”

Something in the intelligence officer’s eyes sharpened further.

“It was mentioned, Ms. Vincent. I was hoping to take a look at him and see how close he might be to trying to help us.”

“
Trying
to help you?” With that one word he ramped up her pissed level by a factor of a thousand. “Are you suggesting he might be willfully
not
trying?” She stood tall, facing off with the man. Oh, she had met this type before. Hell, she’d married it. “He’s eight years old and on his best day he doesn’t speak. Are you telling me you think he does that on purpose? Or do you think you can magically
cure
him when the experts can’t?”

“Hey, lady.” Killion held up his hands, palm out. “Chill. From what I hear there’s nothing physically wrong with his vocal cords.”
How the hell did he know that?
“It’s not out of the realm of possibility that the trauma from yesterday might be the impetus that gets your son speaking again.”

She put her face right next to Killion’s. “How dare you dangle that carrot in front of my eyes so that I’ll let you go up there and
interrogate
my son? He hasn’t eaten since yesterday. He’s barely opened his eyes but you come in here as if you have the right to doubt him?” Fire burned through her, hot and furious. She shoved him back a step. An arm wrapped around her middle and Brennan pulled her away.

“But I
do
have that right, ma’am. A threat to National Security gives me that right.” Killion was getting angry too. She could see it in the tightening of his jaw and the narrowing of his gaze. Good. She went to take another step forward but Brennan anchored her around the waist. And the sudden awareness of his hand spanning her stomach made her lose her train of thought.

Some of the fire died, but not the resolve to protect her child. “Not today you don’t. Not today. And not someone like you.”

Killion looked at the floor, his chest expanding slowly as if seeking patience. “If not me, then who, Ms. Vincent? And when? When all the terrorists have fled back to their bolt holes? Or when you and Michael are both dead?” Killion’s gaze turned from pissed to cynically amused. But he’d lost his veneer of cool and Vivi didn’t intend to let him get it back.

He was a chameleon and she didn’t trust people who worked in the shadows. She needed truth and honesty. Her husband had taught her that too. As an interpreter she’d worked some highly classified cases and knew how these guys operated. Sure, he was a patriot, but he was also playing a game that was much bigger than Michael’s safety. Pawns were easily sacrificed when people concentrated on the ‘big picture’ and she wasn’t about to let that happen to her son. But she also knew that when it came to terrorism the US Government did not pull its punches.

He proved it to her the next moment. “Maybe I should contact Michael’s father?”

The intelligence officer looked at where Brennan’s arm was wrapped around her waist and gave her a mocking smile. Now she really wanted to shove him.
Does he know or is he fishing?

Even though her blood beat to the rhythm of fear she kept her face implacable. “He hasn’t seen or spoken to Michael in four years. You think a judge will let
him
determine what’s best for my son? I have full custody. I’m the one you need to convince.” Threatening to go the legal route would tie this guy up in so much red tape he’d strangle on it. And speed was the most important factor in a case like this. Any idiot could figure that out. The silence crashed down on them. “Look, I want these people caught just as much as you do.”
Maybe more
. “But Michael isn’t like other children. He hasn’t made a single sound since his accident. Not when he’s hurt or mad or crying.” It broke her heart to think about it.

She became aware that her back was still pressed against the very warm, very solid heat of Special Agent Brennan. He must have realized he was still holding her at the exact same moment. He let her go and stepped quickly away. She immediately missed the connection.

Such an attractive image, the sex-starved divorcee.

She continued. “There’s a well-respected psychiatric neuroscientist based in Minneapolis called Dr. Hinkle. He’s the reason we’re visiting the state in the first place.” Michael had liked the doctor, but she hadn’t wanted her son forced to do anything that freaked him out.

The terror attack meant she was desperate for advice as to how to move forward from an expert, not some jumped-up Agency man. “Bring him out here to talk to Michael. Depending on what he says I’ll consider letting you speak to my son afterward, here.” She nodded through to the open-plan living area. “
If
Dr. Hinkle approves.” She glanced at Brennan. “And I want Special Agent Brennan there, too.”

His pupils flared in shock but apart from that he didn’t give away his thoughts. Despite everything that had happened, she trusted him. How the heck had that happened?