Edge of Danger (Edge Security Series Book 3) (7 page)

S
he used
the stairs to get to the third floor, running up them with Zach at her side. A glance showed the determination and focus on his face.

All business. Good.

She cracked the door to her hall. Empty. They moved as one to her apartment door. There were only six units per floor, three on each side of the hall. Hers was the far-corner unit.

She kept her gaze forward, knowing Zach had the rear and wouldn’t let anyone come up behind them. It felt good to have such confidence in her partner.

Without speaking, they stood on either side of her door. She reached over and turned the handle. Unlocked. Someone had definitely been in her place.

She pushed open the door.

Her apartment was a typical New York tiny one-bedroom and, while it would never win any design awards, it was her safe haven. Neutral colors and filled bookshelves calmed her at the end of a long day. Now those same books were scattered all over the floor.

Now wasn’t the time to think about the mess. Whoever had broken in could still be here. She drew her Glock from the holster at the small of her back. Zach already had his gun out. He nodded at her and she eased into the apartment first.

No one waited in the living room, and the kitchen was clear. She looked at Zach, who pointed at her bedroom. She stepped over a lamp and moved to the closed door. Only the ambient traffic noises and her upstairs neighbor’s music could be heard.

She pushed open her bedroom door and went in, gun raised.

“Clear,” she said a moment later.

Her bedroom had received the same treatment as the main room. All her books were on the floor. The sheets were ripped off her bed and her clothing scattered all over from the drawers of the tiny dresser. Lacy underwear lay on the carpet.

Some stranger had touched her underwear. She suppressed a shudder, and knew she’d be shopping for new ones tomorrow. Her closet had been emptied out onto the floor as well. She stepped back into the main room, where Zach was on the phone reporting the incident.

She picked up a sea-blue couch pillow that had the stuffing falling out of it. Whoever had been here had slashed it. Repeatedly.

She dropped it back to the floor. Her heart still thudded too fast. She went to the cupboard in her kitchen and pulled out the scotch bottle and two glasses. Her hand trembled as she poured a shot into each of them, making the liquid splash.

She nodded and clinked the glasses together before handing Zach his. He handed her the phone in exchange while he sipped at his drink before setting it down on the counter.

She told her story to the officer on the line. “It looks like they were looking for something,” she said.

She threw back her drink. The scotch burned a fiery path down her throat. Someone had trespassed in her private space. She poured another shot into her glass. This one she took with her as she picked her way to her couch. She put the cushions back on and flopped down.

“Is anything missing, Detective?” the officer on the other end of the line asked.

Right. She needed to focus. A quick glance told her everything. “The TV is still here. My laptop is at work.” She shook her head. “I don’t own anything worth taking.”

The officer asked a few more questions and then asked her to come down to the precinct to file a report the next day. She agreed and hung up. The police were swamped with emergency calls—none of them had the time to check out her apartment if there wasn’t any evidence to gather. And without security cameras the outcome didn’t look good.

Zach had left the apartment while she’d spoken. It seemed lonelier without his presence. She drew her knees up and hugged them.

He came back moments later. “None of your neighbors on this floor heard anything or were broken into.”

The scotch had started to work. Her heartrate lowered and the violation didn’t pierce quite as hard. “So it’s not a robbery,” she said.

Zach nodded. “They were definitely looking for something.”

She took another small sip and then set her drink aside. She needed a clear head to deal with this. “They were also trying to make a statement,” she said. “Whatever they were looking for, they didn’t find.” She pointed at the ripped couch cushions. “That and the books thrown to the floor is because they were pissed off.”

“Agreed,” Zach said quietly.

It was close to midnight, and she was beyond tired. Zach began putting her apartment back together.

She walked past him to her bedroom and started to sort her clothes into piles. One to wash and the other, like her lacy underwear, to throw out. She made her bed with clean sheets and threw everything else into a laundry basket to deal with tomorrow.

In the main room, Zach had the place mostly organized, with only a small pile of trashed items in a garbage bag he must have found under her sink.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked. “I can sleep on the couch.”

She shook her head. She could handle this. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“You sure?” His warm brown gaze caught hers. She wanted to walk into his arms and surround herself with his strength.

“I’m sure,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She knew that the chances of whoever had done this coming back tonight were slim.

“Your lock is broken,” he said.

Now she frowned. “I’m a cop with a gun. I can handle it.” She waved at her place. “I’m just pissed that they messed up my stuff.”

“Okay,” he said. “You have my number if you need me.”

She nodded, but knew that she would never call him. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She shut the door behind him and wondered briefly if she should barricade it. But the only thing she had was the couch or a bar stool. One was overkill and the other useless.

She got ready for bed and put her gun under her pillow. The hard lump was uncomfortable but reassuring.

Z
ach stared
at the door after Alyssa shut him out. He sighed. Even if she hadn’t been his friend’s sister, there was no way he was leaving her on her own tonight. He glanced up and down the hallway before settling himself beside her door.

He’d spent nights in way worse situations. Here, he was warm, dry, and no one was shooting at him. He leaned his head back against the wall. For Alyssa, he would endure much more than sleeping against a wall, especially to keep her safe. He knew that she probably wouldn’t need him tonight, but he couldn’t leave her alone.

He nodded at a neighbor who popped out to put a bag of garbage down the chute in the little room down the hall. The old man shuffled past in his slippers and Zach saw a faded blue tattoo featuring an anchor decorating his left arm. The man stared at Zach. “You’re the cop who came to my door before. You watching out for our Alyssa?”

Zach nodded.

“Good,” he said. “It’s about time someone did.” He dumped his garbage and walked back to his door. Before he went in, he looked at Zach. “You need anything, son?”

Zach smiled. “I’m good, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” he said. “I worked for a living.”

Zach chuckled, and hoped he’d have the same sense of humor when he was that age.

He closed his eyes and took a combat nap. It allowed him to rest, yet remain aware enough to hear and respond to anything around him. Combat sleep was an essential tool for any soldier, no matter what their trade. He’d learned it in basic training and refined it over his years in special ops.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he heard the scream.

T
he souq is
hot and crowded. Alyssa pushes people out of her way, but more and more stand in front of her, talking, smoking cigarettes, all staring at her with cold eyes. She can’t find her friends.

Where are Scott and Brian?

The crowd parts for a moment. A boy of no more than twelve walks by, humming.

No, not humming. Praying.

She reaches for her sidearm. Her hand comes up empty. She throws people aside, trying to get to the boy.

“Brian!” she screams. She has to warn them. “Scott!”

More people stand in her way.

Then a woman in a black hijab is there, gripping her arms. Her contact. Something is wrong.

“I’m sorry, Alyssa.”

Alyssa tries to shove her away, but the woman’s grip is too tight. “No!”

Z
ach’s eyes
snapped open at the sound of the scream. He was up and moving into Alyssa’s apartment before he’d even registered he was awake. His hand held his gun, but he kept it lowered and by his side as he stalked through her apartment to her bedroom. It was the darkest part of the night—around three a.m., he figured. Traffic noise was at a minimum.

At her bedroom door, he paused. He heard her thrashing in her bed.

“No!” she screamed.

He went into the room. Alyssa was in the throes of a nightmare, the sheets twisted around her legs.

“Alyssa,” he said, reaching for her shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open and she reached under her pillow.

Instinct and years of training made him dive for the floor as she pulled her Glock out.

“Alyssa,” he called from the floor, his body tense and ready to move if she aimed at him. “It’s Zach. You’re safe.”

She fumbled and turned her bedside light on. Her wide eyes registered him on the floor and she slumped. “What the fuck? I could have shot you.”

He stood. “My mistake.” He gently pulled the gun from her unresisting fingers and laid it on her night table. “I shouldn’t have loomed over you while waking you.”

She scooted back, resting against the headboard. “You hardly loomed.” Again she defended him from himself. It made him smile. Her hair hung loose around her, like a fiery shawl. And the black tank top she wore made him want to touch the creamy skin it revealed. She took a moment to straighten her blankets over her legs. “I had a nightmare, didn’t I?”

He nodded. “Do you have them often?”

“What are you doing here so late? It’s three in the morning.”

He let her change the subject. Now it was his turn to be sheepish. “I was outside your door.”

She frowned. “All night?”

“I didn’t want you to be alone.”

The play of emotions over her face surprised him. Shock and irritation were the most prominent, but the fleeting glimpse of hunger was the one that fascinated him. He shifted closer. Her eyes tracked his movement and her tongue darted out to touch her bottom lip. He sucked in a breath as need shot through him. The memory of their kiss on the street burned him. He wanted to dig his fingers into the fire of her hair and lose himself in those lips.

But the vulnerability in her eyes stopped him, and he held himself back. She didn’t need to deal with him after the night she’d had, so he pulled the covers higher up and tucked them around her before standing.

“You’re good?” he asked.

She nodded, her gray gaze almost sad as he moved to leave her room.

“You’re not going home, are you?” she asked, not hiding the irritation lacing her voice.

He smiled, glad to see her spirit already back. He found he didn’t like to see her quiet and sad. “No,” he said. “Not until you get your door fixed.”

“You might as well use the couch. There’s spare blankets in the hall closet,” she said. She flicked off her light and rolled over, dismissing him. “Oh, and I don’t like talking much until I’ve had coffee in the morning.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”

He stopped when she called his name softly.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Good night, Firecracker.”

T
he smell
of coffee woke Alyssa the next morning. The previous evening’s events raced through her mind. She didn’t know what was worse: her apartment break-in, the fact that she’d kissed a member of her team, or that that member of the team was now in her apartment making coffee.

She buried her head under her pillow. Maybe she could just pretend to be asleep until he left. She groaned.

She’d never run from anything before, and she wouldn’t start now.

She dragged herself from bed and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt before throwing her hair into a ponytail. She’d shower after she had some of that delicious-smelling coffee.

She stumbled into the main room to see Zach dominating it. He made the whole place seem smaller with his broad shoulders and formidable height. He’d removed his sweater and wore only a faded T-shirt and jeans, standing barefoot in her tiny kitchen.

He smiled at her as he handed her a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar, right?”

She nodded and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Was this every woman’s fantasy or just hers, to be greeted in the morning by a smiling, gorgeous man bearing coffee?

She grunted something and took the cup.

He laughed. “You weren’t kidding about the coffee, were you?”

She had to turn from the sight of him or she’d be tempted to do something stupid, like jump on him and rip off that T-shirt to bare all those delectable muscles.

She plopped down on the couch and sipped the coffee.

Must find control.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I grabbed a shower earlier.”

He’d been in her shower? Naked?

“Well, that’s how one usually showers,” he said.

Her face heated when she realized she’d spoken out loud. “I meant…I didn’t hear you. That’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

She could hear the laughter in his voice, but she refused to look at him. And now she couldn’t get the image of him naked, soaping himself, out of her mind. She was out of her mind.

She gulped her coffee.

Must find control.

At least he was taking her mind off the break-in. Her gaze landed on the garbage bag of broken items that Zach had put by her front door. She sobered instantly, her body no longer heated.

“I want to find the asshole who broke in here,” she said, facing Zach at last.

All humor vanished from his face at her words. “We will.”

“But first we need to find that a-hole Shabah.” She stood up. “I’m gonna shower.”

A small grin appeared on his face. “Naked?”

Her face heated and she ignored his comment and laugh as best she could.

He opened her fridge door. “You don’t believe in food?”

“What? I have milk, coffee, and leftover Chinese. All the basics.” She snorted. “Besides, this is New York. Nobody eats at home.”

She went into her bathroom, listening to him chuckle. She could get used to hearing that deep, warm voice in the mornings.

No. He was leaving when his assignment was over. She had to remember that.

She showered quickly, trying not to think of Zach’s large body in her tiny shower. She placed her hand on the wall. Had his broad shoulders grazed the cool tile? Had the water sluiced over those shoulders to run in rivulets down his muscled chest?

“Dammit,” she muttered as she shut off the shower. Her skin felt sensitized as she toweled off.

She dressed in clean jeans and a blue sweater, and put her damp hair in a loose braid. She put on her shoulder holster and slid her Glock into it.

Out in the kitchen, Zach had found a few eggs and scrambled them. He slid them on a plate for her and filled her coffee mug before placing both on the bar top. She hesitated before sliding onto the barstool. She bit her lip as she looked at the plate in front of her. It had been a long time since someone had made her breakfast.

“Thank you,” she said before digging into her eggs. Her stomach rumbled happily. “You can sleep over anytime.” Her face heated when she heard her words.

“I don’t often have the chance to make breakfast for a beautiful woman,” he said with a smile.

“I can’t believe that. You probably have women throwing themselves at you.”

He sat beside her with his own plate. “I’m no monk,” he said. “But one-night stands aren’t really my thing.”

She stiffened. “So you have a girlfriend?”

“No. My job just doesn’t really allow me to have long-term relationships.”

Was he warning her of what his life was like? That he couldn’t offer anything besides one night? She shouldn’t care, but she fought to keep her face smooth of the disappointment sinking inside her.

She stared at her eggs. It didn’t matter.

His phone dinged from the coffee table and he picked it up. “Work,” he said to her.

Hers began buzzing from her jacket. Her stomach twisted when she checked it. She shared a look with Zach. “Bureau,” was all she said.

She walked into her bedroom to answer it, and to give Zach privacy with his call.

“Al?” It was Drew on the line.

“What’s up?”

“Get to 306 East 26
^th
Street. A bomb went off in a coffee shop.”

She sucked in a breath. “Casualties?”

“Just one. The bomber. Agent Dickhead is here barking orders. Get here ASAP.” He hung up. She strode into the main room to find Zach, jacket and shoes on.

“You know where this place is?” he asked, handing her jacket to her.

She nodded. “We’ll take my car.”

She automatically went to lock her apartment when she left, and clenched her jaw against the anger when she saw the broken doorframe again. She shut the door as best she could and jogged out to her car with Zach following.

Minutes later, they arrived at a scene that more closely resembled what she’d seen in Iraq than anything that should be happening in the United States. Her heartrate sped up and she pressed her fingernails into the palms of her hands. The small bit of pain focused her. Fire trucks and police cars flooded the area. Yellow tape and officers kept the bystanders and reporters back.

She pressed her lips together and pushed her way through the crowd with Zach following behind until she reached the yellow tape. She ducked under after flashing her badge at the officer standing there.

Now that she was out of the crowd, she could see the destruction in front of her and her insides froze. Glass and brick littered the area. The sharp bite of burned black powder lingered in the air, while concrete dust coated everything, including her throat. She swallowed hard against the building nausea.

“Alyssa,” Zach said. “Alyssa, you with me?”

He stood in front of her, compassion filling his eyes as he blocked her view. How long had she been staring at the scene? Fuck. She needed to get her head screwed on straight. This was not Iraq. She wasn’t the victim here.

Focus on the facts.

“I’m fine,” she said, shrugging off Zach’s concern.

“You’re not fine,” he said quietly, but he moved aside so she could see the scene.

The coffee shop had been on the ground floor of an apartment building. The front window and some of the wall had blown outwards.

Masters and his entourage of agents were in a huddle by the bomb squad’s van. Drew and Riley conferred just outside the blast zone. Alyssa ignored Masters and went to her colleagues instead, avoiding looking at the coffee shop.

“What happened?” she asked, hoping she could hear the answer over the blood rushing in her ears.

“Looks like someone sitting in the front window was a suicide bomber,” Drew said. “Thankfully, the shop wasn’t busy. Only the bomber is dead. The customers in the back are shaken up, but mostly okay. They were somewhat shielded from the blast by the counter.”

“Anyone we can talk to?” Zach asked.

“The barista.” Drew led the way to an ambulance, where a young woman sat while a paramedic put adhesive strips on a cut on her forehead. She wore a green shirt with a dancing coffee bean on it. Blood and dust smeared her face, giving her dark skin a ghostly, macabre appearance.

Alyssa breathed a small sigh of relief to be facing away from the destruction. “Ma’am,” she said, speaking a bit louder, knowing the other woman would have ringing in her ears from the blast. “I’m Detective Harrison. Could you please tell us what happened?”

The woman looked at Alyssa with wide eyes. “I don’t know why he did it,” she said.

“Who did it?” Alyssa asked.

“Tony,” the barista said. “I told the other officer all about him. He was a homeless guy. I thought he was harmless. I used to give him a coffee for taking my trash out.” She shook her head and then winced.

“What happened this morning?” Alyssa prodded.

The woman took a deep breath. “Tony came in and I gave him a coffee. He seemed happy. He had a new backpack. Or new for him, anyway. He took his coffee and sat at the front window. He liked to do that. He said it made him feel normal.” She shook her head. “Why would he do this?”

Alyssa patted the woman’s shoulder. “We’re going to find out.”

She stepped back and let Riley take over questioning the woman. She motioned to Zach and Drew.

Agent Masters decided to come, too. She barely suppressed her grimace. “Harrison and Grayson,” he said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

She clenched her jaw. He must have seen them come together. Her eyes narrowed even as she ducked her head. It wasn’t important what Masters thought of her, just that he let her continue on the task force. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she said, looking up once more.

Masters crossed his arms over his chest. “A suicide bomber is supposed to make sense?”

“No,” Zach said. “She’s right. Something’s off. Most bombers go for big targets.”

“And the barista said he seemed happy. Not nervous or anything.” Alyssa turned to Drew. “Security cameras?”

“On it,” he said, avoiding looking at Masters. “I’ll get officers sweeping the block for anyone who might have seen something.” He jogged off.

“We need to find out everything we can about the bomber,” Alyssa said. “Whether there’s a connection to Al Shabah, and why the hell he’d want to blow up a two-bit coffee shop.”

Masters nodded grudgingly. “Let me know what you find.”

“Of course,” she replied. Was he beginning to respect her?

“Do a sweep of the interior,” he said. “And add that to your report.” He walked off to talk with another agent.

She looked at the remains of the coffee shop and her legs refused to move.

“I can do the sweep alone,” Zach said.

She clenched her hands. “No,” she said. She forced her numb limbs to move. Zach followed at her side. She knew he watched her, but she couldn’t do anything about it. All of her attention was on getting through the next few minutes.

“Concentrate on the present,” Zach said. “Focus on what you see, hear, and feel. Don’t think. Just catalogue it for me.”

She nodded. Relief surged through her. She was grateful for his help, even though part of her cringed that she needed it. They walked into the coffee shop.

“Blast radius suggests one bomb.” She pointed at the blackened, caved-in area in the front corner. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to keep her breaths even. “The blast origin. Which means he placed the backpack there.” She stared at the corner. Something wasn’t right. Her mind drifted for a moment while she considered it. An image of a boy in a dark tunic and pants surfaced in front of her eyes.

T
he boy is overweight
, rare where there is this much poverty. His rapid breathing draws her gaze, almost as if he’s been running a race. His wide eyes dart all around as he walks past her. The sunshine highlights his narrow face.

She frowns. Something isn’t right.

“Alyssa,” her contact says. “I’m sorry.”

Alyssa turns back to the woman—the one who’d said she had information for her, but wanted to meet in the busy market.

“You’re sorry?” she asks.

S
omeone called
her name from far away.

The woman in front of her faded, to be replaced by a large man, his brown skin clean of dust and sweat.

“Zach?” What was he doing here?

“Alyssa,” Zach said. “Feel my hand. Stay with me.” Zach had his hand cradling her face. His palm was rough and warm, while his thumb rubbed her cheek.

She leaned in to his touch and stared into his deep brown eyes. “Zach?”

He nodded. “We’re leaving now.”

She looked around at the blast-hollowed shop and couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her. “Okay.”

He ushered her outside, blocking as much of her view of the blast zone with his large shoulders as he could. Once outside, she dragged in deep breaths, shuddering as she strode away from the coffee shop.

Masters watched her and she ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. Riley and Drew came toward them, but she veered away and kept walking, aiming for the side of the building while Zach stopped and spoke to them. Bile burned in her throat. She swallowed hard.

She would not be sick. There were too many witnesses and reporters around. She hugged her stomach and just breathed. Counting her heartbeats, willing it to slow.

Fuck. She hit her hand against the wall. The pain barely registered. She did it again.

“Fuck,” she said, wanting to scream, but she held herself in check. She’d be lucky if Zach didn’t report her. She had to figure this out. Maybe Dr. Martinez could help her. No. He’d just tell her to leave the task force, and no way was she doing that.

She wanted a drink so bad her hands trembled. She stuck them in her jacket pockets and walked back to her team, averting her gaze from the coffee shop. She nodded at Drew and Riley, who both frowned at her but didn’t interrupt their report to Zach.

“Any security video will be forwarded to CTB,” Riley said.

Drew stepped in. “The barista said that the bomber usually stayed at a men’s shelter down in Kip’s Bay on East 30
^th
Street.”

“That’s our next stop, then,” Alyssa said.

Zach looked at her and she knew what he was asking with those pulled-together brows. She nodded.