In the Dark (10 page)

"He's the real reason you're here, isn't he?" Luther asked, considering her motives. Why else would she be willing to stay up all night? "What was Forrester like?" he asked, wondering if Hannah'd had a thing for him.

She paused to reflect. "Fat," she said with a strained chuckle. "Poor man, he ate like a rabbit and he couldn't lose weight. He loved his work; he was devoted to it, going above and beyond anyone's expectations, which is probably why he discovered Lovitt's involvement in the first place. You know, it really ticks me off when people die before they've accomplished what they set out to do," she added, pulling up a second rolling chair and thumping into the seat.

Beneath the note of frustration, Luther sensed a deep river of grief. He suffered the craziest impulse to pull her onto his lap and wrap his arms around her, giving her permission to let go of the pain she held in check.

"You're right," he said, suddenly determined to make things better for her. "If Lovitt killed your colleague then we need to prove it. Enough of this. Let's go to the Northern Neck and see what Forrester was up to. Any idea where he was staying while he was there?"

"No," she said, scooting closer.

He typed Forrester's name into a search engine and found a newspaper article reporting his death. Luther and Hannah skimmed it together.

"It says he was visiting from the D.C. area and staying at the Magnolia Inn in Sabena," Hannah observed.

"Upon investigation of the accident,"
Luther read out loud,
"Sheriff James Blaylock deemed it an unfortunate incident. Forrester may have lost control of his vehicle, swerving off the road and into trees. His air bag failed to inflate fully."
He glanced sidelong at Hannah's tense profile. She sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

"I want to know more about this Sheriff Blaylock," she said in a hard voice.

Luther entered his name in the search engine, not surprised to come up with dozens of hits. "We need to limit the search."

"Add Lovitt's name," Hannah suggested. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky."

He followed her suggestion, expecting no results. Much to his surprise, there was a match—an article linking the names Lovitt and Blaylock together. "Check this out," he exclaimed as a wedding announcement popped onto the screen. "
'Sheriff James Blaylock marries Anna Lovitt'.
It's two years old."

Hannah sat forward, her expression brightening. "Do you think she's related?"

"Here." He pointed to a paragraph near the end of the article. "
'The bride is the daughter of the late Marshall and Dotty Lovitt. Her older brother, Commander Edward Lovitt, United States Navy, gave the bride away.'
Got you now, you son of a bitch!"

"No we don't," said Hannah, keeping him from giving her a victory hug. "All we have is circumstantial evidence. So Lovitt's brother-in-law is the sheriff of Sabena. What does that prove? Nothing."

"You're right," he conceded. "We'll go to Sabena first thing in the morning."

"Do you think we can find what we need in two days?" she asked dubiously.

"We don't have much choice, do we?" Luther cleared the screen and logged off. As he reached under the desk to depress the power button, his shoulder brushed Hannah's thigh. He managed to follow through and to straighten as if the contact hadn't affected him like a bolt of lightning.

Physical awareness clawed through him, sharp and all-consuming.

Working in close quarters for two nights straight had only increased his awareness of her. The way Hannah moved, her intelligence and insight, and the feminine scent that she gave off were slowly undermining his determination to keep her at a distance.

And now he was going to the hub of Lovitt's illegal operation with Hannah right beside him. They'd probably have to stay in the bed and breakfast where Forrester had stayed, if only to get a true picture of the DIA officer's last hours.

How was Luther going to do that without snatching the wig off Hannah's head? More than once, he'd fantasized about running his ringers through her soft, glorious hair, of removing her glasses and watching her eyes flare with awareness.

It was going to be a test of his resolve—that much was certain.

Hannah groaned into her pillow. Was it possible to have slept so little in the past seventy-two hours and
still
find sleep elusive?

She pushed herself into a sitting position, brushed the hair off her cheeks, and gazed at the now-familiar four walls of Westy's spare bedroom.

She could only guess what time it was—three in the morning, perhaps. They'd be leaving for Sabena in just a few short hours, taking their investigation to new heights. It was never more imperative that she recharge her batteries.

But images of Ernie's flight from Sabena kept flashing through her mind. Perhaps, having found proof of Lovitt's crimes, he'd hastened to the B and B to collect his things, only to be driven off the road as he raced out of town.

With Lovitt's brother-in-law being the sheriff of Sabena, it may have been a police car that pursued him, forcing him off the road. In that split second, as he hurtled toward the trees, he must have experienced a horror similar to her parents'. Only theirs had lasted longer.

Don't think of that!
But it was too late. If she fell asleep now, she would dream about the plane crash.

She blew out a weary breath.
Ineed help,
she thought. Luther was immediately downstairs, dozing on the couch in the living room. With dismal certainty, she knew that she would sleep just fine in the circle of his arms. Only what kind of case officer would she be when she couldn't sleep alone?

She delayed the inevitable nightmare by rearranging her twisted sheets. A thump on the roof made her freeze. Perhaps it was an acorn falling off the immense oak tree that stretched its branches over Westy's house. But then it came again, too stealthy to be an acorn.

And this time, it sounded closer.

Hannah rolled out of bed. In two steps, she crossed the small room and pressed her back against the wall, peering beneath the flimsy curtains of the dormered window to see outside.

A shadowy figure ducked out of view, perhaps catching sight of her. Fear jolted Hannah's system, propelling her out the open door and into the hallway. She gasped in fright as she ran straight into Westy's powerful and practically naked body.

"Shhh," he said, whisking her around the corner. "Get down into the stairwell and stay there," he commanded, pushing her head down.

Hannah obeyed, wishing fervently that she had a gun like his. His SIG Sauer glinted in the darkness as he drifted soundlessly into her room.

Just then, the dog let loose a warning bark downstairs. Luther hushed him. Quick footsteps signaled his response to the alarm.

The noises on the roof came again, this time retreating. "Fuck." Westy threw up the window, batting the curtain aside as he attempted to peg the intruder before he got away. The attempt obviously failed. In the next instant, he was flying past her, his steps remarkably quiet on the creaking stairs. "Don't move," he ordered.

"Okay." Hannah's heart thumped unnaturally loud. She couldn't hear what Westy was saying to Luther, probably that they should split up and go out either door. But if they did that, then she'd be left all alone here, without a weapon.

Sure enough, she heard the kitchen door squeak open. It had to be Luther slipping out the back because Westy was stealthier.

A scrabbling noise greeted her ears. Hannah tensed, but it was only Jesse. The black Lab climbed to the landing and whined at her pathetically.

You think you're scared?
she conveyed telepathically.
They left me here without a weapon.

If the intruder had a partner, working in pairs like the Obradovitch couple, then one of them would lead Westy and Luther away while the other sneaked through an upstairs window to blow her head off.

No, this wasn't good. Hannah eased down the steps, scooting on her bottom. She needed to arm herself, and a knife was better than nothing.

The kitchen was full of shadows. Through the French windows of the addition Westy had built on the back of the house, she could see his backyard, with its shade trees conveniently placed for snipers to hide behind.

She went down on her hands and knees, crawling across the heart of pine floor, keeping well below the countertops as she made a beeline for Westy's knife rack. Peering up at it, she selected the largest blade. The haft felt reassuring in her palm. She'd done some hand-to-hand training back at CIA camp.

For what seemed an excruciating amount of time, she crouched in the kitchen expecting the worst. If the Individual was after her, he wasn't going to let her live this time, not when she'd killed his Cuban presidential hopeful.

Without warning the back door flew open. Hannah sprang to her feet, launching an offensive that could not have been predicted or countermeasured with a gun.

"Hey, hey, hey!"

It was Luther, not Misalov Obradovitch, who stood at a similar height. In three quick moves, Luther disarmed her. He slammed the knife down on the counter and jerked her against him, the muscles in his body rigid with anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he raged through his teeth.

"Sorry, I thought you were—"

"I'm not. I'm here to protect you." His arm was a band of steel trapping her against his naked chest. "Stop going offensive and let me do my job," he added.

His chest was warm and smooth and faintly damp from the humidity outside. Hannah stood nose to nose with him, her mouth so close that it would take no effort at all to steal a kiss.

So she did, not really intending to. The instinct to soothe his agitation and comfort herself overrode her common sense for the moment.

His lips were soft and warm. She knew exactly how it would feel if he kissed her back. She drew a breath as desire coiled around her. "Sorry," she whispered, pulling away.

She wasn't really, but he didn't need to know that.

His grip didn't slacken. He stared down at her, stunned. She could feel his body quickening against hers, growing hard.

But then he released her, letting her heels fall to the floor. His gaze flew to the windows. "Let's get out of this room," he muttered. He pulled her with him into the living room, closing the drapes so they couldn't be seen.

"Did you see who was on the roof?"

"Yes, running away. He got into a car and took off. Westy's parked behind a bush hoping he'll come back, but I think it's safe to say he won't."

"Was it Misalov Obradovitch?" She quailed as she recalled the impassive look in the European's eyes. The thought of him and his ruthless wife after her unnerved her completely.

"I don't think so. This man was slim, light on his feet. Something about the way he ran looked familiar, but I couldn't see his face."

"Someone knows who I am," she concluded. She collapsed on the couch as her knees gave out suddenly.

Luther turned and looked at her. "How?" he said, his voice rough with frustration. "How could anyone know already?"

"There has to be a leak," she said.

Luther shook his head.

"Your fiancée," Hannah suggested.

"Don't call her that." His abrupt tone told her she'd struck nerve. "She's not my fiancée. She never should have been."

The words released a certain tension in her chest. "Could she have figured out who I am, though? Does she know enough of what's going on?" Hannah pressed.

He sat down next to her. "I don't know."

"Who else knows me? There's the defense lawyer and the men in your platoon."

"Not one of them is loyal to Lovitt," he reassured her. "Shit, it has to be Veronica," he admitted darkly. "Maybe she found out who you were from the ID scanner."

"Only a security officer could do that."

He gave a humorless laugh. "Or the secretary screwing the security officer," he countered. "I wouldn't put it past her to play some kind of game with me. She has no idea the seriousness of it all." He put one hand behind his neck, squeezing it. "If Veronica told Lovitt, then he'd probably come after you himself. I think that's who it was," he said, looking at her sharply. "That was Lovitt's run. I thought I recognized it."

"He'll tell the Individual where I am," Hannah added, her mouth growing dry with fear.

"He'll also try to clean things up in Sabena."

They sat shoulder to shoulder, reeling with the implications. "We need to leave for the Northern Neck tonight," Hannah urged.

"No, we should wait for your ID to come tomorrow," he argued.

"No one's asked to see it yet."

"They're not going to let you into the Trial Services Building again without it," Luther insisted.

"Fine." She collapsed against the cushions. It was either that or launch herself at Luther and steal another kiss.

"Why don't you go upstairs and catch some sleep before we go?" he suggested.

"Right, like I'm going to sleep up there when Lovitt was just trying to shoot me through the window."

He rolled to his feet, disappointing her. "Lie down here then," he offered. He crossed to the window to peek outside.

Hannah swung her feet onto the couch and nestled into the blanket Luther had been using. It smelled like him, like sportsman's soap and ironing starch. "What about you?" she asked, wishing he would join her.

"I'll catch a few winks in the chair here."

Hannah turned her face to the pillow and closed her eyes. She knew she wouldn't sleep. Her ears were cocked to the sound of Luther easing into the armchair. The springs protested his weight. He stuck his long legs out in front of him.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Hannah asked ten minutes later. It was sheer desperation that made her say it. Her eyes felt like they were hard-boiled. If she didn't get some sleep soon, she'd have a mental breakdown, and men in straitjackets would have to be called in to cart her away.

"Depends," he said warily.

"Would you mind laying down beside me for a little while?"

"Lying down," he said, correcting her grammar, but he didn't immediately answer her question. Finally, he rolled to his feet. "You're going to have to scoot way over."