Striking Distance

  Javier looked over to see Laura’s eyes close, tension leaving her body in a slow exhale. She opened her eyes and looked at McBride. “So . . . it’s over?”

  McBride nodded. “You’re cleared to go back to work at the paper. We’ll be pulling our protection detail tonight once I’ve finished my final report.”

  She buried her face in her hands for a moment, and then her head snapped up. “How can you know for certain Ali Al Zahrani cooperated with him? I have evidence that Ali was framed. I haven’t seen anything that has convinced me—”

  Petras cut her off. “Ali Al Zahrani remains a person of interest in this case. There are some loose ends regarding his role in the bombing, but I suspect we’ll have those tied up in a matter of days.”

  Laura frowned. “You said the only prints you found on the bombing materials were Edwards’s. He bought the supplies. He built the bombs. We know Ali couldn’t have done those Internet searches because he was at work when they took place. And let’s not forget that he died with a bullet in his brain from Edwards’s gun.”

  “It’s far more likely that someone—his uncle or his mother—is lying to cover up his complicity than it is that Edwards sneaked into the Al Zahrani home every day for two months to incriminate the kid.”

  “Not every day—just Monday through Thursday,” Laura quipped.

  But Petras didn’t find that funny. “That brings up another matter. The bureau is still trying to decide whether to demand from you the source of the classified files you somehow obtained.”

  “The bureau can demand whatever it wants, but you’d be wasting your time. I’ve been subpoenaed before.” There was a note of steel in Laura’s voice. “If it didn’t work for the Pentagon, it won’t work for you. I don’t reveal my sources.”

  God, Javier loved her.

  Laura looked from Petras to McBride. “What about Derek Tower? Are we any closer to understanding what he was doing at the parking garage?”

  Petras shook his head. “That’s another unanswered question, but I understand that the marshals and Denver police will be meeting with him shortly, so hopefully they’ll have that pieced together soon.”

  Javier looked over at McBride. “I’ve heard the evidence. It’s pretty convincing. But I have such a hard time believing that the man who shot me was capable of any of this. He seemed . . . off somehow. If he was such a great shot with a sniper rifle, why didn’t he just take up position somewhere high and out of sight and kill me with the M110? Why get close enough to me to put himself at risk?”

  McBride seemed to consider this. “He was given a medical discharge due to a traumatic brain injury. It’s possible that some of the lapses we’ve seen—what we’ve been calling his uneven skill set—are the result of that brain injury.”

  Javier thought about that for a moment, the whole thing seeming somehow strange to him. “I guess that’s the closest thing to an answer we’re going to get.”

  Petras looked at his watch, then up at McBride. “I need to go. I’m going to be late for the press conference.”

  “Press conference?” Laura asked.

  Petras stood. “We’re letting the public know that the bureau has solved this case so that people can feel safe again.”

  * * *

  DEREK KNEW THE next couple of hours were going to suck when he opened his eyes to see McBride, Hunter, Darcangelo, and Laura’s SEAL lover—Derek thought his name was Corbray—standing next to his hospital bed. “How thoughtful of you to stop by.”

  “Sorry we didn’t think to bring flowers,” Darcangelo said.

  Derek knew what they wanted to know, but he doubted seriously they’d believe him, even if he told them the truth. “I think visiting hours are over.”

  “Yeah? Well, too fucking bad.” Corbray glared at him. “You want us to leave, you got to answer a few questions.”

  “This isn’t a social visit? I’m hurt.” Derek said it just to fuck with them. He had every intention of answering their questions, if for no other reason than his friends at the Pentagon insisted he do so if he wanted to continue their association.

  He simply had no choice.

  Not that he had anything to hide, really. But secrecy was his nature. He didn’t share information unless it served his purposes.

  McBride set a small laptop on Derek’s table and booted it up. “I’ve got footage from surveillance cameras that shows you—”

  “No need to go to that trouble. I know what the footage shows.” He reached for his blue plastic pitcher and took a drink through the straw, morphine leaving his mouth dry. “I went to the parking garage because I was pretty sure that whoever had made Laura a target would try to take her out before or after the interview. The TV station was doing everything it could to publicize her appearance. I was certain this would draw the bastard out, and I wanted to stop him.”

  It was as simple as that.

  The four men stared at him.

  “Why did you choose the parking garage?” McBride asked.

  Derek shrugged. “I knew you had things under control on the ground. Our perp would know that, too. There are a lot of tall buildings around the station. It was pretty clear to me that the person who wanted her dead had a military background. If I’d wanted to kill her myself, I’d have taken up position on one of the rooftops and shot her as she made her way in or out of the station. The top floor of the parking garage gave me a view of every rooftop in the area—and gave me an excuse to park my car.”

  Hunter, the sniper of the group, glared at him. “Why didn’t you contact police and share your hunch?”

  “I don’t play well with others.”

  McBride spoke up. “You want us to believe that you went to the parking garage on a hunch because you wanted to protect Ms. Nilsson.”

  “I can see why you’re a chief deputy. You’re real smart.” Derek tapped his temple with his finger. “Yes, that’s what I want you to believe.”

  “Or maybe it’s like this,” Corbray said. “Maybe you decided you didn’t need her after all. You hired someone to kill her, then showed up to get rid of loose ends. Only the loose end got wise to you and almost got rid of you instead.”

  He’d known that was what they’d think.

  Hell, if he were in their shoes, that was what he’d think.

  “Did you see who shot you?” Hunter asked. “Did you get a look at him at all?”

  “No.”

  McBride handed him a head shot of a man who was obviously dead. “Do you know this man? Have you seen him before?”

  Derek shook his head.

  “Is the name Sean Michael Edwards familiar to you at all?” Hunter asked.

  Derek shook his head again. “Sorry. Can’t help you. Who is he?”

  “The man we believe shot you,” Darcangelo answered.

  Derek wasn’t used to being in this position, and it was more than a little humiliating, not only because he’d let some fucker get the drop on him, but also because he was used to being the one asking the questions.

  “Look. I need Ms. Nilsson alive. She’s the only person who can clear my company of negligence in the matter of her abduction.”

  McBride frowned. “You want to blame her for what happened to her.”

  “My sources in Islamabad say that Al-Nassar’s men were tipped off by an American man who’d said she’d told him where she was going to be. She says she never broke my company’s safety protocols, but clearly she did. Maybe she let some guy fuck the information out of her.”

  The anger on Corbray’s face made Derek suddenly grateful that the other men were there. He had no doubt he’d end up in ICU again if he and Corbray were alone.

  McBride put a restraining hand on Corbray’s shoulder. “Your sources told you Ms. Nilsson was handed over to Al-Nassar by an American?”

  Derek nodded. “If I can prove that’s true, I’ll
be able to clear my company and get back to work. So you see—I need her alive.”

  * * *

  JAVIER WALKED WITH McBride, Hunter, and Darcangelo out to the parking lot. “I know Laura, and I know she would never do anything to compromise anyone’s safety, including her own. We met in Dubai two months before her abduction, and she was plenty good at keeping secrets. There’s no way she leaked information about her whereabouts to anyone.”

  McBride held up the folder that held Sean Michael Edwards’s photo. “Are you all thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Hunter nodded. “This might not be the first time Sean Michael Edwards has tried to get revenge on Laura for her investigation against him.”

  That thought had crossed Javier’s mind, too, but some part of him still had trouble believing that the man who had blundered after him down the sidewalk could be behind the attacks on Laura, much less the one who’d orchestrated her abduction.

  “You got an extra copy of that surveillance footage from the parking garage?”

  “Yeah,” McBride answered. “Why?”

  “I’d like to take a look at it again.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  LAURA GOT UP early the next morning, showered, and fixed breakfast while Javier made coffee. They fed each other bites of omelet, last night fresh in Laura’s mind. These past few days with him had been the happiest she’d known since before her abduction. She felt like herself again, only better because now she was in love. Although she was still desperately afraid for her daughter—she had called Erik this morning, and he’d had nothing new to tell her—she no longer had to face that fear alone.

  It was almost painful to think that Javier would be leaving for Coronado in a matter of days. He had no idea when he might be deployed again, how long he’d be gone, or even whether he’d come home alive. He couldn’t even guess.

  The last time they’d said good-bye to one another . . .

  Don’t think about that now.

  Javier helped her clear the dishes from the table. “Mind if I spend some time on your computer while you’re at work? I want to look into Edwards a bit more.”

  She’d heard what Derek Tower had told them yesterday and had a pretty good idea what Javier was after. “You think Edwards was behind my abduction.”

  Javier shrugged. “Tower thinks your location was given to Al-Nassar by an American. It’s worth checking out.”

  “What he thinks doesn’t matter much to me. He also believes I leaked the information myself.”

  “Hey, you know I don’t buy that. If anyone was capable of fucking secrets out of you, it would have been me, and you didn’t tell me a thing.”

  Laura laughed despite herself, but she wished Javier would leave it alone. “Edwards is dead. What does it matter?”

  “It matters.”

  “You can use my computer—on one condition. Send me some naughty e-mails. I’m going to miss you.”

  “You sure someone at the paper doesn’t cache and read those?”

  She smiled. “All the more reason to write something really shocking. Give them something to talk about.”

  He grinned. “You got it.”

  She grabbed her leather tote and checked to make sure she had everything she needed. Car keys. VA files. Banana. Cell phone. Debit card. Her handgun.

  He walked her to the door, took her into his arms, and kissed her. “How about I meet you at the paper around noon and we head out for a little something?”

  “A little something?”

  “I have a big appetite.”

  Yes, he did. So did she.

  “I’m feeling hungry already.”

  They kissed again, and then Laura had to go.

  What had once been her normal routine felt strange—leaving home without a protection detail, driving her own car, making her way through the streets of Denver without a U.S. Marshal escort.

  She arrived at the paper to find dozens of reporters standing out front, cameras and mics ready. She’d issued a statement through her attorney yesterday afternoon after the FBI press conference, but apparently that hadn’t been enough. She walked through the crowd, taking the opportunity to thank the Marshal Service, the FBI, and the Denver police, mentioning Zach, Janet, and even Agent Petras by name.

  She found her desk festooned with balloons, a bouquet of calla lilies in the center.

  Sophie gave her a hug. “Welcome back!”

  “Thanks.” Laura sniffed the lilies. “These are beautiful.”

  Alex made his way past her to his desk, his black eye beginning to yellow. “Oh, look, it’s our celebrity.”

  Laura ignored him, getting settled in at her desk.

  “Hey, Laura, good to see you.” Matt walked up to her in a pair of black trousers and a wrinkled blue dress shirt, a big grin on his boyish face, sunglasses propped on top of his short red hair. “Glad that’s all behind you. I guess it wasn’t Al-Nassar after all. That’s good news.”

  “Yes, it is—and thanks.”

  She checked her voice mail, deleting a message from Gary in which he apologized once more—and asked her to come in for another interview tonight. He even offered to send a limo. But she wanted nothing to do with him. Next, she answered her e-mails, including one from Javier suggesting she pick up a spray can of whipped cream on the way home.

  “For dessert,” he’d written.

  “My favorite,” she answered.

  She hadn’t had time to read through the paper this morning, so she quickly perused it. She was glad to see that Alex had asked Petras about Edwards’s ties to Ali Al Zahrani. Petras had declined to comment. She couldn’t be a hundred percent sure her hunch about Ali was correct, but it seemed to her that Petras wasn’t really interested in finding the truth. She might have called Zach and asked him to look deeper into the case against Ali, but she knew there was little he could do. The Marshal Service had coordinated her protection detail and the task force, but the bombing investigation had been left to the FBI.

  She wished she could write an article challenging the bureau to reexamine the evidence against Ali, but she had promised Janet that she wouldn’t reveal the contents of the file. Laura didn’t break promises. But she didn’t give up either. Maybe there was a way to get it in the paper without breaking her promise.

  She would have to think about that.

  Tom was in an unusually bright mood, probably because he’d just learned that several I-Team stories had won prizes in this year’s Investigative Editors and Reporters Awards. “We’re glad to have you back, Nilsson. Harker, what’s going on with the city?”

  Matt was working on a follow-up piece about Candy’s Emporium. When the property had been vacated, one of the employees had apparently left behind a little black book of clients that included several leading city officials—and a state senator.

  Sophie hoped to head into the mountains with a naturalist to see how the areas burned in last summer’s catastrophic wildfires had recovered. “It ought to make for a really fantastic photo spread if you’re up for it, Joaquin.”

  He grinned. “You know it.”

  Alex hoped to put to bed the first story in his series about prison gangs, this installment focusing on how gang members in prison, even those in D-seg—disciplinary segregation—managed to communicate with gang members on the outside. “I wore a camera for some of the interviews, so I’ve got video for the website.”

  “Nilsson, how’s the VA story coming together?”

  “I’m good to go. I’ll finish it today.”

  Syd turned to Joaquin. “Photos?”

  “They’re all turned in except for the shot of Ted Hollis. When I called, he thought I was part of some government conspiracy or something. He freaked out and told me Laura had never said anything about photos. He sounded really out of it.”

  “Sorry, Joaquin. I told him
I needed a shot of him and said he could expect a call from you. I guess he forgot. I’ll call him.”

  * * *

  JAVIER SLID THE CD of the surveillance footage into Laura’s computer and played it, watching as the shooter with his strange glowing ball of a head scoped out his shot and waited. He fast-forwarded, then watched again as the guy set up the M110, got into position, and opened fire. He watched closely as the sniper spotted Tower and reacted, squeezing off two near-fatal rounds before getting in the vehicle and making his getaway.

  There was no way the man in this footage could be Edwards. The sniper moved smoothly, efficiently, demonstrating a kind of dexterity that came from practice and experience. Edwards had moved slowly with an almost shuffling gait.

  Javier stopped the playback, picked up his cell phone, and dialed a buddy of his in Coronado. He and Miles had gone through BUD/S together. Miles had been a SEAL until he’d lost both legs to a land mine in Afghanistan. Once he recovered, he’d found a new way to serve and now worked in naval intelligence. “Hey, you got a second?”

  “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “This wouldn’t have to do with a sexy reporter, would it?”

  “Yeah, and keep that to yourself.” He explained the situation to Miles. “I just don’t buy that this guy is the same one who shot me. Can you run this footage and get a height and weight off the shooter?”

  “Sure thing—but it’s going to cost you a steak dinner.”

  “You got it, bro.”

  “When do you need this?”

  “Now.”

  Miles laughed. “Make that a steak dinner—and a bottle of Glenfiddich.”

  “Deal.”

  “I’m creating a shared folder. Give me an e-mail address where I can send the password and the URL for the folder. Once you log in, upload the footage. I’ll get to work on it as soon as it’s here.”