“Truckee, California, just outside—”
“Lake Tahoe. Why? What possible benefit can we gain by going there?”
He heaved a sigh and for the first time, shadows creased the inner corners of his eyes. “All the information we’ve collected is there. Two of the other couples on the team, Keira and Luke and Jessica and Quaid, live there too. Alyssa and Teague’s home is huge, in the middle of ten acres and backs up to a national forest. Their property is surrounded by a military-grade security system and round-the-clock ex-military guards. We all fit there and we’re all safe there.”
She pressed the Coke to the side of her neck to cool the sudden heat flash and fanned her face with the other hand. She recognized the extreme measures and didn’t have to ask why they were necessary. “No. You go, but not me.”
“Hali, please don’t start.”
She barely heard him. A new sound rose in her ears, a hum or a buzz or something. She pushed to her feet, wobbled a little until her light-headedness eased, then shifted foot to foot with nowhere to go. No exit. No escape.
“What did you tell them about me?” She couldn’t have heard the answer even if he’d given her one, but it didn’t matter. She knew—he’d told them everything. She could tell how close they were by the way he talked about them.
“Not going.” Her mind skidded sideways. Images of the terrors these people had suffered flashed in her head. They’d been threatened, kidnapped, imprisoned, killed. “Can’t make me . . .”
Her ribs had grown too tight, her throat too small. Suddenly, she couldn’t get enough air. She fisted the shirt over her chest. “What, what . . . is this?”
She asked the question more to hear her own voice than for an answer. But suddenly, she was spinning. Her heart hammered so hard, she swore it beat outside her body.
“Hali . . . Hali . . .”
“Hali . . . Hali . . .”
Mitch’s voice echoed and she squeezed her eyes shut to get rid of it, but when his arms came around her, she clung like she was drowning. He hauled her off her feet, pulled her into his lap, and surrounded her with his big body.
The buzz dimmed, replaced by the harsh rasp of her own breath.
Mitch’s voice tried to soothe with, “You’re fine, honey. You’re safe.”
But she wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe. The others he wanted to drag her to see weren’t safe. “Can’t . . . go, Mitch.” Her voice came muffled against his shirt, her mouth moving against the warm, pliant muscle of his chest beneath the cotton. “Not safe. I’ve hurt them enough.”
His hand scraped through her hair, massaged the base of her neck. Emotion balled in her throat. “It’s the safest place there is, Hali.”
When she could breathe again, when the sky had stopped falling, Halina took a deep breath of Mitch before she said, “I’m okay now.”
“No,” he murmured, the rock of his body was almost imperceptible, but magically calming, “you’re still shaking.”
“I’m fine.” This time she lifted her head. He tightened his fingers in her hair.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “You were almost asleep.”
Oh, hell, that was tempting. “Mitch . . .”
He rolled backward, taking her with him, and settled on his side with Hali on her back, her legs draped over his, their foreheads almost touching on one pillow.
“Shh.” He closed his eyes. “I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning.” He pushed his face deeper into the pillow, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Someone wore me the hell out.”
EIGHT
Owen stepped into visitors’ reception at the Central Detention Center, unzipped his outer jacket. He jostled the fabric over his shoulders to shake off the light snow he’d collected on the walk in. A young female Hispanic officer, her dark hair coiled into a severe bun at the base of her neck, looked up from a computer screen at the counter with a resigned weariness in her gaze.
“Good morning, Officer,” he greeted.
The woman’s eyes met Owen’s only for a split second before dropping to his chest and holding on the metal there. Her gaze jumped back to his expression freshened with respect, her body straightening to attention.
“Colonel, sir,” she said with a serious nod. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I apologize for the lack of advance notice, but I need to see Mr. Abrute. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“Of course not.” She clicked through several screens on her computer and picked up a phone. “It’s before regular visiting hours, so it might take an extra moment for me to round up another officer. Where would you like him, sir?”
“A private holding cell, please.” When she met his eyes, he read her silent question: Did he want their meeting recorded? There was a certain amount of risk in taping their conversation, but Owen opted for the recording. “But . . . not too private.”
“Yes, sir.”
Owen went through the standard procedure for all visitors, emptying his pockets, surrendering his weapon, allowing his briefcase to be searched, clearing a metal detector. He could bypass protocol when needed, but he didn’t like to pull rank unless absolutely necessary. The brass on his uniform was loud enough, and the only reason he’d worn it was for the psychological pressure on Abrute.
The man was waiting, hands in cuffs and clasped on the table, when a guard led Owen into the holding cell. Abrute looked like he’d been here two months, not just over two weeks. As the lab manager at the Castle, Abrute had worked with Cash O’Shay while he’d been imprisoned at the facility alongside Quaid Legend.
Abrute had been harboring 99 percent of O’Shay’s finished project for Schaeffer—one Jocelyn had been hiding from Owen, among what seemed like a hundred other things. Owen had been lucky enough to swoop in and grab Abrute during the aftermath of the lab explosion and had been trying to get information out of him ever since. Information Owen could hold over Schaeffer as insurance, leverage . . . hell, he should really just come out and call it what it was—blackmail.
Unfortunately, Abrute was either deeply loyal, scared out of his mind, or really freaking stupid, because he’d been holding out. Abrute could provide both evidence and corroboration for O’Shay’s and Legend’s testimony about what had gone on at the Castle before it had been decimated, which would end Schaeffer. Only, Abrute wasn’t talking.
The metal door clanged shut behind Owen.
“This is illegal,” were the first words out of Abrute’s mouth. “I’m an American citizen. You are violating my constitutional rights. I don’t belong here. I did nothing wrong at the lab, only performed my job as I was instructed. I have served the American people faithfully for decades. I don’t belong here.”
Owen approached the table slowly, hands clasped behind his back. Instead of sitting, he set his feet apart and stood tall, staring down at the man. Silently.
“I haven’t been allowed to call anyone.” Abrute’s voice gained strength, his belligerence replacing nerves. “I haven’t been allowed to see my family. This is inhumane and against the Constitution.”
Owen smirked. “I always find it interesting how people apply the law to benefit themselves, but ignore it all when it doesn’t.” He turned his smile into a severe line. “Holding Cash O’Shay and Quaid Legend at the Castle was illegal. O’Shay and Legend are both American citizens. Their constitutional rights were violated. They didn’t belong there. They did nothing wrong, simply performed their jobs. They served the American people for decades. Not only were they not allowed to contact anyone or see their families, O’Shay’s wife was murdered. Legend’s memories stolen. Their families were taken forever, Abrute.”