about, was somehow connected to the problem. That my cover had been blown.” She grimaced. “Which turned out to be true, but not until much later.”
“But you’re fairly confident now that the call wasn’t related to your cover, but to something else?”
“I’m not certain, no. But looking back, recalling Rabbit’s behavior, I don’t think he knew until that afternoon that I was a fed. He wasn’t usually the patient sort.”
“You mean because he didn’t confront you until later.”
She offered up a wry smile. “Yeah. Because the incident didn’t take place until later.” Her emphasis on the word seemed to suggest something, but he didn’t allow himself to get sidetracked.
“I assume the phone company had a trap on the line, too?”
She offered a stiff nod. “Sure. And we got a phone number. Unfortunately, it belonged to a public pay phone outside a laundromat.”
He inhaled sharply. Jesus. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d worked a case like this one, where he was thwarted at every turn. “I know I’m talking a long shot here, but is there any possibility that you could recognize the voice if you heard it again?”
For several seconds she continued to meet his gaze and then, tightening her arms in front of her, she closed her eyes. Her brows drew down over them, her head cocking ever so slightly to the left. As if she listened to something only she could hear.
Waiting for her response, his gaze dipped to her mouth. Her lips were softly full, the remnants of lipstick clinging to the shapely outer edges. As he watched, they parted, the tip of her tongue running along the lower one briefly before disappearing again.
His pulse had immediately accelerated as he watched, but it was several seconds before he realized that more than just his heart had been impacted. Fighting the tension in his lower body, he averted his eyes.
He found himself recalling the last time he’d reacted similarly to a woman. It had been nineteen months, three days and counting.
And because he’d allowed himself to get distracted, she was dead. It was that final memory that destroyed whatever sexual tension remained, leaving behind the cold emptiness he’d come to accept as a necessity. Because it allowed him to do his job.
When he lifted his chin, his eyes met her slightly narrowed ones. He got the oddest sensation that she somehow knew where his thoughts had gone.
She inhaled sharply, looking slightly unsettled. “Would I recognize the voice? Maybe.”
LESS THAN SEVEN hours later at 4:30 a.m. Mark was in the hotel exercise room, wrapping up mile four on the treadmill while Colton Larson sat on the edge of a bench working with free weights. Because of the early hour, they had the relatively soundproof space to themselves.
A television mounted high in one corner was tuned to CNN, but the volume was turned off, the closed caption scrambling across the bottom of the screen. Mark read the story covering a congressional investigation. “Another lobbyist bites the dust.”
Larson was still too focused on what they’d been talking about before, though, to show any interest in the Carson scandal.
“I can’t believe you’re even considering this,” Larson said. “Adding Beth Benedict to the team.” The dumbbell he’d been using made a soft thump and clang as he exchanged it for a heavier one. “I’m not downplaying her language skills. Or suggesting that they aren’t ones that we’re in need of since Ledbetter was pulled off the team. But her background is in forensic accounting, for godsake, not counterterrorism.”
“She was at the top of her class three years ago. She impressed not just me but her other instructors, too.”
Larson’s mouth tightened. “I’m just questioning if she’s the best we can do. If one of us has to break pace to bring her up to date on four months of investigation, you’re not really adding manpower, you’re losing it. At least temporarily.”
Mark upped the treadmill speed, lengthening his stride into a full sprint. He understood Larson’s reservations because he shared a number of them. “I haven’t made any kind of decision yet.”
With an intense expression, Larson pumped away. Sweat collected at the end of his nose. He blew out, dislodging it. “Bill Monroe isn’t an idiot. If he’s limiting her to administrative duties and has her seeing a shrink, there’s a reason.” Larson released the twenty-pound weight and straightened. “And from what I hear, she was so spooked by getting locked in that car trunk, she can’t even get on a damn elevator. You’re going to have a hard time finding anyone who wants her covering their back.”
Everything Larson said was true. She wasn’t an ideal choice. In fact, when Mark had been working his way down the pro and con list at 3:00 a.m., the cons had been a runaway train. Her emotional health was questionable; she didn’t have a background in counterterrorism; not one of his agents would be eager to work with her.
And as far as recognizing the voice on the phone that day, even if she had the ability, it wouldn’t do them any good until they had a suspect in custody, and even then it was unlikely to be admissible in court. On top of all those things there was nothing to say with any certainty that the call was even related to the current situation.
In the pro column, though, she would bring something to the table that no other candidate could.
Mark adjusted the treadmill speed downward, slowing his pace. “I think you’re overlooking one crucial fact. She may be the only connection we have to our unsub. If it wasn’t Rabbit who hired Leon Tyber, but our unsub, there’s always the possibility he’ll come after her again.”
“I agree. Use her as bait. But that doesn’t necessarily require that she be part of the team. If the unsub wants her dead, he’s just as likely to go after her here in Baltimore. Ask that she be placed under constant surveillance.”
Larson was right. Mark could handle it that way, but he wouldn’t. He grabbed a towel from the basket next to the door and wiped down. He’d request that Beth be added to the team this morning before leaving Baltimore.
As it had several times since he’d left her place last night, his mind drifted slightly off-topic and into more personal avenues, where he wasn’t so much thinking about her as an agent but as a woman. Even during their short conversation, he’d found himself distracted more than once by her attractiveness. It seemed reasonable to assume her presence would impact at least a few members of his team in the same way.
He had just draped the towel around his neck when his cell phone went off. Even as he reached for it, he and Larson glanced toward the television, focusing on the closed caption, looking for the kind of bad news that would lead to a predawn call, but the text at the bottom of the screen still dealt with the lobbying scandal.
The ringer sounding a third time, Mark checked the number to the incoming call. It was his SAC, special agent in charge, David Daughtry.
As he listened to what Daughtry had to say, the knot in Mark’s chest—the one he’d been battling recently—tightened. He sank onto the closest bench. Larson sat only a few feet away having abandoned his weights, his elbows propped on his knees as he listened.
Even from the one-sided conversation, it would be obvious to him that after months of chasing a ghost,
