Striking Distance (21 page)

Javier held out his hand, and the two men shook. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. Call if anything comes up.”

Laura watched as Javier locked the door behind Zach, then stood and, without saying a word, walked into his embrace.

* * *

JAVIER HELPED LAURA
finish making supper, keeping the conversation light. She was quiet, almost withdrawn, understandably upset by what she had seen. But she didn’t want to be alone. She came easily into his arms when he reached for her, holding his hand while they ate, as if his touch alone made her feel safer.

The surveillance footage had upset him, too. But he wasn’t afraid—he was pissed off. Whoever that son of a bitch was, Javier wanted him dead. If he was the one to put a bullet through the bastard’s skull, so much the better.

After supper, they did the dishes, then stretched out together on the sofa to watch another episode from season one of
Downton Abbey
, one of Laura’s favorite shows. He stroked Laura’s hair, her head pillowed on his chest, the fingers of his other hand twined with hers. Being close to her like this was the most natural thing in the world, and yet it wasn’t easy. The silky feel of her hair, the scent of her skin, the soft press of her body against his, triggered memories of this afternoon’s kiss, made him burn for her.

What a strange kind of intimacy they shared. It was like nothing he’d had with a woman before. They were closer than they’d been in Dubai, and yet they hadn’t done more than hold each other at night and kiss a couple of times. Granted, that last kiss had blown his mind, but the longing for more was there.

Oh, hell, yes, it was.

She’d taken a big step today, but he didn’t want to push things and make her uncomfortable. Of course, she had nothing to worry about. Javier had been a special operator for most of his adult life. He’d gone long stretches without a woman, making do with the occasional combat jack to take the edge off. He could handle this.

It was enough to hold her, to sleep with her at night, to know that some part of her wanted him. Why else would she have kissed him?

“Yo, Bates, man, you’d better watch your six!” Javier shouted at the TV, surprising himself as much as Laura. “Thomas and O’Brien are going to bury your ass if you don’t. O’Brien, man, she’s one nasty, conniving bitch.”

His outburst made Laura laugh. “You’re getting into this, aren’t you?”

“Hey, don’t tell West. He would never let me live it down.”

She smiled up at him. “I bet Nate watches it, too. I know Megan does.”

That was a revelation.

Laura listened to Javier’s heart beat beneath her ear, her fingers stroking his forearm. They hadn’t talked about the kiss that had been interrupted. It was as if it hadn’t happened. But it had.

She could still feel the heat of it, her lips tingling, her blood warm, her body in a state of heightened awareness. She was mindful of every breath he took, his scent seeming to surround her, the feel of his hard body beside hers so arousing that she could hardly concentrate on the show.

Her thoughts drifted from one sexual scenario to the other, each more titillating than the last. She could take off his shirt, kiss her way down his body, and go down on him. Or lead him by the hand to her bedroom and make love with him. Or ride him like she’d done in Dubai, feeling him thrust into her from below.

All it would take was another kiss, a few words, a touch.

Javi, I changed my mind. I want to be with you.

Or maybe something sexier.

You kept your promise, Javi, but now I really need you to break it.

No, that was stupid, not sexy.

I trust you, Javi. I want you. Make love to me.

Too corny.

But no matter how many times she imagined it, she couldn’t bring herself to act, anxiety like heavy chains, holding her back, leaving her torn between what she desperately wanted and what she desperately feared.

Still, she couldn’t let herself remain stuck in this rut. Soon, Javier would be leaving. If she didn’t at least try to explore the desire she felt for him, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

* * *

THEY LAY TOGETHER
on Laura’s bed in the dark, her head resting on Javier’s bare chest, her fingers tracing his scars, the outline of his muscles, the veins in his arms. He held her close, caressing her bare skin with his fingertips.

“Is it hard for you to be close to me like this without having sex?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s hard for me, too. I want
so
desperately to reclaim that part of my life, to put all the bad memories to rest, to feel like a sexual being again, like a woman and not a victim, but I don’t know how.”

“Maybe we should do something about that.”

CHAPTER

19

THEY SLEPT IN
the next day, taking turns in the shower, then making breakfast together. While Javier changed to go for his morning run, Laura carried a cup of coffee into her office and began putting together a list of questions to ask Ali’s parents, uncle, and friends.

Had there been any new friends or new influences in Ali’s life in the past few months? Had he attended any meetings or events where he might have been radicalized? Had he traveled, spent time away from home? Was there any sign that his views had changed? Had he seemed upset or afraid or depressed?

“You working today? It’s Saturday.”

Laura looked up to see Javier wearing a dark blue fleece jacket and a pair of black running pants. “Zach and the task force are working through the weekend. Why shouldn’t I? Besides, I can’t really work on this during the week because I’m too busy with stories for the paper.”

Javier didn’t look convinced. “Childers is sitting in the living room, reading the paper and drinking coffee. I’m headed out. I’ve got a few things to do after my run, so I’ll be gone for at least a couple of hours. Can I pick up anything for you?”

Oh, how she wished she could go with him! It was bright and sunny outside, the crystalline air giving her a perfect view of the Rockies. But she was stuck indoors, and she’d been stuck indoors for what seemed forever.

“How about an order of fresh air and sunshine with springtime on the side?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Javier bent down, kissed her soft and slow on the mouth, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Laura found herself pressing her fingers against her lips where they still tingled, her gaze fixed on the doorway where he’d just stood, the words he’d spoken as they’d fallen asleep coming back to her.

Maybe we should do something about that.

It seemed to her that their relationship was on the brink of turning a sexual corner. She didn’t know whether she should feel excited—or terrified.

She sipped her coffee and willed herself to focus on writing up her list of questions. When she had her list ready, she called Ali’s parents.

They were surprised to hear from her, but gracious, asking about her safety in the wake of the shooting. Still, they were reluctant to speak with her, having been cautioned by their attorneys not to talk to reporters.

“I’m not calling you for an interview. I’m just trying to piece this together, to make sense of what happened. I want to understand why Ali did what he did, and I want to do my part to find the person who killed him. I won’t be writing an article about it.”

After twenty minutes it was clear to her that they didn’t have any information that could be helpful to her—no recollection of new friends or influences in Ali’s life, no knowledge of any meetings or activities where he might have been radicalized, no notion of what might have set him off.

“Ali was a good boy.” In tears, Karima spoke the words with a mother’s undying love. “He got up early every morning and went to school. When he was done with class, he rode his bike to his uncle’s store, where he worked hard every weekday from three in the afternoon until the store closed. He worked weekends, too. He worked at the store every day but Friday.”

Friday was reserved for prayer, Laura knew.

“His uncle, my husband’s brother, was helping him earn money to save for tuition. After work, he came home, ate a late dinner, and studied. He had no time for meetings or making trouble. He would not hurt a fly.”

“Thank you, Karima. Once again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Shaken by the depth of Karima’s grief and her unwavering faith in her son, Laura took a minute to compose herself, then went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee. She talked with Childers, then excused herself, steeling herself for a conversation with Ali’s uncle. She wished she could interview him in person. She’d be able to get so much more from his answers if only she could see his face, his body language, his eyes.

She sat at her desk, dialed the number, and he answered. “Mr. Al Zahrani, it’s Laura Nilsson. I’d like to—”

“I am not talking with reporters! I am sorry for your troubles, but please—”

Laura switched to Arabic, speaking quickly. “I am calling on my own behalf, not as a reporter. Please, if I might, I would like to ask a few questions. I am trying to understand what has happened.”

“Why do you need to ask questions, too? The FBI—they came in, tore my store apart, took my computer, asked me questions. The reporters who stand out in the street scaring away my customers try to ask me questions. What do you want with me?”

Laura reminded herself that the man was grieving, just like his brother and sister-in-law. “I want to find the person who killed your nephew. That same person is trying to kill me. Please, if I could just have ten minutes of your time.”

“You are not writing an article?”

“Nothing you say to me will be part of a newspaper article—not one word.”

Taking his silence as consent, Laura asked him her questions one at a time. “Have any new employees come to work for you in the past three months?”

“No. Everyone who works for me has been with me for years.”

“What were his hours?”

“He worked three to nine after school every day but Friday and on the weekends during the daytime. I told the FBI this already.”

“Did anyone—new friends or someone from his college—come to visit Ali at the store and spend time talking with him privately?”

“He worked hard the entire time he was here. No, he had no visitors.”

“Did he ever leave in the middle of a shift for any reason?”

“Leave the store? No! I already told you. He worked very hard. He was my right hand. My nephew was hoping to take over the store when I got too old. Now there is no one.”

“Did he ever ask you about jihad or seem interested in extreme—”

“You are wasting my time. As I told the FBI, my nephew would have nothing to do with such things. I have customers waiting.”

With that, he hung up, leaving Laura with no more information than she’d had before.

* * *

JAVIER CUT HIS
run short and got busy on his cell phone launching Operation Laura. McBride, Nate, Megan, and Sophie constituted Javier’s intelligence collection, but he had no on-call support assets, no tactical operations center. He was going in alone.

It was a high-risk op with significant potential for failure. He couldn’t mitigate the risk factors by running scenarios, training, or bringing in a combat support package. He would have to improvise.

To complicate the situation further, this operation would be carried out on what most men found to be treacherous and unfamiliar terrain—a woman’s heart. A wounded heart at that. Once he stepped off, anything could happen.

Unfortunately, the one who was most likely to get hurt should the whole thing go sideways was the woman he was hoping to help. Still, he had to try.

He knew his dick wasn’t a magic wand, and he realized there was a selfish element to this—if it went the way he hoped it would. But he and Laura had a connection. He knew she felt it every bit as much as he did.

What was it Nate had said?

A woman who’s been hurt like she was hurt needs a lot of time and love to heal.

Javier would be leaving in nine days, so there wasn’t much time. But no man on earth cared about her the way he did. He wanted to give her this chance.

If he opened the door, would she trust him enough to walk through it?

* * *

JAVIER GOT BACK
to the flat, relieved Childers, and went looking for Laura. He found her still in her office, documents from the leaked FBI file spread out on her desk, a troubled look on her face. “How’s it going?”

“It’s not.” She tossed down the document she’d been reading and motioned to the hundreds of pages before her. “I talked to Ali’s parents and his uncle. I even called two of his instructors. They still insist he’s innocent. They can’t think of anyone he might have met or anything that might have happened to radicalize him. When I listen to them, he sounds like a great kid. Then I look at the file the FBI compiled on his online activity . . . I went to some of the websites. It’s terrible—films of people being killed, murdered children, decapitated bodies.”

Javier knew what those sites carried, hate and violence turned into a kind of pornography. “I wish you hadn’t. You didn’t need to see that.”

She rubbed her temple, the telltale sign she had a headache. “What makes a kid turn away from studying accounting to launch a career as a terrorist?”

“If I had the answer to that, I’d have the corner office at the Pentagon. Why don’t you take a break and let the FBI and the Marshal Service do their jobs?”

“We
know
at least one other person has to be involved. That person must be to blame for—”

“Or maybe Ali himself is to blame.” He walked over to her and began to massage her shoulders. “This isn’t good for you. You need to let this go, at least for a while. Your muscles are tight again.”

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes drifting shut as he gently kneaded her upper trapezius muscles with his fingertips. “Mmm.”

He saw his first chance to improvise. “You know what you need? A massage. It would help you relax, loosen up your muscles, ease that headache.”

She smiled. “That sounds perfect, but somehow I don’t think Zach will let me visit a massage therapist.”

“A massage therapist? Hey, I am perfectly capable of giving a good massage. It was part of the curriculum for my degree—anatomy, therapeutic modalities, and shit.”

Of course, that had been a lifetime ago.

She opened her eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“Put yourself in my hands,
bella
. You won’t regret it.”

And Operation Laura was off the ground.

* * *

LAURA LAY FACEDOWN
on a blanket on her living room floor in front of the fireplace, naked apart from the sheet she’d pulled up to her hips. The blinds had been drawn to give the room a dark, cozy feel. A mix from Javier’s iPod played quietly in the background—soft Spanish classical guitar music. It was almost like being in a spa, except that she’d never felt this combination of anxiety and anticipation at a spa.

She felt strangely self-conscious. Before her abduction, she’d never been body shy, never felt the need to cover herself. Now it was her natural instinct to shield her naked body, to protect the part of her that was most vulnerable.

But this was Javier. They’d been lovers, and she knew she had nothing to fear from him. Despite her anxiety, she longed to feel his hands on her again, her pulse picking up at the very idea.

It’s just a massage.

Yes, it was. But it had been a long time since Laura had wanted a man to touch her, even in a nonsexual way. And if this massage turned erotic?

Some part of her hoped it wouldn’t—and prayed it would.

Javier knelt beside her wearing only his running pants, a bottle of sweet almond oil he’d bought in his hands. He opened it and poured some into his cupped palm, the soft scent filling her head. “I’m going to start with your back and shoulders. Let me know if the pressure is too much for you.”

The idea that she was about to get a massage from an elite military operator made her smile. She wanted to make some joke about him giving massages to his fellow SEALs. Then big, warm hands settled in the middle of her back, sliding slowly upward, unleashing delicious sensations. And her thoughts unraveled on a slow sigh.

With deep, slow strokes, he moved his hands up to her shoulders, then down to her lower back, which was surprisingly sore. He zeroed in on the place where it hurt and pressed against it with his thumbs in deep, firm circles. “You’re really tight here. It comes from sitting at that damned desk all the time. How is this pressure?”

She wanted to speak out in defense of her desk, but she could barely answer his question. “Good.”

His hands were magic. That was the only explanation. As they worked over her back, they found sore spots she didn’t know she had—the base of her spine, between her shoulder blades, an area on her right shoulder where she’d hit the ground the night of the shooting—then teased those sore spots away with gentle pressure.

She began to drift, anxiety and anticipation slipping away, yielding to a feeling of drowsy bliss, her sense of place and time fading, her mind aware only of Javier’s soothing touch.

He massaged her arms to her fingertips, earning a whimper when his fingers found the knotted muscles in her forearms—the result of typing all the time. He moved on to her legs, rucking up the sheet to expose her upper thighs, then massaging her ankles and feet with his thumbs. And she was in paradise.

* * *

JAVIER BENT DOWN,
kissed Laura’s temple. “Time to turn over,
bella
.”

He watched as she turned onto her back, his gaze taking in the sight of her—her long, silky hair, her creamy smooth skin, the fullness of her breasts, the sweet spot where her narrow waist met the curves of her hips. He’d known that touching her like this would turn him on, but what he hadn’t expected was the rush of tenderness.

She settled onto her back, her white-blond hair fanned out around her head, her eyes closed. The sheet had slipped off, but she didn’t seem to care, whatever shyness she’d felt before having melted away.

He lifted her head into his hands, smoothed silken strands of hair away from her face, and began to explore the muscles of her neck with his fingertips. “Just let the full weight of your head rest in my hands.”

She did as he asked, making a little “mmm” sound as he began to work her tight upper trap muscles with his fingers. “You’re so good at this.”

“Thanks.”

He turned her head slightly to one side and then the other, stretching muscles that had knotted up under stress, his gaze falling on her throat. Something twisted in his gut to think that Al-Nassar had threatened daily to decapitate her. His fingers caressed that sensitive skin, and he found himself wanting to feel her pulse against his lips.