Stolen Heat (27 page)

Kat’s pulse pounded. Sweat slicked her skin. The silence that fell over the room was more deafening
than Sawil’s enraged shouts had been. Could she kill him? Would she? She had the shot. She could end this right now.

She hesitated. Torn.

Sawil’s eyes glazed over, and he swayed. And hope leapt in Kat’s throat. He was going down on his own.

Then at the last second his hand snaked out. He grasped a knife from the knife block on the counter behind him and lunged.

Years of practice condensed into one split second. Kat pulled the trigger once, twice with hands steadier than she’d ever imagined.

The gunshots echoed through the massive kitchen and hit Sawil square in the chest. He fell inches from Pete’s bare feet.

Dimly she heard a frantic voice at the kitchen doorway. In a blur, a rush of people swarmed the room, from where, Kat didn’t know. All she saw was Sawil’s lifeless body on the tile floor, facedown in a growing pool of blood.

She’d done that. She’d been able to take a life, after all. The life of someone who had once been her friend. And she knew the moment would haunt her for the rest of her days.

She dropped the gun and took a shaky step back.

Pete caught her with both arms before she fell. “I’ve got you,” he said into her hair. “Hold on to me. Just hold me, Kit-Kat.”

Her whole body started to shake, but she grabbed on with what little strength she had left. “Don’t let go,” she whispered.

“I won’t, baby. God, I won’t.”

Pete looked up from where he was seated at Maria’s dining room table. His head was still a little fuzzy from the drug Ramirez—or Minyawi, or whatever the fuck the guy’s
real name was—had stuck him with. But at least it cut the sting of the alcohol the med tech was rubbing on his temple.

Thankfully, the wound wasn’t deep enough for stitches. He flinched when the tech slapped on a butterfly bandage, then pissed him off royally as she flashed a light in his eye to check for a concussion.

“Cut that out.” He pushed the light away and went back to watching Kat.

She was sitting on the sofa across the room getting the same mend-and-bend from another paramedic. Police and what he suspected were FBI swarmed the room, conversing with one another, checking the scene. Maria was near the window, talking with a plainclothes officer as she gave her statement. Pete had a vague recollection of seeing Slade somewhere in the group and absently wondered who the hell had called him, then dismissed the thought. The only person he cared about right now was on that couch.

His heart pinched in his chest. Bruises were forming near her eyes and across her cheek. He knew if she hadn’t killed Sawil, he would have. For what he’d done to her in that tomb. For the years of hiding he’d forced her into. For the few minutes she’d been alone with him in the kitchen when Pete had been out cold.

“There. You’re done,” the woman finally said.

Pete smothered a groan as he rose and began buttoning the shirt someone had brought down for him.

The sound of shoes skidding to a halt in the open penthouse doorway brought his head around. Shock, then disbelief, then confusion whipped through him as he saw Hailey standing there, looking not much different than Kat.

“Pete!”

Hailey threw herself into his arms. He winced and pushed her back as he studied her bruised face, which was
laced with a lot of relief and a bunch of pissed off. “What the hell happened to—”

She smacked him in the shoulder. “You owe me, you son of a bitch. And I’ve got a laundry list of ways you’re going to pay me back for this.” She glanced around the room. “Man, I’m glad the police got here in time.”

He was having trouble following Hailey’s words, but two things got through. One, she’d known what was going down here, and two, somebody’d roughed her up good.

Oh, shit. Hailey.

He gripped her arms. “What happened?”

“Two creeps showed up at Lauren’s place when I went to make sure she wasn’t home.” Her eyes darted to the side and the gurney being rolled out of the kitchen. “Which one is that? The dark-haired one or the bald guy?”

His stomach churned with the knowledge she’d been alone with either.

“Minyawi,” Kat said at his side in a quiet voice. “The dark-haired one.”

Pete looked Kat’s direction. She was standing just out of his reach, her skin pale, eyes unsure. She gripped a blanket around her shoulders like it was her last lifeline.

“Good,” Hailey muttered with ice in her words. “The prick deserved to die.”

Pete’s gaze snapped back to Rafe’s ex-wife, and a terrible feeling rolled through him. “Hailey, did he—”

“No,” she said quickly, reading his reaction. “He didn’t do anything other than knock me around a little. I know how to take care of myself. I’m fine.”

She was. Pete could see it in her eyes. Hailey Roarke was one of the toughest women he’d ever met.

She turned her attention to Kat. “I’m Hailey, by the way. An ex-friend.”

“Good friend,” Pete corrected.

A half smile curled Hailey lips. Kat glanced between the two with a whole lot of uncertainty.

“I had the bad sense to marry his partner at Odyssey,” Hailey explained. “But I wised up.” She grinned at Pete. Bruises and all. “Saved your ass, didn’t I? See, Kauffman? There’s hope for me yet.”

Pete couldn’t help it. He chuckled. He’d always liked Hailey, so it was no skin off his nose letting her think she’d saved the day. “You did. I stand corrected. You’re the best damn cop I ever met.”

Hailey rolled her eyes. Kat smiled slowly as she listened to the banter.

“So, Kat,” Hailey said. “Is it wishful thinking to assume you’re going to do something about Pete’s mood swings? Because I have to tell you. I love him like a brother, but the man’s got a serious attitude problem.”

He was just about to defend those so-called mood swings when he noticed a shy expression skirting Kat’s features. Then she shocked them both by stepping forward and walking right into his arms.

And oh, yeah, he was the biggest sap on the planet, and he didn’t even care. His arms closed around her tight as he kissed her temple. Over Kat’s shoulder he saw Hailey smile and wink his way.

“About damn time,” she said.

Pete’s smile faded. And glancing around, he was rudely reminded any happily ever after had probably come and gone. That feeling was confirmed when he saw Slade striding in their direction.

He tensed. Kat pulled back and turned to look.

“Kauffman,” Slade said as he stopped next to Hailey. “Kat,” Slade said softer, his dark eyes somber. “How are you doing?”

There was a second where Pete thought Kat would go to Slade, and he steeled himself for the moment. They were friends. He knew Slade had tried to help her once. Mentally, he’d already accepted that. Emotionally, though, right here and now, was a different story.

But when she didn’t make a move out from under the arm Pete had looped over her shoulder, he had to admit a spurt of relief raced through him. Either she loved him enough to know her going to Slade wouldn’t sit well with him, or she wasn’t quite sure about Slade anymore.

Both, probably, he realized.

“A couple of my officers are going to need to get a complete statement from you, Kat,” he said, “but after that, you’re free to go.”

Kat’s brow drew together. “But what about—”

“There’s been no sign of Busir,” Slade said quickly, turning his attention to Pete. “We’ve got people monitoring the borders, but it’s possible he’s already left the country.”

“He was at the motel with me for sure,” Hailey interjected. “I’m not entirely sure what happened because I was blindfolded, but the two of them argued. Whatever they fought about, it was over fast. Minyawi was the only one with me in the van on the way here.”

And that was how the police had shown up, Pete realized. Hailey had called in the cavalry.

Slade turned his attention Hailey’s way. “I don’t suppose you remember where that motel was, do you?”

“No, but if you get me a map, I can probably figure it out. Even though I was blindfolded, I paid attention to the route we took, and I’m familiar with New York. I can probably tell which bridges we crossed.”

Slade shot a questioning look at Pete.

Hailey saw the expression and turned toward Slade. “Officer Hailey Roarke. Key West PD. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

Slade reluctantly returned her handshake. “Marty Slade.”

Hailey’s eyes narrowed. “CIA.”

“That’s on a need-to-know basis.” When Hailey tipped her blonde head, he added, “Trust me, Officer Roarke. You don’t need to know.” Slade motioned to a man in a
suit near the door. “Officer Crowly will take the rest of your statement and get you anything you need.”

Hailey obviously knew a dead end when she saw one. She pursed her lips and turned toward the dark-haired officer walking her way.

Slade’s gaze followed her as she moved away. “Key West PD?”

“Ex,” Pete said. “She’s on leave right now, helping out with her family’s business in Miami while her father’s ill.”

“What business is that?”

“Hotels.”

Slade’s eyes widened as obvious links fell into place. “Hailey Roarke? As in, daughter of hotelier Garrett Roarke, of Roarke Resorts?”

Pete nodded. Sometimes it was even hard for Pete to grasp. The Roarke name had become as well-known as Hilton over the last few years. And Hailey—as unreal as it was to believe—was an heiress.

“So what now?” Kat asked, pulling Slade’s attention back to them. “We all know Minyawi and Busir weren’t the ones behind all this. What happens next?”

“We monitor the borders and send out a notice to the Egyptian authorities about Busir’s actions here,” Slade said, refocusing. “But without proof of a higher-level involvement, the other person you say you heard in that tomb walks away.”

“That’s not right,” Kat stated emphatically.

“Right and wrong don’t matter much in international politics,” a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman dressed in a black suit said with a Middle Eastern accent as she stepped up to the group. “Unless, of course, you can positively identify that third party.”

They all looked at the newcomer.

She nodded to them as a whole. Her features were sharp and striking, and there was an air of authority about her everyone caught. “I’m Agent Tiya Hawass with
INTERPOL. The apprehension of Aten Minyawi has been one of our top priorities. We’ve lost several good agents because of him, including Dean Bertrand, whom I’m told you met in Philadelphia.”

When Pete and Kat exchanged glances, she said, “Minyawi popped onto our radar about six years ago. He quickly rose in the ranks of the Egyptian Liberation Army, though we suspect he was with the organization a lot longer than that. He served in the Egyptian military for a short stint in his late teens, but his expertise was antiquities, which explains how he got involved with the artifact ring.

“Several years ago he switched focus, however. We’re not entirely sure why, but he became one of their leading hit men. He often operated outside the ELA, like we think he did in this case because of a personal vendetta, but his association with their organization as a whole is wellknown and well-documented. We know from surveillance that Hanif Busir has been smuggling archaeological treasures out of Egypt for years—they’d be sold for a hefty profit on the black market, and a portion of the proceeds were funneled back into the pockets of the ELA, thereby funding their cause. What we’ve never been able to prove is the link between the artifact black market that exists throughout Africa and Asia and Europe, the SCA that governs archaeological research in Egypt and the ELA.”

“Until I came along,” Kat said quietly.

“Until you came along,” Agent Hawass repeated, nodding her way. “Which is why we took a backseat and monitored Minyawi’s movements these past few days here in the States. When it came to my attention that you were in fact alive, we hesitated to become involved, hoping you could provide the evidence we needed. However, when we realized Bertrand was operating on his own, we were ready to step in. The incident in the park was unfortunate, and had you not rushed out of there so quickly, we
could have ended this then and taken you into protective custody. Of course, that didn’t happen.” She glanced between them. “So now it all boils down to evidence. And from what I understand, there is none.”

Kat looked at Pete with creased brow as Agent Hawass turned to Pete. “Because of the international implications of this case, Officer Slade has agreed to let me sit in on your questioning. Your cooperation will be noted when your case is prosecuted.”

“It’s about time, Kauffman,” Slade said. “We need to go.”

“Wait a minute,” Kat interjected. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I have proof—”

Pete’s chest tightened. Yeah, their happily ever after had just crashed and burned.

“Can you give us a minute?” he said to Slade and Hawass.

The two exchanged glances, then nodded and stepped back to the door.

Kat turned wide, confused eyes up to his. “What’s going on?” she asked with a hint of panic in her voice. “Pete, what questioning are they talking about?”

He took both of her hands in his and squeezed them, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own. “I want you to do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“When you leave here, I want you to go see my friend Rafe Sullivan. Hailey knows how to get in touch with him. He’s got something for you. In Florida. Trust him like you trust me, and don’t give him a hard time about this.”

“What do you mean by ‘this,’ Pete?” She tightened her grip on his hands and searched his face for answers to questions he guessed she was already figuring out. The blanket around her shoulders fell to the floor. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Maria can’t find your necklace, Kat.”

“But—”

“I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life. I stayed ahead of most of it, covered up my tracks, didn’t care who was hurt as long as I got ahead. I was careful, and I was smart. And I made sure it wouldn’t ever come back to bite me in the ass. There’s never been anything in my life I’ve believed in enough to make me change my thinking. Not until you.”