Targeted (FBI Heat) (20 page)

“Would I be wasting my breath to ask you again not to finish this?” he said sullenly.

“Yes, you would.”

He shook his head and lowered his eyes. “Anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

A vise squeezed Marissa’s chest. Since morning, she’d debated whether to tell Ben about the premonition. He knew, he understood, the trauma of trying to interpret and comprehend the meaning of the warnings. They had shared the burden of many during their relationship in Washington. But she knew that if she told him of this one, he would never let her finish the op. Besides, the premonition didn’t require interpretation; the meaning was crystal clear.

She sighed with resignation. This burden was hers to bear
alone
.

“I’m fine, Benja. You should go.”

K
haleel and Nadeem had called in sick to the electronics plant. Khaleel didn’t consider it a lie because both had complained about the escalating urge to vomit when they’d spoken by phone from their homes earlier in the morning before leaving for the hideout. The magnitude of what they were about to do produced nauseating exhilaration. But no guilt. Remorse and regret were
not
the source of their anxiety. No. Instead, their burden was the overwhelming responsibility of ensuring that the bomb exploded effectively—killing, destroying, maiming, hurting, and contaminating as much as possible. They had corrupted their engineering expertise to accomplish this fabulous feat. Allah would reward them richly.

Disappointment agitated Khaleel as he wound his way through Tijuana to the slum. He should be feeling peaceful self-righteousness, not a tsunami of anxiety. But several issues nagged his thoughts, stretched his nerves, and wrenched his gut.

The odd circumstances of Samir’s and Omar’s deaths had never made sense to him. Samir was stupid but not a fool. And only a fool would have run after thieves who’d stolen nothing and left the cell’s principal asset unguarded. Something important had convinced Samir to leave the safety of the hideout and race into the night. Someone other than a drug gang had forced him out and killed him. Last night, when two other vehicles left the neighborhood immediately after Baheera’s, the timing had further raised his suspicions.

Baheera.
He didn’t trust the bitch. Something about her… Something about the mysterious woman who’d come with Ameen to his house… The same…? But how could it be true?

He resented Baheera assuming leadership after Samir’s death. A good Muslim woman wouldn’t want the role, even if she was Husaam’s wife, even if she was the suicide bomber. Khaleel knew in his heart that Allah was not pleased the cell had a woman at the helm. A woman he distrusted more with each breath.

With Samir gone, Allah would have wanted Khaleel to take control, to lead the cell, to insure the mission was carried out in all its glory. That epiphany had inspired him to devise a backup plan.

He arrived at the hideout at the same time as Nadeem. They parked both cars in front of the house. Khaleel pushed thoughts of Baheera aside, and his basic anxiety returned. Nadeem’s eyes reflected the same weight of responsibility.

Their strained nerves made the familiar environment—the oppressive heat, the desolate neighborhood, the dilapidated house—completely unnerving. They burst from their cars and rushed inside.

Ameen yanked open the outside door to the hotel stairwell and raced up the stairs two at a time. Just short of the fourth-floor landing, he ran into the business end of a Glock.

“Freeze!” a male voice ordered.

He obeyed, except for his fingers, which stretched deep into his pocket until they grasped his gun.

“Don’t even think about it, Ameen,” the man said. “What’re you doing here?”

Ameen’s gaze traveled north of the gun until it found a face: the man in the blue BMW who’d followed Baheera, the man he’d spoken to at the mosque. Obviously, more than just a friend; an agent of some kind.

“You are with Baheera?” Ameen stated more than asked.

The agent ignored the question. “I asked what you’re doing here.”

“I’m on your side, you know. The doctor? Is Baheera all right?”

“Answer my fucking question!” The gun moved in front of Ameen’s eyes again.

“I need to warn her.”

“About what?”

“Is she all right?” Ameen persisted.

“She’s fine. Now what the hell do you need to warn her about?”

“Take the gun out of my face, and I’ll tell you.”

“Shit. Get up here.” The agent motioned to the landing with the gun. “Now talk. Fast.”

“A man named Dawud called the mosque this morning looking for Samir. He said he was Samir’s brother from LA. I’m convinced there is no brother. He—”

“Dawud? He must be…”

The stricken look on the man’s face confirmed Ameen’s fears. “He’s after Baheera. Right?”

“Yes. Fuck! We can’t let him find her.”

“I know that. He’s coming to our mosque about the time for midday prayers. I don’t know if Dawud can recognize any of the men from the cell, but there can be no contact between them.”

“They won’t be there.”

“Are you sure?” Ameen asked. The other man stared at him, expressionless. “Okay. Good. I can take care of Dawud.” He paused. “But I can’t take care of Baheera.”

“No. You can’t take care of either one. You need to stay out of this.”

“No. Baheera must stop. She—all of you underestimate the power of hate. If they even suspect her, they will kill her. You know what Samir and Omar tried to do. You must stop her.”

The agent lowered his gun. Anguish, frustration, and something else clouded his face. “I can’t stop her. I’ve tried. God knows, I’ve tried.”

Ameen studied the man’s dark blue eyes, then cocked his head. “You are Baheera’s lover,” he said, surprised because he remembered her denial.

“What?”

“Her lover. It is in your eyes.”

The agent shook his head. “We
were
lovers…a long time ago. Now we’re friends…good friends.” He stared back with an intense, probing gaze.

Ameen let him read what was in his own eyes about his feelings for Baheera.

The man’s lips twitched at the ends. “Maybe
you
can convince her to let us finish this without her.”

“You will let me talk to her?”

“Yeah, but only if you promise not to interfere.”

“I understand.”

“Okay. I’ll let the agents guarding the suite know you’re cleared to go inside.”

“Thanks.”

The agent jammed his gun into the shoulder holster under his jacket and offered his hand. “I’m Ben, by the way. Thanks, Ameen, for…everything.”

The handshake said more than words.

Wearing only a towel, Marissa stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She was drying her hair with the hotel hairdryer and trying to relax in hopes of sleeping. The loud knock on the suite door startled her.

She recalled locking the deadbolt and also latching the chain after Ben left. The “Do Not Disturb” sign still hung on the outside handle. The noise from the hairdryer had probably drowned out the familiar call of “Housekeeping.” The maid would soon realize her mistake and leave. Unconcerned, Marissa went back to drying her hair.

The second knock did concern her. Had Ben returned to plead his case again? Had the terrorists grown suspicious and come back? Where were the two agents Rawlings had assigned to guard the suite?

Marissa slipped out of the bathroom and snatched her gun from the nightstand. She tiptoed to the side of the door.

A third knock. Louder. No words. She took a deep breath and pressed her eye quickly on the peephole.
Ameen
.

She spun back against the wall. How had he found her?
Damn
. Not only had he eavesdropped on her phone calls at his condo, he had also remembered what he heard. Well, she would wait him out; he couldn’t be positive she was inside.

A fist pounded on the door.

She fought the urge to peek at him again.
Why are my hands trembling?
She started toward the bedroom.

“Baheera.” His voice; deep, strong.

She went still, then gulped.

“Baheera, I know you are in there.” The words were Arabic, and the tone pleading.

Her throat tightened.

“Your friend Ben said I could talk to you.”

She frowned. Had Ameen actually spoken to Ben?

“Baheera, please. I want…I need to talk to you.”

Marissa closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She couldn’t deal with personal issues now. She had to stay focused on the op.

As if he’d read her mind, Ameen said, “I have news about Dawud, the man…looking for you.”

Dawud, not Liban?
This new intel must be why Ben had let Ameen come to the suite. She exhaled sharply, laid the Glock on the coffee table, and hurried back to the door. She unlocked it but kept the chain latched. Her face met his in the opening.

“Let me in,” he insisted.

“You shouldn’t be here, Ameen. Tell me the news and go. Please.” She feared her eyes were saying something else.

“You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.” She hugged the towel tighter around her.

He smiled. “I can take care of myself. Let me in, or I swear I’ll make a scene.”

Reluctantly, she unhooked the chain and allowed him inside. She relocked both locks before facing him.

Ameen’s eyes traveled downward from her face. His gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts above the towel, swept across the curves beneath it, and followed her bare legs to the floor. When his eyes came up, he pressed his palm against her chest, feeling her heartbeat. His index finger touched the throbbing pulse in the hollow of her neck before tracing her collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. His fingers slid down her right arm to her hand, where he caressed her palm.

Her breathing quickened. “This is making
you
uncomfortable,” she said. “Let me put my clothes on.”

His hand wrapped around her wrist before she could move.

“
I’m
not the one who’s uncomfortable,” he said softly and led her to the couch.

“What do you know about…Dawud?” she asked, once they were settled with Ameen sitting dangerously close.

Slowly, he raised his gaze from the towel to connect with hers.

“Dawud is coming to the mosque around noon. He says he’s looking for his brother, Samir. I think he’s looking for you. Am I right, Baheera?”

“Yes. But since none of the men from the cell will be at the mosque, I don’t think he can find me.”

“I can make sure of that.”

“You shouldn’t be involved. We have agents watching the mosque. If you just point out Dawud, they’ll take care of him.”

“That’s not much fun for me.” He grinned.

She relaxed slightly. He continued caressing the palm of her hand. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

“Thank you for the information, but let us handle it. You should go now. I need to rest before…before—”

“Before you meet Juan at the tunnel.”

“Ameen, you shouldn’t know these things. I’ve been careless.” She looked away.

His other hand brought her face back to him. “I don’t want you to do this, and neither does your friend.”

“Now you’re conspiring together to stop me?”

“Ben cares about you. As I do. We’re afraid for you. We don’t want you to be hurt or… Is that so bad?”

Her breath caught.
The premonition
.

“No, it’s not bad. But you have to respect my decision. I care for you, too, Ameen. I’ll make you a deal. This operation will be over by tonight, if everything goes as planned. I’ll meet you at your condo at nine.”

He dropped her hand, stood, and stomped across the room. He stopped with his back to her. “I don’t want to make a deal. I want to protect you. I want to understand the connection I feel to you. I want to know your feelings for me.” He pounded his fist on the wall and then leaned his forehead against it.

Marissa walked over to him. She hesitated, holding her hands a few inches from his body and feeling the radiating heat, before massaging his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ameen. I have a job to do. You need to leave. Whatever is going to happen between us will have to wait.”

He spun around so suddenly and with such force that she teetered backward. He caught her arm and steadied her. Torment shone in his eyes.

“I don’t want to leave, and I don’t think you want me to leave either.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “I learned in combat that there’s danger in waiting. You might not be alive the next minute, the next hour, the next day.”

The premonition
. Tears stung Marissa’s eyes.

Ameen’s face softened. He let go of her arm. Their eyes locked for a moment before his dropped to the towel. While she watched the emotional struggle on his face, he brushed the long strands of black hair from her bare shoulders. When his fingers rested on the edge of the towel, his eyes flicked to hers. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

But a tear crept down her cheek.

With a slight tug, Ameen dropped the towel to her feet. His mouth fell open, inhaling a ragged breath. The next instant, his lips were on hers. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

“Talk to me,” Rawlings growled impatiently, pacing in his office. He looked down as he massaged the back of his neck and wondered when he’d worn the path in the carpet. Was the gray, industrial-strength flooring collateral damage of this op? Would there be more?

Standing stiffly by his boss’s desk, the agent cleared his throat. “We caught a call from a phone used by al-Qaeda grunts in Pakistan to a sat phone at LAX.”

Rawlings’s head jerked up. “Who?”

“No names.”

“Message?”

“The Pakistani said, ‘Allah’s sword waits with the four wheels.’”

“And LAX replied…?”

“Not one word.”

“Fuck.” He slumped into his chair. “Okay, so Husaam has managed to get Liban a weapon and a vehicle.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you checked the airport car rental sites?”

“Yes, came up with a few customers with foreign licenses. They all checked out though. But about an hour ago, we got lucky at a small agency offsite. One called Four Wheels and an Engine Rentals—”

“First-class place, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. At first, they were reluctant to talk to us. Some of their customers are probably a little shady, but not as bad as the one we’re interested in.”

“Did you find Liban? Or Dawud? I just learned from Agent Alfren that’s what the asshole’s calling himself. For now.”

“No, sir, but we found Pablo Lopez.”

He snorted. “Hell, there must be thousands of Hispanics renting cars in LA every day.”

“Yeah, but they usually know Spanish.”

Rawlings arched his eyebrows.

“The rental clerk started chatting in Spanish with this Pablo, and the guy clearly didn’t understand half of it. That’s the only reason the clerk even remembered him. All his paperwork, Mexican driver’s license and passport, looked legit.”