Targeted (FBI Heat) (27 page)

“Ameen,” she called softly.

His eyes barely opened. “Ba-hee-ra?”

She grimaced. He didn’t remember who she really was. “Yes. May I visit for a while?”

“Sure.” His gaze darted to the door and back before he opened his eyes fully.

She took a step closer. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.” He coughed and flinched.

“Hmmm, that good, huh?”

“Yeah. Nice sling. How’s your shoulder?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Looked like more than a scratch from where I was lying.”

Her breath caught. “You remember?”

He snorted. “Of course I remember.” His eyes checked the door again. “Are we still playing undercover or can I call you Marissa now?”

The lump in her throat strangled her first attempt to speak. “Marissa…is fine.”

“You sure are,” he said with a wickedly seductive smile. “And dazzling.”

She realized he’d done a terrific job of deluding the doctor into believing he was incoherent and confused. Her heart beat lighter. “Seriously, Ameen, do you remember what happened?”

“Absolutely. Especially what you said to me before I passed out. It kept me alive. Well, that and the doctors.” He winked. “But I played dumb since I didn’t know what fairytale Homeland Security was going to create. Are they going public with the op?”

“They’ll put out some innocuous press release about us stopping a vaguely described terrorist plot in San Diego. Maybe add something about our gratitude to the Mexican authorities to stroke them a little since they’re not giving us too much hassle about operating on their soil and extraditing the terrorists we bagged in Tijuana.”

Truly relaxing for the first time in weeks, Marissa grabbed the lone chair and pulled it beside the bed. Before she sat, Ameen snagged her arm.

“Kiss.”

She gladly obliged and then continued while leaning close. “But no way will the term ‘dirty bomb’ be used. Can you imagine the public panic even though it’s over?”

“It’d be horrible.” His expression turned grim. “Did the good guys lose anyone?”

She dropped into the chair, giving herself a moment to steady her composure. “One agent. A good man who’d just learned he was going to be a father.”

“I’m sorry.” He paused. “Khaleel? Did I—”

“He’s dead. We found the other engineer’s body near the hideout. We think Khaleel killed him. We have Fateen and Dawud in custody. We’re working to get Tareef and Masoud extradited from Mexico. Saleem, Rashad, Yasir, and Juan were killed at the Otay Mesa site.”

Ameen sighed. “I feel sorry for Safiya. I don’t think she had any idea what Khaleel was doing.”

“I agree. The Mexican authorities have her in custody, and we’ve sent someone to interrogate her. I’ve passed along my opinion to my superiors that she’s an innocent party.”

“Thanks. I’m sure that’ll help her credibility.”

Marissa cleared her throat. “You didn’t know about Khaleel either, did you?”

“I knew before I…shot him, but I should’ve figured it out long ago. I thought it was weird when he first took the job in Tijuana. And he changed so much after that. His behavior the night I took you to his house was so paranoid and not at all like the old Khaleel. And something about one of the men with scarves always seemed a little familiar. When he called me and asked questions about you, I knew for sure. But I never, in my wildest dreams, would’ve thought he’d be capable of…” He sighed heavily. “I wonder if Safiya will ever forgive me.”

“I saw how she looked at you that night. You’re her friend, too, Ameen. I’m sure you can help her through this.”

He pressed his lips together and studied her. “What’s up next for you? Are you rushing off to your next assignment?”

Her gut cramped. Moment of truth. “Actually, I was told to take at least a week to decompress. I’m staying with a friend—”

“Ben?” he asked tightly.

“Um, yes. That’s right. You’ve met.”

“Your
former
lover is an interesting guy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ben has a wonderful, live-in girlfriend named Amber.”

Ameen cleared his throat. “You were supposed to come to my place.”

“I was a little busy. Besides, you weren’t there.”

“I will be as soon as I can get the hell out of here.” He paused. “But that’s not really the point, is it?”

Their gazes connected.

“No, it’s not.” She drew a fortifying breath. “After my week off, I’ll be going back to Washington. I might get another assignment in San Diego, but…you never know.” She shrugged.

Ameen pulled his gaze away and stared at the door. His jaw set, he no longer looked pale and weak. “I used to live in New York City. My family visited Washington several times. Is it a nice place to live?”

“I love it. I feel like I’m at the epicenter of the American universe.” Her gaze followed his to the door. “Um, I should tell you that Abdullah told me about your family.”

His eyes darted back to her. “You met my uncle?”

She angled her head. “In the waiting room.”

“I see.” He sighed. “I was going to tell you. We just never had time.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for your loss. It’s easy to understand your passion for stopping the terrorists.”

He scowled at her. “Do you think that’s the only reason? Look at you. You didn’t have to lose your whole family in a terrorist attack to have the same passion. I think I would’ve been so pissed by the shame the 9/11 terrorists brought to Islam that I would’ve followed the same path with my life even if I hadn’t lost loved ones in the attack. It’s been more than a decade, and my religion still hasn’t recovered from the wounds inflicted by those bastards.”

She laughed. It felt good.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Me. We are so alike.” She stood up and leaned against the bed. “In only four days, we’ve connected in a lot of ways. You saved my life twice. We won a significant battle in the war against terrorism. A strange combination of love and hate seems to bind us together, Ameen. And Abdullah thinks you need a new purpose in your life…and a change of scenery. So I have a…proposition.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I hope you do. Why don’t you come live with me? Revive your family’s charitable organization and work at defeating terrorism by spreading love instead of hate. Since 9/11, the greater risk seems to be smaller, homegrown attacks. Perhaps you can fight the hatred from inside the Washington Muslim community as you are fighting it here at your uncle’s mosque.”

“I like that idea for a worthwhile purpose and job. But what about us, our…relationship?”

“I plan to move forward at full speed. Hope you can keep up.”

“Just watch me.”

Marissa bent down, framed his face with her hands, and kissed him. “You know, stopping terrorists isn’t the only passion we share.”

“No?”

“No.” She slipped her hand beneath the flimsy hospital gown and stroked his chest. “Should I demonstrate?”

He moaned. “Best not. One of these machines might set off an alarm at the nurse’s station if my pulse skyrockets.”

She chuckled, leaned closer, and whispered, “Guess we’ll just have to settle for this.” She kissed the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I love you, Ameen.”

“I love you too.”

A bedside monitor started beeping wildly, and a red button flashed in sync.

“Well, damn. We’re in trouble now,” he muttered.

She started to laugh, and Ameen joined in.

S
pecial Agent Ben Alfren entered the lobby of the San Diego FBI office with a determined smile and a resolute step. He didn’t care that it was Friday morning and the weekend was coming, because he loved his job. Was there anything better than catching bad guys for a living? That sentiment was something his professors and classmates at Harvard hadn’t understood when he graduated with an MBA and took a government job with average pay instead of a private-sector position with an astronomical salary. Of course, most of them hadn’t known his bachelor’s degree from George Washington University was in criminal justice. His grin broadened at the memory and at the thought that they probably hadn’t loved the past five years of their careers as much as he had.

The phone rang just as he sat down at his desk with a cup of coffee.

“Ben, my office,” his boss said and hung up.

The man of few words had been a terrific mentor since Ben transferred from Washington, DC, two years ago. When he strolled into the office, Supervisory Special Agent Rex Kelley was stroking his chin and staring out the window.

“What’s up?” Ben asked.

“Just got the damnedest call from ICE.”

“Immigration and Customs Enforcement needs our help?”

Rex turned to him. “Yeah.” He shook his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “But it’s not the usual.”

“Okay, you’ve hooked me.”

His boss gestured toward a chair and took his seat behind the desk. “Helluva story. Five illegal aliens walked into the San Ysidro border crossing facility and turned themselves in.”

Ben frowned. “Are they political refugees seeking asylum or something?”

“They’re Mexican, and it’s not political. It’s definitely ‘or something.’ They claim to have information on a coyote who works for the Hermosillo cartel.”

“Great. We’ve been trying to nail Enrique Hermosillo for ages through his drug-money-laundering operation. This could be a break.”

“Maybe. But I doubt if they know much about the cartel kingpin.”

“If their info’s only about the coyote, then why is ICE calling us? They deal with human trafficking as much as the FBI.”

“The illegals demanded it,” Rex stated flatly.

“Huh?”

“I gather they don’t trust ICE and are afraid our cops might be as corrupt as the Mexican police. Based on what they’ve seen on TV about the FBI, they must think we’re more likely to give them what they want in return.”

“What’s that?”

“To hunt for their kidnapped wives and girlfriends.”

The man in the gray hoodie was watching her. Amber Jollett couldn’t see his face, but he was the right height and build. Even from the opposite street corner, the intensity of his stare bored into her. She shivered despite the sunny morning.

Her focus never wavered as she slid behind two people. The man’s head turned with her movement.

The traffic light changed, and the crowd surged forward. Amber’s hand dug into her purse until it gripped reassuring metal. Weaving between bodies, she moved to the outside edge to put as much distance as possible between her and the man before the other pedestrians passed on the street. With each step, her heart beat faster.

Halfway across, the man reached up, pulled back the hood…and smiled. Straight black hair. Almond-shaped eyes. Asian features.

Not him.

Amber’s knees went weak with relief.

Not him. Not this time.

A car horn blared. She jumped and spun around to find a taxi idling a few feet away, its driver gesturing impatiently for her to get out of the way. Waving an apology, she scurried across the street. She found a spot out of the pedestrian flow next to the corner of a building. She needed a moment to quiet her nerves.

She braced her hands on the knees of her pastel pink nurse’s scrubs, inhaled deep breaths, and released them slowly. Fear began to fade as calm returned.

Damn you, Jeremy Nelson. I want my life back.

Amber grimaced and closed her eyes. It was starting all over again. Two years had passed since she’d broken up with her obsessed boyfriend, but he continued to stalk her. Restraining orders and calls to law enforcement had proved useless. Now she alone was responsible for her safety. She’d lived in Coronado, across the bay from San Diego, for only two months. But two or three months was the amount of time it normally took for Jeremy to find her. From now on, she would have to be on constant alert. The worst part was imagining him wearing every hoodie, hiding in every shadow, or following in every vehicle. Usually, she didn’t wait for an actual sighting—that would be too late. No, she couldn’t hesitate. Once her instincts told her he was closing in, she had to move on. She cringed.
How much longer will I be hunted?

Amber straightened, squared her shoulders, and glanced at her watch.
Oh crap.
She was late for work.

Minutes later, she bolted out of the elevator on the eighth floor of the downtown building containing the offices of the San Diego Surrogate Agency. Instead of turning the corner and racing for the employee entrance off another hallway, she headed straight across the lobby toward the clinic’s front door. In her peripheral vision, she noticed a couple huddled with a man in a corner. What caught her eye was the piece of blue paper he was gesturing with as he spoke. Her steps faltered as she took a closer look.
Not him.

She sighed with frustration. Her specialty as a nurse in surrogate mother clinics was both a blessing and a curse. Unfortunately, Jeremy knew her skills, and he’d used that information before to track her down. Someday, she would probably have to give up the work she loved and accept a general RN position. The job would still be gratifying simply because she enjoyed helping people, but there was just something so special about the gift of babies to people who couldn’t otherwise have them.

After grabbing a cup of coffee, she studied the assignment calendar posted on the wall in the employee lounge. Her first task of the day was an initial consultation with a Mr. and Mrs. Ranger. She smiled. In terms of satisfaction, initial consultations were second only to the meeting announcing the surrogate mother was pregnant with the potential parents’ baby. As she reviewed the rest of her day’s work, she noticed with surprise that Mrs. Swanson’s egg retrieval procedure had been canceled. Her gaze traveled over all the staff assignments for next week, and she spotted five more appointments crossed off, everything from consults to surrogate mother interviews to sperm donations. Scanning over future weeks, she couldn’t find when those services had been rescheduled, but she did see several more cancellations.
That’s odd.
Now that she focused on it, there seemed to have been a lot of them lately.

With a shrug, she gulped down the rest of the coffee, popped a breath mint in her mouth, and hurried off to the small conference room for the meeting with the Rangers.

Her boss, Laura Eldridge, stopped her in the hallway just outside the door. “I need to speak with you for a minute after this consult.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Laura pressed her lips into a straight line before answering. “We’ll talk then. Right now, let’s tell this couple all the marvelous things we can do for them.”

Amber couldn’t remember ever seeing such a serious expression on Laura’s face. The petite, slightly graying, fifty-year-old woman was the office “mother.” She loved everyone, and everyone reciprocated. Laura’s strength was bringing out the best in people. Amber knew she’d grown as a person as well as a nurse under her boss’s thoughtful guidance.

She followed Laura into the conference room and came face-to-face with the couple she’d seen in the elevator lobby earlier. After introductions, they all settled into the comfortable seating. Unlike most business conference rooms, this one didn’t include a large table surrounded by stiff, uncomfortable chairs. To encourage a more informal, relaxed atmosphere, the décor resembled a casual living room with armchairs, love seats, and couches. As Joe Ranger plopped onto a love seat beside his wife, Amber caught a glimpse of blue paper sticking out of his pants pocket.

First, Laura gave a sales presentation about the San Diego Surrogate Agency’s highly acclaimed services and its spotless reputation in the industry. She handed the couple a sheet of information on all the medical personnel and a list of previous clients as references. Then, she turned the meeting over to Amber, who as a specialized nurse could better describe the various medical procedures involved in surrogacy.

The couple fidgeted throughout both discussions and asked no questions. Only when Laura started to explain the financial aspects of the services did Mr. and Mrs. Ranger get involved.

“How can it possibly cost that much?” Joe Ranger asked. “We’re using our own sperm and eggs. It’s not like we’re buying your inventory.”

Laura blinked in surprise.

Amber knew clients were often unprepared for the fees, but their response was usually less accusatory.

“Mr. Ranger, I assure you that we never consider the precious life-creating eggs and sperm entrusted to us as ‘inventory.’ And using Mrs. Ranger’s eggs does require the egg retrieval procedure. All services considered, our fees are in line with industry standards across the country. As we never want financial restrictions to prevent people from realizing their dreams of a child, we offer numerous flexible payment plans.”

“How about discounts?” he pressed. His wife turned bright red.

“Discounts for what?”

“We’re young, healthy specimens. Shouldn’t take as much work.”

“I’ve never heard of any discounts being offered. But as I explained, you only pay for the services necessary for your particular situation. Some services you may not need. For example, if the first viable embryo transplant is successful, you’ll only be charged for one.”

He grunted his displeasure. “How much do you make on each deal?”

“Not enough to stay in business, Mr. Ranger. If we didn’t receive grants from various charitable foundations, we wouldn’t be able to cover our expenses. The doctors who own this company also have their own separate medical practices. They view this agency more as a humanitarian venture than a for-profit business.”

“Yeah, right. I bet they all drive Mercedes.”

Mrs. Ranger looked like she wanted to fall through the floor.

Amber admired Laura’s restraint. She would’ve told the guy to take a hike five minutes ago.

Her boss glanced at her watch before offering the couple a stilted smile. “If you don’t have any further questions, I’m due in another meeting shortly.”

Joe Ranger stood up. “No problem. We’re outta here.”

Without shaking hands or any parting pleasantries, he stomped out of the room, his wife following meekly behind.

“That went well,” Amber said.

Laura sighed. “I think he’s the rudest potential father I’ve ever met.” She shrugged. “Maybe he thinks we should do this for free.”

“Don’t let it get you down.” She placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Now what did you want to talk to me about?”

Laura’s expression went from sad to sadder. “You know what I told Mr. Ranger about the company’s financial structure is true. What you don’t know is that, due to recent cancellations, we’re in a…a financial bind. We’re looking at possible layoffs for the first time ever. The doctors hate the idea, but they’ve decided the only fair way to handle this is to use a last-in, first-out approach.”

Amber’s stomach knotted.

“Since you’re our newest employee, I’m afraid you’d be the first to go.”

Ben glanced around the table at the five Mexican men. Their forlorn expressions and haggard appearance spoke of a grueling ordeal. He couldn’t wait to hear their story, but first, he needed to gain their trust.

“Let’s take off the cuffs and get them some water,” he suggested to one of the two ICE agents in the room.

“But—”

“Hell, they’re not going anywhere. They asked for this meeting.”

The agent reluctantly removed their restraints and then left the room to get the water.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Ben Alfren,” he said, reaching across the table to shake hands with each of them. “I don’t condone your coming into our country illegally, but I’m willing to listen to your story.”

“My name is Pedro Casas,” one said. “My English is not so good, but I speak the best.”

The man appeared to be in his late teens. Despite his youth, he exuded confidence. But Ben also detected a hint of panic in his eyes. Pedro had lost someone very dear to him, and he was desperate to get her back. This would definitely be the person to deal with, and not just because of his language skills.

“That’s great, Pedro.” Ben made eye contact with the other four. “Do you all
understand
English? If not, I can get an interpreter.”

Each man nodded. One mumbled, “We are good.”

“All right. If you want to add anything to what Pedro tells us, just speak up, and he’ll translate for me.” He grinned and patted his chest. “
Comprendo muy poco de español
.”

The Mexicans chuckled.

He turned his attention back to Pedro. “Start at the beginning.”

The young man told a harrowing tale of dealing with a ruthless coyote who used the nickname Loco and told everyone he worked for the vicious drug lord Enrique Hermosillo. Pedro described riding in a large truck, a semi, and a van. He explained how the armed guards had separated the men from the women, and how he’d been knocked out.

“What happened when you came to?” Ben asked.

“Came to what?”

“It means ‘woke up.’”

“Ah,
sí
. I woke in the white van with the other men and the guards. They take us to a house to wait until night to go more north.”

“Where was the house?”

Pedro shrugged. “It was with a few others but not in a town.”

The ICE agent returned with five bottles of water and set them on the table. The Mexicans grabbed them immediately.

“Did you see a house number or a street name?” Ben asked.

Pedro frowned as he concentrated. “I do not remember.”