The Hunk Next Door (23 page)

“Abby,” he began.

“Chief Jensen,” she corrected.

“Chief Jensen,” he echoed, tension in his tone. “You really don’t have the cl—”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘clearance’ I will shoot you on principle.”

“A stunt like that means a lot of paperwork.”

“Accidents happen. Firearms are dangerous.”

* * *

S
O ARE YOU
, Riley thought, deciding maybe he shouldn’t twitch a muscle. “So put it away,” he suggested. He didn’t think the weapon was nearly as deadly as the woman on the other side of the table. “Where are you holding Mr. Maynard?”

“That isn’t your concern.”

He should have told her last night, security clearances be damned. He’d wanted to tell her she wasn’t in this alone the night one of Maynard’s lackeys had pushed Calder off the ladder.

Now it was too late. Her gorgeous blue gaze had turned icy. She felt betrayed and he could hardly blame her. Ironic really, that when he knew just who he wanted to be and why, when his identity felt more real and true than any other time in his life, the woman he wanted to be real for wouldn’t believe in him.

“Mr. O’Brien?”

“Riley,” he said, frustrated by her insistence on reverting to these formalities. He couldn’t leave town even if he wanted to. Director Casey had planted him here for a reason. Belclare was still a ripe target. Whatever she believed, this wasn’t over yet.

“Start talking or I’m dumping you in a holding cell.”

“On what charge?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “All of Belclare thinks I’m a hero.”

“I suppose that was your plan. Waltz into my town, win over the locals and seduce the little-lady police chief.”

No one thought of her that way. “Last night was no one-sided seduction,” he said, leaning forward, ignoring the damned gun on the desk.

“Let’s stick with today,” she snapped, color flooding her cheeks. “Who are you? Start with your real name.”

He gripped the arms of the chair. Might as well spill it all—he doubted she would grant him another chance to clear the air. “I have no idea what my real name is. Riley O’Brien is what the teachers and staff in the orphanage called me. When I graduated, I traded a few years in the military for college tuition. Now I’m here.”

“No Irish parents?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He shook his head. His childhood fantasies of home and hearth felt silly now. The fragile new hope she’d kindled sputtered out beneath her unrelenting blue gaze.

“There seems to be a significant gap in your personal history.”

“I agree.” He refused to elaborate, even if it was possible. Whether or not she hated him for what they shared on a personal level, Belclare was his post and he wouldn’t jeopardize that. If he was exposed or ousted, who would protect her?

Let her hate him for lying about his past, but she’d come to mean too much in such a short time for him to walk away and leave her safety to someone else.

“Who sent you here?” Her eyes flared as something else occurred to her. “What in the hell did you do to the Hamiltons?”

He rolled his eyes, aggravated by her suddenly overactive imagination. “Call the Realtor, check in on them. I showed you the paperwork. You know I came by the house honestly when I was decorating the realty office storefront.”

She scoffed at that, her fingertips dancing along the grip of her gun.

This really couldn’t get any worse. Unless she shot him. “Call. Verify my story. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, yes, you are. Tell me the truth and then get out of my town.”

“I told you the truth.” At least as much as he dared to explain right now. Deke was in custody, but were the men who did his dirty work planning to follow through on whatever orders he’d already issued? It was too soon to tell. If he could get Abby to calm down, he had a feeling she’d agree with his assessment.

He was furious that Deke had managed to expose him and kill her trust. From Riley’s vantage point, exposing him gave anyone a clear shot at Abby.

“The
whole
truth.”

The only truth that mattered to Riley was sitting on the other side of the desk. Abby had started as an assignment, but she was so much more now. He didn’t think she wanted to hear that. She wouldn’t want to hear how he admired this side of her. Even with her substantial fury leveled at him, he admired her. Wanted her. He shook his head. “The truth that matters is I am here to protect you and your town from a very real terrorist threat. Your success this morning notwithstanding, my orders have not changed. You don’t have the authority to send me anywhere.” Not professionally anyway, but he left that unsaid.

She swore, impressing him with her colorful vocabulary. “The explosives are secure. The man using the docks and this town as his personal criminal playground is in custody. Belclare is safe again. You can go.”

But the threat against her personally, the promise to make her an example, still loomed over her head. “I have to stay.” He pushed to his feet. “I’m sorry that makes you uncomfortable, Abby.”

His heart clutched when she picked up her gun, but she returned it carefully to her purse as she pushed to her feet, as well.

“Mr. O’Brien, I don’t want to see you. Not next door, not in my station, not at the pub. Stick to your so-called orders if you must, but stay out of my sight.”

“On one condition.”

“You don’t get to name conditions here!” She trembled with the fury she obviously felt.

He wasn’t leaving until he’d warned her. “Keep someone with you. I don’t think this is over.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Of course not,” he said. It felt like one of those shipping containers was sitting on his chest. This might be the last time he was this close to her—he couldn’t let fear ruin it.

“I’ll stay out of your sight, but I’m next door if you ever need me.”

“I won’t.”

He believed her. He paused with one hand on the doorknob and turned back to face her. “Last night—”

“Don’t you dare say it.”

“—was everything to me,” he finished.

“Get out.” Her hands fisted at her sides and he knew she wanted to throw something.

“You asked for the truth.” He left the room and walked out of the station, wishing the back door was still an option. He kept his gaze straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

When Danny called out, Riley just raised a hand, unwilling to pause for a conversation. Tomorrow would be a better day. The sting of embarrassment would ease and she’d calm down. She might never forgive him, but out of sight or not, he was determined to keep her safe enough to enjoy a long life of hating him.

He was backing out of his parking space when his cell phone rang. The caller ID showed a blocked number and Riley flinched as he pulled back into the parking space to take the call.

“That takedown looks good,” Director Casey said in his ear.

“News travels fast.”

“You don’t sound happy. Is there more?”

“I think so. She arrested Deke Maynard, but it was too easy,” Riley said, finally able to articulate what bothered him most. “The bomb he’d planted was elementary. Anyone could have disarmed it.”

“You expected someone with more tactical experience?”

“If a threat is serious enough to incite this much concern across federal agencies, then yes, I expect to encounter experienced people on the ground, too.”

“Sleeper cells are often populated with civilians. It’s the definition.”

“Soft is one thing. Ignorant is another. You can’t pull me out yet.”

“I wasn’t planning to. Long-term and indefinite, remember?”

Riley took a deep, relieved breath. “Thanks.”

“Got a theory?”

“Deke Maynard has his eye on Chief Jensen. He might be a master strategist with all the crap he’s managed here, but I think somewhere along the line it became personal.”

“Artists can be twitchy.”

“Sure,” Riley admitted, though he had little experience. “They’re searching his place and squeezing the butler for info.”

“The analysts will sort it out.”

“Thank you.”

“One more thing,” Casey said. “A new version of her speech on YouTube surfaced an hour ago. We’ve blocked it and we’re tracing the party who loaded it.”

“How was it modified?”

“Red crosshairs over her face and different scenery. The analysts haven’t sorted out the background yet, but the landscape is covered with snow. We can’t tell if the images are current or older. So it appears your hunch is correct. Stay close to her.”

“No problem,” Riley lied. “Can you send it to me?”

“Already done.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“If you need backup, just say the word. We can get someone into place now, before any more trouble hits.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll let you know.”

The kind of backup he really needed, Director Casey couldn’t provide. No amount of tactical expertise would fix the mess he’d made here.

He pulled up the video on his phone and his blood ran cold. The new images in the background ranged from the current display in the park to the podium in front of the scorched police station where Abby had given her latest press conference.

But it was the angle of the photos that told Riley all he needed to know. He sent the request for backup, knowing the assassin was about to make his move. Regardless of how Abby felt about him personally, he would implement protective measures. No detail was too small, no request too big if it meant keeping her alive.

Chapter Seventeen

For the first time since the fire, Abby was grateful her office had been charred. She wasn’t even upset the cleanup was taking longer than promised. Working at home would be for the best. Despite the proximity to Riley, at home behind closed doors and drawn curtains she could cry. Scream into a pillow. Her mascara could streak down her face and her nose could turn Rudolph-red. At home, no one could watch her fall apart.

She couldn’t believe Maynard had gotten bail. Evidently he owned at least one judge—a man Abby thought she knew. Of course, Maynard had been forced to surrender his passport. So what? The man could have twenty for all anyone knew.

This day could not suck any worse.

She pulled all the way into her garage this time, unwilling to risk even a glimpse of Riley. Hurrying to the house, she dropped her purse on the table and drew the curtains in her kitchen and den.

But nothing blotted out the scent of her Christmas tree. A day ago it had been the best scent ever. Now, she felt nauseous. Reluctantly, she walked down the hallway. Like ripping off a bandage, she had to get this over with and find a way to rid him from her system. Her knees quivering, she turned into the front room.

And stalled.

“Welcome home, my dear.” Deke, standing in the middle of the room, revealed a gun, raising it until the barrel was even with her chest.

Abby saw the cold death in his eyes, knew making a run was futile. How could she have been so wrong about him? “You’ll never get away with this.”

“Darling, I already have. Reliable witnesses are ready to testify they saw me at my attorney’s office during the time of your tragic death.”

His hand was too steady. She was out of time and options. Her gun was in her purse where she’d left it in the kitchen.

She sidestepped around the coffee table.

Deke wagged a finger. “No, no. Just take a seat. This will all be over shortly.”

“What?” She stayed on her feet. “You’re going to make this look like a suicide?” She had to keep him talking. “People know me better than that.” She had to think of something.

He tipped his head to the side. “It was a thought. But you’re right. And the damage lasts longer if your killer might be roaming free in Belclare.”

“You’re a monster. You worked Filmore into a frenzy.”

“No,” he snapped, stepping forward. “Filmore was his own worst enemy. The man was a small cog in a large machine. I am much more valuable. You might have been an asset, but instead you became an impediment. Now you must go. And don’t worry, my attorneys will prove your pathetic police work was all wrong. You can die knowing you didn’t stop me.”

He was insane. Unfortunately, he’d focused all of that insanity on her. There was no babbling remorse over what he’d done or what he was about to do. His confidence unnerved her, but she refused to give in without a fight.

He’d moved drugs through her town, nearly killed two of her neighbors, three if she counted Riley, and burned down her police station. No, she would not give in while she still had an ounce of breath in her lungs.

“Why don’t you just go?” she whispered. She needed him to believe she was completely beaten. “I’ll let you walk away. I’ll tell the world I was wrong.” She forced herself to sit on the edge of the couch and reached out to trace the soft petal of a rose in the flowers he’d brought her yesterday.

Deke laughed, the sound harsh and laced with violent intent. “Oh, you might give me a head start, but you’d never give up or lie. You have far too much integrity. I sincerely regret to say that is your downfall.”

“You’d be the white whale, too big for me to ever catch.”

“How you tempt me.” He came around the coffee table and sat beside her with that elegant grace she used to admire and now detested. “Unfortunately for you, I am a greedy white whale and the bounty on your head has become more than I can resist. You see, bigger fish than I want you gone.”

He reached out, taking a lock of her hair and winding it around his fingers. “I did have hopes for you. For us.”

“Tell me,” she whispered, trying to hide how he made her skin crawl. She had to disarm him, it was her only hope.

There was a creak on the stairs and everything in him shifted. His eyes darted in that direction and then back to her, his features twisting into an evil snarl. His hand fisted in her hair and he yanked her head back. The muzzle of the gun was cold against the tender skin under her jaw. “Come out or I’ll blow off her head!” he shouted.

Abby went still, fighting the instinct to squirm. “Who are you talking to?”

“Your lover, I’m sure. I cannot believe you took up with him. You don’t even know him. He’s lied to you every bit as much as I have!”