Secure Desire Page 23

  Martin sat in boxer shorts with his legs propped up on pillows and his laptop across his bruised thighs. Tucker knocked on the door. “You decent?”

  “What do you think? You’ve got me tied to this damn bed, and I’m wearing these stupid stockings.”

  “Well, Mr. Charm School, you have company.”

  Tucker pushed Cassie’s wheelchair inside. “Damn it, Tuck. Why didn’t you say something?” After the initial embarrassment wore off, Martin dragged the covers over his legs. Tucker left Cassie with Martin.

  “I wanted to meet my neighbor. Kick them a lot—they won’t make you wear the stockings.”

  Martin chuckled and introduced himself. “I don’t think Tuck would tolerate that from me. He's fast with a needle.”

  Cassie smiled. “I guess you know who I am. And I know who you are. Martin, I’m sorry. Ian told me about the accident. You were hurt because of me.”

  “I was hurt because some moron crossed the double yellows and hit me. How are you feeling, Gator?”

  Cassie smiled. “My head is clearing. You look like you got your bell rung.”

  He ran a finger over the bandage on his brow. “Not the first time—and it won’t be the last.”

  She cocked her head. “Gator?”

  “You’re tough as nails, and your eyes, they remind me of an alligator.”

  Cassie giggled. “What do you do for Ian and Kieran?”

  “I am the first executive officer at Chase Security, which translates to driver, errand runner, bodyguard, and anything else they come up with.” Martin made his job appear simple.

  She nibbled her bottom lip. “How long have you worked for them?”

  “I retired from active duty with Ian. I couldn’t see myself working under another leader.”

  “You were a SEAL too?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m still a chief petty officer in the reserves.”

  “Why did Ian bring us here to heal?”

  “Ian wanted us healthy and has the means to make it so.”

  Cassie crinkled her nose. “You’ve known him a long time, but why me?”

  “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t say anything, but I will tell you this: I’ve never seen Ian Chase care about anyone as much as he does for you. So, ask him, Gator.”

  Cassie realized she wasn’t going to get far questioning Martin about Ian. Instead, they watched an episode of Dr. Phil about misbehaving millennials.

  Ian brought Martin up to speed on the night’s plan. Lillian and Rachel made fun finger foods to try to tempt Cassie to eat. Monique and Sophie brought in board games, comedies, and fun colors of nail polish.

  “Boss, Cassie is more aware than you think. Why don’t you tell her you and Christian are flying to San Diego to exhume the baby?”

  Ian snapped at him, “No, it’s too hard on her.”

  Martin surrendered. “I’ll keep a watch on her. I’ll let your mom paint my toenails pink to amuse her.”

  Ian laughed.

  “If it’s alright if the ladies have a girls’ night, request permission to have a poker night with the Paulsens, Jamie, and Eric.”

  “Sure,” Ian said.

  The June air was thick with humidity as a Chase Group jet stood warming up at Reagan National. Ian’s neck prickled a warning as he followed Christian up the steps of the white fourteen-passenger Dassault Falcon. Christian took his seat while Ian conferred with the pilots.

  A few minutes later, a steward closed the doors and prepared for takeoff. “We should be there in about five hours, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ron.” Ian placed his head against the seat. “Hope she won’t miss us,” he mused as the steward brought them a meal.

  “She will. Cassie was very alert today. Chase, I need to apologize for selling you short. I’ve watched you with Cassie, and I wish you could see her face when you hold her. She hasn’t let a man near her since Whitman. I can tell you, she never looked like that with him. God, I wish she had given us a clue about what he was doing.

  “Cassie asked Caleb and me to join her therapy session today. She apologized for making us keepers of her secrets—the pregnancy, the engagement end, and Wilds. I think she understands that, as her family, we will always be behind her through anything. Take good care of her, Ian. Love her like she deserves.” Christian sipped his drink.

  “I will … if she’ll let me.”

  “Give her time." He looked out the jet window. "You think we’ll hit any trouble?”

  “I hope not, but I wouldn’t put it past whoever is doing this. We haven’t found the leak. The two low-level guys hired to retrieve the baby were stupid and knew nothing. They screwed up, but there’s another person involved out there. He was careful, kept his head down, avoided the cameras. He may be the same intruder from her townhouse. We ran a sketch through facial rec—nothing. The military databases, even with high clearance, are slow. That baby holds answers, and he is coming home with us.”

  “Do you have any clues from the bombing?”

  “A few. We found Russian ammunition, and the explosive was RDX. Martin also got photos.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Your XO was very adamant about leaving.” Christian shrugged.

  “I seem to surround myself with strong-willed people. Speaking of Cassie, does she have any ties to someone in Russia?”

  “When she was active with Ellis Art Finds, she traveled quite a bit, including Russia. She put together an exhibition of new Russian artists. Noah went with her once when she worked with a gallery in Moscow. He said the owner was sleazy, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. You think that’s why she’s speaking Russian?”

  “Possibly. What about Mark Devereaux?”

  “Typical stuffed shirt, but he’s been there for Cassie.”

  Crunch. Crunch. Ian and Christian stood solemnly as two cemetery workers lifted the tiny blue casket decorated with Raphael’s cherubs from the earth. They looked over the sea of flags set out to honor the approaching July fourth holiday. As the group approached the waiting hearse, a shot rang out. Dirt clods exploded inches in front of Ian.

  “Everybody down,” Christian called out.

  Another shot struck their vehicle’s tire. Diving for cover, Christian withdrew the MK 25 Ian provided him from his waistband and crawled toward their SUV.

  When another shot rang out from the opposite direction, one of the cemetery workers cried out in pain. Two snipers were stalking them.

  Ian rolled onto his back, taking aim at the lighting with his own gun. His shots plunged the group into darkness. He rose to his feet, drawing the attention of the first sniper. As he ran in a zigzag pattern, changing his speed with every few steps, bullets danced around him. The snipers were unable to get the right lead time down for a successful shot.

  The cemetery workers were not skilled in evasive maneuvers; a bullet struck the second cemetery worker, followed by another shot to the other SUV tire. The SUV's tires were non-pneumatic and non-flattening, but that wasn’t true of the hearse’s wheels. Two more bullets took out a front and rear tire.

  Christian hustled, sliding under the SUV and out the other side. A shot from the second sniper struck the ground in front of him. The sniper’s aim was getting better with each shot. Finding cover, Christian noted a flash from the woods east of his position.

  Christian grabbed a rock, throwing it behind him. In the darkness, he waited for the next shot, inching toward the muzzle flash. When the sniper appeared in his sight line, Christian waited for the sound of a round being chambered before he yelled, “Freeze!”

  The man, shrouded in black, pointed what Christian would later identify as a Browning M1911 at him, but Christian fired two shots to the chest and one to the head in rapid succession. As he cleared the rifle and searched the shooter, a barrage of bullets was fired from the southwest.

  Ian rolled and scrambled, trying to keep the shooter off balance. This time, his luck ran out. A shot struck his upper arm, setting it on fire. The bullets kept coming as he
worked to keep the sniper engaged and away from the two injured workers, but there was no cover. The infant section held only flat grave markers. Ian was into his second clip and running out of ammunition.

  In the heat of the bullet exchanges, two distinct pops sounded from another weapon. “Clear,” a female voice called. Mia Donnelly, with a jet-black bob, not a hair out of place and her gray eyes ablaze, jogged out of the woods. “Tony thought you might need some backup, Boss.”

  Tony Olivetti followed, a Remington sniper rifle over his shoulder. He pushed a bleeding man, secured with zip-ties, ahead of him. “You okay?”

  Christian tore free his shirt sleeve and covered Ian’s wound as Ian muttered, “I’ll live. Tony Olivetti and Mia Donnelly, this is Christian Paulsen. Who’s our friend?”

  Tony poked the remaining sniper in his bullet-injured shoulder. “He’s not talking.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance. “I called it in. Police and ambulances are coming.” Mia took the rifles from Tony and Christian. Two of Olivetti’s level-three operators were already tending to the injured cemetery workers.

  A third man approached Tony. “Sir, the casket is secure.”

  “Thank you. Get it out of here. Ian, Christian, you go too,” Tony ordered.

  Three hours later, Ian winced while Chase Security’s San Diego-based trauma physician, Dr. Kathleen Darnell, cleaned the wound. “You’re lucky. This was military-grade ammo. An inch over—and you would need a coroner.”

  “How much longer?” Ian asked. A forensic physician was extracting DNA from William.

  “Ian, let her work. In addition to the hair and tissue samples, she needs to extract some bone marrow. She's being as careful as possible. He’s tiny. Maybe another twenty minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, Kathy.”

  Kathleen handed him a three-day supply of antibiotics. “Apologies aren’t necessary. I’ll call Hunt with a report. Keep the wound clean. Three days. Take them. When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “The last time I got shot. Seven years ago. Why?”

  When she pulled a loaded syringe from her pocket, Ian glowered.

  Christian laughed. “I’m gonna tell Cassie.”

  Ian rolled his eyes and his other sleeve.

  Once his wound was taken care of, Ian and Christian joined Tony in his office. The Chase Group branch in San Diego was just a ten-minute drive from the cemetery. Tony pressed a button, and his office turned into a secure operations center. Windows turned opaque to prevent prying eyes from outside, and another device turned the room impenetrable from listening devices. A large plasma screen dropped.

  “Our two shooters are former AFEUR, Colombian Special Ops. They’re mercenaries for hire. I can tell you right now that, without leverage, the survivor’s not going to talk.”

  Christian shook his head. “I searched the guy I took down. Nothing. No ID. No tats. You said he was AFEUR? How come he was wearing boots made in the former USSR?”

  Ian started to pace. “Find their car. They didn’t walk there.”

  “Already on it. Another Russian connection. What is the tie to Cassie?” Tony's phone lit up. “Olivetti. Yeah…son of a bitch… Yeah, stay on it.”

  He slammed the receiver down. “Man, what the hell are we getting into? Those two morons who were supposed to destroy the baby drove off a cliff in University City. They made the toe tag drop. It happened on the way back. Our guys saw it happen. The car went up in flames before it went over the edge. They’re gone. I’ll send our forensics folks to check it out, and I already have two on the drop site. This keeps up, Ian, and I’ll need another tactical team out here.”

  Kieran thought about the conversation he had earlier with his brother. “I want you to take over the day-to-day operations at the company for a while. I need to focus on Cassie,” Ian had said.

  “Maybe you have it wrong. Maybe you need to step back from Cassie,” he countered.

  “I wish I could, but I can’t. If this were Monique, would you? I love her, Kieran.”

  “You’re sure? I don’t need to tell you how fragile she is. I don’t think she’s able to withstand another loss. If you are trying to absolve some misplaced guilt, step back now.”

  Ian looked up at him. “I know it’s fast to feel like this, but I can’t see my life without her in it. She’s beautiful, smart, honest, and caring. It kills me that she doesn’t believe it. The dinner we shared, a lifetime ago—she gets me.”

  Kieran clapped him on the back. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Robert Bynum Jr. rented an isolated cabin in the Shenandoah Valley. He relaxed beside the shimmering pond in the late afternoon sun as he injected heroin into a vein between his toes. As warmth spread through his body, his eyes closed, his head full of sexual memories. Last night’s brunette was so hot when she begged him to stop. Her tear-drenched breasts tasted delicious while he bit them. Thoughts of another auburn-haired innocent crossed his mind. Flying on that cloud, he drifted off.

  Leaning over Robert Bynum Jr.’s body, Monte checked for a pulse. Gloved hands picked up his cell phones, but he left the empty syringe and tourniquet in place. On his way back to the car to wait for the police, he made another call. “This is Monte. Both problems are taken care of. I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”

  Senator Bynum leaned against his office wall on the other end of the call. “Thank you, Monte.”

  A single tear dropped from his eye. It had to be done; he needed to mitigate the liability. He wasn’t aware of how long he stood as his mind drifted to a little towheaded boy running along the shoreline. That boy was gone long before today. The loud tones of his cell phone brought him back to reality.

  “Senator Bynum, this is Captain Reginald Thompson from the Virginia State Police. I’m sorry, sir, but I have some bad news.”

  “Breaking news. Robert Bynum Jr., son of Senator Robert Bynum, was found dead this afternoon at an isolated cabin in Washington County, Virginia. Virginia State Police had no further comment on the matter. We are sending our reporters to the scene.”

  Kieran picked up his phone, and the call went right to voicemail. “No answer.”

  Twenty long minutes later, Ian returned the call.

  “Both teams will be there when you land.” At the close of the call, Kieran brought Martin, Jamie, and Eric up to speed. “She’s just increased in value as a target.” Kieran also called their tech center. “Tiki, I need that leak.”

  The sun was rising when Jamie gently shook Cassie awake. “What’s going on?” She rubbed her sleepy eyes.

  “A mhuirnín, we need to get you dressed.”

  She turned, sat up, and let her feet dangle over the side. “Where are we going?”

  Martin stood in the doorway. “Good morning, Gator. I just spoke with Ian. We’re going for a ride.”

  Cassie sat between Lillian and Declan. Noah took the wheel while Martin rode shotgun in one of the black armored Navigators.

  The nineteenth-century Oak Hill Cemetery sat along the banks of Rock Creek in the center of Georgetown. The minute she realized where they were, Cassie teared up. Declan placed a protective arm around her. “We don’t have to stay.”

  “No, I want to. I’m overwhelmed by the generosity of your son.”

  The Ellis family mausoleum rested between flowering tulip trees. Ian was waiting with the other Paulsens, Monique, and Sophie, while Kieran and Mike’s tactical teams held the perimeter. “Sweetheart, your little boy is home.” He leaned into the car and helped her to her feet, then placed supporting hands on her waist. “Cassie, I will always be here for you.” He kissed her forehead.

  After Luke Paulsen said a few teary words, Ian held Cassie’s face between his large palms, resting his forehead against hers. “I will never fully understand the profound pain you feel, but I want you to know, I wish I could take it all away.” Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, he spun her around, holding her back against his chest.

  “Bach said, ‘The bond t
hat links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life.’ So, little one, know your new family loves you. Your mommy will hold you deep in her heart forever.” They each said a silent prayer before William Thomas Ensworth Ellis Modine was interred.

  Ian watched with concern as he stood a few feet away to give Cassie some time alone at the grave. Tears slid down her cheeks as she spoke in a hushed whisper, “William, I’m so sorry, my baby boy. The minute I saw you, I loved you. I would never have let you go.”

  Ian helped her back to the car. “I will be home later. I need you to rest and do your therapy. I love you, Cassie.” He kissed her.

  Cassie was dazed. Hearing the words come from Ian’s lips confirmed to her that Garett never meant them. She slid into the Navigator next to Lillian.

  Declan patted Ian’s back. “We will get her home safe, son. I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you.”

  In the early afternoon, Kieran and Monique joined Hunter, Tucker, and Pete on the main house’s patio. Kieran wondered, “Are Cassie and Martin stable enough for you two to be up here?”

  Pete chuckled. “Hurricane Lil has it all under control. Cassie’s asleep. This morning took a lot out of her. And Martin is afraid of her.”

  “Hurricane Lil?” Monique shook with laughter.

  “Alrighty then.” Kieran shot Monique a look. “I need to run a thought by you. I have a hunch.” He raised a brow at his wife and handed Hunter a close-up taken under the Wood’s lamp after Cassie’s rape. “If you saw this in a patient, what would you think?”

  Hunter passed the photo off to Tucker. “I haven’t seen this since my OB/GYN rotation.”

  Pete viewed the photo. “Dilation, right?”

  Tucker nodded. “I can see why they took the photo; it’s an odd finding in a rape, but why didn’t anyone pursue it?”