Blonde Demolition Page 2

  "Honey, you are not like anyone else. I'm surprised you didn't know that bomb was in there. You have the knack."

  She had always known where the bombs were. Almost better than the K-9 crew. She'd known about this one too, as much as she'd love to deny it. The knack had never been a gift to her. "So?"

  He took her hand. She yanked it away. "Don't touch me."

  "Mallory, we have to talk. I'm here for a reason."

  Her shoulders slumped. Sleep would be a stranger tonight. "Okay, give me a minute. Go pop that popcorn."

  Someone knocked on Mallory's front door as she passed it. She knew who stood on her porch. He'd let her go from the firehouse with no hesitation. She sighed and opened the door.

  Jesse leaned on the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. His sturdy shoulders, raised in question. His eyes searched her face. Despite the casual posture, she knew he wanted to touch her. Hold her. Comfort her.

  On any other night, she would have invited him into her house and into her bed.

  "You okay, Mallory?"

  "Oh, Jesse." She hugged him. Her forced smile would have to convince him. He can't see Trey. "I'm good. I'm going to eat something and then go to bed."

  She put a hand on his cheek. If only she could click her heels together and her other visitor would disappear. Instead, he lurked just out of sight in the kitchen. "You're a good guy, Jess. Go home."

  "Just a heads up, some detectives want to talk to you…uh…about your skills."

  The questions he'd had back at the firehouse appeared in his eyes again. She wished she could answer them. "Thanks. I hope they wait until morning."

  He nodded at her before he left, then turned back and kissed her hard on the lips. He backed away, only glancing at her when he reached the end of the porch.

  When she spun around Trey stood in the doorway. He wasn't jealous. He wouldn't be. It wasn't in him to show that much insecurity. "Friend of yours?"

  She moved down the hall to Trey. Her finger poked into his lean chest. "Jesse is none of your business."

  She waited for him to move and let her into her kitchen. When he didn't, she shoved him out of the way—at least made the attempt. Trey could be an immovable object when he wanted to. "Does he challenge you?"

  Her face flushed. She wouldn't share Jesse with Trey. Wouldn't go there. Not tonight. Not ever. "That part of my life is off limits. Shall we talk?"

  He moved aside for her. She settled at the worn Formica table that she'd found at an estate sale. She hated the piece of furniture, but it had been cheap. Her real kitchen table was on order now and expected in the next six weeks.

  One more step to making her house a home.

  She couldn't wait.

  Trey found a bowl and poured the popcorn into it. Two beers sat opened on the scarred table.

  "What gives?"

  "The terror cell again," he said.

  More than five years ago, she and Trey had thwarted a bombing at Penn Station, New York. As far as she knew, all the members of the cell had been arrested. At least she'd assumed so. She'd been in the hospital getting the scar that Trey had been stroking.

  After that she walked away from that life, never looking back.

  Now, that life stared at her. It had popped up like a jack-in-the-box. She didn't hear Pop Goes the Weasel. Instead, she smelled honeysuckle. "What now?"

  "They have multiple targets. Carnivals. Maybe even amusement parks. We're not completely sure."

  "Carnivals?"

  "We think they plan to blow up some amusement rides."

  "Hardly seems like a high-casualty endeavor," she said.

  "It won't be, but it will get a lot of children."

  Her blood went to boil. She hated when children were involved. "Is this recent intelligence?"

  "Yes, and that's why we had Marvelous Midways under surveillance."

  "Our ride company?" She shook her head. "You don't get more redneck-flag-waving than Bud Cone."

  "Not him. We don't think he has any idea."

  "His workers?"

  "Most likely."

  She took a swig of beer. "Most of his workers are Eastern European."

  "They hold those passports. Doesn't mean they're real."

  She nodded. With enough cash, she could get a passport that said she was from Egypt, even with her blonde hair and green eyes.

  Still, she wasn't convinced. He'd have to do better to get her to give up this life that she loved…even though she'd been restless about it and wondered what her roots were. "So what do you need me for?"

  His gaze slid over her. "You asking me or the organization?"

  She rolled her eyes. "The organization."

  "Damn." He dropped some popcorn into his mouth as if chewing over his thoughts too. "We need you back."

  Booth met the man in a park that closed after dark. He figured it was risky, but the man had insisted.

  "Her old partner's contacted her," he said.

  Booth shrugged. "So? I doubt she's going to be pulled back into her old life."

  "You've gotten to know her that well?"

  "Yes. I have. Just like my job stated."

  "I think you're too close, but the boss is happy."

  A frown creased Booth's face."So stay out of it. Why'd you bring me here?"

  "If she goes back there will be a bigger price on her head."

  "How much?"

  "Three million. That should be enough to bring you out for one more kill."

  "Maybe."

  The man poked Booth in the chest. "You damn well better not be too close to her to pull the trigger. We've gone to a lot of trouble to get you where you are."

  Booth put up his hands. "I'm a professional."

  "Good, because if I have to do it, you'll be in my line of fire too."

  "Don't worry. I know my job."

  The man walked away, leaving Booth in the park. He waited until he no longer heard the car. He wasn't concerned…no cops would bother him with his position in the fire company.

  Hours later, Mallory lay in bed—wide awake. Her head thrummed with thoughts. Her body spent from adrenaline, she couldn't get comfortable.

  The baby she'd given up made her wonder about her own parents. The idea of finding her mother and father, or at least a record of them, swirled around her brain. She wanted to know who she was. Who she really was.

  Now the organization wanted her back. Could I go back? Give up what I've built?

  Trey had warned her he would contact her again. Undercover. He was posing as one of the ride workers. She would have to see him for the next four days.

  Lucky me.

  Convinced she wouldn't get any sleep, she rose, not turning on any lights. Years of being on guard kept her in the dark. Once her eyes adjusted, she could see what she needed to.

  A light flashed above her bedroom door. Someone was on the porch. Whoever it was had set off a sensor, one she'd installed when she'd moved into her home.

  She licked her lips and contemplated what her next move would be. If she came down the steps, the person might see her…there was no back stairway, so she went with her only choice.

  She refused to be chased from her home. Mallory located her gun in the nightstand. She took a deep breath to lower her heart rate, then checked the weapon for ammunition.

  She paused at the top of the steps and listened. Thankful she already had clothes on when the warning light triggered, Mallory descended the stairs one at a time. She stopped at each to see if she could hear anything.

  A breeze blew the leaves around, but it hadn't done anything to dissipate the humidity of the day. The air conditioner in her room kicked on the moment she thought she heard another noise.

  Damn. Now I won't be able to hear. Her heart thumped in her chest. Sweat trickled down her back.

  An eternity later, she reached the bottom of the steps. Her motion-sensor light had been tripped and it now illuminated the porch and part of the front yard.

  The customary deer that feasted on h
er shrubs were nowhere to be found. Something, or someone, had scared them away.

  With her back flat against the front door, she peered out first one sidelight window and then the other. At her second look, she saw a shadow edging just outside where the beam of light fell.

  She couldn't see a weapon. Mallory had her gun and the element of surprise—the person didn't know that she knew they were there. Crouched down, she made her way to the back door. No one lurked back there as far as she could see. She eased the door open, then slid out of the house.

  Her breath came in short bursts as adrenaline flooded her body. She'd felt the same way during fires. Had felt it all the time when she worked for the government.

  With silent steps, she crept around the house, stopping just before the front porch light. The person had moved while still in the shadows. What could anyone want with her?

  Fear turned to anger. She didn't want her home invaded.

  "Freeze."

  "Jesus, don't shoot, Mal."

  Her heart beat double time. This man was a threat, though not in the way she had first thought. "What the hell are you doing back?"

  CHAPTER 3

  Freshly showered, since her trek around the house had made her sweaty, Mallory grasped a cold bottle of beer and glared at her ex-lover.

  She braced for the reason he came back. She shielded her heart from his charm.

  "I knew you wouldn't be sleeping," Trey said.

  She longed to wipe off that cocky grin. He'd want her to so she'd touch him. He had a lecherous look on his face as if he had no doubts about what he was going to do tonight.

  To her.

  You are not getting back in my bed. No way.

  Her heart had been hers for the last half a decade. She cleared her throat. "I should have just shot you and asked questions later."

  He didn't grin. Instead, a guffaw spilled out. "Fiery. Always were. That's what I liked about you."

  "Did you come here to take a trip down memory lane?"

  He rubbed a hand down his face and used a finger to rub his eyes—they looked bloodshot.

  "Sort of."

  "Then what?"

  He settled at the table, his gaze like an arrow through her head. I'd forgotten how intense he could be.

  On Sundays, they would go for hours without speaking. Neither of them angry, they just had no need to speak. Some of that time had been spent in bed. They'd always been in sync there.

  She shrugged off the unwanted memories. "Spill it."

  "Another carnival has been hit."

  Her mouth dropped open. "No."

  "No one was hurt, but we've received a letter that this was a warning."

  "From whom?"

  Why am I gathering the details? I don't want in on this case. The facts don't matter. She listened anyway.

  "A group called Islam Power."

  "Never heard of them."

  "They're backed by our favorite millionaire."

  She set down her beer. "Don't tell me anything else. This must all be classified."

  He shrugged. "You still have security clearance."

  She put a hand in the air. Could she stop this speeding information train? She shook her head. "I don't want it. I don't want the knowledge or the responsibility."

  Her head spun. Her brain was being sucked into a vortex. Dammit, I don't want to go back. I've made a wonderful new life for myself.

  She had to worry about fires and fundraising.

  Not bombs and bad guys.

  "What are you going to tell the bomb guys tomorrow? You raised some questions about your abilities."

  "I haven't decided." She would cross that narrow bridge when the time came. Good on her feet, she would think of a plausible story when they asked the questions. Until then she wouldn't lose sleep over it.

  Just over the bigger situation.

  And this man.

  "We could step in," he said.

  With one phone call, he could make it all go away.

  She rubbed a spot on her forehead that began to ache. "I notice you use the royal we."

  "I've always been a company man."

  Bile rose in her throat. Yes, he had been. That had been her biggest obstacle with him. She never knew where the job ended and Trey began. "I haven't forgotten."

  He leaned into her, his steel eyes sharp. "What else do you remember?"

  She slammed her hand on the table. Her beer wobbled. She caught it. "You are not seducing me back into this life."

  He shifted away from her, his arms crossed. His expression didn't change. He didn't flinch at her outburst. Not even at her use of the word seduce, which she knew any shrink would have a field day with.

  Had he predicted what she would do?

  When they had worked together, he'd known that she had to pee before she did. She'd never met anyone so in tune with her. Maybe she never wanted to have anyone know her that way again.

  "I'm different now. I have this great life." Her finger stabbed the air, punctuated every word. "You cannot take that away from me."

  "I'm not taking away anything. I'm giving you something. I'm giving you back the ability to make a difference."

  She stalked away from him. "You think I don't make a difference? What about the family whose house didn't burn down because I was there?"

  "You can protect even more houses with us."

  She shook her head. "It isn't the same."

  He was trying to appeal to her sense of honor and her strong desire to help people. He knew all the cards she held and how to play them to his advantage.

  "No, it's better," he said.

  He rose to his full height, towering over her. She wasn't intimidated. She knew he hadn't meant her to be. That wasn't his style. He charmed so she braced for it.

  "No one dead this time, Mal. Think about it. Think about a bomb on a kiddy ride." He leaned into her and she knew he would go for her jugular. "You don't want any kids to die, do you?"

  Booth's phone rang just as he returned home. He lived in a modest ranch house. He didn't want anyone to know the riches he had stashed away.

  "Her partner came back again," said the voice on the other end.

  "Doesn't mean she's going back to DHS."

  "Why are you so reluctant?"

  "I'm not."

  "You getting morals in your old age? The payoff is a big one."

  Booth rubbed the back of his neck. "I just want proof before I have to kill her. That's all."

  "She's more valuable to us dead."

  "I'm sure she is, but what if I killed her and then you find out she had information that could help you. You'd be shit out of luck."

  "Stay put for now. You'll get your orders when it's time."

  "Shall I stay close to her?" Not that it would be a hardship. He tamped down that thought. He had a job to do.

  "Yes."

  "Can I kill her how I want?"

  "As long as it can't be traced to you."

  Booth snorted. "I am a professional."

  Mallory had anger and aggression welling up in her. She taped up her hands and slid on her purple boxing gloves.

  Someone had tried to hurt children.

  Thwack.

  They're planning to do it again.

  Thwack.

  The punching bag was going to pay.

  Hoping the force of her blows would make her head clearer, her fists pummeled it relentlessly.

  She had a choice. Try to stop it or stay in her cocoon

  Trying meant she could fail.

  Again.

  But will I be happy if I don't try?

  She'd never been content to sit on the sidelines. Even as a firefighter, she'd learned every aspect of the job. She'd been up ladders fighting fires from the top and inside fighting them at the source. They couldn't pay her enough to sit by and pour coffee while the others risked their lives.

  Her fists hit the heavy bag looking for something...

  The bag held no answers.

  Dawn was a prom
ise on the horizon. She didn't have to go to work. She'd explained to people who asked that she had a trust fund. The reality was that the government paid well for service, more so if they wanted you to stay quiet.

  Mallory kept her end of the bargain as long as she didn't have to punch a time clock or sit behind a desk.

  Or deal with any more bombs.

  That thought stopped her for a moment. Her chest heaved while her hands dropped to her sides. The government had broken its promise and wanted her back.

  The enormity of it washed over her. She shook it off.

  She slammed a fist into the bag as if it were Trey's face. Then her foot. Her form raw, she began more of the moves she knew. Power surged from her as her anger transferred to the heavy bag.

  She knew her rage was misdirected. She should be angry for all the innocent people killed in a world gone mad. She should be angry for the parents who had thought it was more important to give their lives to a cause than be there when their child arrived home from school. She should be angry with an American who financed it only because he could.

  The sun peaked into the window of the attic she had turned into a gym. Her venom spent, she stood drenched in sweat when the phone rang.

  "Mallory."

  Jesse's voice floated through the phone. "Good morning."

  "Hey."

  "Feeling better?"

  She couldn't feel worse. Well, she could—if he were hurt in the crossfire of her worlds colliding. "Sure."

  "Did you sleep?"

  A sigh ripped out of her. "No."

  "Sleep all day, trust-fund girl."

  She didn't know what to say to that. The ruse didn't fit her image of herself, though she played along anyway. She had to. Otherwise, there would be too many questions.

  "Mallory? You always go silent when I say that."

  "I'm sorry, Jesse. I'm a little ragged from lack of sleep."

  "And you always have an excuse too. Mal, you can tell me. Whatever it is that you hold back from me, you can tell me."

  The sincerity in his voice cut her heart to shreds. He couldn't be a better friend. "It doesn't matter."

  I'll still love you is what he didn't say.

  She knew her past wouldn't make a difference to him. Understanding was all he offered on that one day a year she wanted nothing to do with people. The anniversary she'd never shared with anyone.