“The vehicle was registered to him, and he’s been reported missing. We’re still waiting for DNA confirmation.”
She handed the photo back to Petras, then turned her face away.
“You’ve never seen him before?”
“No. What’s his name?”
“Ali Al Zahrani. Eighteen years of age. U.S. citizen born in Denver to Saudi immigrants. College student. His dad is a physician.” The agent tucked the photo back inside his pocket.
“So young.” The words were a whisper. “Please tell his parents how sorry I am.”
Petras acted as if he hadn’t heard her, his attitude seriously getting on Javier’s nerves. “The FBI is prepared to give you short-term protection while we resolve this case. We don’t yet know whether the bomber acted alone or was working with others. It could be that he removed the threat against you the moment he detonated the explosives. Regardless, we’re coordinating with the Denver police to have a two-man security detail on duty around the clock.”
“What about my car? It’s still in the parking lot at the newspaper.”
“Give me the make, model, and license plate number, and we’ll have a police officer return it to you once it’s been cleared.”
“Thank you. There’s just one thing.” Laura’s chin went up. “Last week, you ignored my concerns and spent more time looking at my chest than my face. With all
Javier fought back a grin as Petras’s face slowly turned red.
LAURA SAT IN the backseat of Agent Petras’s brown Chevy Impala, Javier beside her. She stared out the window, watching the busy streets of Denver pass. The state capitol with its golden dome. The graceful architecture of Civic Center Park. The redbrick walls of Coors Field. The perpetual construction zone around Union Station. It was the same city, and yet it felt different.
“When I got up this morning, this was my new hometown.” She’d hoped to make a new start and one day raise her daughter here. “Now it’s the city where a teenage boy died trying to kill me.”
“You okay?” Javier was sitting so close that she could smell the subtle spice of his aftershave, his voice deep, soothing.
“Sure. It could’ve been worse, right?” Laura squeezed her hands tightly together in her lap. “Sorry you got dragged into this.”
The doctor had insisted that Laura take the next few days off from work and find someone to stay with her for the next twenty-four hours in case her concussion proved to be more serious than they realized. Javier had immediately volunteered. Laura had agreed for purely selfish reasons. She’d feel safer with him nearby.
“Hey, don’t apologize.” He closed his hands over hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t really want to be here. Besides, how else am I going to have dinner with you tonight? I just know you’d try to use this whole car bomb thing as an excuse to cancel on me otherwise.”
She couldn’t help but smile.
They stopped at the Denver Police Station where Nate had left Javier’s duffel bag and guitar case, then headed straight for Laura’s place, which SWAT and the FBI had already secured. They arrived at The Ironworks, an old redbrick industrial building recently converted to lofts, and parked in the gated underground parking garage, where Laura saw what she hoped would be the last of Petras. She and Javier took the elevator to the third floor to find another FBI agent already waiting outside her door. Laura didn’t miss the fleeting look of surprise on Javier’s face when he saw the agent was a woman.
“I’m Special Agent Janet Killeen.” The agent shook their hands. “I’m taking over your protection detail from Agent Petras, Ms. Nilsson. I’ve always admired your courage. I’ll do my best to make sure these assholes don’t get another crack at you.”
Laura immediately liked her.
She was in her early forties, tall and slender with a pretty face, her shoulder-length brown hair sleek and shiny. She wore a brown pantsuit with a crisp white shirt and black pumps, looking more like a real estate agent than a fed. And yet Laura was certain that somewhere beneath her tailored jacket Agent Killeen was strapped.
“SWAT already went through the building and the surrounding streets and alleys to make sure there were no surprises waiting for you. DPD has its two-man detail out front. I’ll be out back with another agent, so you’ll be covered.”
“Thank you, Agent Killeen.”
“Call me Janet. Will you be staying here, Mr. Corbray?” She drew a notepad and pen out of her jacket pocket.
Javier nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Like I told your buddy Petras, Laura is a friend.”
“Petras is not my buddy.” Janet glanced through her notes, her eyebrows going up. “He ran background on you and says you’re a Navy SEAL. Are you carrying?”
“I’ve got a concealed SIG P226 loaded with hollow point and a Walther PPS.”
Laura looked Javier up and down, wondering how he managed to hide all of that beneath a gray blazer, black T-shirt, and jeans. She’d had no idea he was armed.
Why hadn’t she guessed he was a SEAL? Now that she knew, it seemed obvious, the pieces falling into place. His confidence. The graceful way he moved. His hard, muscular body. His attention to detail, both in and out of bed. His reluctance in Dubai to talk about his job.
“Good to know.” Janet looked up from her notepad and smiled. “If we hear weapons fire, we won’t shoot the first person we see holding a firearm.”
Javier gave a nod. “I’d appreciate that.”
Janet took a few minutes to explain the same things that Petras had outlined for them and then went on her way, leaving the two of them alone.
Javier glanced around. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” With the original brick walls, polished wood floors, and concrete ceilings with visible ductwork, it had the urban look Laura loved. Big windows let in lots of natural sunlight and gave her a beautiful view of the Rockies to the west. “It’s my home, my sanctuary.”
Javier walked to the windows and looked out toward the mountains, where a faint pink glow was all that remained of daylight. “I guess you see a lot of sunsets.”
“When I’m not working late.” Except for midsummer, it was usually dark when she got home.
He glanced around the living room, his gaze fixing on her bookshelves. “Is that your Emmy?”
“Yeah.” The golden statuette had an alcove to itself, a reminder of what she’d once accomplished. “It’s probably dusty.”
He walked over and carefully picked it up. “You got this for that investigative piece about the soldiers who were looting and shaking down Iraqi civilians, right?”
“I’m surprised you remember that.”
He set the statuette down. “That was big news to those of us in the military. Some guys were pissed, felt coming down on them was too harsh, but I thought you did a good thing. We can’t pretend to be heroes if we’re acting like thugs.”
It felt strange to be alone with him here in her most personal space. No one had ever been here before. “Want a tour?”
Even as she asked the question, she realized that the adrenaline she’d been running on all day was fast disappearing, leaving her empty, exhausted.
“This is obviously the living room, kitchen, and dining area.” She walked through the kitchen toward the hallway.
“Hey, that’s my postcard.”
She turned to find him standing in front of her refrigerator holding the postcard from Dubai, surprise on his face. “You left it in my room.”
“You kept it.” His gaze met hers, something in his eyes that made her look away.
She turned and walked down the hallway toward the bedroom area. “This is the guest room where you’ll be
