Striking Distance

“Petras was smug, so condescending. He talked down to me as if I were a nuisance, as if I’d cried wolf or something—when he wasn’t staring at my boobs.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Why do men do that? Do they think we don’t notice?”

Laura had no idea. “What’s so infuriating is that I didn’t contact the FBI. I wasn’t the one who asked them to come.”

Sophie frowned. “Who did?”

“The U.S. Marshal Service.” Laura wished they hadn’t.

Sophie got a knowing look on her face. “I bet that’s the problem. There’s no love lost between the FBI and the Marshal Service.”

Then Sophie told her how her husband, Marc, the SWAT captain, had been deputized by the U.S. Marshal for Colorado a couple years back when Natalie Benoit, a friend and former I-Team member, was in danger from a Mexican drug cartel. She’d just started telling Laura how the cartel had abducted Natalie off a bus, when she caught herself. “Oh, God! Sorry! I’m sure you didn’t need to hear that.”

“Don’t apologize.” For a moment, Laura had forgotten about her own situation. “I’m not the only journalist who—”

Her cell phone rang. She glanced down at the display.

Him again.

Something of her feelings must have shown on her face, because when Sophie spoke again, she sounded worried. “Who is it?”

“Derek Tower, the man who owns the company that handled my security detail.” Laura told Sophie about him—his phone calls, the accusations he’d fed to the press, his demand that she meet with him. “When I got out of the meeting with the FBI, I had another message from him. That makes three today.”

“Have you considered getting a restraining order against him?”

Laura had thought about that. “I’m not sure he’s done anything that could be considered threatening. If pestering people with phone calls and e-mails were an actionable offense, you and I and everyone else in the newsroom would be in jail.”

“You’ve got a point there.”

For a while they ate in silence.

Sophie set her fork aside. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes.” Laura could always refuse to answer.

“How do you stay so calm? If I were in your shoes, I’d be scared to death.”

That wasn’t the question Laura had been expecting.

“I am scared.” She hated to admit that. She was tired of feeling afraid. “I just try not to let it control me. If I did . . .”

If she did, she’d never leave the house.

Sophie took out a pen and wrote a phone number down on a clean napkin. “You and I haven’t known each other for a long time, but . . . if you ever need a place to stay, a place where you can feel safe, you’re welcome at our house. Marc—Mr. SWAT Captain—wouldn’t let anything happen to you. He’s armed to the teeth.”

“I carry a gun, too.” Laura rested a hand on her purse. “I keep it loaded and with me all the time. I even sleep with it under my pillow.”

It was a decision she’d made when she’d come back to the States. She would never be defenseless again, nor would she leave the responsibility of protecting herself entirely in someone else’s hands. So she’d bought a .22 SIG Mosquito, taken some classes, and then applied for a concealed carry license, which the sheriff had granted.

Sophie reached over and gave her arm a squeeze. “Good. I’m glad. But the invitation is open.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re coming to the party up at the Cimarron tomorrow, right?”

The barbecue at the ranch.

“Oh, well, I . . .” Laura had forgotten completely about it. “I don’t know. Parties really aren’t my scene. It’s been a hard week.”

“It’s only going to be past and present I-Team members and their families. I know they would all love to meet you.”

“It might snow, and I’m not used to driving on mountain roads.” She was digging for excuses now, and she knew it.

“You can catch a ride with us.” There was a hopeful tone to Sophie’s voice, as if it really meant something to her for Laura to come. “The trial will be over. You can get away from the city, see the mountains, meet Marc. It’s peaceful up there—no media, no Derek Tower, no one around for miles.”

It was on the tip of Laura’s tongue to decline, but hadn’t she just vowed in front of the whole world to live her life to the fullest? “Okay. I’ll come.”

“Wonderful!” Sophie’s smile broadened. “It will be a celebration.”

And despite Sophie’s kindness Laura found herself wishing she’d said no.

* * *

HE COULD ALMOST smell her fear.

Derek Tower kept to the shadows, watching as Laura Nilsson left the newspaper and crossed the street, hurrying through the parking lot, her head turning from left to right as she kept an eye on her surroundings. Yeah, she was afraid. She’d be stupid not to be after what Al-Nassar had said in court yesterday.

Derek followed her using cars for cover. The little bitch refused even to speak with him, referring his questions to her attorney rather than answering them herself. But he wouldn’t let her get away with that, not with three of his men dead and his business in bankruptcy. She owed him.

She held out her keys and clicked the remote, and the hazard lights on her car flashed—revealing to Derek exactly which car was hers.

He moved quickly, silently, opening her passenger-side door and sliding into the passenger seat beside her just as she slipped behind the wheel. “Ms. Nilsson.”

She screamed, reached for the door handle, but he had already locked the doors.

He grabbed her coat, forced her to face him. “We need to talk.”

She swore in a language he didn’t understand, the fear in her eyes flashing into anger. “What the hell are you doing following me?”

“It’s just business.” He glanced around the parking lot to make sure no one was witnessing this little drama, then turned back to Ms. Nilsson, only to find himself looking down the barrel of a SIG Mosquito.

Damn.

He hadn’t been expecting that.

He released her, gave her some room.

She glared at him, her aim rock steady. “Falsely accusing someone of wrongdoing is slander. Following me to my car is harassment and stalking.”

“Put the pistol away before you hurt yourself.” He reached for it but froze when her finger curled around the trigger.

The woman was serious.

She glared at him, the ferocity on her feminine face pissing him off—and turning him on. “Get the hell out of my car right now, and don’t come near me again!”

“I lost three men that day, Ms. Nilsson—three good men, men with families, men who’d been my friends since—”

“Nico, Cody, and Tim were my friends, too!”

Cold rage had him leaning closer, the pistol now a mere inch from his throat. “I served with them for a decade in Special Forces. You can’t begin to understand what that means. Now they’re dead, and I want answers.”

“Try Ask.com.”

“Oh, you’re a cold bitch, aren’t you?” Beautiful, but cold.

“Or go talk to the State Department. They did the investigation. In case you’ve forgotten, I was the target.”