Jessica Andersen - Under the Microscope

Someone hadn’t been where he was supposed to be. Their bomber, perhaps?

She paled further, swallowed and nodded. It took a moment, but she met his eyes when she said, “I hope Jeff got out. Then again, part of me hopes he didn’t.”

“They don’t know yet.” Max thought of the charred remains and grimaced. “They’re probably going to need DNA samples for comparison.”

“Oh.” Raine looked down at her hands. “God. Those poor men. And Jeff. He was practically a kid.”

Feeling the ache of the day in his soul, Max squatted down so he was eye level with her, close enough to see the wariness in her expression. “It’ll be okay,” he said, knowing it probably wouldn’t be. “We’ll get through this.” Almost without thinking, he took her hands and squeezed them when he felt the shocky cold of her skin. “I’m here for you.”

Their eyes met on a singe of memory.

I’m here for you, he’d said back at Boston General, giving her reassurance when she’d needed it, when she’d had nobody on her side. She’d leaned on him when she’d needed him, and left when she hadn’t.

A familiar pattern.

He pulled his hands away abruptly and stood. “Come on,” he said gruffly, more mad at himself than her. “The SUV’s outside.”

“What about your truck?” She stood and the worried questions in her eyes asked about more than just the truck. What’s next? Where do we go from here?

Trouble was he didn’t know what came next, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit. He needed more information. He needed help, damn it, but William was flat out, and they were still just a two-man shop.

Lucky for him, he had an ally on speed dial.

“I won’t need the truck,” he said, answering Raine’s spoken question and ignoring the unspoken ones. “I’m sticking with you.”

“Because I’m a suspect or a victim?”

He started to brush off the question, but her expression cracked, showing him the need beneath the veneer of strength. Relenting, he said, “You’re not a suspect anymore. Not in my book, anyway. Like I said, you’re no killer.”

Instead of relief, her eyes darkened with something hotter and more complicated. “Which makes me a victim.”

“A protectee,” he countered. He jerked his head toward the exit. “Come on. We’ll find another hotel, maybe get a pizza. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

THEY AVOIDED RETURNING to the Guildford Inn on the theory that a moving target was harder to hit.

The idea of someone-anyone-watching her put a hard knot in the pit of Raine’s stomach. But in a weird way, she almost hoped there was someone working against her because that would give them a tangible goal. A target. If-no, when they found her adversary, the Thriller deaths would be explained.

She hoped.

Their room at the new hotel was nearly identical to the last-complete with two double beds done in a generic beige print, greenish carpet and innocuous wall art flanking a central mirror. This time, though, Max had rented two adjoining rooms. While Raine sat cross-legged on one bed, he unlocked the connecting door and propped it open, mute testimony that he still considered her a flight risk.

She supposed it was an improvement over sharing one room, at the very least.

When a knock sounded at the door, she unfolded from the bed and stood, stifling a groan at the pull of bruises and sore muscles. “Pizza’s here.”

Max waved her back from the door and checked the peephole before unlatching the door. “Nope. It’s Ike.”

Before Raine could react to the cryptic statement, Max threw open the door and pulled a tall woman inside. “Hey, babe!”

“Hey, yourself!” The stranger grinned and stepped into Max’s arms. Their embrace lasted longer than dictated by simple friendship.

Long enough to have an ugly ache settling in the pit of Raine’s stomach.

The woman pushed away. “Let me look at you!” Her ten-second perusal gave Raine ample time for her own examination, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.

The stranger was thin and looked whipcord strong. Her angular features were set off by a short cap of jet-black hair, and three gemstones winked in one ear. Her clothes were tight and black, and her boots had three-inch heels.

It should’ve looked overdone and foolish, but it worked, damn it. She looked slick and dangerous, and when Max half turned toward Raine, it became obvious that he and the woman made a striking couple.

Worse, the easy way they moved together made it clear that they were-or had been-exactly that.

“This is Ike,” Max said. “Short for Einstein. She’s a freelance information specialist. She’ll figure out who did what in your computer system, and when.”

“Oh.” Oh, hell, Raine thought. This was the “someone” he’d wanted her to meet.

She gave Ike a second look, hoping to mitigate her first impression now that she knew the woman was going to be part of the team.

Nope. Still didn’t like her, for no more reason than she looked good and nearly reeked of the self-confidence Raine so woefully lacked.

The faint sneer on Ike’s face suggested the instant dislike was mutual.

Falling back on false politeness, Raine crossed the room and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ike.”

“Here, take this.” The woman slung two straps across Raine’s outstretched hand, nearly dropping her with the weight of a computer bag that had to be full of rocks. “And this.” A duffel followed before Ike turned back to the hallway and dragged a final bag inside.

The luggage was black and expensive, like the woman herself.

“That’s all of it.” Ike shut and locked the door to the hallway and took a quick look around the room. She pointed toward the small desk in the corner, where Raine had piled her sad stash of toiletries. “I’ll set up over here.” She cleared the sur face with a sweep of her arm, grabbed the rock-filled computer bag from Raine and swung it up as though it weighed nothing.

Within moments, she had assembled a computer station that looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. “Talk to me, Vasek. And talk fast, since you’ve only got me for forty-eight hours.”

“Pizza’s here,” he said apparently unaware-or not caring-that Ike had just completely taken over Raine’s space without a word.

Max dropped the pizzas on the bed nearest the darkening window and gestured for the others to join him. “Let’s eat while I bring you up to speed.”

Feeling excluded, Raine sat at the head of the bed, leaning back against the headboard with her legs crossed, wishing she could shower and change.

All she had left were the jeans and shirt she’d picked up that morning, but she was sore and bedraggled. She felt especially grungy in comparison to Ike, who scooted the desk chair over to the side of the bed and smiled in silent victory when Max grabbed a second chair and arranged it next to hers rather than sharing the bed with Raine.

“I gave Ike the general rundown over the phone,” he said. “Basically, we have five things to explain-the drug-related deaths, the fire, the airplane ticket, the database entries and the office bombing. I can think of three explanations that cover most or all of these events. One, the drug is a killer and someone is trying to cover up that fact in order to buy time.” By someone, Raine knew he meant her. She stiffened but didn’t bother to protest her innocence yet again-he either believed her or he didn’t. There was nothing else she could say. After a moment, he continued, “Two, the drug is a killer and someone-likely a bereaved family member or loved one-is out to get revenge on Raine and her employees. But that doesn’t explain the plane ticket or the database unless we stipulate that Raine knew Thriller use carries a risk, and was trying to cover it up.”