Pamela Clare - Striking Distance

“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.”

“I remember. Except you lived, and everyone else died.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”

“I’ve spent the better part of three years trying to piece together how this happened. My sources in Islamabad say that Al-Nassar’s men were tipped off by an American who said he’d heard from you exactly where you’d be that day.”

She glared at him. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? How many nights did you hang out with all the other reporters at that ex-pat bar in the hotel? Maybe you got a little tipsy and said more than you should have. Maybe you picked some guy up and let him fuck the intel out of you. Either way, my men paid with their lives. My company probably won’t recover from the loss of reputation caused by your disappearance—”

“Loss of reputation? Your company ?” Her voice quavered. “I spent eighteen months of my life trapped in a living hell!”

“You don’t look any worse for wear.” He knew what had happened to her, but she had survived, hadn’t she? “My men are dead . I want answers from you, and I’m going to get them. Now, put the pistol away .”

She tightened her grip, fear and rage in her eyes. “You’re insane! Get out, and stay away from me, or I’ll get a restraining order!”

As if that would stop him.

Tired of the bullshit, he grabbed her wrist, angled the barrel away from his body, and wrenched the weapon from her grasp. He held the little pistol for a moment, let her sweat it out. “Nice bit a steel. SIG makes a good pistol, but it won’t do you a damned bit of good if you’re not willing to fire. Don’t draw if you don’t plan to kill.”

She rubbed her wrist, defiance on her face, only her rapid breathing betraying her fear. “That was assault.”

He removed the magazine and racked the slide to expel the round from the chamber, then tossed the firearm in her lap. “You told someone, Laura. Who was it?”

She stared warily at him, still rubbing her wrist. “You really are crazy. I never disclosed my travel plans, not even to my own mother. I certainly never talked about them in the bar. As for guys, I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

Derek was an expert at reading people. It had been part of his training, part of what had kept him alive behind enemy lines for so long. Her shock seemed genuine, nothing on her face to suggest she was lying. Then again, she might not remember.

He deliberately softened the tone of his voice. “I know some of your memories are vague, but you need—”

The shrieking of a car alarm interrupted him.

Her car alarm.

She watched him, a look of dark triumph on her face, the panic button on her keychain gripped in bloodless fingers. “Get out!”

He should have taken the damn keys from her. “You’re a journalist, Ms. Nilsson. Don’t you care about the truth?”

Out of time, he unlocked the door and opened it. “And, hey, not such a great idea to unlock your car till you’re near the door. Those flashing hazard lights give you away, tell an assailant right where you’re headed. If I’d been one of Al-Nassar’s followers come to kill you, I’d have slit your throat before you even knew I was here.”

Ignoring the horror on her face, he climbed out of the car, shut the door behind him, and did his best to disappear.