Chapter 2 #2
When she reached that location, she did a slow turn. From this spot, she could easily see the entrance to the café. Is that why he had stopped here? Had he been watching for someone to enter or exit the café? Had he been talking on the phone? Or had the phone triggered the explosion?
Pondering that thought, she suddenly started when a figure came down the street and moved toward the plywood-covered door of the café.
The man wore black jeans with a black coat, and he looked exactly like Max Malone.
She waited for a couple of cars to pass by and then jogged across the street, coming up behind him as he poked around the entrance.
"Looking for something?" she asked sharply.
"You?" he said in surprise. "You were at the café this morning. You went back inside to rescue people."
"So did you. I'm Special Agent Kara Reid. And you are?"
"Max Malone." A smile crossed his lips. "And there's nothing special about me."
His attractive charm did not go unnoticed, but she wasn't going to let it distract her. "Why are you trying to get into the building?"
"I wasn't trying to get in; I was just looking around. I was curious about what happened here this morning. What about you?"
"I'm looking into the explosion."
"Do you have any leads?"
"Just you."
He cocked his head to the right, giving her a speculative glance. "Why would I be a lead?"
"You walked into the café, looked around, then walked out. But you didn't go far. You were standing across the street watching the building when the explosion occurred."
"You seem to know a lot about my actions this morning."
"There are multiple cameras in this area. Want to explain your behavior?"
He hesitated, then shrugged. "I was looking for someone. I had a meeting at the café, but she didn't show up. That's why I didn't stay."
"Who were you meeting?"
"Does it matter?"
"Everything matters when a bomb goes off in a crowded café in the middle of New York City. Answer my question."
He studied her for a long moment, then said, "Samantha Barkley."
She straightened at his answer. "Ms. Barkley was in the café. She was in the restroom."
"I heard that later. At the time, I didn't think she was there."
"How do you know her?"
"Mutual friend. And I don't really know her. She asked me to meet her. I was a little late, so when I didn't see her in the café, I thought she'd gone."
"What did she want to talk to you about? Was it a case she was working on? And who is your mutual friend?"
"She didn't say what she wanted to speak to me about, but I run a security firm, so I assume it had something to do with that."
"What kind of security? Are you a bodyguard?"
"I offer a variety of services. I'm sure you already looked me up," he said, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
"Yes. And I found very little information about you. It's almost as if you've been doing a job that no one could know about."
"Or maybe I just stayed off the internet."
"You're very cagey, Mr. Malone."
"Really? I think I'm being quite forthcoming."
"Look, Ms. Barkley may not survive the night, and there's a good chance she was deliberately targeted. If you know something that can help find the person who did this, start talking."
"Why do you think she was the target?" he countered.
She was reluctant to answer his questions when he was stonewalling her, but maybe if she gave him a little, he'd give something back. "A man spilled coffee and whipped cream on her, which sent her to the restroom minutes before an explosive device planted near that restroom went off."
Something shifted in his expression, so subtle she almost missed it in the dim light. "Is that a fact?"
"It is. Now, your turn."
"I don't have any information."
"I don't believe you."
He gave her another assessing look, then said, "Ms. Barkley didn't say why she wanted to speak to me. When I heard she was injured in the explosion, I wondered if she was the target."
"How did you hear she was hurt? Her name hasn't been released to the public."
"Like I said, mutual friend."
"I'm going to need a name."
"You're not going to get it from me."
"Why not? Wouldn't Ms. Barkley's friend want to help with the investigation?"
"How did you happen to be in the café this morning?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Did you have an idea something was going to happen?"
"No."
"You were just there by chance, and now you're investigating? That's a coincidence, isn't it?"
"I'm an FBI agent, and I'd like to know who almost got me killed this morning. I'm very motivated to find that information, and I'm not going to let some shady security guy stop me from doing that."
"I'm not trying to stop you from doing anything. I hope you can find the perpetrator quickly."
"Who's the mutual friend?" she asked again.
"Goodnight, Agent Reid."
"This conversation isn't over," she said in annoyance, but he was already walking away from her. "I can bring you in."
He turned his head and gave her a smile. "I'd just ask for a lawyer, and since you have no reason whatsoever to hold me, that would be a waste of time for both of us."
She really hated that he was right. At least, he'd given her one clue—a mutual friend.
Now, she just had to figure out who that was.
Since he'd known about Samantha, that meant the friend was probably connected to Samantha's family.
Perhaps the sister would know why Samantha had wanted to talk about security with Max Malone.
Hopefully, she could speak to her in the morning.
Max couldn't get Agent Kara Reid's image out of his head as left the area.
In fact, her face had been stuck in his mind since he'd seen her earlier in the day, long before he'd known she was an FBI agent.
She was not only a beautiful woman, with deep brown eyes, beautiful skin, and thick, wavy brown hair that would probably look spectacular if she let it out of her professional ponytail; she was also courageous.
She'd run back into a burning building, with no thought to her own safety.
He'd thought it had been pure bravery, but now he realized she'd also been trained to act in a dangerous situation. And that's exactly what she'd done.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he glanced at his watch, seeing another impatient text from Dominic Ashford.
Since he was about to enter the lobby of Dominic's building, he ignored the text and headed inside, checking in with the security desk before heading up to the penthouse apartment on the thirtieth floor.
He gave a quick nod to the guard, who knocked, then let him in.
"Where the hell have you been?" Dominic demanded as he met him in the foyer.
It was rare to see the thirty-five-year-old British billionaire in such an anxious state, but one that was completely understandable.
"What's the update on Samantha?"
"She's in critical condition."
Dominic ran a hand through his already messy blond hair. "But she's going to make it, right?" There was desperation in Dominic's eyes and in his voice, but Max had never been one to sugarcoat the truth.
"It's less than fifty-fifty," he replied.
Dominic swore, then waved him into the luxurious living room, which offered floor-to-ceiling views of the glittering city. "Do you want a drink?" Dominic asked as he walked over to a fully stocked bar and poured himself a shot from the open bottle of tequila.
"No thanks."
Dominic swigged the tequila, then picked up the bottle again to pour another shot. "I can't believe what is happening."
"I'm sorry about Samantha. I wish I'd gotten there on time."
"Then you would be in the hospital, too." Dominic drank down his second shot and said, "Was this about me? Or was it about her?"
"She was most likely the target of the bomb, whether that was because of her job or her relationship with you, I don't know," he said.
"I spoke to the FBI agent investigating the explosion, and she told me someone spilled coffee on Samantha, which sent her into the restroom before the blast. That seems like a purposeful move. "
Dominic stared back at him, his jaw tight, anger running through his eyes. "Doesn't sound like a coincidence." He walked over to the couch and sat down, his shoulders sagging with worry.
Max took the seat across from him, studying Dominic's face, his demeanor. Everything suggested genuine worry, heartbreak, and anger for what had happened to a woman he'd been seeing for a few weeks, but was it true?
He shouldn't have doubts. He'd known Dominic for years.
Actually, that wasn't completely true. They'd met at prep school as teenagers, and for a couple of years, they'd been close, but that had been a very long time ago.
They'd only renewed their friendship nine months ago when Dominic had asked him to consult on global security after a lapse by his current security team had resulted in an ambush, leaving two men dead.
But that situation had happened on the other side of the world, and Dominic had expressed no concern about his presence in New York City, where his corporate headquarters were located, or about his current girlfriend.
"Does the FBI have any suspects?" Dominic asked.
"If they do, they're not sharing."
"You said you spoke to an agent. Did you tell her you were supposed to meet Samantha?"
"I did."
"Did you mention me?"
"I did not," he said evenly. "But your connection to Samantha is not a secret. You've been photographed together. Her sister knows about you. Your name will come up, and they'll want to talk to you."
"What do you suggest I do?"
"Tell them what you know."
"Which is nothing."
"Then it's nothing," he said simply.
Dominic stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the city.
After a moment, he rose and followed him.
The city was spread out before them, and he knew Dominic considered himself to be a power player, not only in the city but in the country, and also the world.
Despite his stature, this incident had shaken him, and he didn't know if that was because Dominic was in love with Samantha or because something else was going on.
"I wish Samantha had told me what she wanted to talk to you about," Dominic said, frustration edging his voice. "Are you sure she didn't give you an idea of the subject?"
"Positive. Do you know what she was working on?"
"A corporate fraud case, I think, but she didn't talk about her work, and neither did I. We wanted to keep that part of our lives separate." Dominic turned to face him. "This was probably tied to her case, don't you think? My competitors, my enemies, they wouldn't have gone after her, would they?"
He could see the genuine fear in Dominic's eyes. "That's the second time you've asked that question. Is there some reason you think someone would have gone after her?"
"We both know what happened in Dushanbe six months ago."
"That was because of your potential infrastructure project cutting off smuggling routes," he said. "At least, that's what you led me to believe."
"That's what I assumed it was. I've never felt unsafe here in New York City."
"Even though you have a fairly heavy security presence surrounding you at all times?" he commented.
"Well, I can't be too careful. I'm a public figure and a rich man. That's why I'm concerned about Samantha. I need to know what happened to her. You need to figure it out, Max."
"Why me? I thought you wanted me to focus on your overseas trips. That's where I have the most expertise, not here in the city."
"You know how to get answers. And I need answers. I'll pay you extra. Just get it done. This is the priority."
He gave Dominic a long, speculative look. "Are you afraid that whoever went after her is coming for you next?"
"It has crossed my mind. Or other people in my life could be in danger. That's why it's imperative we find out who's behind that bomb."
"The FBI is already on it, and I'm sure the ATF and the NYPD are also investigating."
"I want you on it, too."
"I'll do what I can. You're not holding anything back, are you?"
"How can you ask me that question?"
"Because you don't always play by the rules. We both know that. If you're aware of a threat, then telling me what that is will get us to the truth more quickly."
"I'm not holding back," Dominic said. "I—I care about Samantha."
He might have believed him more if Dominic hadn't stumbled through the sentence. Either he wasn't comfortable sharing his feelings, or he was lying.
"Her sister, Julia, is on her way to New York," Dominic continued. "My admin got her a suite at the Hilton near the hospital. Maybe you can talk to her tomorrow."
"What did she tell you?"
"Nothing. She hadn't spoken to Samantha in a couple of weeks. She seemed a little awkward on the phone. I think Julia might feel more comfortable talking to you than to me."
"Why? You're the man Samantha has been seeing."
"She just seemed nervous to be talking to me. She gets in late tonight, but you should be able to reach her tomorrow."
"Okay, I'll speak to her.”
"Hopefully, tomorrow we’ll get better news and better answers.”
"Hopefully," he echoed, but as he left the apartment, he didn't feel hopeful at all.