Chapter 21
Even in a metropolis as large as Chicago, there were corners of silence and solitude. Little enclaves of serenity that could make a person forget the city and its surrounding suburbs held more people than the states of Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, and North Dakota combined.
The BKI compound on Goose Island was one such place. At five o”clock in the morning, silence cloaked the street that ran past the front of the property. The absolute stillness of nighttime slowly making way for the bustle of day was exquisite.
Not a horn or a siren could be heard. No tour buses or water taxis buzzed by with guides shouting through loudspeakers about the history of the city. The songbirds still slept. And the noisy, honking Canada geese that lived on the river were tucked away in their roosts.
Julia O’Toole was a city girl through and through. She was used to the clamor and the chaos. But she couldn’t deny the peace she felt when she stumbled upon a pocket of tranquility.
Her window was rolled down and she breathed in the early morning air. Later, the entire city would be filled with the scents of hot concrete and acrid car exhaust. But right now, all she could smell was the cool wetness of Lake Michigan and the doughy, yeasty aroma coming from the bagel shop across the way.
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it to look at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was neatly pulled back in a slick ponytail and she’d donned her favorite gray pantsuit just in case she was forced to face reporters.
Her eyes were clear and bright. Her skin? Not so much. She had a zit brewing beneath the surface on the left side of her chin. But that was par for the course. Even at thirty-three years old, anytime she found herself under the gun she developed a raging case of adult acne.
She should be tired. She’d only managed a handful of hours of sleep since being assigned this case. But the adrenaline that had poured into her veins when the coroner called had burned away any fatigue.
She glanced over at Dillan. “You ready for this?”
“No.” He grimaced. “Babysitting a witness in a safe house is the worst part of this job. Why don’t you do it and I’ll be the one to work the case? You could use the girl-time anyway, right?”
She bared her teeth in a parody of a smile. “Careful, Dillan. Your misogyny is showing. Also, since I’m the lead agent”—his self-satisfied smirk faltered—“I get the privilege of picking my poison. And my poison is seeing this thing through until the end.”
“We could call in someone,” he cajoled. “It doesn’t have to be me.”
“But it does. Because whoever’s behind this has a long reach. The fewer people who know where we’re keeping Miss Meadows, the better. And by few, I mean you, me, and the director. Capeesh?”
He blew out a breath so blustery it caused his lips to flap.
Petulant. What is it about overgrown men and petulance?
She had pushed out of the vehicle and made her way around the hood by the time Dillan finally emerged from the passenger side. Still looking petulant.
The guard who had been on duty the night before was the same one on duty this morning. And he looked no happier to see them now than he had then.
Good grief! Is it my lot in life to be surrounded by sour-faced men?
“You’re back,” he said after he’d pulled open the little window on the side of the guardhouse.
“We are, indeed.” She tried to win him over with a smile. It didn’t work. He continued to scowl at her. “I know it’s early, but we’re here to see Miss Meadows.”
The guy wanted to tell them to come back at a decent hour. The message was written across his freckled face as clearly as an assignment on a chalkboard. But he bit his tongue and made a phone call instead.
There was real regret in his voice when he said, “Sorry to bother you this early, Eliza. But those two FBI agents are back and asking to see you.”
Julia couldn’t hear what Miss Meadows said. It must’ve been an affirmative, because a second later the guard hit the button for the gate and the big wrought iron structure rattled open.
“She’s gonna throw on some clothes. So you might be waiting by the front door for a minute or two,” the ginger giant told them as he waved for them to enter the compound.
They quickly made their way across the blacktop expanse. But instead of having to wait for Miss Meadows to let them in, the door opened when they got within ten feet of it.
Ol’ Blue Eyes stood on the threshold wearing another superhero T-shirt—this one had Thor printed on it. There was a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. And his Southern accent reached out like tickling fingers when he said, “You’re back.”
She quickly responded, “And once again you’re awake at this ungodly hour. Do you ever sleep?”
He crossed his ankles as he leaned against the doorjamb. He was barefoot, and she noted as an aside that he had really nice feet. Pretty nail beds, high arches and, unlike a lot of guys, not too hairy.
Come off it, Jules,she admonished herself. His feet? Seriously?
“If I’m being honest, the answer to that is rarely.”
“Huh?” She blinked at him as she dragged her eyes from his bare toes back to his face.
He lifted one dark, slashing eyebrow. “Sleep.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Right.” Then, feeling annoyingly discombobulated, she forced herself to get down to brass tacks. “We’re here to talk with Miss Meadows. Your man out front phoned her and said she’s headed down.”
“Copy that.” Sergeant Rollins held the door wide. “In the meantime, could I interest you folks in a cup of coffee?”
The smell coming from his mug was strong enough to burn her nose. Which had her answering eagerly. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
She’d been in too much of a hurry to pick up Dillan and get to Black Knights Inc. to stop by a Peet’s for a much-needed kick of caffeine. And now she gladly followed the former Army Ranger as he turned left instead of right after they entered the old factory building.
The row of custom motorcycles gleamed as brightly as she remembered. And she caught Dillan ogling the bikes with the same look of lust he usually reserved for leggy redheads. But it was Rollins’s ass in his faded Levi’s that held her attention.
Britt Rollins wasn’t tall and lean like Fisher Wakefield, or huge and jacked like their coworker, Graham Coleburn. But he had a very nice body all the same. Broad shoulders. Lean hips. Enough muscle to make a woman take a second look but not so much to make her wonder if steroids had shrunk his testicles to the size of walnuts.
Yes, the more she was around Britt Rollins, the more attractive he became and?—
Why aren’t you thinking about the case? her brain screamed.
Right. Right. The case.
Two minutes later, she was sitting at a large island with a beautiful dark countertop. A piping-hot mug of thick, black coffee was clutched between her hands and after she took a tentative sip, careful not to burn her tongue, she hummed her approval.
Beside her, Dillan sputtered. “Christ on a crutch! Do you guys add water, or do you just grind the beans into a paste and serve them up?”
Rollins, who leaned casually against the countertop across from them, chuckled. “Little bit of A and a lot of B.”
“I love it,” Julia said around another appreciative sip.
“Says the woman who orders triple shot espressos.” Dillan harrumphed as he eyed his coffee like it might try to crawl out of his mug and assault him.
Julia turned on the barstool when she heard footsteps behind her. It was Eliza Meadows. And she was looking far better than the last two times Julia had seen her.
The woman wore black slacks, a white button-down shirt, and comfortable-looking ballet flats. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. And the swelling had gone down from her temple and cheek. Although the bruise was still there, still a painful-looking blue that faded to a sickly looking yellow around the edges.
“Good morning.” Miss Meadows inclined her head and made a beeline for the coffeepot as Julia and Dillan returned her greeting.
Once Miss Meadows had a mug in hand, she crossed to the large, industrial-sized refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk. After adding a good dollop to her cup, she screwed on the lid and went to put it back in the fridge.
Dillan stopped her with, “Mind sharing some of that with me? It’s the only way I’ll be able to drink this stuff.”
Miss Meadows made a face of commiseration as she slid the jug his way. “Ex-military types”—she waved to Rollins—“prefer their coffee to snarl and try to lurch out of the pot.”
Rollins’s laugh was so deep and rumbling, Julia felt it in her stomach. And then…lower.
Really, really, really inconvenient!
She ripped her gaze away from the dark-haired man and instead forced herself to watch the chief of staff’s daughter as she returned the milk to the refrigerator. Miss Meadows came back to the island with a large, rectangular Tupperware dish. And after she took up a position opposite Julia, she popped the top and the smell of vanilla, sugar, and sweet cream filled the air.
Saliva instantly filled Julia’s mouth as she stared at the decadent-looking red velvet cupcakes. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d skipped breakfast.
“Would you like one?” Miss Meadows offered.
“No, thank you.” Dillan shook his head. “Added sugar and fat leads to cardiovascular disease and obesity. I work too hard”—he patted his six-pack—“to sabotage myself.”
Julia realized she was rolling her eyes when she caught Sergeant Rollins smirking at her. Quickly, she wiped her expression clean.
“I, on the other hand,” she said to Miss Meadows, “would love a cupcake.”
Sixty seconds later, she was rolling her eyes again. But this time they were rolling back in her head.
“Oh, my god,” she breathed reverently as the moist cake and cream cheese frosting made slow, sensual love to her tastebuds. “These are heaven.”
“The trick for the frosting is to make sure the butter is at room temperature before adding it to the cream cheese,” Eliza told her while swiping a finger through the frosting on the cupcake she’d placed on a plate for herself. “It makes the blend light and fluffy.”
“Whatever you say,” Julia enthused as she took another healthy bite and tried not to let out an obscene-sounding moan.
Miss Meadows waited until she’d finished her cupcake before stating bluntly, “So you’re here to take me to a safe house.”
Julia had been pressing crumbs from the plate onto her finger and transferring them to her mouth, but that had her stopping with her hand in the air.
“How the hell do you know that?” Dillan demanded.
Julia answered for the woman. “Let me guess. Your father?”
Miss Meadows nodded. “He called right before you two showed up at the gate.”
“I take it he gets updates from the director himself?” Julia didn’t like the idea of the details of her case being shared with anyone, even the right-hand-man to the president. But what could she do? The director was her boss and she supposed, in a way, he probably considered the chief of staff his boss.
Plus, when her case directly involved Leonard Meadows’s daughter, no doubt exceptions were made.
“Don’t blame either of them.” Eliza wrinkled her nose. “They’re just trying to do what’s best for me.”
“Mmm,” was all Julia allowed. Then a thought occurred. “Is your father onboard with our plan? Or would he prefer you fly to Washington?”
“You should definitely go to Washington,” Dillan piped up. “That’s a great idea.”
Julia shot him a scathing glance and wasn’t surprised when he offered up one of his patented shrugs.
Miss Meadows glanced back and forth between them before answering, “I mean, if that’s what you think I should do, I will. But if I have a choice in the matter, I’d rather stay as close to Chicago as possible. That way, as soon as this is all over, I can come straight back home.” A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows when a thought occurred. “Unless your plan is to not stash me somewhere close.”
“I don’t like the idea of all the moving parts required to get you to D.C.,” Julia admitted. “Now that we know you’re in danger, the quicker we can get you squirreled away, the better.”
“And what’s changed your mind about her being safe here?” Rollins interjected. His accent made the last word sound more like hee-ah.
Julia glanced at the large window behind the sink. There was a firepit in the courtyard surrounded by outdoor furniture. A smattering of small outbuildings stood in a neat row to the right of that. And beyond everything was the ten-foot-high brick wall topped by the razor wire.
To say the BKI compound was formidable was an understatement. But there was a difference between formidable and impenetrable.
“You guys have a great setup here,” she admitted. “I’m sure it keeps out potential thieves and ne’er-do-wells. But now that we know someone is killing off our witnesses, I think it’s better if we take Miss Meadows somewhere windowless and, most importantly, anonymous. All it takes is a quick internet search, and anyone can find out this is Eliza’s known residence.”
“Someone is murdering the witnesses? Does that mean—” Miss Meadows left the question dangling.
Julia frowned. “Didn’t your father tell you?”
“No.” The woman’s inky-black ponytail swished over her shoulder when she shook her head. “Dad just said you two were coming to get me, and that I needed to decide whether I wanted to come to him or go with you.”
“I got a call from the coroner a little over an hour ago. Neither Senator Chastain nor her husband died of natural causes.”
For a beat, Miss Meadows remained silent, letting the information set in. And no doubt thinking about how she was now the lone survivor of the shooting. Then, she asked, “How were they killed?”
Once again, Julia balked at the idea of sharing information with a civilian. And once again, she reminded herself that there was no such thing as a civilian when it came to the chief of staff’s one and only daughter.
“Traces of cyanide were found in the professor’s lungs,” she conceded. “We’re assuming whoever got to him used the vaporized form of the poison.”
Miss Meadows’s hand jumped to cover her mouth. “And the senator?” Her voice was weak.
“Someone hacked her pacemaker,” Dillan grumbled.
Tears welled in the woman’s dark eyes but they didn’t fall. “Why? Why is someone doing this?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. But first, we need to make sure we get you somewhere safe.”
“Wait a goddamn minute!”
Julia turned to the voice that boomed behind her. She found Mr. Movie Star, aka Fisher Wakefield, standing in the doorway.
If Miss Meadows was looking better than the last two times Julia had seen her, then Mr. Wakefield was looking decidedly worse. His hair stuck up in all directions. His five-o’clock shadow looked more like it was coming in at about midnight. And his pretty mouth was pulled into a thin line.
“I thought we agreed Liza is safe here.” A muscle ticked in his square jaw.
“There’s the scruffy-looking nerf herder I call my best friend,” Rollins said, and Julia whipped around to find Ol’ Blue Eyes smirking at her. “I’m catching on.” He gave her a wink she would swear she felt down to her toes.