Chapter Seven
In a perfect world, roses bloomed, kids thrived, moms and dads loved each other, and everybody followed the law and got along.
Alanna stared at the white textured ceiling in the guest suite.
Overwhelmed with the luxury and comfort around her, she contemplated a multitude of subjects from how much her body and ears still ached to why all this luxury bothered her.
She moved on to her six years of advanced degree work in criminal psychology and her seven years in the FBI used to little success in the search for a man who’d been her anchor during the hard times.
Thirteen years and she came up empty. Why?
Truthful with herself always, though, she admitted something else that nagged at her.
She’d snapped up the consulting request from QM with less than pure motives, shocking her boss in the process.
It hadn’t been the case that had been the draw.
She’d needed back in San Diego to use QM’s assets to find Whit.
Only now she didn’t. Her whole plan, no matter what her intentions, was up in smoke.
She kept her past and personal needs private.
She had a reputation for being unapproachable for that reason.
Whenever she let these memories out, they ripped like broken shards of glass slashing deep into her skin.
To be stuck in moments from being fifteen, with no control against the violence and the threat, screwed her sense of safety, and she hadn’t recovered.
Not with FBI weapons and tactical training or behavior therapy or more education.
Couldn’t even try anymore because to examine those moments as an adult didn’t change the interpretation of a young girl.
Even with her successes, she hadn’t lost her brown thumb that killed plants, found any peace from parents that drowned in a flood, or forgiven a grandfather for dying and leaving her in the streets.
Illogical, but feelings sometimes were. Mercer’s violent face was a constant in her dreams, and Whit continued to be her only mental and physical lifeline.
And in a bit, Quaid was going to knock and want her to talk.
Who would he bring with him? Didn’t matter.
She couldn’t find words to tell him. How would he even understand?
She shoved back the covers and went to the bathroom, hand over her mouth like it would contain the nausea along with the memories.
Niles had done a fantastic job of unpacking her possessions and putting things back in a similar arrangement to her assigned quarters.
She slapped a waterproof bandage over her stitches and turned on the huge shower.
The towels were soft upon soft, the tiles squeaky clean, and the new clothes hanging from the hook behind the door were more trendy than anything she’d buy herself.
There were lotions, makeup she wouldn’t wear, and dang the efficiency of the man, a new toothbrush.
She was Alice falling into the rabbit hole.
She’d read Alice in Wonderland in college and searched her memory for the quote she’d loved, making a face in the mirror while repeating it out loud.
“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.
Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't.” Truth that.
She stripped out of her leopard print pajamas. “I’m losing my mind. Next the Queen will be screaming off with her head. Get in the shower, Alanna, or you’ll be naked when Quaid gets here.” A sharp spark beaded her nipples and she gasped. No. No. No. She stepped into the hot spray.
Places on her skin stung from the cuts, others hurt from bruises, but mostly she sagged into the comfort of the hot water. “Snap out of it, sister. You always fight with everything you have. Today is no different. Make them understand.”
Finally finished, she turned off the shower, stood long enough to stop dripping, and stepped onto the inches thick bath rug.
Lord have mercy, the towel floated over sore skin and comforted.
She wrapped her hair and checked the new clothes only to find no underwear.
Which was fine. She didn’t want Niles handling her undergarments.
That would be a creepy bridge too far. She pulled another towel and wrapped her body.
The extra large towel tightened easily over her breasts.
She opened the door, eyeing the escaping steam, and took a step into the room. A tingling sense stopped her. She gritted her teeth. “Quaid? Why are you sitting on my bed? And how did you get in?”
“Master key – owner, and I knocked. You didn’t answer. I was worried.”
“Out.”
His eyes traveled over her from head to toe.
Temper sizzling, she tamped down the response. Could she stab him? Yes. Should she? No, not in her current mood. “Dr. Cait was already here and gave me proof of life. I’m betting she passed the ‘she’s okay’ message on.”
“Hours ago, yes.”
“I slept. Did you?.”
He rose and smoothed the bed, finally moving his gaze from her towel-covered, naked body. He didn’t answer her, but poured her a cup of coffee. Christ! Men.
“Please let me get dressed. I’ll join you in the day room in a bit.”
Quaid pointed at the tray. “Drink. We need to talk.”
“Agreed, but I prefer to be dressed.”
To his credit, he kept his eyes on her face this time. Tired lines and blood shot eyes were not a good look on him. But at least he’d taken his contacts out and his eyes were brown and true. “Sorry. Come to my office when you’re ready. It’ll be quieter.”
“Only you and me. I don’t want to tell a whole slew of people my business.”
“Understood. We have to narrow the search, Lani.”
When had he started calling her that? And she didn’t hate it. Miracle.
“We’re not going to find Mercer this way.” The thought had been on her mind.
“Whittaker might have information and context we need, though.”
“He’s hiding or I would have found him.”
“Why hide? Why not go to the police? Or to you, the FBI, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t have an answer. But I’ll tell you as much as I can. Will you go, please?”
He walked to the door – again without answering her – but turned back. “I truly was worried when you didn’t answer, but I won’t enter like this again. I want you to feel safe here.”
Funny thing. She did. So she told him.
“I know I’m safe here. I’m just irritable. Love the brown eyes, Daniels. Much better.”
“You were right about the contacts.”
He left. The door snapped shut behind him.
His departure didn’t change the wrenched flip of her stomach, but at least she’d managed damage control.
She sagged onto the bed. “Lani, you’re a mess. Get dressed, braid your hair, find your gun, and put some lipstick on, girl. It ain’t easy until it’s easy.”
&&&&&&&&&&
Quaid stared out his office window at the parking lot, tracing cars from row to row, searching for clues.
Military trained and the man had missed too many times.
Having already been shot once in his life, he wasn’t lamenting that the man hadn’t succeeded.
Lani might have theories, but what if this was his favorite game?
He may have a professional assassin’s process, but Quaid couldn’t help but question the methodology of this shoot.
They had no identity and too few facts, but the whole thing raged at him.
A light tap on the door had him shifting. The door opened and Lani leaned in, dressed in black, composed, and beautiful. “Are you ready for me?”
“Are you ready for me?” He skipped to the serious to avoid getting mired in a charm comment that wouldn’t fly with her.
“No.”
Quaid sighed. “Come on in.” He pointed to the most comfortable spot in the room.
The side chairs by the sofa were his best bet – something he never considered before.
Boy, he was overdue for a conversation with Elizabeth about an office upgrade.
The playboy part of himself smirked – all for a woman.
But the warrior part of him accepted the necessary change – she would never be just any woman.
This one wasn’t letting him scratch the surface of who he was.
Uncomfortable, he went to the small kitchen area and opened the fridge. “Soda?”
“Yeah, diet coke, please.”
He drank the same which shifted the habit into the ‘we can get along’ column.
Two cokes in hand, he waited until she chose her chair. Passing off the drink, he collapsed into the other seat. A level of tired he hadn’t endured since Afghanistan swept over him, but he ignored it. Alanna’s closed face gave no mood hints, but her fingers shook as she toyed with the tab.
“Let me.” He popped his can open and handed it to her.
She opened her mouth to argue, but tightened her lips and handed off the unopened can with one hand while taking his. Wanting in some way to make this easier for her was a faulty idea, but he’d try anyway. He was sure he wasn’t going to like any of what she had to tell.
“I was studying the parking lot. The whole route we ran isn’t visible, but he took too many shots for a professional. Killing us was a side-objective.” He checked to make sure she heard him.
She gazed at the window and frowned. “How so? He could have hit either of us.”
“It would have been dumb luck. Not his intention.”
“If he’s military trained like you believe, his performance suggests he sucks at it. I’m guessing this is not the case. So why?”
“He wanted us to run. He likes the chase. He gave himself extra points for nailing my car. All of the above. None of the above.”
She took a sip of coke. He was getting used to her musing moments. “And the explosives at the hotel?”
“Military personnel train in all sorts of wartime jobs, especially special operations. He might have enough training in weapons, tactics, explosives, depending on branch, to pull off some proficiency. Evidence suggests yes.”
“So what are you saying?”
“The assassin is a business. He has one or two methods he uses. Our attempted murder in the parking lot was not part of his professional work. It was compulsive.”