Striking Distance

He leaned closer to her and spoke quietly, catching the soft, sweet scent of her skin. “After this is over, you’re going to spend tomorrow and the weekend resting. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing, remember?”

“You can’t give me orders. I may look like one of your men with this on,” she said, glancing up at him and tapping the Kevlar with her knuckles, a slight smile playing on her lips, “but I’m not.”

He leaned closer still and nuzzled her hair, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Oh, believe me,

bella

, there’s no way I could mistake you for one of my men, not even in pitch dark.”

She canted her head, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Don’t distract me. I’m going on live TV for the first time since . . . I need to be prepared.”

He could tell she was genuinely nervous about this interview—and he knew why. Still, he was doing his best to keep the mood light, hoping to take the edge off her stress. “Were you this grumpy when you reported from Baghdad?”

“Oh, much worse.”

Javier chuckled, turning his gaze back to the street. Ahead of them, an unmarked vehicle carrying two DUSMs turned the corner, another vehicle following behind them, its headlights illuminating the backseat. The Marshal Service had jocked up for a fight. It was the first time since the car bombing that the killer stood a chance of knowing

exactly

where Laura was going. The idiots at Cha

Tonight, Laura Nilsson joins Gary Chapin for an exclusive interview about her new life and the recent car bombing that could have killed her.

There was a chance that someone stupid enough to fuck up would be stupid enough to think that Laura had flown to D.C. to do the interview in person, but there was also a chance the bastard had been watching the Cha

Javier wasn’t officially part of Laura’s security detail. He didn’t get to wear a lip mic and earpiece to keep up with the action, and they hadn’t armed him. But he’d come ready to play rough. He wore his SIG in a shoulder harness beneath his jacket, five spare fifteen-round magazines loaded and ready, the Walther in an ankle holster.

He rubbed his thigh, the muscle still aching from his run. He must have gone six miles before he’d found himself kneeling on the riverbank, breathing hard, his mind filled with images he couldn’t escape, echoes he couldn’t silence—the rattle of AK fire, the cries of wounded men, the blazing orange of the exploding helo.

They had died—Krasinski, Johnson, Grimshaw, the men in the helo—because of a decision he’d made.

He hadn’t been able to outrun his memories, but kneeling there on the riverbank, he’d locked them down once more, shutting them in a part of himself he vowed not to open. He couldn’t change the past, and Laura needed him in the present.

“We’re almost there.” Agent Killeen looked back at Laura, who slipped her notes, pen, and highlighter inside her handbag. “You head straight inside as we discussed. Don’t stop to talk in the doorway. One of us will bring your belongings shortly. There’s already a team at the studio. They’ve been checking IDs, making sure the parking lot is secured. They’ll man the doors while you’re there. We’ll have a team out here watching the vehicles and the building perimeter. I’ll accompany you inside the building and onto the news set. Corbray, I understand you plan to remain close to Ms. Nilsson, also.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He sure as hell did.

* * *

DEREK TURNED INTO the parking garage north of the Cha

Tipped off by the station’s constant ads about the interview, he’d spent yesterday doing recon around the building and knew that the uppermost level offered an unobstructed view of the station’s rear entrance—perfect for getting within striking distance and squeezing off a couple of fatal shots from a high-powered rifle.

He pulled into a parking space, angling his rearview mirror to give himself a view of the entry ramp, his loaded AR-15 beneath his parka on the passenger seat beside him, an HK Mark 23 in his hip holster.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

CHAPTER

14

BELLY FULL OF butterflies, Laura hurried from the vehicle through the station’s rear entrance, Javier on her right, Agent Killeen on her left, and found herself in a long, brightly lit and crowded hallway, where two deputy marshals motioned her forward, their gazes focused on the entryway behind her.

A man with thick brown hair, a boyish face, and wire-rimmed glasses stepped into her path and shook her hand. “Welcome to Cha

John Martin looked like every news director Laura had ever met—thin, lines on his face from stress, graying hair. But whereas most news directors were perpetually irritable, he seemed almost giddy. “It’s great to meet you. Having you here on the last day of February sweeps—it means so much to us. I think it’s going to do great things for our ratings. Viewers can’t get enough of you or your amazing story.”

“Thanks for having me.” Laura wasn’t shocked to hear him talk about her appearance in terms of blatant self-interest.

That was TV news. Ratings were everything. If the station performed well in the sweeps, they’d be able to demand more money from their advertisers. A good February meant a great start to the year and job security for everyone.

But apparently Javier

was

shocked. He muttered something in angry Spanish, one of his hands coming to rest protectively against her lower back.

“I’m Special Agent Janet Killeen.” Janet, apparently having forgotten she was temporarily a deputy U.S. Marshal, shook hands with Temple and Martin. “I’ll be accompanying Ms. Nilsson throughout the building to ensure her safety while she’s here at the station. This is Javier Corbray. He’s—”

“I’m Ms. Nilsson’s bodyguard.” Javier held out his hand.

Laura had to fight back a laugh. She could tell from the expressions on Temple’s and Martin’s faces that Javier was all but crushing their fingers as they shook his hand.

Sometimes men could be so predictable.

A young woman with dark curly hair stepped up to them, clipboard in hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Nilsson, Agent Killeen, Mr. Corbray. I’m Tania Clarke, the senior producer. I’ll show you to your dressing room, Ms. Nilsson.”

Laura quickly found herself alone staring at her reflection in the lighted mirror. The last time she’d sat in a makeup chair, she’d been about to tape her interview with Diane Sawyer. She’d been nervous then, too, knowing what Diane was going to ask her, well aware that she’d be sharing deeply personal pain with the entire world. But somehow this felt worse, her pulse rapid, her palms damp, her mouth dry.

She hadn’t done

live

TV since the day she was abducted.

She met her own gaze. “You can do this.”

She was

not

going to let fear get the better of her. Derek Tower had repeatedly assaulted her reputation in public. It was her turn to speak out—and to show him exactly what she could do given a camera and a microphone.