Finding Grace Page 15

  Dagger stomped to where he’d parked the caddy so he could get in and drive until he felt better, but it wasn’t there. He walked around the entire block, remembering how Grace had distracted him while he was scoping out a parking spot. He swallowed and pushed the memory away, allowing his fear for the missing caddy to take over. That was a lot easier to deal with.

  Nonetheless, he felt compelled to let out a torrent of curse words that turned the head of a passerby and caused the poor woman to cross to the other side of the street, making him feel even worse. At least the precinct station wasn’t too far. He could call a cab from there. He turned up his collar and started walking.

  * * * *

  Fifteen minutes after Jack left, Thorne walked outside into what felt like the coldest morning in five years.

  Her damn scars. She had known all along that it would lead to them. How had she let things with Jack go so far? How had she let herself believe it could work? “Get over it…a mole or a birthmark”—yeah, if only. Didn’t he understand? She allowed that Jack couldn’t understand what he didn’t know, but neither could she face him if he did. Not seeing anywhere to go from where they were had hurt so much she’d been unable to breathe. So she’d gotten angry instead.

  Thorne only admitted she’d held out a tiny hope of finding Jack waiting for her when a quick scan of the street turned up nothing and her sinking heart forced her to concede the final truth. He always insisted on warming the car up for her in the morning. Thorne pulled up the hood on her parka and shouldered her backpack as she headed for the bus stop.

  She climbed the back stairs and slipped quietly into her office after a workout that left her feeling drained instead of powerful. Turning her stereo on might alert others to her arrival. Since she had no desire to talk to anyone, she kept it off.

  After a quarter of an hour of fruitlessly staring at her computer screen and ripping out more knitting than she was keeping, she wondered why she’d come in at all. Another look at her door, the relentless spark of hope flickering at each sound, and she cursed herself, knowing damn well why she’d come.

  Exasperated, she threw her knitting in her backpack and had just turned off her computer when she heard the muffled sound of voices before the men came crashing through her door.

  One of them was Paul, but another was a face she’d hoped like hell never to see again. That sanctimonious asshole Darmfelder.

  She leapt up and jumped back, leaving her stomach behind, but two soldiers already had her by the arms. At least her mouth could move. “Well, if it isn’t Major Field-of-Shit and the cow pies.” She cast a disparaging look at her captors. “What brings you out from under your rock to darken my door? Again. After all these years, I thought you’d found someone else to dog.”

  Her stomach clenched and twisted. Darmfucker could take it all away from her—the job that made her feel happy and useful for the first time in years, the feeling of belonging she’d never had before, and any chance she might still have with Jack.

  “Oh, I could never give up on you, Dr. Thorne. Although I admit, your, ah—setback, shall we call it?—was temporarily discouraging.”

  Setback, huh? Thorne glared at the small man with the pencil mustache and looked over at Paul apologetically. “I’m sorry boss, it appears that I had some old shit stuck to my shoe and now it’s stinking up the place.”

  The look on his face was such a mixture of guilt and frustration that she would do her best not to add to it by letting him know just how scared she really was. Besides, by this time, everyone in the big office had wandered into the hall and the audience had grown to include more people she’d come to care for. Had any of them heard the major call her Dr. Thorne?

  Darmfelder’s oily voice brought her back. “You can’t imagine how pleased I was to discover that you were well enough to work again; better than ever if those designs at the patent office are any indication. And that little incident with the infrared satellite a few weeks back, we traced it here. I knew it had your clever little fingers in it. You’ve always had a smart mouth to go with your genius, Dr. Thorne, but I don’t recall it being so filthy.”

  “I’m just better at expressing myself these days, Major Shit-for-Brains. You can’t just come stomping in here with your goons, drag me off and force me work for you. I said ‘no’ eight years ago, seven years ago, and six years ago. My answer hasn’t changed and it never will.”

  “Oh, but I can, Grace.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “May I call you Grace? Especially since we’ll be working so closely together, you and I.”

  Collective eyebrows raised. Shit. He was blowing everything.

  He turned to the crowd, her crowd, dammit, and sighed dramatically. “I really have tried to play nice with Dr. Thorne in the past. Of course, I couldn’t offer her as much money as a private concern. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, our country is in graver danger than it has ever been. I can no longer just sit by and allow her to whore out those very special skills of hers. Not when our troops need all the help they can get.”

  Thorne tried to tell herself that she didn’t care about the doubt she was seeing in the faces of men who, just three days ago, had stood to defend her.

  But Darmfelder had only paused for effect. He turned back to her and kept his voice loud, tapping his little fingers against his little hip as he went on. “You’re criminally insane, a killer and a traitor to your country. You can’t deny it, Dr. Thorne. You’ve sold your secrets to foreign interests, you’ve escaped from several psychiatric hospitals, and committed three premeditated murders.”

  One glance around the room told Thorne that doubts were escalating and some were even solidifying into convictions. So much for trust, for acceptance. It had all been a pipe dream anyway, hadn’t it? Even Jack had walked out on her.

  The relentless jangle of the unanswered phone clamored for attention, but no else seemed to hear it. Maybe it was only ringing in her head.

  “It’s all twisted facts and conjecture. He doesn’t have any proof. Paul, tell them—”

  But the asshole never gave him a chance. “That’s your defense? Grace, dear, I don’t need proof. I just needed to make sure that the right people understood just how dangerous a traitor you are. The Patriot Act gives us a lot of leeway these days.”

  His ramrod posture softened and his face contorted. Probably with the effort it took to appear sympathetic. “Of course, I can understand why you would have wanted those men dead after what they did to you. The doctors said you’d never recover. Just goes to show how wrong they can be. Care for a cigarette?”

  He took out a pack and tapped one out to her, despite the men still gripping her arms.

  “No? I didn’t think you would.” He lit it and took a long drag before exhaling the smoke in her face. This time his smile did reach his eyes.

  Thorne tasted bile even before he lit it. Now she knew why he’d always given her the creeps. He wasn’t just a bully. He was a sadist.

  She would have puked anyway…the nightmares of her past colliding with the sickening reality of her present were too much. The smell and the taste of the smoke only thickened the nausea that rolled through her.

  As it was, she could barely take comfort in her aim, even though it was true.

  Watching her puke drip down the major’s face, she wished that she’d had breakfast, a large one. Then everything turned gray and fuzzy.

  * * * *

  Dr. Thorne sagged between Darmfelder’s soldiers. She could no longer see the look on Weston’s face. But after he’d pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed away some of the slime on his face, he certainly could. It was past time to take the damned woman and go.

  The blond hulk spoke for the first time since the major had entered his office and presented him with the warrant for Dr. Thorne’s arrest.

  “Put it out, Major. Now. Before I make you eat it.”

  The voice was surprisingly cool, a voice used to being obeyed. It reminded Darmfelder to wonder about the contents of
the sealed letter General Ross had insisted he give Weston along with the warrant. The major ground his cigarette into the wooden floor under the heel of his boot. There would be plenty of time later to make Dr. Thorne sorry for all of this. Soon.

  “Time to go, boys. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us—”

  No one was prepared for Dr. Thorne’s reaction when his soldiers started dragging her toward the door.

  One of his men grunted when her elbow flew into his eye; the other howled as her heel connected with his knee. She didn’t stop fighting, either, when his aide backhanded her, sending her glasses flying across the room. No, it took both of his men another precious minute to wrestle her to the ground and cuff her wrists and ankles.

  She was lying on her side now, breathing hard, a welt already raising on her soft cheek. So pretty and broken. He couldn’t help smiling.

  Until the surprisingly resilient Dr. Thorne said, “Hey, Major Asshole, you’re getting off on this shit, aren’t you? Look at you—your hands all sweaty, that vein on your forehead pounding, your pupils dilated, and if your dick wasn’t so small, I bet we could see that it’s hard, isn’t it? You sick fuck.” She’d said it low and hoarse, in between breaths.

  But he still felt his face warming, burning. He didn’t have to look around the room to see the crowd had turned on him. His men felt it too. They seemed to have figured out that everyone there besides himself and Dr. Thorne was larger than they were, and probably former military besides. Although Weston’s time in the military had worked in his favor up until this point, he wasn’t so sure anymore. That training worked both ways.

  Then Weston’s mass moved between them, blocking his view so completely that he had to crane his neck upward to avoid staring at the man’s Adam’s apple. He got as far as the clenched jaw before he backed into the wall.

  “That’s enough.” The voice wasn’t cool any more, but it wasn’t any less commanding, either.

  Darmfelder had to swallow several times before he found his voice. “She was resisting arrest. My men only did what was necessary.”

  Weston went on like he hadn’t heard him.

  “You’ll want to listen very carefully now. First, I’m going to remind you that your warrant was issued by the Army JAG and that Dr. Thorne is a civilian. These men are your personal guard, not MPs. If you didn’t have that letter from General Ross, I never would have let you in the door. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be letting you out. Second, and this is the part you don’t want to miss—”

  Her voice was so soft no one would have heard it if it hadn’t suddenly grown so quiet in the room. “Let it go, Paul, please. This would have happened sooner or later. Major Pain-in-the-Ass here is obviously well-connected. Besides, it’s not like I was really ever part of the team anyway, right? There’s, um, some presents I made for you all in the big box under the table in the corner. Yeah, there’s one for you too, Mills. If you don’t want them, just give ’em to the shelter. Oh, and tell Jack…God, tell Jack that I said I was sorry, that I didn’t mean it.”

  Jack? Oh yes, that was the name of Weston’s partner. No one of consequence, the major reassured himself. But the murmurs were growing louder and the room seemed to be shrinking.

  “Now, gentlemen, I suggest you take Dr. Thorne’s advice. I’m sure you don’t want to do anything you might regret.” He said it with as much dignity as he could, considering his bowels had constricted dangerously.

  Weston’s hand felt like a vise around his arm when he tried to move past. “This isn’t over, Major. And when it is, I promise you’ll be the one with regrets.”

  As soon as his seatbelt clicked in, the major told his driver to get the lead out. He barely heard the man on the sidewalk curse when the SUV hit a puddle and covered his big frame in gray slush, but he’d never forget the menace he’d seen in the man’s eyes.

  * * * *

  “Just fill out these forms. You can sit over here. Need a pen?” The desk sergeant spoke the lines as if this were just another stolen vehicle report, not the tragic loss of Dagger’s beloved caddy.

  The walk to the station had calmed him, though, given him some perspective. Sure, it was a bummer about the car, but it was just a car. Compared to the loss of Grace, it was nothing. And no amount of denial was going to change that. Whatever prompted her fears, it obviously wasn’t something small. He’d pushed too hard too soon. He’d let his own shit get in his way. What if she just climbed back in that thorny shell that she’d apparently been living in for years, and never spoke to him again? What if she just up and quit Blackridge? Shit, Paul was going to kill him—and he’d let him, too.

  He slammed his fist down on the desk without realizing he’d done it. The sergeant looked at him like he was wishing he’d paid more attention during those community service lectures all public servants had to sit through.

  The uniform came out from behind his desk, walked slowly over. “1977 Cadillac Eldorado. Wow, no wonder you’re so upset—” he scanned the form “—ah, Mr. Daggery.”

  Yup, definitely community service lecture tactics. “It’s not the fucking car I’m pissed about,” Dagger growled.

  “Hey, what’s going on—?”

  It was Lieutenant Rigby. “Uh, Dagger. To what do we owe this pleasure?” His attempt at humor was lost on Dagger.

  But at least the desk sergeant looked relieved. “Some dumbass stole his car.”

  “The caddy? Stolen? I’ll never understand why you drive that beautiful machine in a Seattle winter.” He shook his head. “Where’d you have it parked? I’d think you’d at least keep it in a garage overnight.” He glanced over the form and frowned. “Wait, this is Thorne’s address.”

  “So fucking what if it is? We’re consenting adults. Why does everyone seem to think…” Dagger’s voice was rising again. He was losing control and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to do a goddamn thing about it.

  * * * *

  Luke had heard a familiar, if not necessarily welcome, voice coming from the from the front desk and come to investigate. The sergeant looked relieved to see him.

  “Say, Dagger, why don’t you come into my office, sit down, have a cup of coffee?” Luke nodded to the sergeant, who seemed a little less relieved to find out the man was staying. He could understand that. Dagger was scary enough when he wasn’t upset.

  They sat down in the office and he pushed a mug toward the huge tattooed mitts Dagger was holding his head up with. “It sucks, but it’s hot.”

  Dagger lifted his head and sighed as he shook it slowly. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. It’s just that she drives me fucking crazy. We had a fight. I…”

  Whoa. This could not be happening. Not to him and certainly not with a man like Jack Daggery. And definitely not about Thorne, a woman of such unfathomable fragility and courage that his heart ached when he thought of her. A woman to whom he owed more than he could ever repay.

  He took a calming breath. “I guess you better call me Luke. So, uh…you and Thorne, huh? How long…?”

  The expression on Dagger’s face told Luke it had happened fast.

  “Um, we’ve been friends pretty much since Paul hired her and then I saw her at the studio and God, Luke, she’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts to look at her sometimes.” He’d said it fast, like it might hurt less that way. Luke could tell it hadn’t helped.

  “She was, um, wearing a leotard or something, wasn’t she?” He couldn’t believe Dagger would be talking the way he was if he’d seen her. But if they were intimate…

  Dagger’s head jerked up. “You know, Paul said almost the same thing to me when I told him I’d seen her working out. And you knew she was a woman, too. You both know more than you’re telling me. Why? What’s the big fucking secret?” That gravelly voice of his was rising again. “Does this have anything to do with why she’ll never let me see her in daylight? That’s what we were fighting about this morning—”

  “I’m not surprised.” Luke hesitated before continuing, “Look, Dagger, I didn’t fi
nd Thorne in CODIS because she’s a criminal.” He took a sip of coffee and waited. And watched the conclusion slam into Dagger.

  “She was a victim,” he rasped. “About five years ago, wasn’t it?”

  Luke just nodded and watched the big man closely.

  “Did they catch the bastard? Were there any suspects?” Dagger was rising, those big hands clenching into even bigger fists. Luke had never realized how small his office was until this morning.

  Shit, he might have guessed Dagger would go this direction. He would, if it were Sarah.

  “Actually, Dagger, there were three. All convicted.” He saw the look on Dagger’s face and quickly went on. “They’re dead. There’s nothing for you to do but be patient with her. Give her time. After what they did to her, it’s a miracle she’s still alive and not in a padded room. That she’d ever want a man after that, well, it’s beyond a miracle.” He hoped he hadn’t said too much, but he’d said it for Thorne’s sake, so that Dagger would understand and not pressure her.

  Neither man was prepared for the explosion. The scream was anguished, primal, deafening. Dagger’s fist penetrated the nearest object.

  Suddenly there was a cop in the room, his gun drawn and pointing at Dagger’s head.

  Everyone froze for a moment before Luke said, “Officer Griggs, put your gun away. Now.”

  “I was just on my way to talk to you about getting out of Traffic when I heard the disturbance.” He was slow in putting his gun away. He eyed Dagger and the big new hole in the wall.

  Luke repeated the command and Griggs finally obeyed. Strangely, it didn’t ease the tension in the room.

  Then Dagger said, “So you’re Griggs. I’ve been meaning to talk to you and I’m in the perfect fucking mood right now. Who says there’s no God?” The big man flexed his fist and ignored the blood on his knuckles. “So, I hear you like to take handcuffed prisoners half your size where there aren’t any cameras.”