Sheriff Tom Foley turned out to be a broad-shouldered, solidly built man with a strong jaw and dark curly hair, cropped short. His square face hinted at a tough attitude while his clear, steady eyes appeared to miss nothing. He was also probably younger than he looked, possibly in his midforties, but there was a competent assurance about him that penetrated the fear that had saturated Tate since meeting John Anderson the previous evening.
The two deputies who had accompanied him were younger, one a beefy looking man with a ruddy complexion, the other a slim, dark-haired woman. Both looked to be in their late twenties and were dressed in identical sharply pressed uniforms. They followed their boss onto the deck and maintained a respectful distance.
But the sheriff seemed to have no reservations and exhibited no concern of running afoul of the Kane family influence. When Evan reappeared, fresh from her shower with her hair still dripping onto her shoulders, he allowed her only the space of two deep breaths before he cleared his throat and began asking questions.
Alex had described the sheriff as a straight shooter. But while Alex’s opinion served to reassure her, the sheriff’s approach bothered Tate almost from the start. He stood too close, barely giving Evan room to breathe. And the unsmiling expression on his face never changed.
Instinctively, Tate found herself edging closer, caught between frustration and anxiety, ready to end the interview at a moment’s notice. “Evan—”
But Evan casually reached for her hand and held her back. “It’s okay,” she said, then resumed answering all the sheriff’s questions with a calm and directness Tate had come to expect of her. Still, for every answer she gave, there were more questions, and as it continued, Tom Foley’s conversation with Evan began to more closely resemble an interrogation.
Perhaps it was unintended. Perhaps, being a cop, Foley simply couldn’t help himself. But as time went on, the questions began to repeat themselves and sounded a discordant note for Tate. Evan’s smile had long since faded and her fatigue was becoming more pronounced, enough that both Kelsey and Jenna moved closer as well and were keeping an eye on her.
Trust your instincts, Tate reminded herself as she battled back both the tug of trepidation and the need to intervene. If she hoped to protect Evan from Khalid, they would need the kind of help only law enforcement could provide. She just wasn’t certain what it would take to make Tom Foley less confrontational and turn him into more of an ally.
She’d give the man marks for the surprisingly gentle manner in which he handled questioning Evan about her captivity and her prior dealings with Khalid in Afghanistan. But he showed no such sensitivity once the discussion moved on to Evan’s conversation with John Anderson the previous evening and her sightings of Khalid, both in Seattle and again on the trail.
Ignoring everyone else present, Foley kept his gaze pinned on Evan. A flicker of impatience showed on his face as he listened intently. Assessing, probing. Exposing nerves.
“Commander Kane, I know what you’ve told me,” he said. “Now I need you to tell me again. If we’re going to find him, I need to understand why this Khalid would follow you from Afghanistan. And if we’re going to stop him, I need to understand how badly he wants you and how much he’s willing to risk to get what he wants.”
“If you’re looking for insight into Khalid’s psyche, I don’t have it to give you. Perhaps Jenna can help, she’s the psychiatrist.” Evan’s voice remained calm but it had become cool. A little remote with just a hint of irritation. “All I can do is tell you he’s here. On the island. And I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
She stopped and left the rest of her thought unsaid.
There was a long silence while Evan stared at Foley and watched him leap to conclusions before latching onto the right one. “I got that when you asked me to facilitate getting you a concealed carry permit,” he said as he met her gaze. “More to the point, I’ve already spoken with the two FBI agents who are heading up the search for this Khalid. Problem with those boys is they want to keep their jobs and they’re afraid of what your mother will do if anything happens to you.”
“And you don’t care about holding on to your job. Is that it, Sheriff?”
Foley shrugged. “Being sheriff’s different from being an FBI agent. The people of this county voted me in on a four-year term and they can just as easily vote me out. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think there’s a whole lot your mother can do about that.” His voice indicated he didn’t particularly care. “And for as long as I’m doing the job, I have to tell you, I may not be clear about Khalid’s intentions, but I don’t believe having more people running around with guns is the way to go.”
Evan swore softly. “Are you deliberately trying to piss me off or are you just obtuse?” She ran a hand through her hair and gave Foley a long, hard look, then produced the knife they’d found embedded in the gravel trail. Both deputies reacted almost immediately to the appearance of the knife in her hand. Their bodies stiffened in surprise and their hands moved in automatic response toward their holstered weapons. The sheriff only narrowed his eyes, his lips thinning as he watched her with renewed interest.
Evan ignored them all and simply tossed the knife on the table beside her.
“You want to know how much Khalid is willing to risk?” she asked softly. “Then deal with this, Sheriff Foley. Maybe he was good enough to leave his prints on the knife so you can confirm his identity. Then again, maybe not. All I know is he placed this knife where he knew we would find it this morning, so it would seem rather obvious he wants me to know he’s here. That he’s watching. And that he’s coming for me so he can finish what he started in Afghanistan.”
Foley’s expression was impatient. “You’re speculating.”
“No, actually, I’m not. I’m the one who’s experienced Khalid up close and personal and I’m simply stating the facts.”
She felt as much as saw Foley’s eyes briefly skim over the cuts still clearly visible on her upper arm, the tightness around his mouth the only hint of any reaction. He knew, she realized and turned away.
She watched a cormorant suddenly dive into the water just beyond the deck, a delicate splash leaving barely a ripple. And just as suddenly, Evan felt as if she’d gained some insight. “Marine Corps,” she guessed. “Am I right?”
If Foley was surprised, he hid it well. He gave a terse nod. “Spent some time in Iraq.” He bent down and knocked on his right leg. “Got sergeant’s stripes while doing my second tour, but it cost me eight months in rehab and my lower right leg.”
“I’m sorry. That had to be rough.”
“No rougher than getting blown out of the sky and being held captive for four months.”
Evan bit her lip. Her shoulder muscles tensed and she felt Tate squeeze her hand as she nodded her head tightly in acknowledgment.
“But you want to know what’s really rough, Commander?”
“What’s that?”
“What’s rough is having a son doing his first deployment on the Carl Vinson and a daughter who can’t wait to finish high school so she can follow him, instead of going to college like her mama wants her to do.” He spoke with a father’s mix of love and pride. “My wife’s barely speaking to me. She never gave a damn that not all of me came home to her. But she says my kids think I’m some kind of fool hero because of it and now they want to follow in my footsteps. She says it’s my fault.”
Evan’s lips curved in a gentle smile as her eyes closed. “My mother never wanted me to enlist, either. I did it anyway, for reasons far too simple and complicated to get into right now. But in hindsight, maybe she had a point.”
*
Something had changed.
Tate could feel the difference as she watched Evan tilt her head back, her face for the moment in repose as she turned it toward the sun. The sunlight illuminated the contours of her face. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, while the breeze off the water blew her hair.
She knew Evan had pulled back, was regrouping and trying to focus on what she needed to do next. But while she might appear relaxed, her face was still too pale and her fingers were twisted together, sending clear signs of her agitation.
Moving behind her and placing her hands on Evan’s shoulders, Tate began to massage the knotted muscles she found beneath the silky skin, stroking away the tension. Evan hung her head forward, presenting the back of her neck to give Tate better access, and after a moment or two, she let out a low groan and began to relax beneath Tate’s touch.
Several feet away, Foley watched. And if he glimpsed the cuts on Evan’s back as her tank top shifted, he didn’t allow it to show. He remained controlled, focused, leaning against the deck railing, hands buried in the pockets of his uniform pants. His stance was casual, but Tate could see he was watching Evan with an intense level of scrutiny, while she pointedly ignored him.
Both sides appeared to be waiting for something. A word. A sign.
Finally Foley took the lead, attempting to end the impasse with a suggestion.
Tate rolled her eyes and sighed. She stopped what she was doing and moved to take up position beside Evan, keeping one hand on her shoulder while waiting for the response she knew was coming.
Five seconds stretched into twenty, then into thirty and finally into a minute. “Sheriff Foley, I appreciate your suggestion,” Evan said, opening her eyes after her long silence. Her voice was low and cool, her tone gave nothing away, but Tate recognized the flicker of annoyance in the set of her chin.
She then did what Tate expected her to do. She refused Tom Foley’s recommendation that she consent to being placed into protective custody. She wasn’t combative, just firm. She was also polite, but adamant. It was never going to happen.
“What happened in Afghanistan has already cost me more than four months of my life. I’m not prepared to give up another minute. No matter how well intentioned the reasons.”
But Foley was undeterred and it quickly became apparent his idea of compromise was having people agree with him. “In that case, Commander Kane, you’re leaving me no alternative but to post deputies to watch over you twenty-four/seven until this gets resolved because I’m inclined to agree with you. Everything I’ve learned tells me this Khalid is coming after you, and I’m guessing he’s going to do it soon.”
Evan shrugged and looked out over the water with eyes that seemed tired rather than angry. “You do what you have to do, Sheriff. But if I’m going to be tripping over you and your deputies in the dark, then at least call me Evan. The navy declared me dead some months ago and being called Commander is a constant reminder.”
As Evan turned away from the view toward Foley, Tate saw they had reached a crossroad. “But just so we’re clear, this house and the property around it belong to Tate. She’ll have to agree to any kind of law enforcement presence before your people step on this property again without an invitation. Otherwise, I will personally introduce you to both my parents.”
Foley swore softly and succinctly. “Your father’s the lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Actually, both my parents are lawyers,” Evan said idly.
As he turned slowly toward her, Tate almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“You’re going to want to think this through very carefully then, Ms. McKenna,” he said. “Because everything this Khalid fellow’s doing is intentional. He’s got to know the CIA and FBI are looking for him. But he still managed to get back into this country and allowed Commander Kane—Evan—to see him. He wants her to know he’s coming.”
Tate felt a shiver sweep through her. She looked at Evan but could see no indication, nothing to give away what she was thinking or feeling. Nothing that said what she wanted. After waiting a moment, she cleared her throat. “You’ve got to know I’m going to be willing to do anything to ensure Evan stays safe. And if that means filling my house with deputies from the county sheriff’s department or FBI agents, I’ll be more than happy to do so,” she said. “But I’m not naive enough to think it’ll be that simple. Why don’t you tell us what you’re proposing, Sheriff? And what you think we need to do.”
Some of the stiffness eased from Foley’s body language. “For starters, call me Tom. As for what we need to do, the first thing is for Evan to help us determine what Khalid Anderson looks like today. The FBI’s looking for him based on a grainy photo taken by the CIA about ten months ago in Pakistan. If we have a better idea about what he currently looks like, we can cover traffic coming onto the island via the ferry and the bridge. We can also put out a BOLO—a be-on-the-lookout—in case he tries to hire a boat or a floatplane.”
“Not to shoot down any theory you may be working on, but it sounds like you’re assuming he’s staying off-island,” Evan said. “Let’s remember he was here on the trail early this morning. Isn’t he just as likely to be somewhere on the island? Maybe camping in the woods and biding his time doing reconnaissance while he familiarizes himself with the area? He lived with insurgents in Afghanistan. He’s not going to need creature comforts.”
Foley nodded and gave her a grudging smile. “True enough. We’ll increase patrols through the campgrounds and start checking with the local grocery stores and fast food outlets once we have a composite drawing. He’ll need to eat, and we can see if anyone’s served someone matching his description in recent days. In the meantime, we’ll see about expediting your gun permit. You do know how to shoot, I trust?”
The corners of Evan’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Well, at one time I managed to keep everything I fired in the black, but it’s been a while since I’ve used the Sig. At a guess, I’m probably going to be a bit rusty. But if you can point me in the direction of the local shooting range, I’ll get some practice in. Until then, I’ll try not to accidently shoot you or any of your deputies in the ass.”
*
The air was still warm in the fast fading light as the sun dipped in the horizon and bled into the ocean. Sitting on the deck, Evan lay down the sketches she’d been working on for the better part of a couple of hours. The act seemed to serve as a signal to her brain and she felt the tension that had been churning inside her, haunting her all day, slowly start to dissipate.
After the intensity of her meeting with Tom Foley, she had been more than content to tune out the world while she worked on the sketches. Now she had finished what she needed to do and could begin to decompress. One layer at a time.
She turned her eyes skyward and watched a pair of hawks soaring on the thermals. As she watched their graceful flight, she envied the birds their undisputed freedom to ascend into the endless blue. It was easier to dream about flying than contemplate the reality surrounding her.
Easier than thinking about Khalid.
She had brought him to Tate’s doorstep. And her continued presence here was putting Tate at risk. Not only Tate, but Alex and Nick. Kelsey and Jenna. They were all in danger as long as Khalid was hunting her. And while she knew that somewhere on the grounds Foley and his deputies were installing enhancements to Tate’s security system, she wondered if it would be enough. If anything would be enough.
Earlier, they had reviewed the existing security protecting the house and Foley had indicated they would need to cover the perimeter of the property as well. Kind of crazy, Evan thought, given the abundance of wildlife in the area. They’d be constantly setting off the motion detectors.
But Foley said he’d arranged for a cousin to come and install wireless cameras. State of the art, high tech gadgets he said would allow for streaming and remote viewing over the Internet.
“In the event a camera’s activated, you’ll be able to pan remotely and immediately verify what kind of wildlife’s tripped the system.”
“You mean whether it’s the four-legged variety versus two?” Tate had asked with a grin.
The sound of Tate’s bright laugh broke through her somber mood. She was talking to Jenna, and they were both smiling at something one of the deputies had said. Evan liked hearing Tate’s laughter. As always, it brought a responding smile to her face and she found her mood lifting.
As it happened, Tate chose that moment to glance in her direction. Catching Evan’s gaze, she casually sauntered over. “How’re you doing?”
“Don’t ask. Should I be over there so Deputy Pike can show me how to operate the new security system?”
“No, you don’t need to worry about it. We can talk tomorrow about the new technological wizardry Tom’s had installed—that’ll be soon enough to deal with it. For now, just relax. You’ve already had one hell of a day.” Tate searched her face for a minute. “Can I get you anything for that headache?”
Evan shook her head. Catching Tate’s hand, she pulled her closer. “I can’t think of a single thing I might need that I don’t already have right here.”
“Flatterer.” Tate laughed, but as she continued to study Evan’s face, her smile dimmed, then faded completely. “If it’s not the headache, then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing—just restless, I guess.”
Evan stood up, started to move away and then swore softly as she spun back around, her mouth instinctively seeking and finding Tate’s. And if Tate was hesitant, Evan was not. She groaned. All she could think of was how good Tate felt pressed against her.
She deepened the kiss, all passion and heat, driven by an urgency she couldn’t begin to explain and fueled by a fire she couldn’t extinguish. And then it became difficult just to drag air into her lungs.
Several heartbeats later, she pulled back, suddenly remembering they were not alone.
“God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.” She ran a hand through her hair in a distracted gesture. “All of a sudden it’s like I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing.”
“I thought it felt like you knew exactly what you were doing,” Tate teased her gently, her eyes still half-closed with pleasure. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Evan swallowed as an unnamed fear tightened her throat. She tried to put words to her feelings, words Tate would understand. “You mean more to me than anyone ever has or ever could. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Why would you think something’s going to happen to me?”
“Khalid. He’s not exactly predictable. He’s driven by the adrenaline rush he gets from hurting people, and”—she reached with one hand and touched Tate’s face—“I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right at this moment. Until tomorrow, when I know I’ll love you even more. But I’m afraid if I stay here, I’m only going to put you at risk. I feel I’m being selfish wanting to be here with you, and I think maybe I should just get the hell out of here until this thing with Khalid is over and he’s been dealt with.”
An odd expression flickered across Tate’s face and then it became suffused with warmth and gentleness. “Evan, love, that’s not going to happen. I’ve got your back, remember?” She smiled uncertainly. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“Intellectually, I believe you. The problem is emotionally I’m barely in control.”
“That’s okay,” Tate said, smiling. “You don’t always have to be in control. In fact, sometimes I prefer it when you’re losing control.”
“Maybe you want to rethink that. Do you realize I was this close”—she held up two fingers, less than an inch apart—“to throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you off to bed?”
Tate raised a brow and started to laugh. “How incredibly Neanderthal. Did you think I would have stopped you?”
“No, but my leg probably would have collapsed.”
“Oh.” Tate sounded almost disappointed. “Another time? Perhaps when your leg is stronger?”
Feeling relief wash over her, Evan drew the first deep breath she had taken since finding the knife on the trail that morning. Pulling Tate gently into her arms, she held her close, breathing in her warm familiar scent. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“The important things seldom are. All that matters is I love you,” Tate whispered and their lips came together before Evan could say anything else.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Tate back to the present. She wasn’t certain how long she and Evan had stood on the deck, arms wrapped around each other. But slowly, bit by bit, the world slipped back into focus. The smell of the ocean, the rhythmic slapping of the waves against the pilings, the sound of voices as Alex and Jenna discussed the imagery in a particular painting he’d just finished.
“Sorry to disturb you again so soon. We’re finished installing the cameras.”
Turning within the shelter of Evan’s arms, Tate came face-to-face with Tom Foley. “That’s good,” she said. “Do you need anything else?”
“I’m hoping we can set up a meeting with the forensic artist we use so we can get a composite of what Khalid looks like today.” He glanced at Evan. “Or at least what he looked like when you last saw him.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Evan reached for the sketch pad she’d left lying on the table. Opening it, she passed it to the sheriff. “You’ll find several different renditions.”
She paused and Tate reached for her hand. “When I knew him in Afghanistan, Khalid had long hair and a scraggly beard. When I saw him in Germany, his hair was short and he had a full beard. Outside the market in Seattle, he had dreadlocks—my guess is he added them to change his look again. In any case, he still had a beard, although it was much shorter. He still had the locks when I saw him on the trail, but he was clean shaven.”
Foley leafed through the pad and looked at the sketches she’d made then whistled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“That’s the advantage of working with an artist,” Alex said softly as he came up behind Foley and stared at the numerous sketches she’d done. Tate edged closer and saw Evan had drawn Khalid in a combination of frontal poses and profiles.
There were versions with both short hair and long. Some bearded, others clean shaven. All different, but Tate realized she could still recognize the man by the shape of his mouth, the chillingly dark eyes. Somehow Evan had managed to capture on paper what were probably the most distinctive characteristics of Khalid’s face.
“I’ve seen your brother’s stuff at a gallery in Seattle,” Foley said. “I can’t understand most of it, but my wife Pam likes it. All I can tell you is—”
“Alex is the artist in this family,” Evan said firmly.
“But quite clearly not the only artist.” For an instant, Alex’s eyes locked with Evan’s. “Maybe we can do a joint show sometime in the spring. That would be awesome and it would give you enough time to get some pieces together, don’t you think? We could set the West Coast art scene on its head.”
“Alex—”
Tate squeezed Evan’s hand again, felt it tremble, and sent Alex a pleading look.
Alex smiled. “We can talk about it later, when there isn’t so much going on.”
Tom Foley coughed awkwardly, staring at all three of them before reaching into his pocket He pulled out a business card and handed it to Evan. “I was also thinking—that is, this is how to reach me if you ever need to talk. Day or night.”
“About what, Tom?”
“Life, death, flying machines. Anything and everything or nothing at all. Whatever you want. I won’t mind if you wake me up.” He looked out over the water. “The doctors tell me I’ve adjusted real well, but there are still days I feel pain in my right foot.”
Evan seemed to understand.
“Things get bad from time to time, and there’s this SEAL I met in rehab. Lives in Tucson. I call him sometimes and we talk. It helps,” Foley said as he stepped back. “He reminds me to keep my focus on the here and now. Not to think back, or look too far ahead.”
“Thanks.” Evan started to tuck the card into her pocket. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Tate took the card from Evan and placed it in her own pocket. “I’ll put it by the phone.” She then lifted Evan’s arm and slipped under it, holding her close. Evan murmured something to her, but it was too low, too husky for Tate to clearly hear her. But the sentiment was clear and she burrowed closer, seeking and sharing warmth.