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  "Don't I have to be a witness for that?"

  Potter sighed heavily. "Let's try this: Five years ago, you killed a man and fled the scene of the crime. I can arrest you for that, if you'd like."

  "Why haven't you?"

  "Because I'm a decent guy and I believed you when you said it was self-defense. Now, if the safe house just won't do, I'd be happy to get on the phone and let the Madison cops know where to come pick you up." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Those are your options: You can sit in jail in Wisconsin or you can shut up and go to a safe house here, where you'll at least be in the same vicinity as your kid. What's it going to be?"

  * * *

  Mitch's phone rang as he was handing over his credit card at the Avis rental car counter.

  "It's Chuck."

  "Have you got an address?" Mitch asked.

  "I'm not giving it to you."

  Mitch scrawled his signature on the form the woman behind the counter slid before him. "I take it you've been briefed on the case," Mitch said.

  "Yes, and I don't think you should get involved."

  "It's too late for that."

  "Your friend needs to stay put, and she'll be fine."

  The clerk handed Mitch keys, and he nodded his thanks as he stepped away from the counter. "If she stays put, she'll be dead," he said into the phone, his tone low and urgent.

  "There are some high-powered people involved, Mitch. I don't think you realize --"

  "I don't care about any of that, okay? I just want this woman to be safe."

  "What is she to you?"

  "No one."

  "Yet you're getting tangled in some serious shit."

  "Look, I made a mistake." He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I made a mistake, Chuck, and I need to make it right. Tell me where I can find her."

  A pause stretched over several seconds as Mitch walked out of the airport terminal and onto the walk where shuttles picked up rental car patrons to take them to their vehicles. Rain fell in sheets in the areas that weren't covered, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance.

  Finally, Chuck said, "It's not safe to give the address on a cellphone."

  "Then give me a hint," Mitch said, shouldering the phone and digging in his pocket for a pen.

  Another pause, but shorter this time. "Remember that place we used to go that had the really fine steaks?"

  "Yeah." Mitch scribbled "Alice's" on the back of his rental car agreement. "Drive? Street?"

  "Lane. The house number is 856. It's in Manassas."

  Mitch checked his watch. Manassas was at least twenty-five miles from National Airport. He was looking at about an hour drive at the tail end of rush hour. His sense of urgency told him to hurry. "Thanks, Chuck. I mean it."

  Chuck responded, but Mitch didn't hear what he said as he snapped the cellphone closed and boarded a shuttle.

  * * *

  "It's not much, but it's got heat and running water," Potter said, flipping on a light.

  Alaina looked around at the bare furnishings. She didn't care that the linoleum was worn, the wallpaper was peeling or the kitchen chairs looked like cats had sharpened their claws on them. She didn't care that the air was stale or that the neighborhood they had just driven through had seen better days. None of it mattered. Only one thing mattered.

  "I want proof that Jonah is okay," she said.

  He glanced at her, clearly irritated that she'd been hammering at him about Jonah all day. But as he considered her, his demeanor softened. She didn't care that he felt sorry for her. The more pitiful she appeared to him, the better. Then perhaps he would give her what she wanted.

  "I'll see what I can do," he said. "In the meantime, you should eat." He opened the avocado green refrigerator. "I guess there wasn't time to stock the fridge. I'll have someone bring some food in tomorrow." Moving to the pantry, he said, "Looks like there's peanut butter and crackers. That's something."

  Alaina was certain her stomach wouldn't take kindly to food, even though the last thing she had eaten had been half a bagel at Aunt Rita's. "I'd prefer to sleep."

  Norm closed the pantry. "I'll show you around."

  He led her into the living room, which was as worn and stale as the kitchen. A TV set with rabbit ears looked older than she was. A short hallway led to a bathroom and two bedrooms. Norm said, "Take your pick."

  She stepped into the nearest bedroom and started to close the door, but Potter put his hand on it to stop her. "Another agent will be here in an hour to take over for me. I probably won't see you again for a while."

  "Fine."

  "The windows have been reinforced. They don't open, and the glass doesn't break."

  Alaina didn't care if her disappointment showed. "May I sleep now or do you want to tie me up first?"

  He gave her a grim smile. "This is for your protection, Ms. Chancellor."

  "Funny, it feels like it's for the FBI's protection. I'm just in the way of the big collar."

  "It'll be over soon enough."

  "And what happens if my son gets caught in the crossfire?"

  "We're doing everything we can to ensure that doesn't happen."

  "Do you have any children?"

  "I don't see --"

  "Do you?" she prodded.

  "Yes. A daughter. She's three."

  "Tell me how you would feel if someone took her away from you and handed her over to your worst enemy. And then tell me you wouldn't do anything, anything to get her back."

  "If Jonah were my son, I would trust the FBI to protect him."

  "And that's where you'd screw up. Because when you've been through what I've been through, you don't trust anyone with what's precious to you."

  Chapter 20

  Mitch steered the rental car down Alice Lane in Manassas, Virginia. It was after seven and already dark, forcing him to squint to try to read house numbers. It wasn't the nicest neighborhood, the small homes older and shabby. Many of the cars parked along the curbs were just as rundown. Landscaping hadn't been a priority as bushes had been left to grow wild and weeds trimmed most lawns. Ramshackle fences surrounded some yards, and an occasional mutt let out a raucous bark.

  In the 600 block, Mitch parked and got out of the car. The rain had tapered off to a steady sprinkle, and he flipped up the hood of the sweatshirt under his leather jacket to afford some sort of a disguise as much as protection from the rain. Who knew whether Keller's man was already watching the house or if Keller had warned him about Mitch?

  A few houses before 856, hoping there were no mangy mutts nearby to give him away, he slipped between two houses, planning to approach from behind. But as he rounded the side of the house next door, he glimpsed a shadow and dropped back. The shadow moved stealthily, dressed head to toe in dark clothing. This was no neighbor walking his dog. And he was much closer to 856 than Mitch was.

  Mitch considered his options. Because that guy was taking the back way, that left Mitch with the front. He backtracked at a trot, mud squishing underfoot. But on the sidewalk out front, he froze. Another shadowy figure was crouching before the front door of 856 Alice Lane. As Mitch watched from behind a tree, the front door eased open, and the man slipped inside.

  Something in his hand reflected light from a street lamp.

  A gun.

  * * *

  In her dream, Alaina crept slowly up the stairs to her bedroom, careful to avoid the places in the steps that creaked. She had become a pro at this, sneaking into the house well into the wee hours of the morning. No one ever knew, or even suspected, that she'd been out. It was a liberating feeling that lasted until her alarm went off, thrusting her back into the chains of life as the teen daughter of Paul Chancellor, community icon and high-profile entrepreneur.

  Easing open her bedroom door, she slipped into the room, silently shutting it behind her. She leaned back against it and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet another late-night mission accomplished. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, pleased that the buzz from the wine still remain
ed, remembering how it had felt to have Michael's hands on her skin. If he'd asked, she might have let him go further. They'd been a couple for six months now, and being with him had felt that good --

  "Good morning, Alaina."

  Her breath caught as the light beside her bed winked on. Her sister's fiancé sat on the edge of her bed, grinning at her look of shock. She relaxed, smiled. "Hey. What are you doing here?" She felt awkward with him on her bed, a little surprised that he was there without Addy, but pleased, too. Layton was the only one who seemed to care what she thought about stuff. He'd been her ally in several arguments with her father, reminding him that she was a teenager after all, and teenagers tended to get into trouble sometimes.

  His grin broadened. "Waiting for you."

  She dropped her purse on the floor and plopped onto the desk chair across from the bed. "Where's Addy?"

  Layton gave a negligent shrug. "At her place, I guess. Where have you been?"

  She smiled. "Out with Michael celebrating."

  Layton waggled his eyebrows. "Eighteen today. Was it a good birthday?"

  Her shrug mirrored his. "It was okay."

  "Come on, you've been looking forward to being eighteen a long time."

  "It'd be cooler if I were going away to college like all my friends."

  "You're going to college," Layton said.

  "Community college."

  "That's just until you prove to the old curmudgeon that you can handle going off to college by yourself."

  She giggled. "Old curmudgeon."

  His blue eyes began to sparkle. "Have you been drinking?"

  She held up her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. "Maybe a little."

  "Your dad's going to be mad."

  She giggled again. "Who's going to tell him?"

  His wink was conspiratorial. "I could be persuaded not to."

  "Yeah? What would it cost me?" She enjoyed their banter, enjoyed how he flirted. How could she not? He was a hunk. She envied the hell out of her sister.

  Rising, he crossed to her, one hand held out as if inviting her to dance. Puzzled but amused, she took his hand and stood. His size was overwhelming, his chest broad, his arms muscled and strong. He smelled of gin and aftershave.

  "What are you willing to pay?" he asked, his voice dropping as he feathered his fingers through the hair that rested against the side of her neck.

  The way he touched her startled her, and she stepped back, raising her palms to his chest to hold him off when he leaned forward. "What are you doing?"

  His grin turned wolfish, and he let his weight rest against her hands, forcing her back against the desk. Angling his head, he inhaled as if drawing in her scent. "You smell amazing, Ali. Did you know that you've been driving me crazy?"

  "I want you to go."

  He pulled back, his fingers in her hair curving around to the back of her neck and tightening. "I'm not going just yet."

  She tried to jerk away from him, but his hand was strong and held her immobile. She tried to push him back, to slap at him. He easily swung her around and gave her a shove, hooking his hand in the collar of her blouse and swiping down. Buttons popped and flew.

  Gasping, she gathered the tattered edges of her shirt together, staring at him in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. He was her friend, her ally, her sister's fiancé. He was Layton.

  "If you scream," he said, "your father will come running. And you know what I'll tell him? You came on to me."

  "You're in my bedroom," she said, her voice shaking. "How will you explain that?"

  He scratched his chin as if thinking through his story. "I ran into you at the Lazy Flamingo, where you'd had a little too much to drink. Rather than let you leave with friends who'd been drinking and planned to drive, I persuaded you to accept a ride from me." Grinning, he advanced on her. "Unfortunately, you weren't in any shape to walk up the stairs, so I helped you. When we got into your bedroom, you started trying to undress me. And, well, I'd had a little to drink, too, and I wasn't quite myself, so I responded. What red-blooded man wouldn't? I mean, look at you. You're hot, Ali. The kind of woman a man can lose himself in."

  She backed away, shaking her head. "Stay away from me."

  "I've stayed away for months, and it's killing me."

  He lunged, hitting her like a linebacker and knocking her back onto the bed. Before she could get her breath to scream, he smashed his palm over her mouth, his other hand fumbling with the button and zipper on her jeans. She struggled furiously, trying to buck him off, but he outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more and had managed to trap her right arm under his elbow. She flailed at his head with her free fist, but he didn't seem to notice.

  She felt his erection as he ground it against her hip, and panic choked her. And then his hand was inside her jeans, rough and groping, shredding her underwear.

  His breathing went ragged as he fought to free himself from his pants. "This is going to be good, Ali, so just enjoy it. You're about to find out that your boyfriend's a loser in bed because I'm going to show you what it's like with a real man."

  She screamed against the hand smashed so tight over her mouth that she couldn't even bite it. Tears ran back into her hair as he --

  Alaina jerked awake, her heart thundering. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

  A hand was clamped over her mouth.

  She struggled, caught between the nightmare and reality, panic so ripe she could taste it. She felt hot breath near her ear, tried to twist her head to see.

  "Relax, it's Mitch."

  Fear morphed into confusion, and she strained against the strength of his hand.

  "There are two men in the house," he whispered. "They've both got to be Keller's."

  She sank her teeth into his palm.

  "Dammit!" Mitch hissed, yanking away from her.

  Sitting up, she shoved him back and swung her legs off the bed, glad that she'd been too exhausted earlier to shed her clothes. But before she could stand on her own, Mitch grabbed her by the front of the shirt, levered her against the nearest wall and pinned her there with his superior weight. His nose nearly touched hers. "Listen to me, you idiot, I'm here to help you," he whispered urgently. "Keller wants you dead, and I'm trying to keep that from happening."

  "Why would you do that?"

  He grimaced, shaking the hand that bore her teeth marks. "At the moment, I have no freaking idea."

  He went still as something thumped somewhere else in the house. "Ah, shit."

  "What was that?" she asked.

  "If I had to guess, I'd say the bad guys just took out your FBI guard."

  * * *

  Before Mitch could do much more than meet Alaina's frightened gaze, the lights blazed on. A man twice Mitch's size ambled through the door, a gun looking like a toy in his meaty hand. If he had been green, he might have passed for the Incredible Hulk.

  Mitch, positioning himself between Alaina and the goon, raised his gun, cocked it. "Stop."

  The Hulk kept coming, calmly batted the gun out of his hand and rammed him hard against the wall as Alaina scrambled to get out of the way. Mitch had only an instant to register that the impact had knocked the weapon from his hand before he saw the fist coming at his face. Stars exploded in his head, and he felt himself sliding down the wall.

  But the Hulk didn't let him fall. Grasping Mitch by the front of his jacket, he jerked him up, lifting him nearly a foot off the floor and slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle teeth. "You're not giving up already, are you, hero?"

  "Let him go."

  Over the hit man's shoulder, Mitch saw Alaina, his dropped gun braced in both hands. Thrusting Mitch away from him, the Hulk focused his attention on her while Mitch stumbled against the door, grappling for balance, frantically searching for another weapon. A floor lamp stood ten feet away. He lunged for it, but the cord tethering the lamp to the wall thwarted him.

  Frantic and fumbling with the cord, which was trapped under the wide heavy foot o
f an armoire, he glanced up to see the Hulk cornering Alaina against a dresser. She aimed the gun at the guy's chest, and Mitch flashed on the scene in the kitchen, when she'd clearly had the advantage but hadn't pulled the trigger.

  "Shoot him!" Mitch shouted. "Shoot him!"

  The Hulk tugged the gun from Alaina's hands and backhanded her. As she crashed into the dresser and slipped to the floor, Mitch heaved the armoire off the cord and yanked it out of the wall. Enraged, he swung the floor lamp like a bat at the bastard's head. The Hulk twisted, blocking the blow with an arm as big as Mitch's thigh. Seizing the long neck of the lamp, the Hulk jerked it out of Mitch's hands. He raised it, and Mitch thought, Oh shit, I'm dead.

  But then the Hulk staggered and collapsed at his feet. Mitch gaped down at him.

  "You okay, Kane?"

  He glanced up to see his former partner in the doorway, feet braced, his Glock 9mm pointed at the man on the floor. "Excellent timing, Chuck," Mitch said, releasing a faint, humorless laugh that echoed through the ache in his jaw. His gaze skipped from the goon to Alaina, who lay unmoving. His heart jackhammering, he knelt beside her.

  "She okay?" Chuck asked, holstering his gun. He bent to check for a pulse on the hit man. "This one's breathing."

  Pressing his palm to Alaina's cheek, Mitch watched her lashes flutter. Recognition skittered through her eyes, and she stiffened. "You're safe," he said gently, wondering if he should be concerned by the ominous flutter in his belly when he looked into her eyes.

  From behind him, Chuck said, "Actually, she's not."

  Chapter 21

  Layton finished off his salmon with gusto and dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin. Picking up his wine glass, he directed a questioning gaze at Jonah. "Don't like salmon, Joe?"

  Addison winced at the nickname, but the teen didn't react as he set down his fork. "I'm not hungry."

  "He's probably not used to having dinner this late in the day," Addison said.