Fatal Mistake--A Novel by Susan Sleeman (13)

Cal had given Tara an impossible choice. Stay in the command truck where they’d turned off the air-conditioning to save fuel and it was inferno hot, or go with him to the cabin he’d arranged for their overnight stay. On the surface, the cabin seemed the best choice, but the rest of the team would stay at the crime scene until later in the day, and she’d be alone with Cal. Not a good thing with the way they’d been alternating between butting heads and fighting an obvious attraction. But maybe she didn’t need to worry. Not with the way he’d arrived back on site, his lips in a flat line that discouraged discussion and his shoulders rigid as he marched to the rental SUV.

She followed at a slower pace and took a few moments to pull her damp shirt away from her body and flap the fabric in the breeze.

Cal jerked open her car door and huffed out an impatient sigh. “This is no place to dawdle.”

She peered at him. “Do you actually think Oren is still hanging out somewhere near here?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he said matter-of-factly.

He didn’t have to say anything else. He was right. If Oren wanted her dead, he’d have to be within shooting or bombing range. Not a comforting thought.

She climbed into the SUV, but Cal shielded his eyes from the sun and surveyed the area before he took the driver’s seat. She wanted to think his cautionary approach was overkill, but he’d just convinced her that danger followed her everywhere, and she needed to heed the warning. With that being true, she wouldn’t roll over and count on him to protect her. She’d continue to stay alert and use the self-protection skills she’d learned over the past few months.

Protect yourself. Of course. But what about God? Shouldn’t she ask for His protection, too, or had she turned her back like Cal suggested? If not, where did God fit in all of this?

He didn’t. Or at least He hadn’t. If He wanted her to be safe, would He have let Oren shoot her and get away with it? He could have arranged for Cal to arrest Oren at the pump house and many times since then, ending her terror and the loss of additional life, but He hadn’t done so.

No, she believed in Him, in His mighty power, but she wasn’t sure about Him knowing what was best for her right now, and she needed to focus on what she could do to remain safe.

She kept her gaze moving over the roads and through the dark forested area until they reached a gated driveway. Cal punched a code into the lockbox and moved the car onto the drive before the gate swung closed with a solid clang behind them. They wound up the drive until it opened to a wide clearing holding a two-story house with five different rooflines, a two-car garage, and three decks visible from the front. Rough cedar covered the exterior and brick wrapped the corners.

“This place is huge.” She glanced at Cal. “I thought you said it was a cabin.”

Cal used a remote to open the garage door. “That’s what Sheriff Gorton told me, but we obviously have differing definitions of ‘cabin.’”

“I was picturing small and quaint, and that the team would be cramped into a little space. Now we won’t be crowding each other.”

Cal shifted into park. “I’ll take your bag in and come back for the groceries.”

They got out and she met him at the tailgate, where he lifted her tote from the back.

“I can carry it.” She took the bag from him in an effort to prove her independence, but more likely, she needed to believe she retained some control of her life.

He didn’t seem to give her actions much thought, but he crossed over to the steel entry door leading into the house. He unlocked it and punched in the security code for the alarm. Tara watched and memorized the code in case she had to take off without alerting him.

She left him to fetch the groceries that were delivered to the crime scene by a deputy and stepped into the wonderfully cool air-conditioned home where vaulted ceilings covered in rustic pine and rough-hewn log beams soared high. Perfect. She could actually breathe in the wide-open space. She stepped into the family room that included floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking another large deck with steps leading down to a small creek and lush woods.

“Wow.” Cal entered and paused to look around before carrying the groceries to the adjoining kitchen.

The scenic calm of the outdoors called to Tara. She stepped to the windows to gaze over the yard. Peace and tranquility sat on the other side of the glass. She rested a hand on the pane, feeling like a prisoner. How she wanted to go outside, sit in the cool of the shade, and draw in fresh air and clear out her fear and frustration. Maybe look for God in the beauty surrounding them and believe He really was watching over her.

Cal joined her, standing so close he took over her thoughts and reminded her to keep a solid wall between them.

She moved a few steps away. “Amazing view, right?”

“Not defensible, though,” he mumbled. “I’ll need you to stay away from these windows.”

She spun to look at him. “Oren can’t possibly know where I am right now, can he?”

“I can assure you we weren’t followed, but locals arranged this place, so anything is possible.” He offered her a flicker of a smile, but she’d gotten to know him well enough to tell it was forced. “For now, join me in the kitchen, and we can put away the groceries.”

He led the way, and she followed, glancing back at the window and now seeing what Cal had seen, walls of glass that Oren could shatter and step through to kill her.

“Omelets okay for dinner?” Cal asked as he unloaded contents from a paper bag onto the white quartz countertop.

She pulled another bag closer and dug inside. “I’m not very hungry.”

“But you will eat.” He eyed her. “You need to keep up your strength, and you didn’t eat lunch.”

She shot him a look over the bag. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything about you, Tara.”

She should have expected he wouldn’t miss anything, but the tone of his response had nothing to do with his role as an investigator. He’d moved into the personal realm, and she wouldn’t go there with him.

She turned back to the bag and lifted out a loaf of hearty wheat bread. “Looks like we have a good selection of food.”

Cal held up a bottle of orange juice. “Would you like some?”

She nodded, and while he grabbed glasses, she searched for a safe topic that didn’t involve Oren. But what did they have to talk about other than Oren or their personal lives?

Cal set a tall glass in front of her, poured thick, pulpy juice, then made eye contact.

“Do you like your job?” she said quickly before she fell prey to his bottomless brown eyes.

He set down the container, never taking his gaze from hers. “Do I make it seem like I don’t?”

Perfect. Irritate her by avoiding an answer again, and there was no danger that she’d fall prey to her developing feeling for him. “Do you ever answer a question instead of offering another question?”

“Sorry. I guess it’s a habit from my SEAL days, and to a great extent, something I need to practice as an FBI agent.”

“So do you like it?” she asked again. This time she was honestly interested and wasn’t making small talk.

“Most days.” He put the juice in the refrigerator.

“And on those other days?”

He shrugged and folded the paper bag. Was he as cool and in control as he always seemed, or was he a master at hiding his stress?

She suddenly wanted to know. “How do you deal with all the bad things you see on the job?”

He looked like he wanted to fire off an easy answer, but he planted his hands on the counter and met her gaze in earnest. “SEALs have a motto that explains it, I guess. The only easy day was yesterday.”

“Which means what when it comes to coping?”

“I prepare for the worst at the start of each day.” Staring down at the counter, he didn’t move. “Sometimes the day turns out to be the worst—like the first of the month when Keeler strikes.” He shook his head, then looked up and plastered one of his fake smiles on his face. “But terrible events like that don’t happen every day.”

“You mentioned earlier about situations where turning your back on faith doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Days like those must be the ones that challenge your beliefs.”

He remained silent for a long time, his lips pressed together. “My faith has pretty much been on the rocks for a while now.”

“And that’s why you don’t ever let down your guard,” she said, and ignored the fact that her lack of trust in God resembled Cal’s struggle.

He shrugged and looked away.

Right. He didn’t plan to talk about it, and she wouldn’t keep heading that direction either.

He took over emptying her grocery bag and gestured at a stool. “What about you? Tell me more about your job.”

“Way to change the subject.”

“Hey.” A tight smile spread across his mouth. “You asked about me, so it’s only fair that I ask about your job.”

“I suppose you mean the government translator job that I had before Oren tried to kill me.”

“Right. They probably didn’t hold it for you, did they?” He set apples next to the bananas. “I’d be glad to talk to your boss and let him know you had no control over this situation. Maybe they’ll give you back your job.”

She settled on the stool and considered how to respond to him. One minute he acted hard as nails, not open to talking, demanding, pushing her around, and the next, he appeared genuinely considerate, doing things like offering to help her get her job back. Or even more importantly, he was willing to sacrifice his life for hers. She was smart enough to know he could be both controlling and kind. The big question for her was how he lived out those characteristics off the job, but to find out, she’d have to breach a wall to his personal life that was best left in place.

His phone rang, and he looked at the screen. “I need to take this call.”

“Brynn,” he said into the phone as he left the room.

Tara understood that he had to be careful about discussing the investigation in front of her, but she didn’t like being left in the dark when her life was on the line. She finished unpacking the groceries, and he returned in short order.

His tortured gaze landed on her, and she didn’t have to wonder if Brynn gave him bad news, just the specifics of the news.

“What is it?” she asked.

He came back to the island and took the stool next to her. “I have something difficult to share.”

“Is it Aunt June?”

“June is fine.” He set his phone on the sleek countertop.

Tara exhaled. “Then what?”

“You know that we didn’t find Keeler at the cabin, but I didn’t tell you that we found a body. A woman.”

She opened her mouth to ask for details, but his phone dinged, stealing his attention.

He picked it up and tapped the screen. “We haven’t been able to identify her through any of our methods, and we need you to look at the woman’s picture to see if you know her.”

“But I don’t know anyone in Oregon. I purposefully made sure of that.”

“I need you to look. Just in case.” He pressed the button to unlock his phone. “She’s been dead for some time, so you should prepare yourself for what you’re about to see. It’s nothing gory, but still…”

Tara took a deep breath and turned his hand to look at the picture.

“Oh, no.” Her stomach sent the orange juice roiling, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“You know her,” Cal said in his usual straightforward tone.

Tara nodded and fought for enough composure to speak. “I don’t actually know her or even know her name. She worked in the post office in Dufur. I talked to her when I picked up my mail.”

Tara wrapped her arms around her waist. “She was such a sweet person. She always went the extra mile for me, and now…” Tara’s sorrow begging for release, she shook her head. “…now because I talked to her, she’s dead.”

Wondering how to help Tara, Cal watched her. Swirls of dirt covered her clothes and a few blades of grass clung to her hair. She’d pulled it into a ponytail that morning, but the force of the truck blast had freed sections, leaving them sticking out like porcupine quills.

All he could think to do to help her handle yet another blow was reach out to pluck the grass from her hair.

“I’m not sure that will help much, but thanks.” She peered at him, tears rolling down her cheeks before she turned away and he saw her shoulders shaking.

It was about time she actually cried and not just those few tears at the hospital. She’d continued to exhibit incredible strength, too much, if you asked him. If she kept burying her emotions, the dam would eventually burst. Maybe at the wrong time, wrong place, and she could get hurt. She needed to let go and have a good cry now.

And what about you?

Okay, fine, there was no way he was ever going to sit down and cry like a little girl, but he could take his own advice and find a way to alleviate some of his stress.

Prayer. The thought came unbidden.

It hadn’t helped in the past, so he shrugged it off.

But why did you call out for God’s help when you thought Tara was in danger?

Old habit. Just an old habit. He dismissed the idea to focus on Tara.

Her crying snapped his tight rein on keeping a professional distance, and he took her hand. She shot him a surprised look but didn’t withdraw. Tears continued to trail down her cheeks, leaving a clean path through the dirt. He lifted his free hand to swipe them away, but touching her so intimately wasn’t a good idea on so many levels that he didn’t know which reason topped the list, so he held back.

“So what happens next?” She looked down at their hands as if she didn’t want to hear the answer.

“The team finishes processing the scene and prepares the evidence to ship to the FBI lab in Quantico. We’ll all hop a plane, and when we get back to D.C., we’ll debrief and make a plan while Brynn and her team pore over the evidence.”

“And then you’ll take me to the pump house.” She went quiet for a few moments and raised his hand to stare at it. “What happened to your knuckles?”

Two knuckles sustained second-degree burns and had blistered, but today when he’d punched the truck they’d broken open to expose raw, red skin. “An on-the-job injury.”

“They were burned. A bomb?” Her head shot up. “These are fresh. Another bomb. Dallas, right? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you had enough on your plate right now.”

She pulled her hand back and sat up straight. “Don’t do that. Don’t spare me. If I’m going to help find Oren, I need details of his actions. Even if it hurts, I want you to tell me about Dallas.”

“Why don’t we hold off until later? You can take a shower and unwind from the day. If you still want to know more after that, I’ll share every piece of information within your clearance level.”

She stared at him long and hard. “You want to catch Oren, right? Desperately, I mean. I see it in your eyes. In the way you put this manhunt before everything else. You should be happy that I want to know more to help.”

She was the second person to comment on his drive to find Keeler in the last few hours, and they were both right. He was pushing things, but at what cost to himself, the team, and even Tara?

“The bomb,” she said. “The woman in Dallas. I know her, right?”

Cal nodded. “Allison Foster.”

The blue of Tara’s eyes darkened, and she panted for air as if anxiety might take her at any moment. She didn’t say a word but seemed to internalize the pain.

“I’m sorry, Tara.” He assumed his response came across as trite, but he honestly meant it.

“I don’t need to wait until later. I want to know everything about Dallas now.” Her voice wavered, but she firmed her shoulders. “Then when we get back to D.C., I’ll commit myself and my time one hundred percent to helping find Oren.”

Cal nodded at her sudden resolve to assist in the investigation, but unfortunately, the things she would have to do would be painful for her. Equally painful as the events she’d survived thus far, and he worried she’d fold under the stress.