Chapter 4

 

Edgar Hines, Claims Representative

Abraham James, Custodian, aka Abdul Jamika

Marla Braid, Branch Manager

Larry Smith, HR manager Virginia headquarters

In the front seat of Max’s car, Whitney read off her tablet the names of the people who came up on the Secret Service analysis list. They had the most risk factors for planting the bomb. The windshield wipers lightly scraped the glass as snow had started to fall again.

“See!” she said. “I knew Jake Coleman wouldn’t be on there.”

She and Max were comfortable again. Having such a horrible day yesterday, they’d turned to each other, both emotionally and physically. And they’d slept. Too long. A custodian who Whitney had been nice to had awakened them at five, thank God. Each showered in the locker rooms, changed into their Go-Bag clothes and headed out to Revere early.

His hands resting loosely on the wheel, Max made a disgusted sound. “You shouldn’t be celebrating that. Anything interesting on him?”

“Not much. He’s openly a pacifist on his Facebook page. As he said, he broke up with his fiancée not too long ago.”

“How long?”

“Six months.”

“I bet it still hurts.”

She glanced over at him, glad his features were relaxed. “Are you still hurting this morning?”

“Not as much.” He put his hand on her knee. “Sleeping next to you helped.” He shook his head. “Even in this situation, we’re best friends.”

“About that. Before we go further, we should talk about the parameters of our relationship.” She patted his hand. “Rule number one is no touching.” Though right now, she wanted to jump his bones. Had since they awoke. And he’d been hard against her bottom. She smiled at the thought of what he’d told her about him and Angela unable to have sex. She shouldn’t be pleased about it, but she was.

“You’re right.” He sounded resigned. “When we get to Revere, all this stops.”

“Agreed.”

“I’d like to talk about spending time together.”

“It may be a moot point, Max.”

“Why?”

“I told Drew I might want a transfer. To another state.”

“I never thought you’d consider leaving the city. You love D.C.”

“Can I be honest?”

“I want you to.”

“I couldn’t stick around and watch you marry Angela, become a dad. I’ll never be strong enough to witness that.”

His jaw tightened. The tension crept back into his shoulders, too.

“We discussed the field office in New York City. Gabe knows some people there. What’s more, the job is varied—protection mostly with the UN, threat analysis on a high level and travel opportunities.”

Nothing. Then, “You’ll be away from your cousins.”

“Not that far for us to take a train to see each other.”

“But far enough not to have contact with me.”

“Yes.”

His gaze narrowed on the road ahead. He didn’t speak for a while. And she could practically read his mind. Max was such a good guy, he’d want what was best for her, not him. “Do what you have to do, babe. I understand.”

“Meanwhile, to answer your question, we’ll play getting together by ear. If you want to see me call me. If I’m free, and feeling all right about us, then I’ll tell you.”

“Won’t you call me?”

“You know Angela wouldn’t like any contact we had. So, no, I won’t call you.”

He sighed. “What a mess.”

“We have to face this new reality. I would’ve thought you’d worked this out in your head since you’ve had so much time to think about your plans.” A trace of bitterness tinged her words.

“Yeah, you would have.”

“Enough of this. It’s emotionally draining.” She picked up her tablet. “Let’s get back to the list.” She scanned the next person. “So, Larry, the head HR guy, is forty, divorced. He fits the interpersonal factor, with a difficult relationship in the recent past.”

“There’s got to be more to consider him a suspect.”

“There is. He’s objected to all progressive measures on the Congress’s agenda. He’s a member of the NRA, loves gun shows.” She scrolled down. “Oh, wow. Max, Smith was arrested in college for harassing a girl.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Sixteen years. He was a junior at Cornell in the HR school.”

“Cornell? Him?”

“What, don’t you think other people went to your alma mater?” Max had gotten a degree in human resources and psychology.

“I just never pegged him for that kind of education.”

“Your instincts are off.”

It started to snow in earnest now.

“I’ve got to slow down. It’s going to take us longer to get there.”

“Okay. Shall I stop reading so you can concentrate?”

“No, I’ll be careful.”

She began again. “He’s quite a ladies’ man now. There are pics of all the women he dates on Facebook.”

“What about his medical records?”

“He takes medicine for high cholesterol. Hmm, he’s on citalopram.”

“What’s that?”

“An antidepressant.”

“So, he was depressed. Or is. The factors are mounting up.”

“Yes. There are a couple more. He—”

A car in the next lane fishtailed.

It spun around.

Max yanked the wheel of his SUV in the opposite direction.

They slid.

And slid.

Then a clunk!

They hit a guardrail.

o0o

Whitney lay back on the seat. Her head spun like a top and her stomach roiled. She’d had a light breakfast of toast, eggs and tea, and the food had settled well. Then. But now she felt…oh, God…

Fumbling for the seatbelt, she unlatched the device and whipped open the door. Stumbling into the snow, she dropped to her knees. Spasms of pain radiated through her gut and her head as she retched.

Something warm covered her. “Aw, honey.”

Her stomach rebelled again. Max held back her hair until she finished.

She became aware of a few things: the chill of the January morning, the light snow that fell onto her head. Her knees were soaking wet. She tried to get up but fell back to the ground. “I can’t stand.”

Strong arms went around her. Held her, eased her up and pulled her to him. She closed her eyes, but that only made the dizziness worse. She felt herself lifted, albeit awkwardly, and Max hold her to his chest. They reached the car and he slid her into the front seat. She heard the door shut.

Once in the driver’s side, he tucked her coat around her and started the car. Heat. “Whitney.” He was brushing back her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

She took in a deep breath.

“Lie there till the nausea passes.”

She didn’t know how long it was before her insides calmed and her head stopped spinning. “It’s okay now.” She sat up. “Hell.”

Reaching in the back seat, Max grabbed a bottle of water for her. “Small sips.” Then, after she was done, he asked, “When was your last physical?”

“At the regularly scheduled time, what was it, six months ago?”

“You should see a doctor now.”

“Why? We know what this is.”

“You said you felt better about us.”

“I said we needed to start…separating again today. Must be reality kicked in.”

“So it is my fault.”

“We’re not sure it was that. All the jolting and sliding off the road and the abrupt halt certainly hurt.” She took in a breath. “No more blame. Let’s get through the drive.” She looked down. “Oh, God, my pants are ruined.” She sniffed. “And I smell.”

“Poor baby.” He waited. “We’ll go back.”

“We can’t. We came in last night to get this investigation on its way.”

“I’m taking you home. We’ll call Coleman and tell him we’ll be delayed. Maybe I’ll go talk to him alone.”

“No.”

In answer, he shifted into gear and began to move. Whitney was too weak to protest. The bump of the tires jarred her, then the road smoothed out. Her eyes closed.

o0o

Bereft again, Max swerved into the driveway of Whitney’s condo and parked in the attached garage, since her car was at work. It had taken three times longer than usual to get back and Whitney slept the whole of it. He got out and circled the trunk to her side.

She roused. Her sleepy eyes lit at the sight of him, then she frowned. “Where are we?”

“At your house.”

“I slept.”

“You did.”

“I…feel better.”

“Good.”

Ducking his torso into the car, Max went to slide his arms under her, but she pushed at his hands. “Don’t. I can walk now.” He stepped back. He listened to what she wanted. She’d confided in him how it bothered her that her cousins, whom she loved dearly, thought they knew what was best for her and told him once she was glad he didn’t do that.

He took her hand as they walked into her condo. She preferred the clean lines of modern décor, evident in the earth-tone colors and no-fuss furniture.

She turned to face him. “Sorry about all this.”

“Not as sorry as I am.”

“I hate being the wilting female.” She rolled her eyes. “But I’ve never been able to control my gut.”

“Remember when I was shot in Ohio. You tossed your cookies as soon as you saw me in my hospital bed.”

“Ah, those were the good times.” She started toward the bedroom. “I’ll go change.”

“Please, rest here while I go talk to Coleman.”

“No. I slept a while and as I said I feel better. I’ll shower. We can get up there by eleven.”

“I wish you’d listen to me.”

“I am listening. I just disagree.”

Her comment brought back the images. They’d had some pretty big professional disagreements—a time or two that he didn’t choose her for an assignment because he feared for her safety, once when he overrode her idea about something that turned out to have been the better option. After those incidents, she’d insisted he admit he was wrong, he begrudgingly did and then they’d had the best sex of their lives.

His gaze turned hot, telling her the memory besieged him, too.

“Don’t look at me that way, Max.” Her tone was tinged with anger. “Ever again.”

He turned away. “Go shower. I’ll fix myself coffee.”

In the kitchen, where Max had spent a lot of his time, as he liked to cook and she didn’t, he switched on the Keurig and went to the window. The snow had increased in volume and heft, and a few inches had collected on the patio. As the fluffy flakes drifted down, he wondered where he would be next January. Certainly not here. By then, he and Angie might be married, have a child on the way. The thought satisfied him, even as the notion of having Whitney completely out of his life sliced him to the core.

But she was right when she said she couldn’t watch as he went on with his life. He’d never ask her to. For a minute, he pictured the reverse. Whitney was gorgeous, and men would flock to her. She’d choose someone else who felt about the future as she did, and she’d have a life with him. He’d make love to her and be the recipient of all that passion and verve Max adored.

Shaking off the thoughts, he crossed to the fridge. Whitney’s calendar was there, and she hadn’t yet turned it to January. He glanced at December. Social things they’d done together. To-do lists on certain dates: Call dentist, lunch with Max’s sister, gyno appointment. He wondered if that was a routine checkup or if something was wrong. Whitney had erratic periods, sometimes having two in one month, sometimes one every three months. She’d gone on the pill for a while, but she’d recently stopped taking it because…he froze. Cocked his head. He scanned all of December. Like many women, she marked her cycle on the calendar so she could keep track. No period. He paged back to November. No period. Same for October. She’d had one in September though, so he knew she recorded the information.

She hadn’t menstruated in three months.

She’d been violently sick to her stomach lately.

She’d gotten dizzy, at least twice. And she was sleepy.

“Max, what are you doing? The coffee’s ready.”

Pivoting, he saw her in a fresh suit and shirt, her hair still damp. She’d probably dried it some, then would probably pull it back in a knot. She hated to fuss with her appearance. Her cheeks had some color.

“Max, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I saw your calendar. You haven’t had your period since September.”

“I know. That’s not unusual.”

“You’ve been sick for days. And dizzy. And exhausted.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You dealt me a pretty big emotional blow.” The words were clipped.

“Or you could be pregnant.”

Her face blanched of color. “No, that’s not possible.”

“Of course it’s possible.”

“Not probable, then. I told you last year Dr. Kline and I talked about pregnancy, my age, my issues with my period. She said if I wanted to have a baby, there were procedures I could do to facilitate that. I told her I never wanted kids anyway, so not to worry.”

“I remember but that’s not exactly scientific proof.”

“It’s scientific enough for me.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he stood before her. “I want you to do a pregnancy test.”

“No!”

“Why?”

“Because, even if I beat those ninety-nine-to-one odds, I wouldn’t have a kid anyway.”

“Even if it was mine?”

“Of course it would be yours. But it’s not happening. Now, let’s go back to Revere.”

He sighed.

“And I won’t talk about this again. Don’t bring it up.”

o0o

Whitney was furious as they headed to Revere. She’d wanted to drive, but Max refused to go to headquarters to get her car. He seemed mad, too.

She’d slipped in a CD of her favorite band, Max’s least favorite, and he snorted. “Really pissed, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Why, because I mentioned something you didn’t want to hear?”

Enough! “No, because you brought up a subject that reminds me of the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“How did I do that?”

“Fuck it, Max. You know what the counselors said. That the impact of having my parents bleed to death all over me for two hours before I was rescued somehow connects with having a child.”

He didn’t apologize. Or say anything.

They went a ways longer and she spat out, “Besides, do you actually think I’d get together with you even if I was pregnant, even if I wanted it, after what has happened between you and Angela behind my back?”

“You’re talking like a wronged lover. We were friends with benefits!”

Had she seen their relationship as more?

A long silence, then, “That was unfair. I’m sorry. I always saw what was between us as more than fucking.” Sometimes, he read her mind. “Like you did.”

She sucked in a breath. “I spoke out of anger, too. But think about what you said. If I was pregnant and by some miracle had a child, I’d always feel that was why you were with me. If you agreed to not having kids, I’d feel guilty about that.”

“What did we expect to happen when we started a personal relationship?” There was exhaustion in his tone.

“We were too hot for each other to consider the future. Somewhere along the line, we became emotionally involved.”

“I guess.”

“So, again, let’s drop all talk of us. We’ll set the rest of the rules as we go along. I won’t be seeing much of you outside the case anyway. And that could be over any day.”

With a heavy heart, Whitney watched out the window until they arrived in Revere. Jake Coleman was in the reception area when they went through the Social Security office door and checked in with the guard. No one had come to work again today and wouldn’t until the bomb stuff had been figured out.

“Hello, there.” Jake seemed pleased to see them. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it out here.”

“The snow’s pretty bad,” Whitney told him.

He studied her. “Are you all right? You’re pale.”

“Long story. But I’m fine.”

“Let’s go back to my office, then.” He put his hand at her back and walked beside her. He sat behind his desk and they took chairs in front of it.

She said, “We have a list of four people we need to discuss with you, identified by our analysts at NTAC.”

“NTAC?”

“The National Threat Assessment Center where we work.” Max added impatiently, “Those people had significant indicators on the profile.”

A slight tightening of his jaw. He steepled his hands. “Who?”

Whitney smiled at him. “You weren’t one, Jake.”

“Of course not. I’d never harm this place.” He gave her an appreciative look. “But I’m glad to hear that. For a lot of reasons.” Clearly, she was one. For a minute, she entertained dating him. Right now, a lock of dark blond hair fell onto his forehead, and his eyes sparkled.

He nodded to Whitney’s tablet. “Who’s on your list?”

“Edgar Hines, claims representative, Abraham James, custodian, Marla Braid, branch manager, Larry Smith, HR manager, Fairfax.”

“You gotta be kidding me. Marla? She’s a softie. And Edgar’s a fixture in the office.”

Whitney shrugged. “We have to follow wherever the data leads us.”

“I suppose. Reporting on my coworkers still doesn’t feel right, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s the process now?”

“We need to hear your insights into these four people. Then we’ll interview them. Finally, we’ll get the warrants for the people we want to investigate further.”

Max had been sitting back, glaring at them. He sat forward, interrupting their one-way conversation. “Let’s start with Edgar Hines.”

“He’s been with Social Security, in this office, for his entire adult life. He’s fifty-four, close to retirement.”

“We know that. His wife recently died.”

“Yeah, a year ago. He was devastated.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “Did he ever come out of the funk?”

“Sure, though he’s got some hang-ups.”

“Like what?”

“He’s made occasional comments about the government being too big for its britches, his words.”

“Interesting.” This from Max. “Any other interests?”

“None that I know of. But Marla might know. She has lunch with him a lot.”

“What about Marla?” Whitney put in.

“As I told you before, she’s divorced, but that was a while ago. She talks about her son some.”

“She doesn’t like his girlfriend.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “How on earth would you know that?”

“Her Facebook page led us to her son’s page and the girlfriend’s next. The teen said some nasty things about Marla.”

“I’ll be damned.”

“And she got a DWI once.”

Coleman scoffed. “I’ll bet one in five people have gotten those.”

“Over a million people a year are arrested for driving under the influence.” Again Whitney quoted the statistic.

“Who else?”

Max leaned back in his chair, but his demeanor was anything but relaxed. “We found a lot of factors for Abdul Jamika.”

“We don’t have anyone here by that name.”

“He changed it to Abraham James.”

“Abe? The custodian?”

“He’s a refugee from Iraq.”

“Seriously? None of that’s on his record.”

“He’s employed by an outside contractor, so he didn’t get the same vetting.” Max read from the tablet this time. “Our people dug deep. He was a banker in Iraq. That’s a pretty big step down.”

“God. I can’t believe this. He lost a child not too long ago and had some difficulty rebounding. I talked to him a lot when it happened.”

“There are other factors.” Whitney read this time. “He’s on medication for rheumatoid arthritis, which means he’s in chronic pain.”

After another half hour of discussion, Max stood. “You’ve got all personnel on standby, right?”

“Yes.”

“Call Hines and ask him to come in.” He glanced at his watch. “And we’ll phone Larry Smith for an appointment.”

“He’s our top HR guy. He might be busy.”

“If he balks, we’ll have our boss call his boss.”

Whitney rose. Jake did too and asked, “What will you do now?”

“Go to the conference room and wait for Hines. Discuss strategy.” He stared hard at Jake. “Remember, what we’ve told you is confidential. If you leak this, it will be a federal crime.”

“So you said.” Jake plopped his hands on his hips. “I’m sick of your innuendo, Agent Blackwell. I’m one of the good guys.”

“You’re not a suspect,” Whitney put in.

Jake angled his chin at Max. “Tell him that.”

Max’s mask was up. He didn’t seem fazed by Jake’s outburst. He started to the door.

Jake said, “Whitney, could I have a moment with you alone?”

“Sure. Max, go to the conference room. I’ll be right out.”

Max’s gaze was piercing, but he left them alone.

Jake turned to her. “I’m cooperating. I would never impede a federal investigation.”

“I believe you. Agent Blackwell is more suspicious than I am. So, what did you want to say to me?”

“When this is over, I wondered if we might have dinner.”

“Um…”

“I like you, Whitney. I want to see you without that man around.”

“Jake, I can’t.”

“Of course you can, when you’re done with all this. There won’t be any conflict of interest then.”

She hesitated.

“Just think about it.”

“I guess I can do that.”

What a mess! Whitney thought as she made her way to the conference room. When she opened the door, she found Max by the window, staring out. His tense shoulders and his stance told her he was fuming. He pivoted at the sound of her entering.

“What did he want?”

She sighed.

“He asked you out, didn’t he?”

She could lie. But they might as well get this settled because he’d find out if she ever did see him. “When this is all over.”

“Well, you’re not going.”

She got pissed at his proprietary stance. He’d dumped her, yet was trying to control her life. “You lost the right on New Year’s Eve to say that, Max. And you know it. I’ll do what I want. Now, I’m leaving to go get a Coke from the vending machine.” She didn’t ask if he wanted anything. She didn’t care.