Deliver Us from Evil Page 17

  “Why don’t you let me help you? Lincoln can carry your crutches for you.”

  No matter how much she wanted to walk on her own, she knew she couldn’t without help. Nor did she want to move out of his embrace. She leaned against him.

  All too soon for her liking, they reached the conference area, and Roark released her. His boss motioned for her and Lincoln to sit across the long table from him, Roark, and two men in suits.

  She grasped the edge of the wooden table, a strange sensation swarming in the pit of her stomach. Putting her hand under the table, she grabbed Lincoln’s. Why was she so nervous? She’d endured many debriefs with the Coast Guard. Why was this one different?

  Because Roark was there, watching and listening? Something about him made her nervous, but it had nothing to do with the rescue and everything to do with attraction.

  The red-haired man pushed a button on a recorder, then shoved it in front of her. “I’m Chief Marshal Gerald Demott. This is the debriefing interview with Brannon Callahan and Lincoln Vailes.”

  She licked her lips again and squeezed Lincoln’s hand tighter.

  “First, Ms. Callahan and Mr. Vailes, we need to inspect your service weapons and bullets.”

  Brannon and Lincoln laid their guns on the table. A marshal took them both and left. Mr. Demott continued. “He’ll bring them back to you before we’re done. Now we need you to tell us what happened in regard to this search-and-rescue mission. From the beginning until you landed here tonight.”

  “Well, I saw the news report of the harvested heart on the local station. Being aware of the approaching blizzard, I tracked the course the helicopter would make, realized it would never make it, and decided to go up in my Dolphin to check things out.”

  Demott held up his hand. “What made you think they’d never make it?”

  “Well, the wind currents over the Great Smoky Mountains can be quite dangerous in normal weather, and a Bell can’t withstand all the updrafts from the blizzard.” She shrugged. “I just figured if that bird did go down and I was already in the air, the rescue would be faster.”

  The debriefing continued until both statements were completed and the marshal returned their handguns to them. Brannon felt as if it’d taken a lifetime, yet she enjoyed staying in close proximity to Roark.

  The conference room door swung open, hitting the wall behind it. A tall, wiry man rushed into the room, leaned over, and whispered into Demott’s ear. Whatever he said, it wasn’t news the chief marshal wanted to hear. His face contorted into a grimace and he nodded.

  The newcomer strode from the room while Demott stood. “We’ll have to get these typed up and your signatures later.”

  The other marshals in the room clamored to their feet. “What is it?” Roark asked.

  “The witness is dead.”

  Brannon’s heart free-fell to her feet. “W-what? How? We got the heart here in time.”

  Demott ran his hand over his red hair and sighed. “He died in surgery before they could even do the transplant.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Saturday, 7:45 p.m.

  Parkwest Medical Center

  Knoxville, Tennessee

  WARREN TIGHTENED HIS KENNETH Cole tie, straightened his suit jacket, and adjusted his cuff links. He loved having money and all that it provided him. Made him elite. Focus, that’s what he needed. No slipups could be allowed. He would master the outcome. Hadn’t his father drilled into his head that the son of Colonel McGovern was meant for great things?

  “Congressman, the marshals are entering the meeting, sir, and the surgeon is on his way.” Kevin stood a little taller as he sidled up next to Warren in the hospital’s men’s room.

  Taking a step back to free his personal space, he frowned at Kevin. “Tell them I’m on my way and not to start the meeting without me.”

  Kevin spun on his heel to do Warren’s bidding. As he lifted his hand to turn the doorknob, Warren stopped him with another order. “Additionally, as soon as you deliver that message, call all the media back out. I intend to hold a press conference as soon as the meeting is concluded.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that, sir? I mean, won’t the FBI and marshals do that?”

  How dare his aide question him? Warren straightened his shoulders, fighting not to show his displeasure. “I know what I’m doing, son. I’ll be the one making the announcements. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kevin pushed open the door and fled.

  Warren appraised his appearance a final time, smiled at himself in the mirror, then marched from the bathroom.

  On the short walk to the conference room, he went over the questions he wanted posed in the meeting. He drew in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled and pushed open the door.

  Agents from various government agencies milled about the room, some standing and chatting among themselves, others sitting at the table with heads bent as they whispered back and forth. Warren cleared his throat and glared at the woman in a dirty park ranger’s uniform sitting near the head of the conference table. Her eyes appeared glazed, as if she’d been crying. Who was she, and what was she doing in the meeting?

  Before he could ask, the door whooshed open, and the surgeon trudged into the room, still decked out in surgical scrubs and cap. He ran a hand over his chin. “I’m sorry to say that Mr. Wilks’s heart wasn’t strong enough to withstand the anesthesia. Time of death was 6:10.”

  Of course he’d died—didn’t hospitals kill people? Warren’s beloved mother had been a victim of such incompetence.

  “Did he ever regain consciousness?” Demott asked.

  “No.” The surgeon’s pager sounded over the deafening silence in the room. He glanced down at the number. “I hate to cut this short, but I have another surgery. I’m truly sorry we couldn’t perform the surgery.”

  “When will we have the official report?” Special Agent in Charge Greg Daly asked.

  “You’ll receive a copy by Wednesday at the latest. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run.”

  After the doctor rushed out the door, chaos erupted, everyone talking at once.

  Warren pushed off the wall and whistled. All attention turned to him, and silence prevailed. “We need to decide the next course of action, gentlemen.” He let his gaze settle on the woman’s face. “And lady.”

  She gave a curt nod.

  Warren looked over to the SAC. “Have the decoders come up with anything useful from the papers recovered from the witness?”

  Greg Daly dabbed at his forehead with a cloth handkerchief. “Not yet. The only thing we know for certain is the account numbers are to a bank in the Cayman Islands. No information on whose names those accounts were in.”

  “Anything more come up on Wilks?” Warren would be relentless. This might be his only time to get information. And he needed that information.

  “Not directly.” The SAC pulled at files to read. “Autopsy report on his wife came back with some interesting toxicology labs. Traces of DCA, CV247, and ABT-737 were detected.”

  “And those are?”

  “Cancer treatment drugs.”

  Warren shrugged. “Not so interesting when the woman died of cancer.”

  “She hadn’t been under a physician’s care in more than five years, Congressman. And those medications are still in trials.”

  “That means?”

  Daly shook his head. “She was taking some sort of black-market cancer cocktail.”

  “Which Wilks would require quite a bit of money to afford for those five years. That’s why it appeared he lived within his means.” Warren nodded.

  “The rescue team has recovered the three bodies.” A junior FBI agent flipped papers. “They’re on the way to the hospital now. We’ll identify the shooters and see what we can find out there.”

  Warren sh
ifted his gaze to Demott. “Do you have anything?”

  Demott’s jaw jutted out, and the tips of his ears turned an interesting shade of red. “No offense, Congressman, but this is a law enforcement situation. I don’t think we should be sharing information with every Tom, Dick, or Jane.”

  “Then what’s she doing in here?” Once more Warren tilted his head toward the woman sitting at the table.

  Demott cleared his throat. “These are national park rangers Brannon Callahan and Lincoln Vailes. They were the rescue team who delivered the heart.”

  “What right do they have to be here? Yet you question my presence when I sit on the Coalition?” Warren folded his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at the marshal. What were they trying to keep hidden? From him? Or from the public?

  A man stood suddenly, his chair shoving back so fast it made a horrid scraping sound against the floor. His hands balled into fists at his side as he scowled at Warren. “They have a lot more reason to be here than you do, Congressman.”

  “Ah yes, you must be the marshal who delivered the heart.” He fisted his hands on his hips. “It’s a shame you didn’t get the heart here quicker—our witness may have stood a better chance had the surgery been performed earlier.” Rule number ten—detract attention from yourself by instigating someone already appearing to be on the edge.

  “My name is Roark Holland, and yes, I’m the marshal who delivered the heart.” He took a step forward, his muscular build invading Warren’s personal space.

  Warren scrambled backward. Maybe he’d goaded the wrong man this time. “I need to know what information we’re going to release to the media.”

  “The media?” Daly bolted to his feet. “I don’t think we need to alert the media to any more details.”

  “The press knew the surgery was going to take place. We can’t put them off.” Warren took another side step away from Roark, who still looked as if he’d like to rip Warren’s head off.

  “Whose fault is that, Congressman?” Demott drew to his feet as well.

  The SAC held out his hand. “This is still an ongoing FBI investigation. We can’t release information that could compromise our case, especially not to the media.”

  “We can’t just leave them in the dark.” Warren crossed his arms again. “We need to make some kind of statement.”

  Holland looked ready to pounce. Demott laid a hand on the younger marshal’s arm, tightening his fingers around the man’s bicep. Then the chief marshal glared at Warren. “If this case is compromised, we’ll never catch these scumbag child traffickers.”

  Warren opened his mouth to spout off another argument, only to have the woman stagger to her feet. “Excuse me. I realize I’m not working this case or anything, but what I do know is there is still someone out there involved in this ring. I think someone should try to find that person. Maybe then you’ll get some answers.”

  The agents and marshals began discussing their options, while the woman’s gaze burned into his flesh. Making a mental note to do a little checking on her, Warren slipped out of the conference room.

  Saturday, 8:10 p.m.

  Parkwest Medical Center

  Knoxville, Tennessee

  ROARK CLENCHED HIS JAW, fighting to control his anger. The stuffy and pretentious congressman had some nerve, insinuating he belonged in the meeting and Brannon didn’t. She’d put her life at risk to save them, as well as to get the heart back to the hospital. For the jerk to have implied it was their fault the witness died . . . It made his blood boil. He saw the censure in Demott’s eyes, and Roark let out his breath in a huff.

  He turned back to the congressman, but the man was gone. In the burst of excitement, he’d snuck out. Roark nudged his boss. “Sir, the congressman is gone.”

  “Probably making statements to the press. Time for damage control,” the Special Agent in Charge said as he rushed from the room, a group of FBI agents dogging him.

  “I guess they’ll handle McGovern.” Demott ran his hand over his face. “I don’t like that man.”

  Roark nodded. “There’s something suspicious about him, boss. He’s much too interested in this case for a normal politician.”

  “Well, he sits on that committee our Justice Department set up to oversee the child-trafficking reports.” Demott shrugged. “I guess he’s worried about the reelection factor.”

  “I think there’s more to his interest than that.” Roark turned his attention to the movement at the end of the room.

  Lincoln held Brannon’s elbow, assisting her to her feet. He pushed the crutches at her. She grimaced but took them. Lincoln turned his back to her, and Brannon stuck her tongue out at him. Roark bit back a chuckle.

  “So what do you want us to do?” Lincoln rounded the table and addressed the two marshals.

  “Let me see if I can find someone to type up your statements. All we’ll need is your signatures, then you can wash your hands of this.” Demott stuck his head out the door, whistling, then speaking in muffled tones.

  “Can the ring be busted without the witness?”

  Brannon’s soft tone startled him. “We can always hope the departments working on the paperwork will get a break.”

  “That’s it? That’s the only way these . . . these child abusers will be busted?”

  “It’s in the hands of the FBI field agents.” Roark shifted his weight from one foot to the other. How could he explain it to her when he, himself, couldn’t understand the invisible lines drawn between government law enforcement agencies?

  “So these men will get away with exploiting innocent children? That’s just wrong.”

  “I know. My boss has assigned me to the follow up on the case, but until more evidence is uncovered, our hands are pretty much tied.”

  Chirp! Brring! Chirp!

  Lincoln lifted a cell phone from his jacket and pushed it against his ear. “Hello.”

  Roark assessed Brannon as she stood beside her partner. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, making a slight hissing noise. His arms twitched as he recalled how it felt to hold her close, so close he could feel her heartbeat.

  Lincoln flipped the phone closed and glanced at Brannon. “That was Steve. He’s sending the new pilot to pick us up.” He glanced at his watch. “ETA in about ten minutes.” He looked to Roark. “We need to get up to the landing pad. Can we sign our statements later?”

  They were leaving—she was leaving. Why did his heart feel like a giant vise had it in its grip and was tightening it with every passing second? He knew he’d have to say good-bye. He just wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  Demott returned his attention to Lincoln. “You say your ride is on its way?”

  “Yes, sir. A helicopter is en route as we speak. We really need to rest, sir. We’ve been up for more hours than I care to count. Can we please reschedule the review of our statements?”

  “Okay, okay. We can set up an appointment to conclude everything sometime next week, I suppose.” Demott glanced over at Roark.

  Still staring at Brannon, Roark wanted to shout, “No, they can’t delay the statements. It has to be done now”—anything to keep her from leaving. She turned those intoxicating eyes on him, and his soul rocked full force from their penetrating impact. “Yeah, I suppose,” he mumbled, yet never took his eyes off her.

  “Great. You know where to reach us.” Lincoln grabbed Brannon’s crutches, maneuvering to offer her full support.

  That strange sensation jabbed in Roark’s gut again. Jealousy. Envy. He clenched his jaw muscles. He knew nothing was between Lincoln and Brannon except their friendship.

  And then she smiled at him. “I just wanted to say it was a pleasure to have met you.”

  Did he detect a hint of disappointment in her expression? Hope surged. Facing his boss, Roark lifted a single brow. “I’ll escort them to the roof.”
/>
  Demott stared at him a moment, then a slow grin pushed across his ruddy face. “Okay. Meet you back here.”

  Roark turned and pulled Brannon against him. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her partner, silently daring Lincoln to try to take her away from him.

  Lincoln’s eyes widened, then he gave a slight nod. “Why don’t you guys head on up? I need to, uh, stop by the restroom. I’ll bring the crutches with me.”

  Tilting her head, Brannon studied Lincoln. “Are you sure? We can wait for you.”

  “No, it’ll take you longer. I’ll be right behind you.” He stared at Roark, his meaning clear in his eyes.

  Roark mouthed “thank you,” then led Brannon toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

  They moved little by little, as Brannon favored her injured leg, but Roark didn’t mind. He knew once she got on that helicopter and headed back to the ranger station, he’d lose someone special.

  Had it really only been a little over a day since he’d met her?

  He wanted nothing more than to get to know her better. On a much more personal level. Even though they didn’t live too far from each other, they would both get back to their normal lives and wouldn’t build on the friendship they’d begun. The realization saddened him.

  Shoving open the door to the roof, cold air slammed against them, pushing them backward. He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and turned her to face him.

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, undoing Roark. The tip of her tongue darted out from between her chapped lips. A spiral of intense yearning tugged at him. His body moved of its own accord. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against hers.

  Heat wrapped around him, taking control of his senses. Roark pulled her close, wrapping his hand in her hair. He was right—it was as soft as silk against his calloused palms.

  She sighed against his mouth, drawing him deeper into infatuation with her. Then honor shoved to the forefront of his brain. He stiffened and ended the kiss. Her eyes, glazed over, blinked up at him. The delicate skin around her mouth reddened from the stubble on his face, making him want to kiss her all over again.