Chapter 30

Aaron watched as Hope reached up to pull a bottle of red from a wine rack.

"I don't know about you, but I need a drink. Is Ryan always like that?"

"A jackass, you mean?" Aaron grimaced, thinking about the stunt Ryan had pulled on Grady Steel last week. He'd taken his usual overprotectiveness and ramped it up by a factor of a thousand. And he'd totally deserved the ass kicking he'd received on Monday. "Pretty much."

He washed his hands and face in the sink. His nose still throbbed. Hope had caught him at the exact right spot to make his eyes sting and nose bleed. He was grateful she hadn't broken it, and he hadn't gushed blood all over her cream rugs or pale gray couch.

He dabbed the tissue against his upper lip some more, but the wound had clotted, and he could breathe properly.

He took the cloth and tossed it into her washing machine that was in a small utility room off the kitchen. "Want me to run it?"

"Sure. Feel free to throw your T-shirt in too."

He stilled as his imagination kicked into overdrive.

A nervous laugh followed. "That, ah, sounded a bit dubious. Sorry, I meant?—"

"I know what you meant." Unfortunately. "My shirt's okay, thanks." He smiled because anything that made Hope laugh a little was a good thing. He programmed the washer. She'd probably throw the cloth away, but he liked to clean up his own messes.

When he came back, she'd taken her chili bowl and glass of red wine and set up in the dining room. She looked so alone sitting at that big table all by herself.

Even though he knew he shouldn't, he found himself picking up the bowl Ryan had brought for him and setting it down beside her. "Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest. Help yourself to wine."

He watched her take her first spoonful of food as he sat down. He opened his mouth to warn her that Shane Livingstone's idea of spicy was some people's idea of hell.

She blinked, and her eyes started to water. "Oh boy. He wasn't kidding about the heat. Want a glass of water? I'm getting one."

"Sure. Thanks." What he really wanted was a tall, cold beer, but that could wait until he wasn't on duty, which at this rate would be never.

"How is Judge Abbottsford holding up? Do you know?"

"I know Charlie squad have a bigger perimeter to deal with that involves four acres of woods. And there are livestock to take care of." Romano was bitching good-naturedly that Echo squad had drawn the easy assignment. Except Charlie didn't have to deal with the DA's office and court, not to mention reporters every damned day. "Judge is safe enough but sounds like she's a little pissy at the delay in recapturing Leech."

"I know how she feels." Hope placed two glasses of water on the table.

Aaron ate a spoonful of chili and felt his tastebuds explode. It was good though. Livingstone took great pride in his recipe and claimed it had several secret ingredients. Aaron was always happy to taste test for the guy. He knew Shane made a milder version that he supplied to Grace Monteith and her kids.

Grace was the widow of one of their teammates who'd died last month.

Aaron hoped she was doing okay with most of Gold team away from Quantico. She'd lost her husband on the first day of the new year when seven months pregnant. She also had two other kids plus Grady Steel's new rescue dog to take care of. Grady usually pulled his weight, but last week he'd been shot by an old KGB agent, so he had a good excuse.

Kincaid's fiancée, Pip West, had been taking the rescue for a run every day. The people still at Quantico would rally around and make sure Grace had the help she needed, but still Aaron felt bad. It was Gold team's responsibility, their honor, to take care of her the way Scotty would have wanted. He made a mental note to call her later.

He realized, belatedly, that Hope hadn't had that sort of support network. She'd walled herself off instead. The sadness of it hit him all over again.

She'd almost finished her food, and her color was better now than it had been when they'd first arrived back here this afternoon. The self-defense training—while rudimentary—had definitely helped. Nothing like beating up grown men to take your mind off your troubles—in his experience anyway.

He spotted several shelves of hardback books by an author he really liked. Multiple copies of some of the books.

"You must be a big fan." He nodded to the books, but she frowned in confusion. "Frankie O'Malley."

"Oh." Her lips formed a perfect circle, and he found his imagination flaring.

"Yes. Yes, I am." She swallowed. "Kind of."

He tilted his head. "What do you mean? Kind of."

She looked at him then quickly away. "Nothing."

He stared at the books again and thought about the writing craft textbooks he'd spotted in the office upstairs where he was sleeping. "You wrote those books."

"What?" Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew wide in shock.

"And if you're planning to deny it you need to work on your poker face."

She closed her mouth and took a sip of water. Fanned her cheeks which were now bright red. "No one has ever guessed before. I mean, Brendan knows because…well, that's a whole 'nother story."

The more Aaron knew Brendan the less he liked him. He shouldn't let his personal feelings show though. Brendan was her family by marriage, and she obviously cared about the guy. The fact some of Aaron's feelings might stem from some juvenile form of jealousy was something he'd take to his grave.

She inhaled a big breath. "Can you keep it a secret?"

He leaned back in his chair. "I am the soul of discretion."

She put her spoon down, and her hands played nervously in her lap. "I've never told anyone. Ever."

He felt a glow of satisfaction at her confession. "You never told anyone you're a talented bestselling author?" But he didn't understand. "I thought your late husband was the writer?"

"He was." She nodded quickly. "He wrote under a pseudonym. The first three books are all his. I helped him plot and was his first reader, but they are all Danny's work. He had the first ten books in the series all mapped out. He was halfway through book four when Leech…" Shadows crossed her features. "When that sonofabitch murdered him. I couldn't bear for the story to be unfinished, so I worked on it in the evenings. The alternative was losing my mind to grief, so there was that. After the story was finished, I sent it to his agent and told him what I'd done. I never expected them to want to publish the book." She shrugged. "It went from there."

"And no one ever suspected?"

She picked up her spoon and took another bite of chili, licking her lips. "I don't think so. People knew Danny was a writer from an earlier set of books he published under his own name. They didn't do so well, and he sold the Frankie O'Malley books under a pseudonym that he kept anonymous for that reason. The first book was optioned for a movie"—pride filled her voice—"but it never happened."

She had a faraway look in her eyes as she ran a finger up and down her water glass. Then picked up her wine instead and took a large swallow.

"At some point, he would have revealed himself as the writer, but I think he was so focused on getting the books out there. Getting them right. He didn't want to jinx himself."

She looked sad and vulnerable again under the bright lights.

"Writing was a kind of therapy for me." Her eyes flickered. "I could happily kill a few bad guys and get my on-paper revenge." She smiled suddenly. "You can bet your ass Frankie is going to knock someone out using the heel of her hand."

"Glad my pain can be of use to the arts." He took a sip of water. "It was a heel palm strike, by the way."

Her eyes shone as she grinned. "Good to know. Thank you. And, again, sorry."

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "How did Brendan figure it out?"

"Oh. God. In typical Brendan style, he pitched a fit when he heard Danny's book was being released because he knew Danny was only halfway through writing it when he died. Brendan and I both advised Danny on police procedural and legal stuff. Brendan rushed over here the way he does sometimes and told me he was going down to New York to ‘talk' to the publisher." She rolled her eyes. "Told me to threaten them with legal action or else he would. I had no choice but to tell him the truth and swear him to secrecy because by then, they'd offered me another contract." She shrugged and Aaron found himself distracted by the outline of her lacy bra visible through her cream blouse.

He cleared his throat and covered the way his skin heated by eating another spoonful of chili. "I think it's remarkable. I'm genuinely a big fan."

"You read them?"

He nodded.

She laughed self-consciously and blushed a little. "It feels weird that anyone beside my agent or Brendan knows." Her eyes widened and her eyes shot to the bookcase. "Do you think the others will guess?"

"They might. Kincaid's fiancée is a writer too. She was a journalist before." He caught the look in those worried silver moon eyes. "They won't say anything. You can trust us, you know."

"It's been a long time since I trusted anyone."

He reached out and took her fingers in his. Squeezed gently.

She swallowed but didn't withdraw her hand. In fact, she held on tight.

Suddenly, they were staring into each other's eyes, and he didn't want to look away, and he didn't want to destroy this fragile moment by asking her what she wanted or what any of it meant.

He was in charge of her protection.

Nothing else should be on his mind. Not how good it would be to undo the silky buttons on her blouse. Not finding the source of that sweet vanilla scent. Not the thought of her hands on his feverish skin.

Footsteps on the stairs had him quickly withdrawing, but those questions pressed down on him.

He looked across as Seth Hopper entered the room. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." His eyes scanned the two of them sitting there together.

Fuck.

Aaron hated what he didn't see in the man's blank expression. "Ryan brought us some chili. You want me to go fetch you some?"

Seth shook his head. "I was thinking of going for a run before I eat, but the weather sucks. Do you think your neighbors would mind if I used the running machine in their apartment, Hope?"

"They wouldn't mind. They're lovely people, and I'm going to have to find them a suitable gift for when they come home next weekend. Maybe a Mercedes."

They all laughed, knowing she was joking.

Aaron wanted to believe this would all be over by then, especially as they needed to be out of here by Tuesday night, for thirty-six hours at least.

But Leech wasn't some madman running around in the woods. He had resources and people who'd help him evade the authorities. Aaron hoped local agents had Eloisa Fairchild staked out tonight because he was convinced someone else had been upstairs in her house earlier today. Someone with two legs, not four.

Maybe Aaron should go for a run. Get rid of the unsettled itchy feeling that plagued him.

Seth tipped his head in thanks and took a step back. "I'll grab my gear. Thanks again for the use of your bedroom. A little privacy is a wonderful thing."

"How is Zoe?" asked Hope.

Seth looked surprised.

Aaron raised his hands in denial.

"What, you think I can't google the name of the Vice President's daughter?" Hope backed off at Seth's obvious discomfort. "She's pretty. And I promise I won't tease you anymore."

Seth's eyes glinted. "Maybe you'll get to meet her someday."

Hope's wide mouth pulled to one side. "I don't run in those circles."

"Neither did I." Seth sent Aaron a loaded look before he jogged away to get changed.

Aaron ignored the guy. Reminded himself this was a job, and that job meant no fantasizing about the principal naked. She wasn't going to be interested in a guy like him. Not really. He pushed back his chair. Collected the empty dishes as he stood. "I'll rinse these and return them downstairs. Let you get on with your evening."

"Thank you for that. You have been the best houseguest I've ever had—you've also been the only houseguest I've ever had." She looked a little embarrassed by her attempt at humor. She cleared her throat. "I have no exciting plans for the evening." She hesitated. "If you wanted to stay, that would be all right…" She looked away, clearly unsure of his reaction.

His pulse gave a little skip, but he calmed himself down. Hope wasn't the sort of woman to be hitting on a guy like him. "I'd be happy to stay, but I need to go talk to the guys. And then I want to read some more case files before I get some sleep."

"Of course. Of course, you have work to do, and you must be exhausted." Uncertainty, and what looked like disappointment, flashed over her features.

Had that been a come on that he'd completely misread? He'd opened his mouth to say something that would probably get him fired when her cell rang.

She reached over to where it lay on the table. Pulled a face. "Sleazy Beasley. I wonder what he wants."

Aaron turned away to give her the illusion of privacy even though he was listening to every word.

"What can I do for you, Jeff?" Her gasp had him turning. "Aaron. Quickly." She hurried toward him and showed him the screen.

It was dark but he could see Jeff Beasley slumped against a white-painted brick wall, his face contorted with pain.

She fiddled with the volume.

"Is it a video call or a video message?"

"I don't know. A call I think."

He touched his finger to her lips and caught her gaze to remind her whoever was on the other end could hear them too.

Eyes massive, she nodded.

"Jeff, can you talk to me? Are you okay?"

The videographer pulled back slowly until they revealed a pool of blood spreading over Jeff's white shirt.

"Jeff, where are you? Can you tell me?"

The man's eyes flickered briefly.

Aaron moved away out of earshot. Called Frazer. The man picked up immediately despite probably being in a fancy restaurant. "Jeff Beasley has been attacked. Someone is sending Hope a video call of him right this very second."

"I'll call Parker. See if he can track down the position. The call will be being recorded."

Aaron looked over to Hope, whose face was stricken.

"They hung up. But I think I know where Jeff is." She hurried to the door to pull on her boots.

"Where?"

"Downtown. An alley near his firms' offices. I'll show you."

"I'm not letting you get anywhere near potential danger, Hope."

Her eyes glinted with fire as she turned to him. "He's still alive. And I'm not asking permission."

"Anything?" he asked Frazer.

"Not yet. Parker is heading to his computer to triangulate, but it will take time now the UNSUB has hung up."

Hope had pulled on a black puffer jacket. He could force her to stay here, but he'd lose any trust he might have built, and she'd hate him for it.

Rule number one. Never get emotionally involved with a principal.

Hell. He'd smashed that one into a thousand tiny pieces.

He pulled the comms unit from his pocket and put it in his ear. "Alpha team. I want both cars brought around front immediately. Possible victim downtown, and we are going to check it out."

He strode down the stairs and found everyone in motion.

Livingstone shot a surprised glance when he spotted Hope. Dropped his voice for Aaron alone. "We're taking the principal to a possible active crime scene?"

"She thinks she knows where he is, and frankly, that's the best we have right now in terms of locating the vic."

"It's an alley near Beasley's offices, but I can't remember the exact address. I'll know it when I see it." Hope sounded genuine, but he wasn't so sure.

He went into the downstairs apartment, grabbed his ballistics vest and raid jacket.

"Ryan, I need a couple of your guys on duty here until we get back. The others get some rest while you have the chance. It's gonna be a long night."