Page 22 of Long Past Deadly

She played the only card she had. “How long do you want to wait for this information?”

He tipped his head, irritation in his gaze and stubbornness in the set of his shoulder.

“I’ll be asleep within five minutes in the car. These drugs they gave me are going to knock me out. So unless you want to wait for twelve hours while I sleep, you best tell me.”

Quaid huffed. The man had a serious attachment to control.

She raised her brows and gave him her most exasperated stare.

He took her board back and slowly wiped away the words.

He wrote – “I think you know him. I think he knows you. I think this whole mess is about you, not me.”

“I told you it wasn’t.”

“You’re wrong.”

She put energy she didn’t have into controlling her angry response. “Why? How did you decide this?”

He erased the board again. “Absence of information on my side, and investigations never work well if you ignore half the equation.”

“Show me the picture.” She could be stubborn, too.

He erased the statements and put the board aside. Going to the curtain, he talked to Mackey. Back with his partner’s phone, Quaid searched a minute, then turned the phone to her. “Parking lot,” he mouthed to her.

She studied the image. Shadowed with no clear view of the man’s face, she still took the time to memorize the image. “This could be anyone.”

“Yes.” He took the phone back and scrolled again. “Hotel kitchen.”

“Where he planted the bomb?”

“Yes.”

She took the phone and saw the picture. Her chest balled into a tight wad of anxiety. Panic bloomed in an uncontrolled spin leaving her breathless. The eyes of her nightmare stared back at her.

Shit.

Chapter Five

While Alanna had been at Quantico with only a hope of making the final FBI roster, she’d gone through mandatory therapy. She’d opened up to the savvy, grandmotherly therapist and accepted the miracle of finding someone who understood her journey to not let the bad guys win. The practical grounding in those therapy sessions was the only thing anchoring her through the initial flash of panic and terror.

Quaid took her hand. “I’m here. You can identify him?”

She wanted to pull her hand back, but his touch and the comfort from the simple handholding kept her on the safe side of a precipice.

“Lani, talk to me.”

She let go of the phone, and it dropped in her lap. Within seconds the screen shut off, thank the saints.

“Holy God,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. But that was worse. His face tumbled through the pathways of her memories, sparking moments she had trapped tight in a dark corner of her mind. She opened her eyes to stop the roll of unchecked violence that made her nauseous. Where was her disassociating persona when she needed it?

Quaid’s fierce, protective expression made tears pool in her eyes.

“Tell me.” She had no problem reading his lips and should have bristled at the command, but she tightened her hold on his hand.

It meant sharing a part of her life she never talked about. To anyone except Whit. Did this have to do with why Whit disappeared?

“Yes, I know him.” There wasn’t even a thought of lying. The bastard had shot at her and almost hit Quaid. Some assassin. She was going to kill the motherfucker. She knew how this time.