To Love a Thief

“You’ve just earned yourself a year’s worth of T-bones, pal. And free run of the house for the rest of your life.”

“Jilly will be happy to hear that,” Mackenzie said with her first smile since the bullets had started flying. Only now was the knot at the base of her skull beginning to loosen.

It kinked up again when the squad from the coroner’s office lifted the two corpses onto gurneys and wheeled them out. The carving knife that had gone through the throat of one of the gunmen tented his plastic body bag at neck level.

Adam’s glance sliced to Nick. “Your handiwork?”

“Yes. Mackenzie got the second bastard.”

“Good work, Mac.”

She accepted quiet words of praise with a small nod. She wasn’t one of OMEGA’s highly skilled field operatives, but she’d gone through enough training to hold her own in a tight situation. Hopefully, she’d never find herself in one this tight again!

“Mr. Ridgeway? Dr. Sinclair?”

Maggie and Adam turned to the two detectives, who introduced themselves and produced their credentials. The older and the paunchier of the two addressed Adam.

“I understand you were supposed to receive an award tonight.”

“That’s correct.”

“Was the award publicized?”

“There was mention of it in most of the papers.”

“And on local TV stations,” Maggie added.

The younger detective jotted the information down in his notebook.

“Are you assuming the gunmen knew my wife and I weren’t home?” Adam asked, eyes narrowed.

“We’re not assuming anything right now. Just getting the facts.”

Adam shared a glance with his wife. Mackenzie could see they were beginning to work through the possibilities she and Nick had been discussing since their hearts stopped pumping pure adrenaline and their brains reengaged.

If the attack was specifically timed for after Adam and Maggie left, the gunmen might have been intending to take the girls for ransom. Or exact vengeance against Maggie and/or Adam by destroying their home and family. God knew, both Chameleon and Thunder had taken down their share of scum in their days with OMEGA. Any one of those bastards could have been seeking retribution.

Then again, their target might not have been the girls at all. The gunmen might have been after Nick. Or Mackenzie.

The idea made her swallow. Hard.

She knew they wouldn’t narrow the possibilities until the coroner autopsied the bodies, the police followed up on every lead and OMEGA put its vast resources to work. Mackenzie suspected she had access to more databases than every city, state and Federal agency combined. She’d soon know if either of the scum who burst in tonight with guns blazing had been fingerprinted, DNA tested, given blood or peed into a cup any time in the past twenty years.

They hadn’t.

At least not that Mackenzie could determine. Once she received the autopsy results and crime scene analysis, she spent two frustrating days cross-matching the information with medical, dental and Red Cross databanks. At the same time, she followed convoluted trails to determine the source of both the gunmen’s weapons and clothing.

The first solid break came not from bodily fluids, fiber content or serial numbers, but from the trash littering the back seat of a nondescript gray sedan found abandoned a block or so from Maggie and Adam’s house. The vehicle had been reported stolen weeks ago in Atlanta. The license plates were also hot. But the back seat yielded a veritable treasure trove.

By running the list of fast-food containers and crumpled coffee cups through her computers, Mackenzie was able to plot all franchises selling those products within a fifty-mile radius of D.C. She then suggested the detectives handling the case e-mail pictures of the gunmen to the managers of each franchise. Within twenty-four hours from the time the car was found, they’d established a pattern that centered on Nick.

The gunmen had purchased donuts at a Krispy Kreme three blocks from his house. Bought chili dogs from a vendor located across the street from his pricey restaurant in Chevy Chase. Downed cup after cup of coffee from a Starbucks on Massachusetts Avenue, just around the corner from the Offices of the Special Envoy.

“According to one of the waitresses at this Starbucks,” Mackenzie told Nick in a voice laced with satisfaction, “they made a call on the pay phone located on the premises the morning of the attack.”

Plunking down a list, she hitched a hip on the corner of his desk. She hadn’t bothered with makeup this morning. She rarely did. But the way Nick’s glance shifted when she crossed her legs made her wonder why the heck she’d opted for a white blouse and a slim black skirt with a slit on one side instead of her usual slacks.

Ha! Who was she kidding? She knew why. That damned almost-kiss.

To her consternation, Mackenzie had relived those absurd moments just before the gunmen struck too many times for her own comfort the past few days. Just thinking about the way Nick’s mouth had hovered over hers got her all flustered. And irritated.

Particularly since Nick hadn’t appeared to have spared those breathless moments a second thought. Like Mackenzie, he’d devoted every hour not taken up with his social obligations as special envoy and his duties as OMEGA director to discovering who was behind the attack. She didn’t know how he could work such long hours, juggling so many roles, and look like he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ. Not even Ace’s secure satellite transmission from Saudi a while ago, reporting another dead end on the oil refinery sabotage, had ruffled his composure.

Nor should Mackenzie let him ruffle hers. This was Lightning, for pity’s sake! Her boss. The man she’d sensed could be trouble since her first day at OMEGA. If she had half a brain in her head, she’d go hard astern and put plenty of blue water between them before she made a fool of herself. Again!

Frowning, Mackenzie uncrossed her legs and gave him a rundown on the list. “These are all calls made from the Starbucks the day of the attack. I’ve crossed through the numbers that check to friends or relatives of employees. The rest appear to be calls to doctors’ offices, dry cleaners and the like. All except this one. Europol’s running it now.”

Nick eyed the number. He didn’t need the European Police Office’s aid to identify the country code. It was as familiar to him as his own name.

“The south of France,” he murmured. “From the area designation, I’d say the call was made to the Riviera.”

“You nailed it. It went to a phone booth in the city of Nice, to be exact.”

Images of an azure sea lapping a broad boardwalk and a flower market filled with riotous color flashed into Nick’s mind. He’d only visited Nice a few times. He’d always found the pickings in Cannes to be more than sufficient for his needs.

“It’s beginning to look like someone in Nice wants you dead,” Mackenzie commented, studying his face intently. “Any idea who?”

“No, but I certainly intend to find out. Ask Mrs. Wells to come in on your way out, please. I’ll get her working on travel arrangements, then come upstairs and brief you on the operations I want you to track while I’m gone.”

The vertical line between Mackenzie’s brows deepened. Not two seconds ago, she’d made up her mind to put some blue water between her and Nick. Not, however, an entire ocean. And not when it came to finding out why those bastards had opened fire on her.

“You’re not thinking about jetting off to France without me, are you?”

“There’s no thinking about it.”

Leaning back in his chair, he smoothed a hand down his red-and-navy striped tie. His nails were neat and trimmed, Mackenzie noted, his wrist banded by a thin gold watch. For all his reputed wealth, Nick didn’t go for big or flashy. The memory of how those strong, sure fingers had grazed her chin deepened her frown into a near scowl. Or maybe it was how close their mouths had come to doing a little grazing of their own.

“You weren’t the only one shot at,” she pointed out. “I have a personal stake in finding out who hired those thugs, too.”

“The evidence seems to indicate I was the target.”

“Seems being the operative word.”

Pushing away from his desk, Mackenzie paced the plush Turkish carpet. She’d done a lot of thinking in the past twenty-four hours.

“I did a Mediterranean cruise with the Sixth Fleet during my navy days. We home-ported in Naples, and I took a couple of shore leaves up along the Italian Riviera. Never got to Nice, but it’s only a hop, skip and a jump from San Remo. Maybe I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see. Maybe I listened in on some ship-to-ship communications I wasn’t supposed to hear. This could be about me, Nick, not you.”

“The surveillance pattern you established for the two gunmen says otherwise.”