"The police are coming," she said.

  "Are the police going to arrest me?" Whitney asked.

  "No. I'm taking you into my custody," she said decisively. "We'll get you into a safe house tonight." She called Ops to report what had happened and request a safe house. She was given the address of an apartment in Midtown and was assured that two agents would meet her there as soon as they could. In the meantime, she needed to deal with the police.

  She greeted the officers when they got out of the car. She wasn't familiar with either of them, which made everything easier. While she spoke with them, Max kept a protective eye on Whitney.

  He'd put his gun away, and she didn't want to explain who he was, so she let them think he was also FBI. Fortunately, her badge, the lack of injuries, and the damage from the gunfire being contained to Whitney's car and garage door gave the officers little to be interested in. After her explanation, they left.

  Max grabbed Whitney's suitcase and put it in the back seat next to her, while Kara slid into the passenger seat and gave Max the address for the safe house. Then they headed back into the city.

  Whitney seemed in shock, an endless rain of tears pouring down her face, and hiccupping sobs racking her body. She seemed genuinely terrified and upset, but Kara had little compassion for her. She'd sold out her boss to pay off a gambling debt, and she didn't believe for one second Whitney hadn't suspected something was going to happen. Maybe the thought hadn't occurred to her until she was standing in that building, but her instinct had told her to run, and if she hadn't, she might have ended up like James Cooper.

  Turning in her seat, she asked her again, "Tell me again exactly what Cal said to you, Whitney."

  "I already told you."

  "He said he wanted James to understand that consequences can be painful. What do you think he meant? Was he talking about revenge?"

  "I actually thought he was talking about me, about having to pay for my losses, for the advances in cash Elias had given me so I could keep playing."

  "But he wasn't talking about you; he was talking about James," she said.

  "I see that now."

  "Do you know Samantha Barkley?" Max interjected.

  "I know a Samantha who works out at the gym. I think that might have been her last name. She's a lawyer."

  "She's actually a federal prosecutor, and she was injured in a bomb blast at a café on Monday," Kara said.

  Whitney stared at her in confusion. "Are you saying that Cal did that, too?"

  "Pretty sure he did," she replied. "What do you know about Cal? Do you know his last name? Where he works? Where he lives?"

  "I just know he works with Elias, and he sometimes helps with the poker games. I don't think I ever heard his last name. And I have no idea where he lives. He's kind of creepy, super tall, and had mean, cold eyes that match his black hair." Whitney paused. "He has a faint accent. I'm not sure where it's from."

  "Who else plays in the games?" Max asked.

  "There are two groups: people who have money, and people who look good. And there are men and women in both groups. That's how I got in. Elias said they needed some single ladies who knew how to play."

  "Was there more involved in these games than just poker?" she asked. "Were you supposed to entertain some of the other players in a more private way?"

  "No," Whitney said. "I just played cards and flirted a little, mostly to throw the men off their game. I like to win. And it's hard to stop when I'm not winning. I keep thinking I'll get it all back on the next hand."

  "Is your ex-boyfriend part of this group?"

  "No. And why are you asking me about him?"

  "Wondering if he knows Cal or Elias," she asked.

  "I started going to the gym after we broke up. He plays with a different crowd and mostly online." Whitney took a ragged breath. "What's going to happen to me?"

  "We're going to put you in a safe place for a few days. You'll answer a lot more questions, and the more help you give us, the easier things will go for you."

  "I never thought James was going to die," she said as she burst into tears again.

  Kara glanced at Max, whose hard profile didn't show any hint of compassion for the woman in the back seat, and she couldn't blame him. Whitney wasn't innocent. She'd walked her boss into the closet that had gotten him killed. But they needed Whitney to keep talking. Now that she'd confirmed Elias and Cal had worked together, along with Jonas Cray, they were getting a better idea of who was involved in the bombings, but the why was still to be answered.

  When they arrived at the doorman-controlled building, they received a key and a unit number. Then they took Whitney up to the eighteenth floor. The one-bedroom apartment was small and furnished with the basics: a couch, coffee table, and TV in the living room, a small kitchen, a bedroom with a queen-sized bed, and an adjacent bathroom. The windows didn't open, and there were no buildings or windows facing them. The doorman and security manager provided an extra layer of security, but there would be an agent outside the door and one in the apartment with Whitney.

  "This isn't bad," Max commented as Whitney went into the bathroom. "I assume your team is sending someone over."

  "Not sure if it's my team or someone from 26 Fed. I guess we're working together now because there are multiple crime scenes. What do you think about Whitney's story?"

  "She has a gambling addiction. She sold her boss out for money, and now she's worried that decision might cost her life."

  "It might have if we hadn't gotten there before Cal."

  "She's lucky you tracked her down tonight."

  "I never should have let her leave the hospital."

  "I find regrets to be a waste of energy, Kara. You do what you do with the information you have. Second-guessing won't make you feel better or change anything."

  "You're very pragmatic, Max."

  "I've been down the same road more times than I can count."

  He understood the challenges of her job, probably because they were like those he'd faced in the CIA, although she suspected they were very different, too. Her phone rang. Tyler was on the line.

  "Do you ever just go home and go to bed?" he asked dryly. "I thought that was the plan earlier."

  "I started looking into Whitney and found ties between her and Forge Fitness. I couldn't wait until tomorrow to talk to her. And it was a good thing I didn't."

  "Your instincts were on the money," Tyler agreed. "Damon is sending two agents from his team to take turns watching over her tonight. They should be there shortly."

  "Okay, good. I'll wait here until they come."

  "Are you on your own, or is Malone with you?"

  "He's here, too. By the way, Max told me that Dominic is not tied to Wexler Properties, but he has worked with James Cooper on several of his buildings."

  "That's interesting."

  "Maybe. I'm not sure it matters." She gave him a brief recap of what Whitney had told her and suggested they focus on Costa in the morning.

  "I'll see you at the office," he said. "Try not to get into any more trouble tonight."

  "I'll try." She walked over to the bathroom door and gave a knock. "Whitney, is everything all right?"

  A moment later, the door opened, and Whitney came out, her eyes and nose red and swollen. "Am I really going to be safe here?" she asked.

  "Yes, you will be." She'd no sooner said the words when she got a text that the agents were on their way up. A moment later, there was a knock at the door.

  Whitney jumped and moved back toward the bathroom door.

  "It's your protection. Don't worry." She walked over to the door, checked the peephole first, and saw their badges before she opened the door to a male and female agent, who introduced themselves as Agents Capwell and Young.

  After introductions were made and assurances were given to Whitney, she and Max left the apartment with Agent Young, who had put a chair next to Whitney's door. The other agent would remain inside for the first shift, and then they would switch.

  They made their way downstairs and into Max's vehicle. He quickly pulled away from the curb, arriving at her building a short time later. It was after midnight now, and the street was quiet. She thought he would keep the engine running and drop her off, but he insisted on parking and coming inside to check her apartment.

  "I can take care of myself," she told him as they walked up to her door.

  "I know. But two pairs of eyes are better than one," he said as he scanned the street.

  She unlocked the door to her building and then made her way into the hall and unlocked her apartment door. She could take care of herself, but it was rather nice to have him by her side as she flipped on the lights. Her apartment was so small it took only a few minutes to search, and everything was exactly as she'd left it.

  "It's all good," she said

  "Yeah," he muttered, his words not matching the frown on his face.

  "You can go now."

  "I don't think so."

  "What?" she asked in surprise.

  "I believe it was Cal who tried to run us down the other night, who shot at us a few hours ago, and also saw us at the scene of the blast earlier today."

  "Was that today?" she asked wearily. "It feels like we've lived a year in the past few hours."

  "I agree, but my point is Cal knows we're on his tail. We're getting to potential witnesses either right before him or right after him."

  "So he might want to slow us down."

  "Or take us out. I think we should stay together. I'll sleep on your couch."

  She thought about his offer, wondering why she liked it so much. She'd always been fiercely independent and worked hard to be a strong woman in a dangerous field. She would usually have said no to his idea before he'd finished the last word. But she didn't want to say no. She wanted to say yes to him. And that made a shiver run down her spine.

  His gaze darkened as if he'd just read her mind, which maybe he had, because they had gotten incredibly close in a very short amount of time.

  "Kara?" There was a question in his voice, and she didn't think it really had anything to do with sleeping on her couch.

  But she couldn't say yes to anything else. She probably shouldn't even say yes to that, except she really wanted to. She liked the idea of him being close by.

  "Nothing is going to happen," he said, filling the silence.

  "I know that. I don't want anything to happen."

  "Well, I do want something to happen, but not tonight, not like this…"

  Her breath came faster at his admission. "You really should go home. I'll be fine."

  "You will be fine. But I'd just like to make sure that we're both fine."

  "I'm not going to believe you're afraid to go home alone."

  He smiled. "Is that a yes?"

  "Yes," she said, the word slipping off her tongue before she could stop it. "I'll get you a blanket and a pillow."

  She disappeared into her bedroom and came back a moment later. "I'll say goodnight. Help yourself to anything you want or need." She flushed as his gaze glittered with amusement. "I mean…you know what I mean."

  "It's going to happen one day," he said confidently. "You and me."

  "I don't think so."

  "Yes, you do," he said.

  "Goodnight, Max." She had to get out of this room before that one day turned into tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday morning, Kara emerged from her bedroom, showered and dressed in dark jeans and a blazer, her hair still damp. She'd managed maybe three hours of broken sleep, her mind cycling through Whitney's confession, Cal's cold efficiency, and thoughts of Max sleeping only a few feet away from her.

  The smell of coffee hit her first.

  Max was in her kitchen, two bagels in the toaster, a container of cream cheese open on the counter, fresh coffee already brewed. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes—dark pants and a button-down that was slightly rumpled now—but he looked more rested than she felt.

  "You went out?" she asked. "Because I know I didn't have bagels."

  He glanced up, and something in his expression softened when he saw her. "Deli on the corner."

  The gesture caught her off guard. It was unexpectedly thoughtful, almost domestic. She wasn't used to anyone being in her space like this, making coffee, buying her breakfast.

  "Thanks," she said, meaning it.

  The toaster popped. Max plated the bagels and brought them to her small kitchen table. They sat across from each other, and for a moment it felt oddly normal—two people having breakfast together, starting their day.

  Max took a sip of coffee. "Sleep at all?"

  "Not much. You?"

  "Same."

  They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Kara spread cream cheese on her bagel, aware of him watching her.

  "What's your plan today?" Max asked.

  "Back to the safe house first thing. Get Whitney's full statement on record—everything we can use." She took a bite, swallowed. "Then the office. Dig into James Cooper's life and his inspection history. Figure out what he did that needed consequences."

  "And how he possibly ties to Samantha Barkley," he added. "I need to check in with Dominic, see how she's doing."

  "Don't talk to him about Whitney," she said, realizing how much information Max had that he could share with Dominic.

  Anger ran through his eyes. "Do you think I'd do that?"

  "You do work for him."

  "That doesn't mean I'd protect him if he's guilty of something. He buys my services, not my undying loyalty."

  "That hasn't always been my experience. I doubt it's been yours. We both know that loyalty can be bought along with a lot of other things."

  He gave her a long look, then tipped his head. "Fair point. But my integrity isn't for sale. When I can't support something, I don't."

  Considering he'd left a long career in the CIA because of a decision he couldn't support, she wanted to believe him. But trust didn't come easily to her. "Okay," she said finally.

  "Okay," he echoed.

  A tense silence fell over them as they finished eating, and finally, she had to break it. "What are your plans for today besides talking to Dominic?"

  "I'm going to check in with some friends. See if anyone knows anything about Elias Costa or Cal. If Cal has ties to the Middle East, someone may have heard of him." He sipped his coffee. "Has your team found anything on Costa?"

  "Nothing noteworthy. He has no criminal record, no online presence. He started out as a personal trainer, working at several gyms and also with wealthy individuals. Apparently, he trained Marco Tilan, a wealthy French businessman who ended up buying the fitness center that became Forge Fitness. He encouraged his other wealthy friends to sign up for memberships, and then Elias became the manager."

  "What did you find out about Tilan?"

  "He died three years ago, and his widow, Fiona Tilan, inherited everything. But she lives in Paris and hasn't been to the US in years. Elias basically has free rein."

  "Maybe you should look deeper into Marco Tilan," Max suggested. "He may be dead, but his network might be interesting."

  "Now that we're zeroing in on Elias Costa, I agree. I'll do that as soon as I get into the office. Who are you going to talk to? Someone still at the CIA?"

  "Someone who's well connected," he said vaguely.

  "You're not going to tell me anything about him, are you?"

  "I can tell you I trust him not to steer me wrong, that I've worked with him many times before."

  "I thought you said you don't trust anyone."

  "I have a few exceptions to that rule."

  "Well, I'm making an exception for you. Don't make me wrong."

  He gave her a long look, then said, "I hope I won't."

  "I prefer the last two words over the first two," she said with annoyance. "Why can't you make the promise?"

  "Promises can't always be kept, even when you want to."

  There was a heaviness behind his words, and the shift in his gaze seemed to move into the past. He wasn't thinking about the promise he couldn't quite make to her anymore; he was thinking about someone else.

  "Did you break a promise to someone you cared about?" she asked.

  "I need to get to work, and so do you." He got to his feet. "Be careful, Kara."

  "You, too," she said, but she wasn't sure he'd heard her because he was already out the door.

  His actions reminded her how little she actually knew about him, and also how much she wanted to know more. But Max Malone was not the puzzle she needed to figure out right now. She needed to check on Whitney, then get to the office. The race to stop another bombing was on…

  Max arrived at Tompkins Square Park in the East Village a little before noon. This meeting shouldn't be dangerous, but he had learned a long time ago to expect the unexpected. His gaze swept across the park. Everything looked normal—dog walkers, parents and nannies with kids, a few homeless people on benches, a couple of young lovers making out on a blanket. The day was warmer than the past few, with sun streaking through the tree branches, creating a more optimistic feel, one he'd like to hang on to for a while.

  But he doubted that was going to happen. Things were escalating, building in intensity, and he doubted the attacker was done. He was afraid he or she was just getting started.

  A man walked into the park wearing a Yankees cap, a navy-blue windbreaker, and jeans. He was lean and wiry and moved with a careless purpose that had always been his trademark. Reza Barech looked the same as he had the last time Max had seen him in Istanbul nine months ago. He was in his late thirties, olive-skinned, with dark hair and a beard. He was handsome enough to be charming, but his attractive face and easygoing manner made him easy to underestimate.

  Reza walked over to the water fountain a few feet away from him and took a drink. Then he lifted his head and gave him a smile as he moved closer. "You look better than the last time I saw you," he said. "New York agrees with you."

  "It's only a temporary stop."

  "So I've heard. You're working for Dominic Ashford now. And you'll be back where you shouldn't be in a month."

  "As his private security," he said, knowing Reza didn't believe him for a second.