“I want to thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what I would have done today after the bombing.”

  But he knew, because she’d shown him her true colors today and not just during the hostage situation.

  She’d shown him later with his dad and now, when she’d finally made his apartment feel like a home.

  When he’d shared his work with her, something he’d never done before with anyone.

  “But I know. You’d have been strong the way you were today. The way you were when you and your mom built new lives for yourselves. You’re a strong woman. A caring woman,” he said and covered her hand with his.

  “Promise me one thing,” she said. “Promise me you’ll stay safe. ¡Cuídate!”

  Somehow the promise took on new meaning with her. Dangerous meaning because he could already imagine hearing that from her every morning. Could imagine coming home to Maisy.

  And that was possibly more dangerous than the bomber, who was on the loose.

  Thank you to all my friends at Liberty States Fiction Writers for offering your support and insights. A special thanks to Gwen Jones, Linda Parisi and Lois Winston for their hard work to keep Liberty States moving forward. Finally, lots of love to my daughter, Samantha, who is always there for me and is an amazing writer and photojournalist. Saranghaeyo, Samantha.

  TRAPPING A TERRORIST

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Caridad Piñeiro

  New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Caridad Piñeiro is a Jersey girl who just wants to write and is the author of nearly fifty novels and novellas. She loves romance novels, superheroes, TV and cooking. For more information on Caridad and her dark, sexy romantic suspense and paranormal romances, please visit www.caridad.com.

  Books by Caridad Piñeiro

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Cold Case Reopened

  Trapping a Terrorist

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Miguel Peters—Miguel is an anti-terrorism expert with the FBI who is following in his mother’s footsteps; she was a legend in the business but died in the line of duty. Determined to protect those he serves, Miguel doesn’t see himself as having a wife and family.

  Maisy Oliver—Maisy dreams of seeing the country, the world and writing about her travels. Those dreams were once shattered by her father’s bombing spree in Washington State. She’s finally pursuing those dreams, but will her growing feelings for Miguel change her plans?

  Robert Peters—A retired journalism professor, Robert is determined to convince his son that it’s time Miguel find a safer job so he can lead a normal life with a woman like Maisy.

  Chris Adams—A down-and-out young man who has gotten caught up in a bombing plan intended to create fear in Seattle.

  Richard Rothwell—A blowhard political candidate for state senate.

  Olivia Branson—Smart and savvy, Olivia is the FBI director overseeing Miguel and his Behavioral Analysis Unit team.

  Liam McDare—A genius at the keyboard, he’s not as smart in love, but the current investigation will show him what really matters in life.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Excerpt from Christmas at Colts Creek by Delores Fossen

  Excerpt from The Bone Room by Debra Webb

  Prologue

  King Street Station, Seattle, 10:16 a.m.

  I need the perfect hostage.

  Tucked behind the protection of the column, he watched the people coming and going in King Street Station, unaware of the danger. Unaware that he intended to grab one of them, and soon.

  Peering around the edge of the column, he spied a young boy at a nearby kiosk. The boy, who was maybe six or seven, was focused on the shelves of candy before him, eyes wide in anticipation of a treat. His distracted parents, tourists if he had to guess from the expensive camera dangling around the man’s neck and the map tucked into his back pocket, were a few feet away, their attention on a display of postcards, probably to commemorate their visit to Seattle.

  He laughed, thinking about how it would be a visit they would never forget if he grabbed their boy. But parents could be overly protective when their kids were involved. If the two of them went crazy when he snatched the boy, it could all go south.

  Still, if this was a video game, kids would score high points for being fast, hard to control and too young to die.

  A few yards away a dainty young thing stood chatting to an older man. She was pretty in that girl-next-door kind of way. Brown hair with caramel highlights was tucked up in a feminine braid and as she glanced his way, he noticed her eyes. Blue, but a blue so deep they were almost indigo. A man could get lost in those eyes. Angel Eyes.

  He imagined grabbing her, but her body was toned and no matter how angelic she looked, something about her warned that she’d be scrappy.

  Again, high points for that feistiness and beauty.

  Not so many points for the old man with her.

  He looked like an absent-minded professor with his tweed cap, sweater with leather patches on the elbows and silver-rimmed eyeglasses that made his eyes look way too big. The professor didn’t seem feeble, but he didn’t seem like a problem either.

  I could take him, he thought until a tall, muscular man turned to speak to Angel Eyes and the professor. The man was fit and powerful looking but leaning heavily on a cane. He looked like a younger version of the professor. Enough to maybe be a son. This man could be major trouble, but trouble would definitely earn more points in any game.

  A second later the man’s phone rang. He held up a finger, turned and took a few steps away, probably for privacy during the call.

  Perfect. This is my chance.

  Chapter One

  Seattle, 9:16 a.m.

  It was a small step for most people, but a giant leap for Maisy Oliver as she hopped on the Seattle tour bus.

  In the year since Maisy had made her mother a promise on her deathbed, she’d been scrimping and saving, planning on how she would leave the nastiness of her past and reach for her dreams of traveling and writing a blog about those travels. Maybe even a book one day.

  Granted Seattle wasn’t Paris or London or Rome, but her hometown was beautiful and as good a place as any to start on that dream.

  And that dream had begun with a great new job that had allowed her to buy what she needed to start her blog and save money for the future.

  Armed with a brand-new phone with the supposedly best camera ever and a small journal to take notes, she intended to share the many sights in Seattle on the blog she’d set up earlier in the week. Hopefully she’d be able to grow a following and expand her travels. A ferry across Puget Sound. The Woodinville Wine Country. Victoria in British Columbia.

  Who knows where I can go from there! Even Paris, she thought as she took a seat on the top level of the bus, bouncing her feet anxiously as the bus headed for the next stop on the tour: Pike Place Market. She intended to do the whole loop on the hop-on-hop-off bus before returning to each stop to take photos and notes. She hoped that the tour would give her enough information to line up blog posts for a few weeks while she planned her next adventure.

  The bus lumbered to a stop at Pike Place Market, and Maisy snapped off a few photos of the large neon Public Market and Farmers Market signs and the clock above the entrance to the various shops and stalls. As she did so she took note of the people waiting to board the bus, especially the handsome man bracing himself on a cane next to an older gentleman who had to be his father. The two looked too much alike not to be related. In front of them were a man and woman with a young boy, probably tourists if she had to guess.

  But then again, she was a tourist today in her hometown.

  The people boarded the crowded tour bus and the noisy clamber of someone rushing up the steps drew her attention. The young boy with the family. Barely seconds later, the older man and his son came up the stairs, the younger man wincing with each step he took.

  The man was fit, in excellent shape actually, and she wondered if it was some kind of sports injury as they followed the family up the aisle and took the two seats directly opposite her. The young man was on the outside seat, his father on the aisle beside her.

  The older man smiled at her and she returned it since he seemed like a nice enough person. His son...too stoic and serious. Tense, especially as his father bumped his arm and jerked his head in her direction.

  The man shot her a quick look and rolled his eyes before mumbling something to his father.

  Really? she thought, her ego a little stung by what seemed like a rebuff. But not stung enough to avoid the older man when he pleasantly said, �
�Are you enjoying the tour, young lady?”

  “I am, thank you,” she said.

  “Are you a tourist? I’m a tourist, but my son lives in Seattle,” he asked, eyes wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

  “You might say that,” she said as his son murmured, “Dad, please.”

  * * *

  EMBARRASSED HEAT FLOODED FBI Agent Miguel Peters’s cheeks as his father tried his very obvious matchmaking with the pretty woman sitting across from them on the tour bus.

  He’d told his father time and time again that he had no interest in a relationship right now. Or maybe even ever. As the supervisory special agent of the Seattle Behavioral Analysis Unit, his personal time was limited. He’d thought his father would be aware of what that took, considering Miguel’s mother had been a renowned BAU profiler. One who’d paid for it with her life, cementing his decision to follow in her footsteps.

  But as his father kept up the conversation with the young woman, he had to admit that his father couldn’t have chosen better. Not only was the young woman beautiful, with amazing blue eyes and enticing girl-next-door looks, but she seemed bright and interested. Caring as she patiently answered his father’s questions and engaged him with some of her own.

  “Are you enjoying your visit, Robert?” she said, and her glance skittered between his father and him.

  His father likewise shot a look at him before he said, “I only just arrived a day ago, but I’m enjoying your hometown so far, Maisy.”

  Hometown? Miguel thought. Great. More reason to encourage his father to continue with his matchmaking with Maisy. Maisy? What kind of name was that anyway?

  “It is lovely. That’s why I decided to share it with people on my blog,” the young woman said as the bus lumbered to their next stop at the Chittenden Locks. While some of the tourists on the bus hurried off, Maisy stayed back with the pair.

  “Don’t feel you have to stay with us,” his father said.

  She smiled—She is even prettier when she smiles, Miguel thought—and waved off Robert’s suggestion.

  “I’m going to stay on until the last stop at King Street Station and take some photos there before hopping back on for the other stops,” Maisy said.

  As Maisy stood to snap some photos, his father elbowed him again and murmured, “Perfect.”

  Like Maisy, his father and he had planned on staying on the tour bus until the station and then heading to the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibition near the Space Needle.

  Determined to avoid his father’s meddling and the attractive Maisy, he turned his attention to the locks, which connected the salt water of Puget Sound with the fresh water of Salmon Bay. Boats were lined up to pass through the locks, which also provided safe passage for salmon to spawn.

  Barely minutes later, the bus was in motion again and in just over fifteen minutes they were pulling up in front of King Street Station. Slower than usual because of his injury, Miguel hung back, allowing the family who had come on with Maisy at Pike Place Market to rush off. Maisy and his father went next, heading down the stairs with him following, the stitches in his leg pulling with each step. But he was determined to show his father that he was fine during this visit. Especially since his father had rushed out to Seattle when he’d heard Miguel had been shot.

  As Maisy and Robert left the bus and strolled toward King Street Station, they started chatting again, Miguel tagging along behind them. When they reached the station, Maisy walked toward one side, probably to take photos for the blog she had mentioned, and his father trailed afterward, leaving Miguel no choice but to go with them unless he wanted to seem antisocial. Truth be told, Maisy probably already thought that, although if she had half a brain, she’d have seen through his father’s obvious attempts to get them together.

  When Maisy looked in his direction, he forced himself to smile and bear it. As he did so, he noticed one of his BAU members, Lorelai Parker, the assistant to the FBI’s director, waiting by the chairs at one side of the station. He was about to go say hello when his phone rang.

  His BAU director was calling. Olivia Branson was in Washington, trying to secure additional funding for their office, and probably needed some information from him.

  He held up a finger, turned and took a few steps away, certain that he would need privacy during the call, and he wasn’t wrong.

  “Good morning, Olivia.”

  “I wish it were. Do you have time to talk?”

  Miguel glanced back toward his father and seeing that he was busy chatting with the young woman, he took the call.

  Chapter Two

  Perfect. This is my chance.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a black ski mask and yanked it over his face as he hurried around the column. As he moved, he dug into his knapsack and took out a collar bomb and detonator.

  The professor looked at him when he approached, eyes blinking like an owl’s, but he didn’t move, making it way too easy for him to slip the metal collar over the man’s head and snap it tightly into place. He wrapped the arm holding the detonator around the man’s chest and held up his other hand to display his cell phone, his finger resting over the speed dial number to set off another bomb in the building.

  “Miguel,” the professor screamed. The old man’s body trembled beneath his arm, and his knees seemed to give for a second before he straightened.

  The man with the cane turned at the sound of his name. His face paled and fear slipped over his features before he schooled them.

  Fear was good. It was just what he needed so they’d do as he asked.

  “Don’t anyone move or I’ll blow his head off! Or blow the second bomb!”

  * * *

  MIGUEL’S BLOOD RAN cold at the sight of his father with the collar bomb around his neck and the wild eyes of the masked man holding the detonator and a cell phone.

  He had to stay calm even as pandemonium erupted all around. People had realized what was going on and raced away despite the bomber’s threat, screaming and shoving each other to escape the danger. But as others were running from the threat, he raced toward it to save his father and the young woman nearby who hadn’t moved an inch.

  “You don’t want to see him die now, do you?” the bomber screamed out again and waved the cell phone in the air.

  Those who remained, a much smaller crowd, froze in place or took shelter behind the banks of chairs scattered around the station. Most would be safe if the collar bomb went off, but who knew where the second bomb was located?

  Not to mention that Maisy was just a few feet away from his father and the bomber. Definitely in harm’s way if the collar bomb exploded.

  And then there was his dad, who was looking at him with wide eyes. Pleading eyes. His face was pale, as white as new snow, ramping up Miguel’s fear because his dad’s heart was not strong.

  Miguel raised his hands, and in a calm and practiced voice, he said, “You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to hurt anybody.”

  He inched forward, slowly, deliberately, intent on trying to move Maisy out of harm’s way while gauging whether he could rush the bomber and take away the detonator. If he’d been one hundred percent healthy Miguel might have been able to do it, but he wasn’t one hundred percent thanks to the bullet he’d taken during an earlier investigation. Plus, he wasn’t sure if the detonator had a dead switch. He needed to get closer to see, but as he did so several police officers rushed in, guns drawn.

  “Stop or I’ll blow you all up. I’ll do it, so don’t push me,” the bomber said and again waved the cell phone in a wild arc above his head.

  With that motion and his closer physical distance to the terrorist, the skunky smell of weed wafted over to Miguel, increasing his fear because he was now also possibly dealing with someone who was high and not thinking rationally.

  The bomber pointed at him with the cell phone. “You, Mr. Hero. The professor’s son, right? Step back and take those pigs with you.”

  Miguel slowly reached for Maisy, but the bomber called out, “No, not her. I like her. She’s really pretty. Makes me calm. You want me calm, right, Angel Eyes?”