“I know,” she said, hating how childlike she sounded. Much like she had sounded over a decade earlier, when the reality of her father’s actions had come to light.

  He surprised her then by exploding to his feet, cradling her in his arms and walking with her to his bed. “Miguel?”

  “It’s big enough for both of us,” he said and laid her on the comforter.

  She nodded and as he released her, she slipped beneath the sheets. He joined her a second later and as he had before, drew her into his arms, belying his comment that the bed was big enough.

  It felt way too small with his hard body pressed to hers, but it wasn’t just desire that filled her, but comfort. Safety. He was a rock. Her rock and she believed him when he said she would be safe.

  Armed with that, the nightmare faded into the dark, replaced by a lightness in her soul created by his touch.

  * * *

  MAISY WAS STIFF in his arms at first, but the tension fled her body little by little and her breathing lengthened, confirming that she had fallen asleep.

  But sleep didn’t come as quickly to him, lying there beside her. Her lithe but strong body pressed to his, forcing him to tamp down unwanted desire. Desire that would only complicate even more the confusing thoughts he was having about her.

  To keep those thoughts at bay, he turned his attention to what he’d been working on before Maisy’s nightmare. The list of suspects. The dynamite. Wire. Locations. Rothwell. Rothwell. Rothwell.

  Annoyance at the politician flared through him, which was good. It would keep him from thinking about Maisy’s body. Her warm breath, toothpaste fresh, spilling across the skin of his chest. Her skin, smooth, so smooth along his.

  He muttered a curse as desire flared to life again, but luckily, Maisy peacefully turned in his arms and shifted away from him.

  Safe. He was safe, at least for tonight. And she was safe and that had to be what he focused on: keeping Maisy and Seattle safe.

  He couldn’t let anything else distract him.

  Chapter Ten

  Breath, hot against his neck. The brush of hair, silky smooth, along his chin. Her body, soft beside his hard, slowly awakening need from the night before.

  He sucked in a slow breath and held it just as she did the same, and her softness tensed with awareness. Awareness of arms wrapped around each other and tangled legs as they undid their pretzelness and shifted toward the edges of the bed.

  “Good morning,” he said first, his voice morning rough. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

  “Good morning,” she said and looked at her watch. “It’s early. Not even six.”

  To which his phone alarm responded by blaring like a trumpet on steroids, warning that it was time to rise. From the bed, that was.

  “I need to get going. You can use the shower first if you want.”

  She blinked twice, almost a crime because it hid her amazing blue eyes for those brief moments. With a quick lick of her lips, she said, “I showered last night. Remember?”

  How could he have forgotten? Maisy coming out from the bathroom, steam chasing her. The smell of her lavender bath gel perfuming the air. Her face rosy cheeked from the heat of the water as she settled into bed with the tablet.

  Get a grip, Peters! You’re an FBI agent not a lovesick teenager, he told himself.

  “Sure. Yes, I remember now. Sorry. I’ll hit the shower and then we’ll go to the office.”

  * * *

  MIGUEL VIRTUALLY JUMPED out of bed, Maisy thought, recalling a rabbit she had scared out of a small vegetable garden her mother and she had planted at one of their rented homes.

  With him gone and the susurrus of water running through the pipes, she likewise rushed from the bed, straightened it and then raised the Murphy bed back into the wall.

  Grabbing some clothes from her suitcase, she quickly dressed and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. Feeling almost at home, she took the to-go cups from a cabinet. Grabbed half-and-half from the fridge and placed it beside the sugar canister on the counter.

  Maisy had just finished making her coffee and was pouring his—light and lots of sugar—when he came out of the bathroom half-dressed.

  And suddenly the heat she felt wasn’t from the sip of hot coffee she’d taken. Dragging her gaze away from his unbuttoned shirt and the sculpted chest beneath, she turned her attention to prepping his coffee. Slowly scooping, pouring and stirring until he stood next to her, fully dressed.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  More than ready, she thought and nodded. “All set.”

  As he had yesterday, he laid a hand on her shoulder as if to guide her out of the apartment. He was a toucher, she’d learned in just the short two days since fate had tossed them together. And she kind of liked it because it was a comforting touch. A protective one.

  In no time they were out and up in the BAU offices where his team was already at work. If it wasn’t for the different clothes they were wearing, she might have thought that they had been there all night. But even if they had gone home, like Miguel they had probably spent the better part of the night reviewing the information for the case.

  That was clear as Miguel stepped over to the board, greeted them and said, “What do we have today?”

  Madeline popped up from her chair and handed out a sheet of paper to each team member. “Nicholas and I reviewed our watch list and have selected these terrorists as candidates for our possible unsub. We’ve also added our top candidates from those recently arrested in the riots.”

  Madeline sat and with a half glance at Nicholas, she tagged her team member to continue. “Each of these men fits our profile. They’ve all been either engaged in incidents involving explosives or violent political attacks. Our top candidate calls himself the Freedom Fascist. Real name Bob Smith. He’s suspected of planting several IEDs at local police stations and the federal courthouse. Local PD had him in custody, but he was released thanks to new no-bail policies. Now he’s gone to ground.”

  When Nicholas paused to hand out additional papers with the unsub’s rap sheet and history, Miguel wrote his name on the board. But after, he said, “I’m not sold on Bob being our unsub.”

  Miguel’s comment had the team all sitting higher in their chairs and glancing around at each other, making Maisy wonder if his challenge was sitting well with the team.

  * * *

  MIGUEL TOOK NOTE of his team’s faces. Madeline’s had paled slightly beneath her flawless brown skin. Nicholas’s cheeks were ruddy, as if with embarrassment. Dash’s face was hard, immobile. Only the drum of his fingers gave any hint to what he was feeling. Possibly nervousness.

  “We ran through the lists over and over, Miguel,” Madeline said.

  “He fits the profile,” Nicholas said.

  “Almost too perfectly,” Miguel replied and then gestured toward Maisy. “And don’t let Maisy throw you from our usual routine. No one hits it out of the park the first time every time.”

  “Why do men always use sports metaphors?” Madeline mumbled, but with a smile.

  “Because sports rock,” Dash said with a laugh.

  “They do and so does the work you did on this list. But like I said, I’m just not feeling Bob as our first choice. For starters, he’s using M-80s and our unsub is primarily relying on dynamite. By the way, any luck on that front?” Miguel said and looked at Dash for an answer.

  “Liam and David are running down lists of active construction sites and licensed master blasters at those sites. Also working hard on breaking past the shell on those shell companies. Trying to find the real owners.”

  “What about Rothwell and his companies?” Miguel pressed.

  “Working on it. He’s part owner of quite a few corporations and as you might guess, a lot of companies under them. Liam is compiling the list and I guess you’re hoping we’ll find a link.”

  “Or that we can completely eliminate him as a suspect. It’s what we need to do. Examine every possible clue, and his turning up all the time is just too much coincidence for me. But let’s get back to the list of candidates you worked up,” Miguel said and went into listening mode like in his normal routine. Trying not to let Maisy change things up, just as he had asked his team to not let her presence change things.

  But it was hard to do as she sat there silently but clearly engaged. It was obvious from the way her face reflected her thoughts. She had an expressive face. Eyes widening when she took in new information. Narrowing, as if in doubt, while they discussed another two of their suspects. A slight nod, later toward lunch, as despite his misgivings, they settled on Bob Smith, aka Freedom Fascist, as their primary unsub.

  Like she had the day before, the ever-efficient Lorelai had arranged for lunch to be brought in, but as the food was laid out in the center of the table, Miguel excused himself and headed to his office.

  They needed to find the Freedom Fascist and interview him. First thing was to reach out to Seattle PD and put out a BOLO on the man as a person of interest. Second was to contact some of his local informants and see if they were familiar with the man and if so, what information they could provide to either capture him, confirm he was the unsub or eliminate him as a suspect.

  To his surprise, he hit gold with the second call. One of his informants, Joseph Michaels, was a former drug dealer turned pub owner with connections to the local antifascist movement. Miguel suspected that despite his claim to not be dealing, he was likely providing drugs to some in that movement.

  “You know this guy?” Miguel asked.

  “Not only know him, he was here in the pub having lunch just a few minutes ago. Had a few buddies with him and I overheard him talking about the bombings,” Joseph said.

  “I imagine he supports the bombings,” Miguel said, thinking about the demands and how they fit the narrative some of the protesters were spouting.

  “More than that. He was telling his buddies that he’s the bomber and they were all congratulating him.”

  Miguel considered it for a second and with a shake of his head, he said, “Did you believe him?”

  A choked laugh greeted his statement. “Dude, who knows. I mean, if you really did it, would you be bragging about it in public? But he sounded pretty convincing. Claimed he had a master blaster giving him the dynamite. That he was getting another bomb ready for tomorrow.”

  And if he was the unsub, that meant they needed to get him into custody. One of the points in their profile was that the bomber would strike again soon, and Joseph had just confirmed that was the Freedom Fascist’s plan.

  “Do you know where he and his friends were going?”

  “They were headed over to the courthouse for another protest. If you’re looking for him, he had a pig face mask in his pocket. Black hoodie, blue jeans and a bright red T-shirt.”

  “Thanks, Joseph,” he said, and another laugh drifted over the phone line.

  “No thanks necessary. Just make sure there are some extra dead presidents in my paycheck.”

  Before Miguel could say anything else, his informant disconnected the call. Normally he’d consult with his team, but time was of the essence since their possible unsub was on the move. With another call to his Seattle PD contact, he passed on the information and asked them to provide backup.

  If luck was on their side, the Freedom Fascist would be in custody in no time and they’d be able to interview him. He hung up and headed out to update his team, including eating some crow that his team’s top choice might actually be their unsub despite his earlier hesitation.

  His people, including Liam and David, were sitting around the table, sharing a story about one of their assignments with Maisy, who sat rapt next to his empty chair. As he walked in, laughter erupted as Nicholas described his role in the capture of the unsub.

  “The unsub went up and over the fence and I followed, only I didn’t count on the slope on the other side of the fence. One second I was on my feet and the next I was heading down that hill,” he said and gestured with his hands to show his roll. “But it was like bowling for unsubs since I knocked him off his feet as I tumbled down the hill.”

  “And Madeline was there to finish the collar, high heels and all,” Dash teased.

  “After clearing the fence and not rolling down the hill,” Madeline said.

  “Girl power,” Maisy added.

  Madeline beamed her a smile and said, “Totally.”

  Which was the perfect time for Miguel to step into the conversation. “You guys nailed it with your choice of unsub. I just spoke to a confidential informant who says Bob was bragging about the bombings. The CI gave me some info on where Bob might be. Seattle PD is on their way to provide backup. We need to make the collar.”

  The team leaped into action, rushing to get their bulletproof vests and weapons and as he went to do the same, Maisy laid a hand on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “¡Cuídate!”

  He smiled, took hold of her hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I will. Liam and David will be here for anything you need.”

  “I just need for you to come back in one piece.”

  Warmth filled him with her touch and her concern. “Count on it,” he said and for the first time ever, he was able to imagine the fear that his father must have felt every time his mother walked out the door. Maybe because for the first time ever, he was the one who had someone waiting for him to get home safe.

  It was a humbling revelation, but he tried not to think on it too long because that would be too much of a distraction. Instead, with another squeeze of her hand, he slipped away to get ready.

  * * *

  THE CROWD MILLING in front of the courthouse was luckily not that big and for the most part, not that violent, unlike some earlier activities. Many of the protesters were masked in one way or another. There was a sea of black bandannas, balaclavas and hoodies, but brightly colored Halloween masks broke up the darkness of the throng. In that darkness there was only one person in a pig mask wearing the clothing his CI had detailed.

  There were about a dozen uniformed police officers along the edges of the crowd as he and his team arrived. Silently he directed Madeline and Nicholas to approach their unsub from one side while he and Dash would close the cage from the other.

  They walked quickly toward the man, but as some in the crowd noticed them, they began to be jostled and pushed around and a murmur of warning started. It caused their unsub to look back toward the growing commotion and as he spotted their jackets and bulletproof vests with the bold yellow FBI markings, he bolted.

  Madeline and Nicholas gave chase, driving the unsub toward Dash and Miguel. Dash took off first and Miguel followed more slowly, mindful of his limitations because of his leg. But as the unsub ducked and weaved through the crowd and the protesters made it difficult for his team, Miguel made a direct path toward the edge of the crowd and corralled a few officers for assistance.

  As the unsub neared the hoped-for freedom of open sidewalk, with his team fighting to give chase, Miguel and his assembled officers flanked the unsub, cutting off his escape. The unsub stopped short at the sight of them waiting for him, but then dodged to one side, as if he would be able to squeeze by the small opening between one police officer and the wall of the courthouse.

  The crowd, seeing what was happening, pushed toward that spot as if to open the space up for the unsub, but Miguel rushed around and blocked that last little avenue of escape. Seconds later, their unsub was wrapped in a cocoon of police officers while his team held off the few crowd members brave enough to go after them in the hopes of freeing their comrade.

  At their car they wasted little time removing the unsub’s mask to confirm his identity and handcuffing him while reading him his Miranda rights. Once he was bundled in the car, they raced back to the BAU offices and hauled him up to their interrogation room. For safety’s sake, two FBI agents from their office and two Seattle PD officers stood guard outside the room.

  As he entered the room, he caught sight of Maisy from the corner of his eye as she sat at their worktable. She offered him a smile filled with comfort and he returned it, but then all his focus was directed at the unsub as he sat down.

  Madeline and he sat to conduct the interview while Nicholas and Dashiell watched from the room next door through the one-way mirror.

  Madeline began, using the good-cop voice and demeanor that she had perfected in the many years they’d done this dance with other unsubs. “For the record, this is an interrogation with Special Agent Madeline Striker and Supervisory Special Agent Miguel Peters interviewing Robert Smith. Bob, you’ve been read your Miranda rights. Do you understand that anything you say or do can be held against you in a court of law and that you’re entitled to counsel? If you can’t afford counsel, we can provide one for you. Do you wish to continue with this interview at this time?”

  Bob negligently tossed his handcuffed hands in the air and shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Mind telling me why you’re violating my civil right to protest by bringing me here?”

  “I assume you’re aware that there have been several bombings in the Seattle area,” Madeline said.

  “Who isn’t? It’s been all over the news,” Bob said with another, almost insolent, shrug.

  “But you have more intimate knowledge of the bombings, don’t you, Bob?” Miguel said, leaning forward slightly to be in the unsub’s face a little more.

  Bob was unfazed. If anything, he grew more belligerent, likewise leaning forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with Miguel. “As if you guys have something on me. You’re incompetent. Stupid. That’s all over the news too.”

  Miguel didn’t back away, determined to play hardball, while Madeline said, “Bob, you know better than that. We have someone who heard you claiming responsibility for the bombings. Your past manifestos are in line with the Seattle Crusader’s demands. We’re just waiting for DNA results from the bombs and I’m sure they’re going to point to you.”