Chapter 14

Natalie heard kids running and a dog barking. Must be a dream. I don't have kids or a dog.She struggled to open her eyes. Pale yellow walls greeted her. Where am I? My bedroom's blue.

She sat straight up in bed, her head reeling. Paolo's sister's house. Then the memory of last night and the ugly accusations about Jeff crowded into her memory.

I have to get out of here.

**

Paolo strode to the coffee maker for a much-needed shot of caffeine. Sofia and Serena sat at the kitchen table slurping up spoonfuls of cereal. He did a double-take. They were wearing swimsuits, flip-flops, and their birthday jewelry. "You guys going to school today?"

"No," they giggled. "Teacher work day."

"Good thing. I didn't think that matched the dress code."

There was more giggling, then their eyes grew wide. "Look, it's Natalie!" said Serena.

"Are you on a date?" asked Sofia, glancing from Natalie to Paolo.

"Uh . . ." began Natalie.

"Some men were working at her house. It was too noisy," answered Paolo smoothly. He pushed Natalie down into a chair and placed a cup of strong coffee in her hands.

"Oh. Okay. Wanna go shopping and swimming with us today?" they asked eagerly.

Angela entered the kitchen with a basket of folded laundry. "Natalie probably wants to go check on her house."

"Bummer," said Sofia.

"Sounds like fun, but I really need to go home," said Natalie. "Maybe another time."

"Girls, go put on your shorts and take Roscoe out. We need to get moving," said Angela. They jumped up from the table and ran down the hall.

"We'll be out of your hair in a sec," said Angela, looking at Paolo. He nodded absently as he took in Natalie's rumpled appearance. It was obvious she'd slept in her clothes and her wound appeared to be bleeding again.

There was a knock at the back door and Paolo's grandmother entered.

"Nonna, this is Natalie."

The elderly woman's gaze swept over Natalie and she slowly smiled. "Ah, Nat-a-lie," she said, emphasizing each syllable. "Buon giorno."

"Buon giorno, Signora," answered Natalie.

Paolo had a rushed conversation with his grandmother in Italian. "Nonna says she is very sorry for your troubles and that you should eat a good breakfast."

"Uh, coffee's enough. But I should get a shower. Then can you take me home?" Natalie pushed back her chair, but wobbled as she stood up.

Paolo reached out and grabbed her shoulders. "Come on. We need to change that dressing." He propelled her back to the guest room and into the bathroom.

"I'm fine. Really," Natalie protested. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

Paolo rummaged in the closet and found a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. "Here, these are Angela's, but she won't mind."

"Thanks."

"If you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in," Paolo threatened.

"That's government harrassment." But as she closed the door, Natalie found that thought strangely appealing.

**

"Apply this antibiotic twice a day. It should do the trick," said the ER nurse.

After showering and dressing, Paolo had inspected her wound and pronounced it infected. He'd whisked her back to the hospital, but not before his grandmother stuffed her with Italian sausage, scrambled eggs, and toast.

They left the ER and Paolo drove Natalie home. They were silent for a while, then Natalie spoke up. "You grandmother was very nice."

"She lives with my parents, literally around the corner from Ange. She always feels the need to feed everyone in sight."

"What's this?" asked Natalie as they pulled into her driveway. A van sat at the end of the street and an SUV was parked in front of the house. "I watch TV. I know surveillance when I see it."

Paolo gave her an amused look. "Maybe we should hire you."

"No, seriously. Am I under house arrest?"

"Of course not. It's protection. Those punks may come back. It's standard operating procedure in high-profile cases."

Natalie shook her head in disgust. "Great. So I'm high profile."

"Your husband. Not you. It's either these guys or go into protective custody."

"Why didn't you put me in a safe house last night?"

"Both safe houses were filled with, shall we say, less-than-model citizens waiting to testify in drug and money laundering cases. Would you have prefered that?"

Natalie blew out a sigh. "Hardly."

There was a rap on Paolo's window. A tall, striking brunette in a black pantsuit stood there. He lowered the window. "Hey, Kelsey Any problems?"

She was all business. "Is your phone on? Greene's been trying to reach you." Paolo checked. "Dead battery."

"Go back to headquarters. We'll watch Mrs. Jernigan."

"Fine. Give me a minute." Kelsey regarded them for a moment, then returned to the SUV.

Paolo turned to face Natalie. "Don't leave the house and do whatever they say. It's for your own good."

"My own good. You sound like my father," said Natalie as she got out of the car.

**
The Next Day

"Why didn't you tell us about your brother-in-law?" asked Paolo.

Natalie was back in the FBI conference room. The ultra-efficient Kelsey had deposited her there twenty minutes ago. She was so familiar with it now that she could point out various stains on the carpet.

"Kevin? What about him?"

"Not your sister's husband. Jeff's brother. His twin."

Natalie stared at Paolo in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Jeff doesn't have a brother. Well, not anymore. He had an older brother, Eric. But Eric drowned when he was three."

"Did you know your husband was adopted?"

"Of course. It was no secret. After Eric died, his mother couldn't have any more kids, so they adopted. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Seeing is believing," said Paolo. "Come on."

He took her to the elevator at the end of the hall and punched the button for the sub-basement.

"Where are we going?"

"Holding cells."

Natalie began to shake. "Why?"

Paolo gripped her painfully by the upper arms. "You're not in trouble, but you do need to prepare yourself."

Chapter 13

Jeff drove on until he spotted a picnic and camping area on the right side of the road. He turned in and cut the engine. His heart pounded and he was already sweating in the early morning chill.

Don't panic, man. Those feds could be headed anywhere - big pileup on the autobahn or a terrorist sighting. Anything. Yeah right. When pigs fly. His gut told him otherwise.

He rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes until he felt calmer. He had no choice but to continue on to Prague. If he still couldn't contact Kurt, well there was always someone willing to pay for information. Especially the Nigerians. They were up to their eyeballs in these e-mail scams and always looking for more people to bilk. He could still score a sweet payday.

The sky had lightened and local traffic was starting to stir. Jeff cranked the car and eased onto the road. He would pick up the autobahn in another half hour. From there he'd head south to Prague, ditch the car, and hop a flight to somewhere. South Africa, Thailand, it no longer mattered as long as he had an internet connection.

**

Paolo stopped in front of Natalie's house. The driveway was jammed with the CSI van, cop cars, and the unmarked vehicles of the FBI. Natalie sighed loudly. "I really just want to crawl into bed and pretend the last few days never happened. It's been an absolute nightmare."

Crawl into bed. Paolo had a sudden, unprofessional image of being between the sheets with Natalie. Her bed, his bed, a deserted cove on the beach. Any place where there were no cell phones, pagers, or Jeffrey Jernigan.

Whoa, dude. Do not go there. Sadly, she was off limits for too many reasons.

Paolo's phone chirped with a message. He longed to ignore it, but there was no escaping duty. He checked it and returned it to his pocket. "And the nightmare isn't over yet."

Natalie looked sharply at Paolo. "What? Talk to me."

Paolo held her look for a moment. "We need to go to the office. There's something you should see."

"Is it Jeff? Is he in custody? Oh my God, they found his body! Is that it?"

Paolo laid his hand over hers. It was an innocent gesture, but he wanted it to convey more than simple comfort. To her credit, Natalie did not try to pull away. "Calm down, Natalie. It's nothing like that. It's surveillance video."

She looked at their hands, then to Paolo. Finally, she tore her gaze away to stare out into the inky darkness.

**
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the FBI field office. Scattered lights were on throughout the building and the parking garage was still half full even though it was well after midnight.

"This place never closes, does it?" asked Natalie.

They rode the elevator in silence. With his hand at the small of her back, Paolo guided Natalie to the conference room.

"Thirsty?"

"Extremely."

"Have a seat. I'll be back."

Natalie sat down and laid her head on her good arm. Five minutes later, a diet soda was slid in front of her. Paolo took the seat at the head of the table and popped the top of a regular soda.

"I need caffeine. Or better yet, a dirty martini," Natalie announced.

Paolo exchanged the cans. "When this is over, I'll buy you a drink." Why the hell did I say that? wondered Paolo as he took a drink. Natalie was getting under his skin, but he seemed powerless to stop it.

He glanced to the back of the room. "This is from Tempelhof Airport. Roll it." The lights dimmed and the video began.

Paolo watched Natalie's face go from bored to stunned in only a few seconds. "Oh my . . . It looks like. . . Wait! Go back! Can you enlarge that shot of his hand?"

Paolo leaned forward. "What is it?"

"Can you zoom in on his hand?"

"That scar! It is him! When we moved into the house, he was trying to put up shelves in the garage. Of course, he didn't know what he was doing. He turned around to get something and the whole thing fell on him. It broke his arm and he had to have surgery."

"You're positive?"

Absolutely. Hold on. Tempelhof. That's Berlin, right? What's he doing there? The meeting was in Zurich. And why's he wearing that stupid outfit?"

"That's what we'd like to know, Mrs. Jernigan."

Another man had quietly entered the room. He was tall with a large belly. His shirt sleeves were pushed up and his striped tie was askew. A faint odor of cigarettes clung to him. "I'm Special Agent-In-Charge Cyril Greene, Mrs. Jernigan."

Paolo sighed as his boss, the man who lived to make his life hell, loomed over Natalie. No doubt to intimidate her. Greene was twice divorced, had dangerously high blood pressure, and was perpetually pissed off by the building's no smoking policy.

Greene glared at Paolo. "Did you tell her about the bodies?"

"What bodies?" asked Natalie in alarm.

"I was getting to that," Paolo answered through clenched teeth. "We're ninety-nine percent certain that your husband murdered two people in the last twenty-four hours. A man and a woman, both German nationals." Their pictures appeared on the screen. "Gerhard Baum and Monika Sterne. Do those names mean anything to you?"

Natalie's jaw dropped and she stared at the screen wide-eyed. "I feel sick."

**

Natalie struggled to open her eyes. She touched her forehead and discovered a soggy, cold paper towel plastered to it. She turned her head slightly and realized she was on a lumpy couch in an office. A low lamp was burning on a cluttered, oversized desk a few feet away.

Where am I?

A door opened and Paolo strode in. He knelt beside the couch and peeled off the paper towel. "Sorry, it was the best I could do. We're not equipped for medical emergencies here."

The horrors of the previous hours flooded Natalie's memory. "Can I go home? I feel like shit."

"Home, no. CSI is still there. But I'm taking you somewhere you can rest."

Slowly, Natalie eased to an upright position. "Fine. Let's go."

**

An attractive dark-haired woman opened the front door of a neat suburban home. Paolo leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Thanks, Ange. I owe you."

"No problem."

"Natalie, this is my sister, Angela. The twins' mother."

"Nice to meet you," mumbled Natalie.

"Ah, Natalie," said Angela, giving Paolo a pointed look. "Likewise. Please, come in. I have the guest room ready for you."

Chapter 12

Emergency Room - 11:45 p.m.

The curtain at the foot of her stretcher snapped back. Paolo stood there, his eyes boring into her. His mouth was a grim line. The young Filipina nurse bandaging her arm spared him a glance, then did a double-take. A smile spread on her face. For some reason, Natalie did not like that.

Paolo flipped open his ID. "FBI. I need a statement from Mrs. Jernigan."

It was a moment before the nurse responded. She was too busy ogling Paolo. Who could blame her? He was the poster boy for "tall, dark, and handsome." Natalie rubbed her forehead with her right hand. She had a headache of epic proportions.

"Of course. I'm almost through." She wound the tape once more around the gauze pad on Natalie's left arm. Natalie winced. "Uh, that's a little tight."

"It'll be okay," said the nurse. She picked up her supplies and brushed by Paolo. "If you have any questions, I'll be at the desk."

Did she just flutter those fake eyelashes? Unbelieveable! Natalie sagged against the pillow, surprised the nurse didn't try to write her phone number on Paolo's hand.

"You okay? What the hell happened?" demanded Paolo.

"If one more person asks me that, I'm going to scream." Natalie leaned forward as her voice rose. "Do I look like I'm okay? My arm feels worse than a toothache, my head is pounding, and I chipped three nails. Oh yeah, and my ruined shirt was confiscated by the cops. Evidence, they said. So you tell me if I'm okay." She glanced down at the scrub top the nurse had given her to wear.

Paolo chuckled. "Anyone bellyaching like that is fine."

Natalie looked around for something to throw, but had to settle for a scowl. Too bad she didn't still have that trophy in her hand.

"It was a flesh wound. Sometime I'll tell you about this." He leaned over and pulled up his right pants leg. Besides his ankle holster, Natalie gawked at a long scar running up his muscular leg.

"What is this? 'My scar trumps your scar?'"

Paolo straightened and extended his hand. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

**

Paolo opened the passenger door of his car and helped Natalie in. He took a minute to check his messages before he went around to his side. He exhaled sharply and considered the terror he'd felt when he heard about the shooting. So her wound was not that serious, but the fact that the punks let her see their faces was unsettling. They very well might come back to silence her.

The passenger side window slid down. "Anything wrong?" asked Natalie.

He closed the phone. "Nothing I can't take care of." He went around to the driver's side and got in. Natalie was struggling to get the seat belt fastened.

Without a word, he reached across her to secure it. He caught a whiff of something floral. Shampoo? Perfume? He had no idea, but he liked it. A light scent that he would always associate with Natalie.

"Uh, thanks," said Natalie as she massaged her bandaged arm.

**

Jeff awoke with a start. He'd dozed off with the TV remote in his hand. An old Sylvester Stallone movie, dubbed into German, was playing. He grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table. No messages. Dammit. Where's Kurt?

The first contact time had come and gone. Now it was almost time for the back-up meet. If Kurt didn't show up with the money, then what? Jeff had only one phone number to reach him and an e-mail address that was probably routed through multiple servers.

He already had enough money to disappear for a long time. But a little more wouldn't hurt. He put on his jacket and stuffed his laptop in its case. He checked the time. Too early for the owners of this charming little bed-and-breakfast to be up. The date on his watch puzzled him for a moment. Was there something significant about today?

Of course. Wedding anniversary. Natalie must be freaking out. Better for her to think I'm dead. Then she can start over.

He considered his wife. She was pretty enough and they'd had some good times together. But she'd starting making noises about having kids. Jeff couldn't see himself going that route. Suburbia was insanely boring. And his stupid job at the bank. He should have been president of the whole damn place by now.

The movie and his thoughts were interrupted by a news bulletin. Jeff's German was rusty, but the picture of his crime scene at Tempelhof and Monika's driver's license picture needed no translation.

"Shit!" Jeff threw some Euros on the bed and grabbed his stuff. It was still dark and no traffic passed the bed-and-breakfast. He got into his small rental car and eased out onto the road, constantly checking the rear-view mirror.

He'd gone maybe five kilometers without encountering any traffic. Suddenly, a car he recognized as the German Federal Police screamed by him headed in the direction of the bed-and-breakfast.