Extreme Measures

“Chocate chip cookies?”

“Uh-huh,” Carly affirmed, nodding her head for emphasis.

“You know the rule—no choc-o-late—” Nikki enunciated the word “—chip cookies before lunch.”

Carly’s lower lip jutted out and her deep green eyes—eyes so much like her father’s—pleaded. “But I’m hungry.”

Nikki wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her onto her lap. She breathed in baby shampoo and bubble gum. The unique scent of her little girl.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m okay.” Nikki pressed a kiss to Carly’s soft cheek. “I was just missing holding you.”

Carly wriggled to get down. “Maybe you need a chocate chip cookie, too.”

Nikki laughed as she released her. “Maybe I do. And we can both have one after our picnic.”

Colin had vowed that nothing would interfere with his plan to spend Sunday afternoon with his daughter. A single phone call had proved otherwise.

Four days later, including a day and a half of arduous and circuitous journey, he was finally back at the Courtland Hotel in Fairweather again. He sank down on the bed, wanting nothing more than a few hours of mindless slumber.

He’d barely closed his eyes when his cell phone started to ring. He should have left it in the car. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he definitely didn’t need any more bad news.

But what if it was Nikki?

What if something had happened to Carly?

He grabbed the phone before the third ring.

It wasn’t Nikki. It was Detective Brock calling from Texas.

Colin had forgotten that the detective had promised regular updates on the investigation. He assumed that was what this call was about.

“Do you have any new information for me?” he asked.

Brock ignored the question to ask one of his own. “Are you in Maryland?”

A chill snaked through his body. “No.”

“Then why are you registered at the Baltimore Courtland Hotel?”

He knew now that this definitely was not going to be good news. “You warned me that I might be followed,” Colin reminded him. “I checked into the hotel there as a diversionary tactic.”

“Smart move,” the detective told him. “An IED was discovered in the bed of your hotel room.”

IED. It took Colin a minute to remember the acronym: improvised explosive device—a homemade bomb.

He swallowed. “How was it found?”

Brock was silent for a long moment.

“What happened?” Colin demanded.

“Apparently one of the night managers knew the room wasn’t really in use and decided it would be the perfect place for a rendezvous with his girlfriend.”

Brock hesitated before admitting, “They were both killed.”

He closed his eyes as a fresh wave of grief, of guilt, washed over him. He’d just come back from Maria’s funeral, and now two more innocent people were dead. A man and a woman with friends and family who would gather to mourn their senseless deaths.

He closed his eyes, picturing all too clearly the grief-stricken faces of Maria’s children. Despite their tragedy, they’d been nothing but gracious, thanking him for his generosity as an employer and his consideration in taking the time to attend their mother’s funeral.

They didn’t blame him for Maria’s death. Then again, they didn’t know about Parnell’s threats. They didn’t know that he could have prevented what happened. If only he’d taken the threats seriously, if only he’d gone to the police sooner.

Now it was too late.

Was there any hope of stopping these attacks? Or would it only end with his own funeral?

The police had believed Duncan Parnell was responsible for the explosion in his apartment. Colin was less certain. Despite the threats Parnell had made, Colin didn’t believe the kid had either the guts or the know-how to build a bomb.

“I guess this blows your theory about Parnell,” Colin said. After all, Parnell could hardly have planted a bomb in Baltimore when he was in prison in Texas.

“Not necessarily,” Brock said. “The evidence suggests that both of these jobs were done by a professional.”

“Are you suggesting he put out a hit on me?” Colin almost laughed.

“All it takes is money and connections. And a complete lack of regard for human life.”

He no longer felt like laughing. “What should I do now?”

“Exactly what you’ve been doing—keeping a low profile. And you might want to notify your local police about the situation.”

“Do you think I’m in danger here?” He couldn’t bear to think that someone had followed him to Fairweather, that he might unwittingly have brought the threat into Nikki and Carly’s backyard.

“I’d say it’s unlikely. The fact that our bomber struck in Baltimore suggests he doesn’t know where you really are.”

Colin wished he could be assured of keeping it that way.

Nikki was on her way home from the grocery store Thursday night when she found herself driving by the Courtland Hotel. It wasn’t the usual route she would have taken, and she wouldn’t admit—even to herself—that she’d wanted to see if Colin’s rental car was in the lot. It was.

Impulsively she pulled into one of the visitor’s parking spaces. She found her way to room 1028 and knocked, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before he appeared at the door.

His weary eyes widened. “Nicole.”

She was startled by his appearance. His hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed with at least two days’ growth of beard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. “Can I come in?”

He stepped back to allow her entry.

She glanced around, found that his “room” was really a suite, complete with kitchen, dining area and living room. The sofa and chairs in the sitting area were covered in an ornately textured slate-blue fabric that she guessed was silk. The tables were gleaming chrome and smoked glass.