rustling sound inside, footsteps, then the porch light went on, but the door didn’t open.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Jessie Kegan, Mara. I need to talk to you about my father.”
Long seconds passed. Bran wondered if she’d bolted. Instead, he heard the metal click of dead bolts turning, more than one, then the door swung open. Bran was on her, shoving Mara back inside, Jessie following him in and closing the door. Jessie switched on the light in the living room while Bran cleared the small, one-bedroom condo.
“She’s alone,” Bran said, returning to the living room.
“Who are you people? What do you want?” In a pale blue plush robe and slippers, Mara stood stiffly. It looked as if she’d been sleeping, her shoulder-length jet-black hair slightly mussed, her face clean of makeup.
“I think you know who I am,” Jessie said. “I’m betting my dad showed you my picture.”
She swallowed. “Jessie...yes...yes, he did. I don’t understand. What are you doing here in the middle of the night? And who is this man?”
“My name is Brandon Garrett. Let’s just say I’m a friend of the family. Why don’t we go into the kitchen and you can make us a pot of coffee, Mahri?” He said the words in Arabic, which he’d learned in spec ops and spoke fluently.
Mara’s face went sheet-white, and she swayed on her feet. Bran nudged her forward into the kitchen and set her down in one of the kitchen chairs. He opened the sliding glass door, letting Hunt Brady into the condo.
“I’ll make the coffee,” Jessie said.
Bran just nodded. It was going to be another long night.
* * *
With her glossy black hair, full lips, and dark eyes, Mara Ramos was indeed a beautiful woman. Her olive complexion made it easy for her to pass under a Hispanic alias. But Bran had spoken to her in Arabic, and she had clearly understood.
According to Tabby, she was forty-five years old, ten years younger than Jessie’s father. Thinking of the intelligent, vital man James Kegan had been, it wasn’t difficult to imagine them together.
“What was your relationship with my father?” Jessie demanded, taking the lead.
“We were...we were seeing each other. We cared about each other.”
“Bullshit. You never cared about him. Your relationship with my father was nothing but a scam. You just used him, won his trust, then set him up to take the blame for stealing those chemical weapons.”
Seated in a chair at the table while the three of them stood around her, Mara looked frightened and resigned to whatever happened next.
“That isn’t true. I loved your father. James was the best man I’ve ever known.”
Caught off guard by the declaration, Jessie fought a fresh surge of anger. “You’re a liar. You seduced my father to get his personal information—his social security number, bank account numbers, credit cards, everything you could find that would help pin the blame on him. You gave that information to the men who murdered him!”
“I didn’t know they were going to kill him! I loved him!”
Struggling with her shock at the unexpected turn, Jessie fell silent.
Bran stepped into Mara’s personal space, forcing her to look up at him. Her eyes glistened with tears. “When did you start planning the setup?” Mara glanced away but Bran caught her jaw, forcing her gaze back to his face. “How long ago, Mara?”
Pain surfaced in her eyes. Bran let her go and she swallowed. “I suppose you could say all my life. I was twenty-three when I came to this country. The people who paid my way also paid for my education, and when my visa ran out, they gave me a new identity. From the beginning they made it clear I owed them a very big debt and that someday they would expect to collect.”
“Go on.”
She shivered. Her gaze seemed to turn inward, to someplace inside. “The debt I owed was the reason I never had children. I always knew the time would come. I didn’t want a family that could be put at risk.”
Jessie hardened her heart. Her father was dead because of this woman. Nothing she could say could justify what she had done.
Bran didn’t back away. “You keep saying they. Who are you talking about?”
“A group I was involved with in Yemen. But it was a long time ago.”
“What was their name?”
“They called themselves jaysh alaslam alyamanii. Army of Islam of Yemen. But they’ve changed the name half a dozen times since then. I don’t know what they’re calling themselves now.”