Jackson's Woman. Maggie Price

and realized he’d hung back. A second later, the warehouse exploded.”

      “The gash over your eye.” Claire looked up from the brass candlestick she’d plucked off a shelf. “Is that how you got hurt?”

      “Yeah, shrapnel clipped me at the same time the blast blew me out of the doorway.” Jackson put his back into the mop as dark anger brewed in his gut. “The attaché and all members of the MSD team died. Turned out the terrorists weren’t inside the warehouse—they detonated the blast by remote.”

      “Ryker?”

      “Didn’t hang around to check on his pals.”

      “And you think, because he held back, he knew the warehouse was going to explode?”

      “He and I have gone through a lot of doors together over the years. He’d never hesitated until Singapore. In the split second before the blast, I saw it in his eyes—he knew the place was about to go up.”

      Claire set the candlestick she’d dusted aside, then went to work on a cobalt vase. “What happened after that?”

      “I woke up in the ER, got my boss on the phone and told him I suspected Ryker had sold us out. He’s like every other DSS agent, has connections all over the world, so it was anyone’s guess where he’d go.”

      Just thinking about what Ryker had done—what he intended to do—filled Jackson with a rage so strong he wanted to slam his fist through a wall.

      “I remembered Ryker mentioned a place he used as an off-the-book safe house in Kuala Lumpur,” Jackson continued. “Getting from Singapore to Malaysia only takes a couple of hours, so the house was worth checking. Another MSD team got there just as dusk fell. When they burst in, a shadow dashed from around a corner, and they opened fire.”

      Jackson’s insides bunched. If he’d known who the MSD team would find there, he wouldn’t have told his boss about the damn safe house, just gone there on his own and dealt with Ryker. But he’d had no way of knowing.

      “Was Ryker in the house?”

      “No, but his wife and daughter were.”

      The rag in Claire’s hand went still against the deep-blue vase. “You wouldn’t take me into Malaysia because it was so dangerous for Americans. Especially women.”

      “Still is. Which is why the MSD team had no expectation an agent would risk his family that way.”

      The thick-planked floor now clean of blood, Jackson replaced the mop in the bucket. Next on his agenda was the building’s security. He’d already arranged with Liz Scott to have OCPD do hourly patrols, but that was just the beginning of what needed to be done.

      “Why was Ryker’s family at the safe house?” Claire asked.

      “Emily, his daughter, was ill.” Jackson moved to the shop’s expansive front window. It was mullioned with large diamond-shaped panes. The panes wouldn’t open, which was good, but someone armed with a glasscutter and pry bar could make a silent entry in seconds. Shatter sensors, he determined, before looking back at Claire.

      “From paperwork at the safe house we found out Emily had contracted a fever that did major damage to her heart.”

      He turned his attention to the shop’s front door. After studying the dead bolt, he sized up the alarm panel, then the door mat. He added additional security devices for all to the mental list he was compiling. “Her only hope of survival was a transplant.”

      “Transplants are performed in every state. Why did Ryker risk taking his wife and sick daughter overseas?”

      “Emily had a rare blood type which narrowed the chance of finding a heart through legal channels almost to zero. I figure Ryker thought his only hope of saving his child was to buy a heart on the black market. The paperwork steered us to a Malaysian surgeon known to have ties to al Qaeda. He wouldn’t answer questions, but the theory is the black-market heart and surgery would have cost more than a million dollars. Which explains why Ryker sold out.”

      Jackson felt his anger growing, a vicious heat that would bubble in his blood if he allowed it to. “Later, we found out Ryker had been selling blank U.S. passports to a terrorist named Hassan Kaddur. After an expert forger gets through with the blanks, it’ll be almost impossible to tell a fake from the real thing. That compromises unknown numbers of Americans on their own turf.”

      Claire placed the vase in a display cabinet near a collection of salt cellars, then turned. “None of that explains why Ryker wants to kill me.”

      “No, it doesn’t.”

      Jackson moved to the cabinet where she stood. He recognized the Chanel scent that pulsed off her in little waves and made his juices swim. Years of practice had taught him how to present a certain face and attitude to the world no matter how he was feeling. It was an ability he would put to good use as long as he stayed here.

      “Last night I got a call from an informant in Hong Kong. Guy named Kim. He said that the night before he’d been at an outdoor market and spotted a man built like Ryker talking on a cell phone. His hair was black instead of blond and he wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses, so Kim didn’t think it was Ryker. But Kim’s always looking to buy and sell intel, so he eavesdropped on the call. When Kim heard the man’s voice, he was even more convinced the guy wasn’t Ryker.”

      “But you think it was?”

      “I know it was.”

      “So, why aren’t you in Hong Kong instead of here?”

      “Because Kim overheard the man say Claire and Oklahoma City. Ryker was talking about you.”

      Watching her, Jackson saw her breathing turn fast and shallow. Knowing the blame for her fear lay on his shoulders tore him apart. It was all he could do not to pull her against him. Hold her. Comfort her.

      “This is crazy,” she rasped, her fingers clenching the dust rag. “Why would Ryker come after me?”

      “To get back at me. I’m the only person Ryker told about the safe house. So when the MSD team showed up there, he knew I’d survived the warehouse blast and sent SWAT to hit the house. In Ryker’s mind, I’m the reason his wife and daughter are dead. His coming after you is his way of leveling the playing field.”

      “How?” Claire asked, staring up at him in confusion. “You and I haven’t seen each other in two years. We haven’t even talked. We’ve both moved on. Why would Ryker think he can get back at you through me?”

      Jackson kept his gaze locked with hers. The huge flaw in Claire’s reasoning was her assumption they’d both moved on. Only she could claim that. He had given it his best shot, but it hadn’t worked. All he’d managed to do was stay away from her.

      “When you spend hours on a stakeout, you have to talk about something. Ryker’s pet topic was his wife and Emily. When you and I were together, your name naturally came up. Ryker knows I haven’t been involved with anyone serious since you. He blames me for the death of his family and wants to even the score.”

      “His family,” Claire repeated, her face taut with worry. “You lost your parents years ago, but what about Garrett? He’s your twin, Jackson. You should be wherever he is, making sure Ryker doesn’t get to him.”

      In a wave, the still-raw grief Jackson had fought hard to hold at bay washed over him. “Garrett’s dead.”

      Her face went white and stiff. “When? How?”

      “A little more than two weeks ago. He was in a Barcelona restaurant when a bomb planted there in a backpack exploded.”

      “Oh, God.” What Jackson had said was terrible enough, but hearing it recited in a flat, empty voice iced Claire’s blood. Whatever grief, whatever anger he felt was masked by a calm, unapproachable expression. But she knew he had loved his twin brother deeply, and the pain he felt must