Page 75 of Nothing to Fear

Maddox, a warm girl’s girl?

He smothered a chuckle. Maddox was fishing for the mole, and Doc must be her target.

“Okay. No backup. Keep me posted and hurry back.”

“We’re monitoring airports, bus and rail stations,” Amanda continued. “Danny is digging into Reaper’s and Willow’s personnel files.”

“I’m looking into their known associates,” the kid said, munching on one of Janet’s cookies. “Maybe there’s someone local they’d turn to for help. I’m also diving deeper into Willow’s financials, since the accountants aren’t doing anything further until the requisitioned records come in from the bank in Grand Cayman.”

Reaper wouldn’t have gone to anyone who could be traced back to his records, but anything Daniel found on Willow would be more planted evidence and a waste of time. With his office bugged, he couldn’t tell the kid to flat out drop it.

“The forensic accountants are the experts. We’ll let them do what they do best. I don’t think looking into Willow’s financials is the right use of your time.”

The gung ho I’m-a-dog-with-a-bone gleam in Daniel’s eyes told Sanborn the kid wasn’t going to back down. Hard to tell if an ulterior motive ran beneath his tenacity.

“But, sir, I—”

“One,” Sanborn said, “never question me. Two, keep the facial recognition program searching for them. Is that all from Analysis?”

Amanda nodded, and the kid wiped crumbs from his face, his head lowered. Then she, Doc, and Daniel left.

While the door was open, he heard Janet firing up the Nespresso machine.

Once Daniel shut the door behind him, Sanborn looked at Castle, who leaned against a wall with his thick arms crossed. “Did you get it?” he asked, referring to the copy of the 911 call.

Castle nodded. “Dead end. A digital voice modulator was used.”

Not only did they not have the identity of the caller, they still didn’t know the gender.

Sanborn expelled a breath. “Go through this with a fine-toothed comb.” He handed Castle the flash drive containing a copy of Parker’s computer.

With a nod, Castle took it and left.

Janet walked in with a tentative expression and set an espresso on his desk.

He gave a nod of appreciation for the hot hit of caffeine. “Shut the door and take a seat.”

31

Caribbean Sea

Sunday, July 7, 5:30 p.m. EDT

Out on the water, temporarily safe in the middle of nowhere, time became an ecstatic blur. Willow had lots of questions about sex, and Gideon had lots of answers, with both words and actions.

Their first time together had nearly split him down the middle. His lungs had shuddered, eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he’d entirely forgotten about the pain in his side. He’d lost himself in her warmth, in the exquisite sensation that was more than primal.

Afterward, she’d explored his body in a fascinated, studied fashion. Her slim fingers found every knife scar and bullet wound. The fact that she already knew how he’d gotten each one had been a staggering comfort. She didn’t have to ask, and he didn’t have to lie.

With each conversation, she delved deeper. How many lovers had he had? How many at once? Not a barrage as if in interrogation or for leverage to use against him. She just seemed curious about him. None of his answers, no matter how startling he’d assumed they’d be, had been met with judgment. She soaked in everything he said as though bathing in sunlight.

People assumed he had panache, loved to party, knew how to command, all based on his looks and history as a quarterback. When they discovered he was terse, the last to arrive and first to leave a gathering, and his interest in shepherding a team was sorely lacking, they were disappointed and found it weird. They found him weird for being a contradiction to their expectations.

The brutal honesty he shared with Willow—her vision of him as something heroic rather than monstrous, where he was enough instead of a letdown—was more than he’d ever had.

A greedy, selfish part of him never wanted to let that go. But she deserved more. Happily-ever-after was bullshit for guys like him anyway, but he’d take happy-for-right- now. With her.

“When you were married,” she asked, washing the dishes from the dinner he’d fixed, “did your wife do all the cooking? Or did you pitch in like my dad?”