TWENTY-EIGHT
Bran lay spoon-fashion with Jessie on the sofa, watching the original Tobey Maguire version ofSpider-Man. He’d seen it and most of the remakes half a dozen times, but it never got old. Jessie seemed to agree.
After napping all afternoon, they’d been too wired to go to bed. He’d ordered room service, thick New York steaks and Caesar salads, even indulged in a glass of red wine. He was finally ready to call it a night, though sleeping was not his intention.
The credits were rolling as he nuzzled Jessie’s neck and softly nibbled an earlobe. “You ready for bed?”
She rolled onto her back and looped her arms around his neck. “If you promise we aren’t going to sleep.”
Bran grinned and kissed her. “Cross my heart.” He made a dramatic show of drawing a cross on his chest and started to get up. When his phone rang, he was torn between disappointment and hope for a break in the case.
Recognizing Tabby’s number, he put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table. “Hey, Tab, you got something?”
“You bet I do. Mara Ramos’s real name is Mahri Rahmati. She was born in Yemen, been in the States since her early twenties. Came here on a student visa and never left. Her fake identity runs deep. Someone went to a lot of trouble to give her a new life in America.”
Adrenaline pumped through him. He looked at Jessie, whose eyes were wide and alert. “Yemen,” he repeated. “Big-time terrorist activity. Got to be connected to the stolen weapons.”
“Could be someone in Yemen was the buyer. I’m looking into it. I wanted to give you what I had on Ramos aka Rahmati as fast as I could.”
“We need to bring the army in on this, but I want to talk to her first.”
“What if she runs?” Jessie asked.
“Mahri Rahmati disappeared once before,” Tabby said. “In 1998, a year after she arrived in the States. She reappeared as Mara Ramos, finished her education, and worked as a schoolteacher most of her life. I connected the two identities using facial recognition...among other things. So far I haven’t linked her to a terrorist organization, but I’m looking hard.”
Bran scrubbed a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “We won’t let her run. We’ll figure something out.”
“I’ll keep you posted.” Tabby hung up the phone.
“What are we going to do?” Jessie asked. “If we tell the army, they’ll step in and we’ll be out. No access. No answers. People will still be trying to kill us, still trying to stop our investigation. If we don’t come forward, we could be responsible for a terror attack.”
“If we go to the army, we’ll be out, all right—or in jail. Tabby didn’t get that intel off Facebook.”
“We have to do something. We don’t have any choice.”
“Oh, we’re going to do something. We’re going to talk to Mara Ramos. Now. Tonight.”
Grabbing his phone, he punched Hunt Brady’s number. “Sorry to call so late, but we just got intel on Mara Ramos. Her real name’s Mahri Rahmati. She’s Yemeni, here illegally. Her cover’s deep. Very good chance she’s involved in terrorism.”
“Terrorism? What the fuck, Bran?”
“Long story. Some of it’s classified. I’ll tell you what I can when I see you.” He stood up from the sofa, the phone still pressed to his ear. “I’m on my way to talk to Ramos, but I’m going to need backup.”
“You got it. How long before you get there?”
He knew her address, brought the directions up on his cell. “No traffic this time of night. We’re twenty minutes out.”
“Make it thirty and I’ll meet you there.”
“You got it.” The phone went dead and Bran glanced around for Jessie, saw her walking back into the living room, already changed into a black T-shirt and sneakers to go with the black yoga pants she’d had on.
“I’m going with you.”
He was torn. There was no way for anyone to know they were staying at the Grant. She should be safe. On the other hand, leaving her behind gave him an itchy feeling. He’d rather keep her close. Besides, with Ramos’s connection to her father, she might get something he couldn’t.
“All right, we’ll both go.”
“I want a weapon.”
