He frowned. “It won’t be legal here.”
A half smile curved her lips. “Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.”
Bran laughed, recognizing one of Danny’s pet sayings. He knew she could shoot. Hell, she was probably a crack shot. No way would Danny not have taught his little sister how to defend herself.
Since Bran wanted her safe, he retrieved the Smith & Wesson .38 out of his gear bag and handed it over. “Let’s hope you don’t need it.”
Jessie flipped open the cylinder, which was fully loaded, then flicked it closed and stuck the revolver into her cross-body purse.
Twenty-five minutes later the Navigator rolled past the address of the condo on Via Mallorca. The house was dark. He circled the block and parked down the street. A few minutes later, Hunt Brady’s black Chevy Blazer eased up behind them and the engine went silent. They all got out of their vehicles.
“No lights on inside,” Bran said. “She may not be home.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Hunt said.
Bran scanned the area for anyone moving around in the darkness. “Looks clear.”
“There’s a sliding glass door in back,” Hunt said. “Opens onto a fenced patio. I’ll head in that direction, make sure she doesn’t get out that way.”
Bran nodded. He and Jessie moved quietly to the front door, Bran holding his pistol in a two-handed grip pointed up. Standing off to the side, out of the line of fire, Jessie knocked on the door. It was after midnight. They waited and she knocked again. There was a 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!”
