Incriminating Evidence (46 page)

Thanks to Jenn Stark, who was ever available to read pages and give feedback when the story veered off-course. Thank you to Gwen Hayes who fed me and talked me through writing the final fifteen thousand words of the first draft. I don’t know how I would have finished this book if you hadn’t been there. Isabel might have been much more abused if not for your voice of reason.

Thank you to Bria Quinlan, Gwen Hernandez and Krista Hall, who gave valuable (and timely!) critiques of the full manuscript. I appreciate you more than I can say.

Thanks to NW Pixie Chicks Rebecca Clark, Cathy Perkins, Elisabeth Naughton, Courtney Milan, and Darcy Burke, for their wonderful company as I edited this book. Our weekend is always a highlight of my writing year.

To my editor, Linda Ingmanson, and proofreader, Toni, thank you both for your attention to detail, punctuation, and plot holes.

Thank you to my children for tolerating the long drives in Alaska as we explored the setting for this book and for not laughing too hard when I slipped and fell on that glacier.

Thank you to my husband, David Grant, whose extensive research on infrasound inspired the story. When I struggled to pull all the plot threads together, he listened, advised, and poked holes, until I found the way forward. I couldn’t have written this book without you. I love you!

Read on for a sneak peek at the 5
^th
book in Rachel Grant’s Evidence Series

Chapter One 

Antalya, Turkey

August

M
usic pulsed from the nightclub speakers several decibels above comfortable. Cressida stayed on the dance floor only because she’d promised her friend Suzanne she’d cut loose and have fun on her last night in Antalya before leaving the university-sponsored underwater excavation and heading east on a solo research trip. But her feet hurt along with her ears, and she had to leave for the airport in six short hours, making her regret her promise.

Suzanne was oblivious to Cressida’s discomfort as she danced with three men at once. The locals really had a thing for leggy American blondes, and Suzanne had a matching appreciation for Turkish men.

Bumped into from behind, Cressida pitched forward, regaining her balance when a hand caught her shoulder before she slammed into another dancer. She turned to thank her rescuer, a smile on her face, but her stomach dropped when she met the familiar gaze.

Her reaction was instinctive. Her hand curled into a fist and she swung out, slamming her knuckles into Todd Ganem’s jaw with all the force she could muster from her five foot six frame. Caught by surprise, he stumbled back as his head snapped sideways.

The people around her froze as Todd teetered, then fell. She stepped over him, leaving the dance floor and gawking dancers. Her body flushed with adrenaline, or maybe she was going in to shock.

What the hell is Todd Ganem doing in Turkey?

She made a beeline for the table where her group—graduate students from the underwater archaeology program at Florida State—sat, all with jaws agape and wide eyes. She came to a dead stop as she met the gaze of Dr. Patrick Hill.
Shit.
Dr. Hill, the head of the MacLeod-Hill Research Institute and the man she was counting on to fund her grant, had just seen her deck Todd. Could this get any worse?

She turned sharply, spotting an empty table far from Dr. Hill and the others. She needed a few minutes to regroup before facing them. She’d leave the bar and head to her overpriced hotel room right now if she could, but the translator had said he’d meet her here tonight, and she needed the translation for her trip into Eastern Anatolia.

She dropped into an empty chair, relieved to see Suzanne had followed her. She needed a friend right now. Decking Todd in front of Dr. Hill could well have just crushed her grant proposal—and she hadn’t even written it yet. On the eve of embarking on the most important research trip of her academic career, the run-in with Todd could undermine everything she’d been working toward.

The sweltering night air seemed to rise another five degrees. She grabbed the bar menu from the table and fanned herself with it, taking a deep breath as she did so, willing herself to maintain a serene façade. She couldn’t fall apart here, not in front of Dr. Hill. As soon as she had the translation, she’d go straight to her hotel room and indulge in a nice, private freakout.

She and Todd had been together for ten months. Her souvenirs from their relationship included a blight on her academic record, the knowledge her advisor still didn’t believe she was innocent, and a mug shot.

* * *

I
an wished he could claim he saw the fist coming, but he didn’t. He was as shocked by the punch as the man who received it. But then again, like the man who’d been hit, Ian had been distracted by the woman’s cleavage and hadn’t been paying attention to her hands.

She’d stepped over the man while cradling her fist, appearing somewhat dazed by the whole encounter, yet unapologetic and unafraid. If he were prone to hyperbole, he’d declare himself in love. As it was, he’d admit to being intrigued. Okay, and maybe lust. 

Medium height with long, straight, dark hair, a curvy build, and a deep summer tan, she was pretty enough, but until she’d taken the swing, her looks had been overshadowed by her tall blonde friend who now followed her to a table at the edge of the dance floor.

There was something hot about watching a woman unrepentantly deck a man and walk away without so much as a backward glance. She dropped into a chair and fanned herself with a menu, her skin glistening in the sweltering heat.

Sadly, he wasn’t here to watch the woman. No. His job was never that enticing. He was waiting for the Kurdish rebel to show up, and he was getting damned impatient.

His partner on the op, Zack Barrow, was positioned closer to the dance floor and spoke to him through a hidden earpiece. “Fucking hot how she decked that guy and walked away. I think I’m in love.” 

Zack didn’t have a problem with hyperbole. Typical rookie.

Ian lifted his drink to hide his barely moving lips and murmured, “She’s a distraction we don’t need.” To everyone else in the bar, Ian was the bearded, hardened loner in the corner, drinking the night away in seclusion.

“It’s not like anything else is happening here. Where the fuck is Hejan?”

“He swore to Allah he’d make the drop tonight. He’ll show.”

“I don’t trust him. He was a poor choice to turn—too much of a wild card.”

Zack wasn’t wrong—Hejan had always been high risk, and never would have been Ian’s first choice to double—but the Kurd was well connected and had something to atone for. Both traits made him an ideal spy. Hejan had come to him, which was always suspicious, but then, everything in Ian’s line of work was suspicious. “He knows the game and the stakes. He’ll show up.”

The stunning blonde said something, and the brunette with the mean right hook offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her large, wide eyes. In Ian’s ear, Zack let out a low whistle. “Both women are hot.”

“I don’t give a shit if you want a threesome. We’re not here to watch women.” He said the words to Zack, but they were a reminder to himself as well.

“Hejan is wasting our time. Face it, Ian, he played you. He’s probably making the drop somewhere else.”

If Zack’s statement were true, then months of careful work would come to nothing. This wasn’t an acceptable outcome. Besides, Ian
knew
Hejan. “I’ve never been this far wrong about an informant before.” 

Zack chuckled. “The great Ian Boyd finally crashes and burns. I’m glad I’m here to see it.”

“Fuck you,” Ian said without heat.

“I bet Hejan can’t lead us to the courier any more than I could.”

There, Zack was definitely wrong, but Hejan was Ian’s asset, and Zack was only here tonight as back up. He knew minimum details.

“Keep your panties on. The night is young.” But silently Ian acknowledged he was worried, and not just for the op. The Kurdish rebel carried a microchip several factions would kill for, and his tardiness was a very bad sign.

* * *

“H
ow the hell did Todd even know I’d be at this nightclub?” Cressida asked.

Suzanne patted her hand. “Everyone on the excavation knew we were coming here tonight. Maybe Todd spoke to one of them. How did he leave the US, though? I thought they seized his passport when he was arraigned. Do you think it means he was acquitted?”

Cressida grimaced. “God, I hope not.”

“Maybe you should have asked him before you took that swing,” Suzanne said dryly. 

“When I saw him, I couldn’t think…I just…reacted.” She dropped her head in her hands. So much for appearing serene.

Suzanne stood and waved to the cocktail waitress. “We need a round of Tic Tac shooters. Stat.”

“I’m not drinking,” Cressida said. “I need to keep my guard up with Todd here. Shit. When Dr. Brenner finds out Todd is here, I’m screwed. He still doesn’t believe I’m innocent.” She’d have changed advisors if she could, but none of the other professors had wanted her either. Dr. Hill wasn’t part of the department though, and she knew him personally thanks to her internship with Navy History and Heritage Command the previous summer, making him her ace in the hole.

Until now.

“Everyone on the crew saw you deck Todd. It’s obvious you aren’t exactly chummy with him. You’ll be fine.”

Cressida massaged her temples. “Dr. Hill, who will have the ultimate say on my grant proposal, witnessed me decking my felonious ex-boyfriend in a Turkish nightclub, while I’m visiting on a student visa sponsored by the university and the McLeod-Hill Exploration Institute.” She flopped backward in her chair. “I’m not just screwed, I’m totally fucked.”

“Chill, Cress. You punched Todd. So what? We all wanted to deck him after the crap he pulled. So it happened in Antalya and not Tallahassee, no big deal. It was dumb of Todd to come here.” She paused and her brow furrowed. “Why the hell did he come here?”

Cressida leaned back in her chair, tilting her gaze to the ceiling. She’d give anything to be anywhere but in this nightclub right now.

This summer in Turkey should have been the perfect escape from the ugly events of spring. The project was ideal: excavation of an Iron Age shipwreck in the Mediterranean. Run by Dr. Brenner, her graduate advisor, it was her chance to win back his trust and that of the other students from her program. Best of all, Dr. Patrick Hill—the oceanographic explorer whose institute was the primary source of funding for the Iron Age shipwreck excavation—was here for a few weeks, giving her an opportunity to impress him before her proposal even landed on his desk.

Bottom line, Todd should be in jail for grand larceny right now, not in a nightclub in Antalya, Turkey, ruining her send-off as she left the project for a week to gather data for her grant proposal.

This research would form the foundation of her dissertation. It could make her reputation. Make her career. For a scholarship student who craved respect—and who nearly lost both thanks to Todd—this was her one chance to prove herself. Her one chance to
be
somebody.

But the rat bastard was here, ruining everything. Again. She curled her fingers into a fist, ignoring the pain the movement triggered in her sore hand.

The waitress arrived with their shots. “Your drinks were paid for by a guy at the bar.”

“By the guy she punched?” Suzanne asked with a frown.

The waitress shook her head. “Not him.” She nodded toward a cluster of people at the bar. “He’s American. Green shirt, toward the end.”

Cressida studied the group, surprised to see Dr. Hill had moved to the bar and fit the description. Suzanne’s eyes widened. “The one in the tan slacks? Tall, handsome, early forties?”

The waitress nodded.

A drink sent by the bigwig was unprecedented. But why? Was it a joke? A kiss off because Cressida’s chances of receiving the desperately needed grant were now nil? 

Suzanne, clearly not freaking out about the situation in solidarity with Cressida, nodded to Dr. Hill and raised her glass in thanks. Dr. Hill’s mouth curved in a slow smile. He raised his own glass in silent toast.

In that instant, Cressida’s fears about Dr. Hill evaporated. “Ohmygod, Suz, Dr. Hill just gave you
the look
.”

Suzanne downed the shot in a single gulp, then met Cressida’s gaze. “Yes. He did. I’m going for it.”

“No way.”

“Why not? His divorce went through months ago. I don’t have a grant proposal under evaluation. I’ll be defending next June and Dr. Hill and his foundation have nothing to do with my dissertation or research. Plus he’s hot, and I’ve had a thing for him for years.”

This was true, Suzanne had been unabashedly jealous when Cressida met him during her internship. “He’s a bit older,” she pointed out.

“Too old for
you
, sure. But I’m on the other side of thirty. Hill is only a year or two older than my ex.”