Delta Force Defender. Carol Ericson
as the key turned in the door.
“Casey’s home early.” Her eyes wide, Martha watched the door handle turn and released a sigh when Casey crept into the room on tiptoes.
“Oh, you’re still up...and you’re still here.”
The reason for Casey’s dismay followed her into the room wearing an expensive suit and a sheepish grin. “Sorry to intrude.”
“Join the party.” Cam spread out his arms and then dropped them to his sides as his invitation was met with silence. “Just kidding. We were just wrapping up.”
“Take your time.” Casey circled one finger in the air. “Bob and I will be upstairs. Bob, this is my roommate Martha and her friend Cam.”
They all managed awkward hellos and goodbyes as Casey led Bob up the stairs of the town house.
When she heard the door click above, Martha made a face. “She usually doesn’t bring them home this early. I never have to meet them.”
Cam whistled. “I can see why she doesn’t.”
“Why?”
Jerking his thumb at the ceiling, Cam whispered. “Old Bob up there is Congressman Robert Wentworth from some district down in Florida.”
“What? Are you serious? How do you know that?”
“He’s on the House Intelligence Committee—and he’s married, as far as I remember.”
“That makes it doubly worse that they’re up there...” She waved a hand toward the staircase and heated up to the roots of her hair. “Why do women go for these married men?”
Martha flicked a glance at Cam’s bare left ring finger and let out a little breath. Of course, lots of men didn’t wear wedding rings.
“Imprudent of him at the very least.” Cam leaned forward and lifted the laptop lid. “Still no communication from the patriot, so I’m going to head back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay?”
“I will be once I power down my computer and stick it in the office tonight.”
“How many rooms does this place have?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“Just three bedrooms. I could sublet the other room, but I’d probably go crazy with another roommate.” She tucked the laptop under her arm. “Should I...should I call you tomorrow or something?”
“I’ll go with you to cleanse your computer. Is that okay?”
More than okay. “Sure.”
Cam strode to the kitchen and ripped a Post-it from the pad. He scribbled something on the pink square and then stuck it to the edge of the counter. “My number. Call me when you’re ready to roll.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and hunched into it. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to lock your door.”
“Nope. I’ve got that one down. Besides, I have a US congressman upstairs for protection.”
“All right, then.” Cam stood in the entryway and thrust his hand forward for a shake. “Take care and thanks for trusting me.”
She tucked her laptop against her side and took his hand in a firm grip—no nonsense. “Thanks for...rescuing me on the platform and discovering I’d been hacked.”
They both released at the same time, and Cam saluted. “All right, then. See ya later.”
Martha shut the door behind him and then rested her back against it, hugging her computer to her chest. Had Cam been nervous? Maybe he thought she’d expected a hug or a kiss or something. Did she appear that desperate?
She spun around and threw the locks into place and then launched herself up the stairs. Cam probably hadn’t given her much thought at all.
Martha crept past Casey’s bedroom door and the low voices murmuring within, and slipped into her own room. At least her master bedroom had a bathroom attached.
Tripping to a stop, she glanced at the laptop in her hands. She didn’t want to go into the hallway again, so she made an abrupt turn and stuffed the computer on the floor of her closet under some folded clothes.
She got ready for bed. Several minutes later as she slipped between the covers, her mind was still racing with the day’s events.
Casey squealed from somewhere beyond the walls, and Martha burrowed beneath the covers. Her roommate and her lovers always made a lot of noise.
Martha reached into the top drawer of her nightstand for her earplugs and cupped them in her hand as the congressman let out a growl.
Shutting her eyes, Martha closed her fingers around the earplugs. What would Cam sound like in the throes of passion?
Casey yelped, and Martha stuffed the earplugs into her ears as she buried her face in the pillow. One thing she did know is that she wouldn’t be squeaking and squealing like Casey if she ever did get a chance with Cam.
And with that delicious thought making her shiver, Martha closed her eyes.
What seemed like moments later, Casey’s scream punctured Martha’s dream state...and her earplugs. She groaned and rolled onto her side.
Didn’t the woman have any shame—or self-control?
Casey screamed again, and Martha pulled the pillow over her head, gritting her teeth.
“Martha! Martha!”
The bedroom door burst open, and Martha sat up, the pillow falling from her face. She blinked her eyes at Casey standing in the doorway, a filmy nightgown clutched to her chest. Was she dreaming?
“Martha, wake up. We’re in terrible trouble.”
“What?” Martha flicked on the light above her bed, and Casey’s face looked whiter than it had in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“Oh, Martha.” Casey stumbled across the room and tottered before she dropped to the edge of Martha’s bed. “Bob, Congressman Wentworth, is dead in my bed...in your town house.”
Cam glanced at his phone for about the hundredth time that morning. Maybe Martha had decided to get her computer wiped on her own. It’s not like she needed him to do it. He didn’t know that much about technical stuff, and she probably figured that out about him in a hot minute. She seemed like the self-sufficient type, anyway.
In fact, Martha Drake had a surprising rebellious streak. He never would’ve guessed she’d be the type to sneak out those emails. The woman had gone rogue—and he was glad she’d decided to do so.
And maybe she was going rogue again by handling the patriot herself. Cam wouldn’t put it past her, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. What if she’d fallen in front of that train last night? She needed a right-hand man, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
He tossed his phone onto the cushion next to him and snatched up the remote. Propping one bare foot on the table in front of him, he clicked over to one of the cable news shows.
He studied the reporters and news vans with a crease forming between his eyebrows. Someone had died, and the street where the buzzing media had gathered looked familiar with all those rows of town houses with shutters and arched windows.
When the words scrolled across the bottom of the screen, Cam choked and his foot slipped from the table. His thumb drilled into the remote to increase the sound.
The reporter breathlessly gushed into the mic. “All we know so far, Carrie, is that Congressman Robert Wentworth, from the Second Congressional District in Florida, died in this town house behind me sometime last night or this morning.