Page 52 of Near Miss

Where was he? He said he wasn’t leaving for Kabul until Monday.

Jared was heading back to his car, so she hung up without leaving a message. Given the tension between the two men, it was better if he didn’t know she’d been trying to reach Lachlan.

The smooth hum of the Lexus’s engine lulled her into a calmer state. Barely fifteen minutes passed before Jared drove up to a three-story stone and stucco home and into the middle bay of a three-car garage.

She followed him past a maroon sports car with an emblem she didn’t recognize, through an expansive laundry room into a pristine white kitchen loaded with top-grade stainless-steel appliances a chef would envy. The décor was show-home perfect but had no trace of personality, and it was a massive home for one person.

“This way.” He ushered her up a set of stairs to the second story and down a wide hallway, where he threw open double-paneled doors.

“My study. Have a seat.” He gestured to a chair with wooden arms and a plaid fabric seat before he poured amber liquid from an ornate glass decanter into a matching tumbler and handed it to her. “This might help calm your nerves. I’ll contact the police and see about filing a report.”

She took a sip. The harsh burn of whisky seized her throat, making her cough. She set the drink aside and let her gaze wander the room as he settled behind his desk, phone in hand.

Jared’s home office had more traditional furnishings than the modern design she’d glimpsed on the first floor. In front of her, moonlight peeked through a gap in the clouds to illuminate floor-to-ceiling windows. During a full moon, the entire room would be bathed in silver.

In the back of the room, two landscape paintings in antique frames flanked a grandfather clock, its somnolent, steady ticking almost hypnotic. Built-in cherry shelves took up the entire wall to her left. Rows of books lined the shelves, broken up by the strategic placement of niches containing objects d’art.

She wandered over to peruse the shelves, desperate for a distraction, while Jared dealt with the police. Her fingers trailed along a row of hardcover books while she scanned the titles—Moby Dick, The Sun Also Rises, The Art of War, Playing to Win, The Prince.

The row ended at a niche, bathed in the soft glow of lighting designed to highlight a piece of art or, in this case, a framed photograph of a clean-shaven Jared in desert fatigues and tan combat boots, his arms wrapped around a woman. They posed in front of a massive concrete wall in what Sophia assumed was a military base in Iraq or Afghanistan.

The woman wore a brightly patterned cobalt blue tunic and matching pants, her long dark hair cascading over one shoulder. Even from a distance, the camera’s lens captured her striking blue eyes and sensual features. Something about her struck a chord of memory, almost as if Sophia had seen her before but couldn’t place where.

Whoever she was, it was easy to see why Jared had been attracted to her. Was she still in his life? Or merely a fondly remembered wartime lover?

“An officer will contact you tomorrow to take your statement.” Jared’s voice, so close to her, had her whirling, her hand flying to her chest.

“I didn’t hear you get off the phone.” He was as quiet on his feet as Lachlan.

Jared glanced over her shoulder at the photo.

Her face burned at being caught snooping. She wanted to ask about the woman, but one look at his shuttered expression told her he wouldn’t welcome her curiosity.

He held up the Lexus key fob. “I’ll take you home now.”

“Thank you. For everything.” She followed him to his car, and they drove back to her condo in silence.

She gathered her clutch as Jared pulled up to the building’s entrance. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pretend someone hadn’t tried to hurt her tonight. That her life, her career, wasn’t spiraling out of control.

First, she needed to talk to Lachlan.

Jared’s eyes glinted in the semi-darkness. “I’ll need your key. I’ve contacted Jeremy Powell, the kid who details cars at the surface lot next to our building. He’s agreed to clean it up and buff out as many scratches as possible until you can get it into a body shop.”

She dug the fob out of her clutch. “How much will I owe him?”

“It’s taken care of. Let me walk you inside.”

The lobby was only feet away, and Sal sat at the front desk—she could see him through the glass doors. Still, she scanned the cars parked nearby, searching for silver. “Thank you.”

Jared escorted her inside, past Sal, to the elevators, and when the doors slid open, gripped her elbow, holding her in place. “Lachlan has brought nothing but danger to you, Sophia. Be careful.”

A tremor wracked her, one he must have felt because his grip tightened before he released her. “Goodnight.” He was still watching her when the doors slid shut.

She fumbled in her purse for her cell. She needed to hear Lachlan’s voice. She needed him to tell her everything would be okay, but her call went to voicemail again. This time she left a message. “Lachlan, please call me. Someone in a silver BMW ran me off the road tonight. I—I think Roshan Haider is back.”

Lachlan handed Nathan a bottle of beer he’d procured from the fridge and settled into a chair in the war room—Nathan’s nickname for his home office.

The former SEAL had converted the formal dining room in his home into his workspace. Everything was state of the art, from the bullet-resistant polycarbonate windows and top-grade security system to the three monitors displaying feeds from cameras stationed around his wooded property and at the gated front entrance. Between some of the missions Nathan had been on, and his current work as a hacker, he couldn’t be too careful about his security. His home had been the logical place for a secure video conference with Ryder in Kabul.

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