Page 79 of Dangerous Lover

“That’s not Pakistan,” the FBI agent said.

“No,” Caroline whispered. “It’s not.”

She wanted to pull the photograph closer for a better look, but she couldn’t. She was hugging herself, deeply chilled in the core of her being.

“That was shot by a UNOMSIL soldier on the outskirts of Freeport, six days ago, just before Deaver headed into the hinterland for a village called Obuja, where there were rumors swirlingaround about a sack full of diamonds. He caught a pirogue going upriver to Obuja. Twenty four hours after that photograph was taken, everyone in Obuja was dead and he had found the diamonds. The UN is still looking for him there, but we’d got word that he’d flown back to the States.”

Caroline had to cough to loosen her throat. She licked dry lips as she counted the days. “But—but that would mean that he flew from Africa directly here.” She stopped, her throat hurting. “But …why. Why comehere? It’s halfway around the world. It doesn’t make sense. Why here?”

“To see you,” Agent Harris said.

The quiet words seemed to fill the room, bounce around the walls, echo in her head. It took her several minutes to process the words. He didn’t hurry her, just watched her closely.

The tea she’d just had threatened to come up and Caroline swallowed heavily.

“I—I’m afraid I don’t understand. He flew straight back from Africa to seeme? Jack Prescott didn’t know me. I met him for the first time on Christmas Eve. He can’t possibly have flown something like ten thousand miles for me.”

This time there were two photocopies slid across the table. Caroline didn’t look at them. Didn’t want to look at them. Special Agent Butler tapped first one, then the other.

“He knew you all right. These photographs were found in his backpack, which he abandoned at the village. They were faxed to me by an UNOMSIL sergeant. Look at them, please, Ms. Lake. He came here for you.”

Caroline held his eyes, completely unable to read them. Finally, with a feeling that nothing would ever be the same,she looked down, then looked away immediately. A cold fist gripped her heart and squeezed.

“You found those inAfrica?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Caroline hugged herself more tightly—cold, miserable, stomach roiling. She heard a vague whistling sound in her ears and wondered whether she was going to faint.

“Do you recognize these photographs, Ms. Lake?”

Caroline couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe.

“Ms. Lake?”

Sanders leaned forward. “Caroline, that’s your high school photo, don’t you recognize it? And the other one?—”

Special Agent Butler spoke without turning his head or taking his eyes from hers.

“Shut up. Sir.” His gaze was fierce and unblinking, focused tightly on her. “Ms. Lake, I’m asking you for the second time—do you recognize those photographs? And don’t even try lying because I can drag you to the Seattle office and make you swear all of this under oath, and you know what the penalty for lying under oath is.”

Caroline nodded jerkily. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

“So what are those photographs of?”

“Me.” Her voice came out thin and reedy, almost a wheeze. “One is my sophomore high school portrait. The other is—is a photograph cut out of a local newspaper. Of me at a piano recital. I must have been—what? Sixteen? How on earth could those photographs be in Jack Prescott’s possession?”

“That’s precisely what I want to know from you,” he said grimly. “Maybe the two of you were in it together?”

“What?”Caroline whispered, shocked.

Special Agent Harris nodded. “You could be a great alibi. Deaver couldn’t have killed the villagers, stolen the diamonds, because he was with his lady love over the Christmas holiday. It makes a crazy kind of sense, because he traveled under a fake name. If we didn’t have that photograph and the time stamp, well then, he could just say that he was curled up in his love nest and who’d be the wiser?”

“Damn right,” Sanders said. “Caroline, you barely escaped. Why when I think of what could have happened to you if the FBI hadn’t been on this guy’s trail…God knows he’s violent enough to really hurt you. Even murder you, if he had to.” He didn’t look unhappy at that notion. The darker the picture of Jack, the brighter his star shone.

Caroline looked from Sanders’ smug face to the bleak, cold features of the FBI agent. She felt trapped, as if the walls of her shop were closing in on her. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her head swirled, her chest felt tight.

A younger, happier her looked up at her from the tabletop, a mocking reminder of life’s cruelties. She reached out a shaking finger to touch first Jack’s photograph then her high school portrait, trying to make the connection between the sunny high schooler and the dark, dangerous-looking man in the jungle fatigues.

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