There was a vaccine? What did that have to do with Rinaldi? There had to be another player.

“That’s who hired you? You’re working for a pharmaceutical company?” she asked, catching a movement in the corner of her eye.

He tsked. “You’re not as smart as you thought you were, Ms. Dawson.”

When in Vegas . . . bluff. “Nope. I’m even smarter. Shoot him, Logan,” she said, throwing a glance at her right.

Evans twisted to his left to see whom she was talking to. She whipped her gun out of her holster, aimed, and fired.

She didn’t know where the bullet went. Prepared to shoot again, she pressed her finger on the trigger just as Evans rotated back to her.

A gunshot reverberated in the room. She reared back, expecting to have been shot. But there was no pain. No blood. She hadn’t been shot. It had been her gun that had fired. Evans’s mouth opened and blood poured out. She didn’t wait for him to recover. She pointed and fired again, this time hitting him square in the chest. He fell over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Trembling, she lowered her arm.

It was over.

“FBI!” shouted a voice behind her. “Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head.”

Her hands shook as though she had no control over them, and the gun clattered to the floor. She placed her hands on her head and turned to face the three agents pointing their weapons at her. A moment later, she was in handcuffs and being read her Miranda warnings.

Didn’t they understand she had shot Evans in self-defense?

What if Sawyer’s equipment didn’t record Evans’s confession?

Would anyone believe her?

Chapter Twenty-Five

SITTING ON A steel bench in a Las Vegas FBI holding cell, with dry blood caked on her skin and in her hair, Rachel had never wanted a shower more in her life. Since arriving at the Las Vegas FBI office, time had ticked by slower than a bunch of ducks crossing a busy street during rush hour. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, she replayed the day’s gruesome scenes over and over in her mind. She couldn’t shut them off, the images, sounds, and smells slamming into her again and again. Blood spilled violently and smelled rancid, and with it still on her body, she couldn’t escape it. Curled in on herself, she shivered, her teeth chattering and her hands trembling.

Collecting evidence of Evans’s and Fink’s deaths, an FBI agent had clipped Rachel’s fingernails, scraped her skin, photographed her, and fingerprinted her. Then they’d taken her bloody clothes, giving her scrubs to wear.

Immediately following her arrest, she’d exercised her Sixth Amendment right to counsel and had placed a call to Kate. She hadn’t been surprised when Kate had told her she’d already heard from Logan and was searching for a couple of attorneys in Las Vegas to temporarily represent them. With her best friend on the phone, Rachel had to fight the urge to tell her everything that had happened between her and Logan this past week. But with no privacy and only a few minutes to speak on the phone, she had kept her mouth shut. Besides, she’d barely had the time to process it all herself.

She had killed a man.

It didn’t matter that he had deserved it and that she had done it in self-defense. His blood would stain her hands for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t regret it. If she hadn’t shot him, he wouldn’t have just killed her. He would’ve released the virus and killed countless more. When they had arrested her, she had made it clear the gas canister contained a deadly virus, so that they wouldn’t accidentally release it. Of course, they probably thought she and Logan were responsible for bringing the virus into the hotel.

The FBI was keeping her in a separate holding cell from Logan, so she hadn’t seen him since the wedding chapel. She needed to feel his arms around her. Needed to know he was safe.

She tapped her nails on the bench. When would her attorney arrive? It was the middle of the night. Hours had passed and she’d yet to speak to anyone. Hadn’t Sawyer given the FBI the recording of Evans’s confession? Surely that should be enough to exonerate her and Logan of the crimes.

Squeaking footsteps sounded louder and louder, and then a female agent appeared at her cell. “Ms. Dawson, if you’ll come with me. I’m going to take you to one of our interrogation rooms.”

Her attorney must have finally arrived. Ready to explain her side of what happened, she followed the agent to a conference room and stepped inside. The agent didn’t stay, closing the door behind her. Logan sat at the table, hunched over, exhaustion evident on his face.

“Logan,” she said breathlessly, relieved to see him.

His head snapped up and their gazes locked. He shot to his feet as she flew across the room and into his open arms. Wrapping his arms around her, he hauled her to him. She closed her eyes and soaked him in, drawing upon his body’s heat and inhaling his scent deep into her lungs. Laying her head on his chest, she listened to the steady beat of his heart. The chaos in her mind quieted and the trembling ceased.

Logan stroked her hair, a shudder racking his body. “Are you okay? I was so worried. They wouldn’t tell me what had happened to you.” He cupped her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. His eyes narrowed as he stepped back from her in a panic. “You’re covered in blood.”

“The blood isn’t mine,” she said, pulling him back to her and reassuring him with a gentle caress down his arm. “Evans killed Fink. And I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he said, covering her lips with two of his fingers. “Don’t say anything that they can use against you.”

Right. Just because the FBI agents weren’t in the room didn’t mean they weren’t recording them, just hoping they’d confess to the crime. Nodding that she understood, she kissed his fingertips.

He cradled her face in his hands, his eyelids growing hooded. “I was so worried about you. At the elevator, I hated sending you on your own like that. I couldn’t take it again.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d thrown herself into the path of danger, and it wouldn’t be the last. A touch of doubt niggled at her. How would he react when she was following a dangerous lead for a story? She pushed down her uncertainty, concentrating on the present. After all, when he was unable to do it himself, he’d urged her to continue their plan to stop Leopold’s release. She placed her hands over his heart. “You and I both know I had to do it. There wasn’t any other choice.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I know. But I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I lo—”

At the sound of the door swinging open, she turned. The agent who had processed her upon her arrival walked in along with the female agent who had brought her to this room, followed by a man she’d know anywhere.

“Senator Hutton,” she said, holding the edge of the conference table in shock.

Only a couple of inches taller than her, with thinning white hair and a wrinkled face that gave away his advanced age, he still managed to hold an air of regality about him. He offered his hand. “Mr. Bradford. Ms. Dawson. I wanted to come and personally thank you for your heroic actions today.”

Thank them? She glanced at Logan, who looked as surprised as she was to see him. After Logan shook the senator’s hand, she did the same, noticing his manicured nails and learning he had a strong grip for an older person. “You believe us?”

Senator Hutton held her hand in his and covered it with his other, patting it in reassurance. “I do. The FBI received an audio recording from your friend Eddie Ackerman.”

Confused, she looked at Logan for clarification.

“Oz,” he mouthed.

She’d forgotten that wasn’t his real name. Now that she knew him, she couldn’t picture him as anything but Oz.