Winter's Secret

by Mary Stone

  Winter nodded again.

  He let out a low whistle. “Nothing with the Russian mafia is ever straightforward. They aren’t some old-school, small-time Italian crime family that meets up in the back of a laundry mat like they’re in some ‘80s movie.”

  Resting both hands on her hips, Winter sighed. “I know. It’s just…it seems like there’s so much going on right now, and me being in Maryland will make it even harder to keep up with.”

  “You’re not moving there. You’ll be there for a day, two tops. By the time you get back, there ought to be an update from the lab. I’m still looking through everything we’ve kept track of up until now, and believe me, you’ll be the first person who’ll know if I find something.”

  Winter rubbed at her forehead, and after a moment of quiet, her head dipped a little in what he could only hope was agreement.

  Aiden straightened. The next piece of advice he had for her was more personal, and he hesitated. Winter’s love life wasn’t any of his business unless she wanted to make it his business, but he was nothing if not observant. He hadn’t missed the way she looked at Noah when she didn’t think anyone else was paying attention.

  But to his continued surprise, he felt no pang of jealousy when he caught the reverent glances. She needed someone like Noah Dalton—someone who made her laugh, who didn’t remind her of her tumultuous past. Besides, his attention these days was fixed on a different woman.

  He pushed the sentiment aside. “Look, I know that Dalton doesn’t show it, but he’s having a rough time right now. Just because he doesn’t like Eric Dalton doesn’t mean that the guy’s presence isn’t stressful. I’ve got personal experience in the shitty father arena, so trust me. Dalton…the son, he needs you right now.”

  The steeliness vanished from her face, and the lack of it made her seem almost vulnerable. Tugging at the end of her neat braid, she nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Don’t worry about your brother’s case. Okay, maybe ‘don’t worry’ isn’t quite the right phrase, but let me worry about most of it, okay? You said that Autumn went with you to the house, so if I need to, I’ll reach out to her. We’ll handle it.”

  Winter let out a long, low sigh, but the frustration she’d shown minutes earlier had faded. “Okay. Yeah, Autumn was there with me. She knows what’s going on. I’m sure she could work some of that psychologist magic to help you out.”

  With a slight smile, he nodded. “I don’t doubt it. I’m still a little disappointed she didn’t take my job offer.”

  Winter snorted a laugh as she reached for the door handle. “I was actually thinking the same thing when we were in Harrisonburg. It’s not too late, though. Call her in here, give her a tour. Act like you’re just going to talk to her about the case, but then shove a job offer on her lap. She told me how much she makes, so I can help you make her a competitive offer.”

  In spite of his moment of worry, he laughed at the sarcasm. “I know. She told me too. I don’t think anyone here would ever let me offer her that much to work for a government agency.”

  Snickering, Winter pulled open the glass and metal door. “Probably not, but you won’t know until you try.”

  Though he’d never admit as much to Winter, her lighthearted comments put him more at ease than the entirety of their dialogue. Her tone and her demeanor were calm, and he had no doubt of her sincerity.

  But on some level, the conclusion he’d drawn about Eric Dalton’s case was almost as disconcerting as the potential for Winter to go rogue in the search for Justin.

  If another agent had asked him why or how he thought Eric’s debt to the Russians was a tangled web—the likes of which they’d only begun to unravel—he wouldn’t have been able to provide a suitable explanation.

  He didn’t know how, he just knew.

  He’d been doing this job long enough to realize when there was more to a story than met the eye.

  Whatever in the hell it was, he would just have to wait and see.

  Though Autumn had only spent a half day at the office of the psychological consultation firm where she worked, she was ready to fall asleep as soon as she walked through the door of her apartment. In the time she’d been employed at Shadley and Latham, she’d learned that she had a tendency to go after her work in one grueling session rather than space it throughout the week. And now that she’d finished the follow-up paperwork from the evaluations she’d conducted, she was out of work. For the moment, at least.

  As she changed into a band t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, she wondered whether or not she should make an effort to break the habit. Though she liked to have free time at the end of the week, she came close to working herself to death on Mondays and Tuesdays.

  After letting Toad outside to do his business, she heated up a hunk of the leftover baked ziti and went to lounge on the spacious couch. Once she’d finished her lunch, her eyelids soon grew heavy, and her thoughts ventured away from the realistic and into the realm of dreams.

  When a sudden knock jerked her out of the light slumber, she took in a sharp breath. The rush of adrenaline dissolved any remaining haze of sleep, and in the midst of a moment of quiet panic, she glanced around the living room for a makeshift weapon.

  I should really buy a gun. Or a sword. Or a bayonet. Something.

  Her tussle with the hitman, Nico Culetti, hadn’t left her with much in the way of emotional distress, but she had become hyper-vigilant at virtually all hours of the day. Though Catherine Schmidt—the neurosurgeon turned serial killer who had kept tabs on Autumn for decades via a subdermal GPS monitoring device—was dead, Autumn didn’t think it was out of the realm of possibility to consider herself on the Russo family’s bad side. After all, she’d shot and killed one of their most reliable contract killers. She still couldn’t believe that she’d killed a man, or that she’d been able to even get the upper hand.

  She’d learned some very important lessons from that experience. Never underestimate someone smaller and less powerful than you. And…the will to live was very strong.

  With a groan, Autumn combed a hand through her disheveled hair as well as she could manage. Maybe if she ignored the knock, the person would go away.

  Even though she expected it, she still jumped at the second knock.

  So much for that.

  Pushing herself to stand, she made an attempt to smooth her hair in the reflection of the television screen. “Just a second,” she called. Hopefully, the acknowledgment would be enough to keep them from knocking again.

  Though Toad’s fluffy tail wagged back and forth at approximately fifty miles-per-hour, the little Pomeranian mix didn’t bark. Unless he was outside, Toad almost never barked.

  She knelt down to scoop him up. Scratching behind one pointed ear, she looked at him and shook her head. “You’re the worst guard dog, Toad. If someone broke in here, you’d probably just help them carry all my shit out, wouldn’t you?”

  His tongue lolled in an unspoken confirmation of her assessment.

  Once she picked her way out of the living room and to the front door, she squinted at the peephole.

  With a manila envelope under one arm, her visitor had tucked one hand into the pocket of his tailored suit jacket. As he glanced back to the hall, his pale blue eyes flitted back and forth. Not a single caramel brown hair out of place, Aiden Parrish looked as presentable as ever.

  Before Autumn reached to the deadbolt, she glanced down at her shirt and shorts, then over to the hall that led to her room. If he hadn’t already been standing in front of her apartment for so long, there was a distinct possibility that she would have hurried to change back into the black pencil skirt and emerald blouse she’d worn to work.

  Alas, the opportunity had passed.

  Pushing back a sigh, she disengaged the lock and pulled open the door.

  It might have been her imagination, but she thought his pale eyes lingered on her before he made his greeting. The unsolicited glance from any other man would have put her o
n guard, but she felt a flush rise to her cheeks as her pulsed picked up. She could only hope he wouldn’t spot the pink tinge on her cheeks in the low light.

  She jerked herself out of the thoughts and waved him inside.

  He stepped out of his shoes as she closed and locked the door. “I sent you a text message to let you know I was stopping by.”

  Autumn knelt to deposit her dog on the floor. “Oh. I was asleep, and I never have the volume on my phone turned on unless I’m expecting something from work.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched in a slight smile. “It kind of defeats the purpose of having a phone, doesn’t it?”

  With a quick eye roll, she waved away the remark. “I just respond to people on my own time. There’s less pressure that way.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Pressure? To respond to a text message?”

  Autumn huffed in a show of feigned exasperation. “You know what, I didn’t ask for you to critique my phone setting preferences, all right?”

  Now, it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. That’s not why I’m here, anyway.” He paused at the entrance of the living room to lift the envelope. “This is.”

  “Is that my rap sheet?” The sarcastic comment rolled off her tongue before she could reconsider.

  To her relief, the self-deprecating quip only made his smile more pronounced. Autumn knew the man well enough to understand that an amused smile wasn’t an expression he often donned when he was in the presence of others. But when it was just the two of them, she had grown accustomed to the charming countenance.

  “No, it’s not your rap sheet.” He flashed her a curious glance as he followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have a rap sheet?”

  She tapped her temple. “No. I was clever enough not to get caught.”

  He chuckled as he set the envelope down on the polished breakfast bar. “That’s a story I definitely want to hear. But, sadly, this isn’t the time. I need your help with something.”

  Autumn lifted an eyebrow at him. “Does this something have anything to do with the FBI? Or…?” She left the query unfinished.

  “Something with the FBI, yeah. A case you already know about. Winter’s brother, Justin Black.” The good humor vanished from his features like it hadn’t been there.

  As memories of the shadowy, two-story house flitted back to her, Autumn’s mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. Nodding, she gestured to the fridge. “Do you want anything to drink?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. I polished off an entire Chai latte on my way here.”

  Autumn wanted to make a joke, but her good humor had also vanished at the mention of Winter’s missing brother. With another nod, she pulled open the fridge to retrieve a can of caffeinated soda.

  “Winter’s working a case that has to do with Noah’s father, Eric Dalton. I told her while she’s doing that, I’d follow up with whatever the CSU found at that house, and I’d dig through the old Justin Black files.”

  “And?” Autumn took the first sip from her drink as she met his eyes.

  He broke away from the look as he shook his head. “There’s something about it I don’t like. I already had the paperwork sent to Shadley and Latham. They signed their part, so all I need is for you to sign yours.”

  Her eyes widened as he slid a folded sheet of paper across the bar to her. “Shit, this is official-official, then?”

  His nod was slow, his expression grim. “Yeah. It’s an official threat assessment. We haven’t found any solid leads to Justin Black yet, but I need to know what I’m getting myself and the rest of the bureau into when I do.”

  Autumn was in a daze as she reached for a pen. As she scrawled her signature along the dotted line at the bottom of the paper, she felt like she had just signed away any unprofessional thoughts she might have had about Aiden Parrish.

  Biting back a sigh, she held out the paper for him to tuck away. “Okay. So, now it’s officially official.”

  His eyes scanned her face before he took it from her hand. “I saw the CSU’s report, but I’m curious to hear your take on what you saw in that house. First impression, I suppose.”

  She couldn’t hold back the sigh this time. Raking the fingers of one hand through her hair, she forced herself not to shiver. “It was weird. Just…weird. Creepy, more like it was a haunted house than an old crime scene. Not that those things are mutually exclusive, but you get my point, right?”

  He nodded as he sat at the nearest barstool and propped both elbows atop the granite counter. “Any thoughts on what kind of person might have left a message like that?”

  She rubbed her eye, which had started to twitch a little. “That’s a loaded question, don’t you think?”

  With a slight shake of his head, he spread his hands. “I’m not going to take any of this back to Winter. I need an honest assessment of what this kid is like now.”

  She brought an index finger to her lips to bite her nail, but she dropped the hand just as fast. The day before, she had painted her nails for that express purpose—to stop the nervous habit that she’d only just developed in the past few weeks.

  “An honest assessment,” she echoed.

  “Yes. Based on what you saw when you were at that house with Winter the other night.”

  She didn’t have to stop to mull over the scene of her friend’s childhood house—over the past twenty-four hours or more, she had run through the scene more times than she could count. And in that time, she’d put her extensive studies in abnormal psychology to work.

  She didn’t have to take the time to come up with an answer to Aiden’s question because she’d already come up with an honest assessment.

  Tapping a finger against the can of soda, she looked back to Aiden. “He wrote two different messages to Winter in rat’s blood, and he left a pile of mutilated rat carcasses in a corner of the room where their parents were brutally murdered. The content of the messages might be a little cryptic, but the motive seems pretty clear to me.”

  Aiden was quiet as he watched her, waiting. There was a tinge of seldom seen trepidation in his pale eyes, and the uncharacteristic look made her consider relocating to a bunker in the middle of a desert.

  She swallowed the nervousness, and when she spoke, her voice was steady and calm. “He’s taunting her.”

  14

  After her discussion with Aiden that morning, Winter had renewed her dedication to the Eric Dalton—and now, Natalie and Jon Falkner—case. Like he so often was, Aiden had been right, and his reassurance had been more effective than even Winter had anticipated.

  Winter glanced over to Bree as the other woman shifted the sedan into park at the top of a sloped driveway. After a chaotic jaunt through the airport, a flight from Richmond to Baltimore, and then a rushed effort to get to Natalie and Jon Falkner’s house, Bree still looked like she’d just woken up from a solid eight hours of sleep. Someday—not at the scene of a potential kidnapping—Winter would ask for the woman’s secret.

  As Bree pulled the key from the ignition, she met Winter’s gaze and raised a sculpted brow. “You ready? The Baltimore cops have been waiting for us before they go inside.”

  Reaching for the door handle, Winter nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Let’s do this.”

  Normally, the FBI office in Baltimore would handle a kidnapping in their own city, but since the alleged abduction was associated with an active case from Richmond, they had been more than willing to bring in Bree and Winter. Max wanted the two agents from his office to physically visit the potential crime scene, and the Baltimore SAC, Marie Judd, had personally welcomed them to the city.

  Even from the short interaction, Winter could safely say the Baltimore SAC was a fascinating person. She’d been a Naval Intelligence Analyst for a decade before she joined the FBI, but she was still one of the youngest women to ever attain the lofty status of Special Agent in Charge.

  Winter and Bree produced their badges as they neared the front porch. The two detectives, one cla
d in a charcoal suit, the other in a teal dress shirt and a black blazer, both nodded a greeting.

  “Detectives.” Bree flashed her badge one more time before she tucked it back into the pocket of her jacket. “I’m Agent Stafford, this is Agent Black.”

  As she held up her own badge, Winter shifted her gaze from the man to the woman.

  Though they appeared alert, shadows darkened the skin beneath their eyes. Baltimore was a large city, and even though its crime rate was in a steady decline, the occurrence of violent acts still surpassed much of the country. Winter could only imagine how thin the two detectives were stretched.

  The man met Winter’s eyes first, then Bree’s. “I’m Detective Schaeffer, and this is my partner, Detective Vinson.”

  With a faint smile, the woman nodded. “We’re with the Major Crimes Division. We work with the bureau quite a bit.”

  Brushing a piece of curly hair from her eyes, Bree offered the duo a quick smile. “That’s good to hear. I can spare you the usual spiel.”

  Bree’s smile was infectious, and Winter soon wore a matching expression. “Have you guys found anything yet? Anything that looks off from the outside?”

  Detective Vinson shook her head. “No, nothing out of the ordinary. We called Mr. and Mrs. Falkner’s bosses, but they didn’t have much to say. Mrs. Falkner apparently sent an email to tell her boss that she’d be out for a few days of personal time. She’s a flight attendant, and the manager we talked to said she hardly ever used her time off. He thought it was weird, but he didn’t question it. I guess he figured she needed the vacation.”

  The man next to her made a sound that crossed somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “He’s probably not wrong. But Mr. Falkner’s absence was a little more abrupt. He didn’t give quite as much notice. He’s a manager at a retail store, and one of the other managers said he just sent a text message to tell them he was sick.”

  Winter glanced over to Bree. “Seems like a little more than a coincidence, don’t you think?”