by Mary Stone
Detective Smith flung open the rear driver’s side door and snapped Drew from the spell of reverie. The matte black Glock was leveled at his head again.
“Out,” Smith commanded.
Without responding, Drew slid to the edge of the seat and swung his legs out of the car, glaring at the man the entire time. Two more men waited in front of another sedan, each with their arms crossed over their chest.
When his eyes met those of the shorter man, Drew’s mouth was suddenly devoid of moisture.
He didn’t recognize the taller of the pair, but he knew this man.
“Sergei Kolesov,” he managed. “What the fuck, Sergei? They sent you here to kill me?”
Detective Smith jabbed Drew forward one more time before he stepped aside.
As he set his mouth in a hard line, Sergei shook his head.
“Not kill you.” Sergei spoke the words in Russian, a language in which Drew had become fluent thanks to his mother.
Holding both arms out to his sides, Drew chuckled. The sound was mirthless and dry. “Then what? Am I getting a promotion?”
Drew kept his expression blank, but in truth, a twinge of hope had started to blossom in the back of his mind. If they hadn’t planned to put a bullet in his skull, then all he had to do was hang on until the cavalry arrived.
Sergei’s gray eyes flicked to his superior—a Russian enforcer and one of the most intimidating human beings Drew had ever had the displeasure to meet.
The taller man clucked his tongue as he shook his head. “You’ve been nosy lately, Misha. Sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong. You’re here because you’ve made a bad habit, and we intend to break you of it.”
In one swift motion, Sergei arced his arm behind his head and stepped forward.
The man’s movements were a blur. Even if he’d anticipated the sudden right hook, Drew wasn’t sure he would have been able to avoid the blow.
With a blinding explosion of pain and a wet crack, the Russian henchman’s knuckles smashed into the center of Drew’s face.
He felt himself fall backward as darkness rushed up to greet him.
Amelia’s golden eyes seemed to sparkle as her lips parted in a wide smile.
I could hardly believe what I’d just witnessed. That idiot Sergei had landed a heavy blow just above Misha’s nose.
As soon as I spotted the whites of Misha’s eyes as his lids fluttered closed, I knew Sergei had fucked up.
The thump of the Russian’s knuckles paled in comparison to the sickening crack of Misha’s skull smashing into the edge of a jagged rock. The glare of the streetlights glinted off the droplets of blood that spattered the concrete, and I knew.
The stone had rolled down from the sloping incline that led up to the interstate overpass. There were many more scattered around the edge of the asphalt, but Sergei hadn’t bothered to consider the implications.
Sergei’s gray eyes flicked from Misha’s still form to his boss and then, finally, to me.
“What the hell are you looking at me for?” I threw every ounce of vitriol I could manage into the question. “Check his pulse!”
I already knew it. It was just my luck when I had to deal with these sons of bitches.
They’d fucking killed him.
“You heard him, Sergei.” The enforcer’s voice was barely more than a growl. Alek, or at least that’s what the man called himself. I didn’t know his real name, and I didn’t want to.
Even from the distance, I could see the tremble in Sergei’s hand as he reached down to Misha’s neck.
“Chyort voz’mi!” Sergei stammered. “Shit! He’s dead!”
I found it exceedingly difficult not to reach for my gun.
Now, instead of the beating intended to warn Misha to stop prying, Sergei had killed the man. And now, instead of letting the Russians load their beat-up compatriot into their car to cart him off to only god knew where, I had to help these assholes clean up a crime scene.
Just as I opened my mouth to bark a series of orders at the moron, I heard it. The sound was distant, but it grew nearer with each passing second.
Alek’s eyes widened in surprise. “Shit,” he spat. “We need to leave. Now.”
I had no idea how the police had caught on to our location, had no idea why they’d even give a shit, but I’d figure it out from somewhere else.
It was time to go.
“So much for an easy cleanup,” I muttered to myself.
Nothing with the Russians was ever easy.
17
Even though she’d received the news the night before, Bree hardly heard Max’s voice as he went through the most recent updates for their investigation.
Officers had found Drew Hansford’s body after a bizarre 911 call led them to the underside of an I-95 overpass.
The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head, but what was less clear was why.
Agents in the Baltimore office would soon have access to the audio of Drew’s call to the city’s emergency services, but for right now, they were all in the dark. Though Bree’s first inclination was to believe that Drew’s cover had been blown, she wasn’t entirely convinced.
The fact that Drew had been killed as he looked into Eric Dalton’s involvement with the Russians was no coincidence.
“Agent Stafford.” The familiar, gravelly voice cut through the fog that swirled in her thoughts.
She snapped her vacant stare away from the whiteboard to meet Max’s gaze. “Sir?”
“I know that you and Agent Hansford were good friends.”
Bree swallowed, and emotion threatened to burn her face, but she managed a nod.
“I’m sorry, Agent Stafford, but I can’t assign you to this case. You’re still on the Eric Dalton case, but I’m sending Agent Black and Agent Dalton to help the Baltimore office with Agent Hansford’s murder.” Though his visage was steely as it always was, there was a pang of sympathy behind his gray eyes.
“Understood.” The word wasn’t much more than a whisper.
If she was honest with herself, she didn’t think she would have been fit to investigate Drew’s murder even if she had been given the green light. As soon as she found whichever Russian prick was responsible for her friend’s death, she would wrap her hands around their throat, and she wouldn’t let go until the life drained from their eyes.
All of this was for what? To save Eric Dalton’s hide?
The taste in her mouth turned bitter as she thought of Noah’s biological father.
What in the hell had he done?
His desperation to save his wife from being confined to a wheelchair had cost a good man his life. Eric’s idiotic decision had killed a woman’s husband and a child’s father.
Unbidden, she pictured the warm smile on Drew’s face as he regaled her with stories of his daughter with his wife’s cat.
Bob. The cat’s name was Bob. Bob was orange and white, and Emma Hansford looked like a tiny clone of her mother. Drew had sworn that the only attribute she’d inherited from him was the color of her eyes.
And now, that poor girl and her mother had been robbed of the source of so much of their joy. Because of one man’s stupidity and naivety, Emma and Amelia would never see Drew again.
Bree was still shrouded by a haze of disbelief as she stood to excuse herself to the ladies’ room. She double-checked to ensure she was the only occupant before she stepped into the farthest stall.
The flurry of her emotions oscillated between ire and sadness. Between blind rage and a crushing melancholy.
She didn’t know which she should give priority.
If she let the sadness take over, she would curl into a blubbering mess on the floor of the women’s bathroom. But if she gave in to the rage, she would be liable to join Augusto Lopez in prison before the end of the month.
After the murder of his daughter and the loss of his wife to suicide, Augusto had dedicated his life to tracking down the scum of the earth. Between his elite military tra
ining and his knowledge of crime scene forensics, the man had almost eluded capture entirely. Not long before his capture, news reporters had given him the moniker “The Norfolk Executioner.”
Because Augusto was judge, jury, and executioner.
This was how he had gotten his start.
The noxious combination of festering rage had overtaken his despondence and driven him on a bloody path to vengeance. She didn’t know if he had found his solace, if he had purged the demon of anger from his heart.
In that moment, she understood.
He had arguably lost more than Bree could even comprehend. In the span of a year, his entire life had been yanked out from beneath him.
All he was left with was a searing rage he could only quench with blood.
Even though the thought gave her a grim sense of satisfaction, Bree wouldn’t follow in Augusto’s footsteps.
She still had her life. She still had her brother, her parents, her fiancée, her friends. She wouldn’t let them down just for the fleeting rush of consummation that would accompany wiping Drew’s killer off the face of the planet.
But in the dark recesses of her mind, she knew she was no better than the man the media had dubbed The Norfolk Executioner.
The only difference was that she had a badge.
And unless the Russians had discovered that Drew was an undercover federal agent, his death made Eric Dalton’s story even less believable.
If—and she knew how significant that caveat was—he had been killed by the Russians because he had asked too many questions about Eric Dalton, then she could safely say there was a large portion of Eric’s tale that was either missing or was altogether false.
The Russians wouldn’t have smashed one of their people’s heads into a rock beneath an interstate overpass just for a handful of inquiries into a new money laundering arrangement. They were a ruthless group, but they didn’t kill their own unless they had a damn good reason.
In fact, the lack of information about Kelly Dalton’s business as a front to clean dirty money was bizarre all by itself.
That the Russians would kill one of their own to keep the secret?
That was bullshit.
Noah could have sworn he saw Autumn in the FBI building not long before their briefing, but he wrote off the sighting as a lack of caffeine. After he tucked his work computer into a black bag and double-checked his desk for any essentials he might have forgotten, he started off for the elevator.
Honestly, he was glad for the unexpected trip to Baltimore. The more distance he put between him and Eric Dalton, the better. Even just knowing the man was in the same city was enough to dampen his mood.
As he neared the end of the hallway, a familiar redhead rounded the corner. Her charcoal pencil skirt was belted at her waist, and the hem ended at her knees. Though her semi-sheer button-down shirt was unadorned white, a turquoise pendant rested at her throat while a matching bracelet adorned her wrist. The last time Noah had seen Autumn, she’d been clad in long-sleeved flannel, a band t-shirt, well-worn jeans, and flip-flops.
He felt like she had just walked off the set of one of those reality shows where the hosts helped a person pick out a new wardrobe. From 1990s grunge rocker to well-dressed professional, the transformation was striking. That was why he hadn’t recognized her from a distance. When he thought about Autumn Trent, he pictured a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt and ripped jeans, not five-inch designer heels and a pencil skirt.
Shouldering the laptop bag, he pulled himself back to reality. “Autumn? What’re you doing here?”
She jerked around to face him with a start.
Reflexively, he held up both hands as if to show he was unarmed. “Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
With a sigh, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “It’s all right. I’ve been jumpy lately. Seems like I can’t come across someone I know without jumping three feet in the damn air.”
He chuckled. “Must be something in the water. I think I scared the crap out of Winter two different times yesterday.” He paused to gesture to the visitor’s badge around her neck. “What brings you to the FBI office, anyway?”
A flicker of something that resembled nervousness flitted behind her green eyes. “Nothing, I’m just…helping Aiden Parrish with something.”
The succinct response was curious, and her demeanor only invited more questions.
“Helping Parrish with what?” He kept his eyes on her. Her heels narrowed the gap in their height to a mere three or four inches, but he took full advantage as he stood in front of her.
Her green eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I can tell you?”
If he hadn’t been sure she was hiding something before, he was certain now. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he stepped into the conference room at their side and beckoned her to follow.
As she rolled her eyes, her heels clacked against the tiled floor before the sound was muffled by the carpeting of the shadowy room. She eased the door closed behind herself, but she didn’t let the latch click into place.
Crossing both arms over her white blouse, she fixed him with an unimpressed stare. “Well? You can quit looking at me like I’ve got two heads any ole day now.”
“Winter’s been acting weird lately.” He made the statement before he’d even stopped to consider the words. “And now you’re here on some secret mission for Parrish. You see why I’m a little suspicious, don’t you?”
For the second time in the last minute, she rolled her eyes. Beneath the casual dismissal, the same glimmer of uneasiness remained.
“Why are you here, Autumn?” He made his inquiry as pointed as he could manage without sounding outright hostile.
Her inner debate continued as she finally met his intense stare.
“Does it have something to do with why Winter’s been acting weird?” His voice had sharpened, but he didn’t pause to consider the fact that he was effectively interrogating his friend. Not just his friend, but a forensic psychologist. If she wanted to flip the heated line of questioning around to her advantage, he didn’t doubt she could.
“What the hell is this?” The question was like the strike of a venomous snake. “Did you pull me into a conference room so you can interrogate me to find out if something’s going on with Winter? Is that what this is?”
He held his ground, though he wasn’t sure standing in place was a wise move when he’d cornered a viper. Based on the petulance in her eyes, he had hit a nerve. Not to mention, she’d all but jumped out of her skin when he called her name in the hall.
Autumn was on edge. Winter was on edge. What in the fresh hell was going on around here? He felt like there was some in-depth conspiracy afoot, and he was the only person in the damn building who didn’t know the truth.
Grating his teeth together, Noah forced himself to speak more calmly. “It’s just us here right now, and all I’m doing is connecting a few dots.” He paused to gesture from himself to her and back. “This, what you’re doing right here, it’s telling me a hell of a lot more than you think. It’s telling me that there is something going on. You could’ve just as easily said there wasn’t, but instead, you’re getting pissed.”
With a swift step forward, she jabbed a finger in his chest. The motion was so forceful, he was sure he’d have a bruise.
“Maybe I’m pissed because I don’t want to fucking lie to you!”
The forceful response seemed to take all the air out of the small room.
Wide-eyed, all he could do was gape at her in response. As soon as he opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off with a sharp wave.
“No. I’m done with this. We aren’t having this conversation. If you want to know what’s going on with Winter, ask Winter, not me. I told you why I’m here, and you can take it or leave it. But this.” She pointed vehemently to the ground between them. “Right now, this is done.”
Before he could react in one way or another, she flung open the glass and metal door and brushed
past him into the hall. By the time she disappeared around the corner, he still hadn’t managed to form a comprehensive response.
Winter wanted to kick down the door and barrel into the safe house to berate Eric Dalton for his stupidity, but she swallowed the rage as Agent Miguel Vasquez opened the front door and waved her inside.
She grunted out a thank-you before she made her way across the living room and into the modest kitchen.
In the midst of a sip from his morning coffee, Eric froze in place as soon as he spotted her.
“Good morning, Mr. Dalton.” She kept her voice cool and crisp but added enough venom to convey to him that her intent was anything but friendly.
As he set his mug atop the dining room table, he nodded. “Good morning. I…I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.”
“Agent Black,” she said from between clenched teeth. “I just thought I’d stop by to give you an update. Your wife and your son are safe. A couple officers with the Baltimore PD picked them up yesterday and took them to a safe house. But, from the sounds of it, your wife has quite a few questions for you.”
A crestfallen look passed behind his eyes as he nodded again. “I can imagine. She’s all right, though? What about Natalie and…and Jon?”
Winter crossed her arms over her chest. “You said yourself that the Russians told you they shot him, right?”
For the third time, he nodded.
“Well, Natalie wasn’t at home. And, obviously, neither was her husband. Whoever took them didn’t leave a trace.” She let the bleak statement hang in the air as she fixed Eric with an intent stare.
His eyes flicked up to hers, and his mouth opened and closed several times before he spoke. “What else?”
She pursed her lips and bit back a knee-jerk insult. “There was a federal agent in Baltimore who was looking into your…situation.”
As the unmistakable spark of anxiety flickered to life in his visage, she was tempted to let him stew for a solid twenty minutes. But she had a flight to catch.
The shadows along Eric’s throat shifted as he swallowed.