Dangerous To Love

by Toni Anderson, Barbara Freethy, Dee Davis, Leslie A. Kelly, Cynthia Eden, J. Kenner, Meli Raine, Gwen Hernandez, Pamela Clare, Rachel Grant

  “You’re good at manipulating people,” she blurted—anything that didn’t sound like she found him attractive. She could not afford to get a crush on this guy. It would be too humiliating.

  A dimple cut into his cheek, but the smile dimmed. “Most people call it charm. You should try it some time.”

  Ouch. The dig hurt more than it should.

  The fingers of his hand tightened around his glass. “It’s an important part of my job, getting people to do what I want but making them think it’s their idea.”

  “You like being a negotiator.”

  “I like kidnap victims going home. I like people not dying.”

  She liked that too. She took a sip of beer. “You sound defensive.”

  He gave her a long, hard look and ignored the observation. Maybe she was imagining it anyway.

  “This is where Van spent last Tuesday night?” Sheridan changed the subject back to what they should be talking about.

  “Yup.” She looked at a table full of laughing women who were clearly celebrating something. “Not where I’d expect him to hang out.”

  “Maybe he met someone here.” Sheridan’s dark blue eyes connected with hers. The conversation with the neighbor flashed unspoken between them.

  She looked away and scanned the crowd. “Most men I know would not blow their brains out after a blow job.”

  Remembering the scene and the photographs of Van’s body she felt sick. She thrust her plate away. She shouldn’t have read the autopsy report, but she’d been so sure the investigators had missed something obvious, something she’d spot immediately. She closed her eyes at the image that flashed through her mind. Some things you could never unsee.

  “It’s okay to be upset,” he said softly.

  “Thanks for the permission,” she snapped and then immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. It’s just so…” She swallowed hard.

  “I know. I get it.” The depth of his understanding made her feel small and petty for lashing out. “Van was a good man. He deserved better than what happened to him. However he died, he deserved better.”

  She nodded, unable to speak now. Maybe this was why Sheridan was a top negotiator. Apparently, he could talk to people about anything. Even the prickly and temporarily insane.

  A sense of loneliness and isolation overwhelmed her. She missed Van, she missed her mom and her siblings who lived clear across the country. Most of her friends were there too. Van had filled a million gaps in her life. He’d helped shape her decisions for so long, and now he was gone. It didn’t seem fair to lose him.

  Losing her father had been a graphic and terrifying experience. Losing Van felt worse. Maybe because she’d known Van longer, or because it had just happened. She took a drink of her beer, and Sheridan let the silence ride. Slowly the tightness in her throat eased.

  Being lonely sucked, but it was still better to be alone than involved with someone who wasn’t completely right for you. She hadn’t met anyone even vaguely right yet, and at twenty-six, she was starting to wonder if she ever would.

  Sheridan let her wallow as he devoured more wings. “Even if there was someone with him before he died, I’m still leaning towards him taking his own life,” he admitted. “He was too good an agent to be taken unaware.”

  “I could pull my gun and shoot you dead right now.”

  His mouth twitched in amusement. “Is that a threat, Agent Kanas?”

  She pinched her lips over the reluctant grin that wanted to escape. “You know what I mean. If you aren’t expecting it and the other party is planning something, they can get the drop on you easily.”

  He frowned at her.

  She sounded like a nut job. “Why would he shoot himself?”

  “Who knows why people kill themselves,” he said bitterly. “Maybe because of the guilt?”

  “Guilt?”

  “That he’d betrayed Jessica.”

  His dead wife.

  “I know he loved his wife. He spoke about her all the time.” Ava still didn’t buy it. She tapped her fingernail against the thick, green glass of the bottle. “If the guilt was strong enough that he’d kill himself over screwing around on her, why screw around in the first place?”

  “Men can be pretty weak in the face of temptation.” His gaze dropped to her lips but then he glanced away, so quickly she was sure she’d imagined it. “He was pretty religious.”

  She shook her head. “The church doesn’t care—it’s until death do us part, not for all eternity. Why commit the ultimate sin when he’d knew he’d end up in purgatory? Why not confess and do penance like all the other Catholics?”

  Sheridan frowned. “You’re right. It doesn’t fit with the man I knew, but if he’d been drinking…”

  The server came up to them again with a big jug of water. She refilled Dominic’s glass.

  “Another beer?” The server pointed a finger at Ava.

  “No, thanks.” One was her limit when driving.

  Sheridan picked through his wallet and showed a photograph to the woman. “You ever see this guy in here?”

  Ava leaned over Sheridan’s arm. He didn’t move away. It was a photo of him and Van at a ball game. The grip around her throat tightened. Some of the things she’d said to him had been unfair. He’d clearly loved the guy.

  The server’s eyes widened for a moment in a flash of recognition. “Maybe. He looks familiar.”

  “Were you working last week?” Ava strove to sound casual.

  “I worked three shifts. Tuesday, Friday, Saturday. I’m in grad school and need the extra cash.”

  “Do you remember seeing this guy in here last Tuesday night?” Sheridan asked quietly.

  The waitress eyed the photograph of Van and frowned. “I’ve definitely seen him around, but I’m not sure when.” She glanced back up. “The shifts all start to blur together after a while.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Who else was working last Tuesday?” Ava aimed for casual but failed if Sheridan’s frown was anything to go by.

  Caroline divided a look between them. “Is he missing or something?”

  “He’s a friend.” Sheridan gave her a nod that was technically the truth.

  The woman hadn’t recognized Van despite the news coverage, and Ava blanked her expression. She wasn’t about to give away the fact that Van was dead.

  “We’re trying to track his movements. We won’t cause you any trouble.” Sheridan slid a fifty-dollar bill across the smooth wood. “He’s a friend of ours and we need to know if he met anyone here. It’s important. You have any security footage we might be able to access?”

  The server sidled closer with her water jug to block the view of the cash from any observers as she slipped the money into her apron, refilling their glasses with more water as she did. She probably thought they were private investigators looking for evidence of one spouse cheating on another. “I wouldn’t go asking the owner for security footage if I were you.” Her mouth tightened. “He’s not a nice guy.”

  Ava exchanged a look with Sheridan.

  The waitress looked nervously over her shoulder. “I need to check in with my other tables.”

  Sheridan slid a business card across the table. “Call me if you remember anything else.”

  Caroline read the card and her skin blanched. “Of course.” She pasted on another big smile, one that failed to reach her eyes this time, and quickly stuffed the card into her apron pocket and walked away.

  Obviously, she didn’t like the fact they were Feds, but there were a million reasons why that could be.

  “What do you think?” Ava asked Sheridan.

  “I think the FBI needs to talk to the manager and take a look at that surveillance footage.”

  Which meant him taking the information to Aldrich and the task force and her pretending to not exist. Again. They carried on eating their chicken wings until all that was left was a pile of small bones. Ava licked the salt off her fingers.

  They were no further forward tha
n they had been yesterday except for a few more loose ends—like why had Van’s pants been down and why had he come to this bar? Did he even have a specific reason? The slowness of their fact-finding mission frustrated the hell out of her.

  Over Sheridan’s shoulder, Ava watched a massive guy wearing a plaid shirt walk up to another guy seated at the bar and tap him on the shoulder. When the man sitting down turned around, the big guy plowed a sledgehammer fist into his face.

  “Bar fight.” Ava scanned the area for any other threats.

  The injured man wiped a hand over his face, clearly shocked as his fingers came away bloody.

  Sheridan slid out of the booth. She followed.

  “How’d you like it when someone bigger ’un you picks a fight, asshole?” the big guy shouted, obviously very drunk and very angry.

  Awesome combo.

  The injured guy swore and scrambled to his feet, using the momentum to land a left hook that made the big guy stagger back into a table full of drinks. People scattered. Beer and wine went everywhere, glasses flying across tabletops and smashing onto the floor.

  Bar patrons cleared a space around the brawling men. Some people were getting the hell out of the bar. Others were settling in for the show.

  “I don’t start fights, motherfucker,” the man who’d been hit yelled, “but I sure as hell know how to finish them.”

  The two men started pounding one another, and Ava rolled her shoulders. Not how she’d planned to end her day.

  Sheridan held his badge high and shouted over the din. “FBI. Let’s break this up, fellas.”

  The man with the bloody nose took a quick breath. “You see what he did to me?”

  The big guy leaned forward. “That’s what happens to assholes who hit women.”

  Ava narrowed her eyes on the injured guy who she’d been mentally rooting for until that moment.

  “I don’t know squat about what you’re talking about.” He ducked a punch that might well have put him down for good.

  “That’s enough!” Sheridan shouted, pushing through the crowd. “Party’s over.”

  Sheridan had the larger man in handcuffs before the guy registered his presence, controlling him easily despite his size. Ava watched Sheridan’s back. Sheridan murmured to the man who’d been attacked. “You want to press charges, sir?”

  The guy touched his broken nose. “How long would it take?”

  “A couple of hours.” Sheridan spoke over the large man’s whining.

  “Hell no.”

  A man who had to be the manager pushed through.

  “Do you want to press charges?” Sheridan asked him.

  The manager shook his head. “Just throw him out. You’re banned, buddy,” he shouted after the guy.

  Sheridan walked the troublemaker to the door and paused, talking to him in a low, fierce tone.

  Ava went back to the table to ask for the check.

  When Sheridan reappeared, she asked, “You didn’t arrest him?”

  A rueful gleam lit his eyes. “More trouble than he’s worth. The man—Karl Feldman—says he found a woman crying near the restroom. She claimed the guy at the bar smacked her around.”

  “Should we try and find her? Get a statement?”

  Sheridan downed the last of his water and pointed at the crowd who’d resumed their night out with barely a blink now the excitement was over. “How exactly?”

  “By looking for someone who’s been crying?” Ava huffed out a long breath as she looked around. He was right. It was virtually impossible, and the woman might not want to talk to law enforcement even if they identified her.

  Caroline came over wearing a big smile. “Manager says it’s on the house.”

  Sheridan shook his head, and Ava thrust out some bills.

  “I’ll get it,” Sheridan tried to push her money away.

  “I ordered. I’ll pay,” she insisted.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “Thanks for dinner.”

  Did Sheridan roll his eyes? It was hard to say.

  “I’m just going to go talk to the guy at the bar for a moment,” Ava murmured. “Make sure he thinks twice before taking another punch at his girlfriend. Don’t bother waiting for me—”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “It’s okay—”

  He planted his feet. “Unless you’re planning to stay here to party or maybe take one of these guys home, I’ll wait.”

  Ava reared back in shock. Was that what he thought of her? She put her hands on her waist and raised her brows. “Fine. Knock yourself out. I’ll be five minutes.”

  * * *

  Dominic sat in the booth and watched Ava at the bar. Why the hell had he said that? People literally lived and died depending on his ability to keep a cool head under pressure, but an evening with Ava Kanas and he was reduced to some dictatorial bone head who couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut.

  The fact she wouldn’t accept his support, refused to acknowledge that the FBI worked best as a team, drove him insane. She always had to go it alone. Ava Kanas against the world. No wonder Van had taken her under his wing. Kanas was her own worst enemy and, unless she learned to trust the agents she worked with, she wouldn’t survive in the Bureau.

  It was his duty to stay here and back her up in case something went sideways at the bar. But would she accept his help graciously? Hell no. It pissed him off, and he’d lashed out and said something inappropriate that had hurt her feelings, which meant they both had something to learn.

  True to her word, less than five minutes later, she turned away from the guy with the bloody nose whom she’d been lecturing at the bar. Dominic almost felt sorry for the man—except for the whole potential domestic abuse thing.

  Together they headed through the heavy front doors into the fresh air and he walked her to her vehicle—a Nissan Versa he wasn’t sure he could physically fit into.

  She heaved a sigh. “I can take care of myself you know.”

  “You’re welcome.” He gave her his sunniest smile, determined to make things right.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” The words left her mouth reluctantly.

  “I shouldn’t have said that back there. That was out of line.” He’d sounded like a jealous fool. He’d sounded like his goddamn father.

  She gave him a smile with serrated edges. “For future reference I generally only hook up with strangers in bars on the weekends and holidays.”

  He wasn’t rising to her bait. “That’s great. Drive safe, Ava. I’ll talk to Aldrich about tracking down the surveillance footage of the bar first thing in the morning. See if we can get an image of Van here with someone.”

  She glanced around the street. “There’s an ATM machine over there. Ask him to pull that video too.”

  “Good idea.” He hesitated.

  “I know what you’re going to say.” She held up her hand to stop him from speaking.

  Why that amused him so much he had no idea. “What?”

  “Not to get my hopes up, that Van might have gone home alone, and even if he didn’t, it didn’t mean he was murdered.”

  He pressed his lips together and held the car door for her.

  “I’m not stupid.” She climbed into her tin can of a car and started the engine.

  “I don’t think you’re stupid, Ava.”

  She held his gaze for a long time, eyes shadowed, uncertainty worrying her mouth. After a few long moments he closed the door and watched her drive away. He wandered back to his car, feeling so tired he could barely drag one foot after the other.

  Ranger licked his ear when he climbed into the Lexus. He patted the front seat and the dog jumped over from the back. He attached the specially designed dog seatbelt and gave the mutt a quick scratch on his ribcage, thinking about Ava Kanas and the effect she had on him. Despite her lack of teamwork skills, she was a good agent. Sure, she had trouble with authority, was overzealous, blunt, and a little conspiracy prone, but she had integrity, and grit, and a work ethic to rival his own. He could see why Van had li
ked her so much.

  And that wasn’t even considering the pretty face and incredible body.

  “Not thinking about those,” he muttered to himself.

  His eyes felt heavy, and his sinus felt clogged as if he was suddenly coming down with a cold. Home was twenty minutes away, and his bed was a siren call for the weary.

  Out on the highway the road was clear. He put his foot down, wanting to hurry before he fell asleep at the wheel. He hadn’t slept much over this past week and even before that, work was always full on. Savage was gonna be pissed if he got sick. All he needed was a good night’s sleep and…

  Lights flashed at him and a horn blared. He jammed his eyes open and jerked the wheel back into his own lane as a truck whizzed by.

  Holy shit! He’d almost nodded off while driving. Things were worse than he thought.

  He rolled down the window. Sucked in the cool night air and stretched his eyes as wide as possible. Ranger whined.

  “S’okay, boy.” He was slurring words like a drunk. Shit. He squinted at the signpost. Almost home. Just a couple more miles.

  The flashing, blue strobe lights in his rear-view told him he was in deep shit.

  He concentrated intensely and pulled over onto the shoulder. Except he was going way too fast and couldn’t find the brakes as his feet had quit working. He tried to jerk the wheel, but a telephone pole came out of nowhere. He swore and grabbed onto Ranger’s scruff and closed his eyes.

  The detonation of the airbags snapped his head back like a punch. The impact jarred every bone in his body. His shoulder felt as if it was being ripped out of the socket. The terrible scream of steel crashing against wood penetrated his brain. Pain stabbed at his torso, across his face and down his legs. Blackness numbed the edges of the agony, then consumed him whole.

  Chapter Eight

  Driving home from the bar, Ava had initially turned the police scanner on for company, but the need to hear her mother’s voice overwhelmed her. Ava lived in an apartment above an antique store close to the Rappahannock River. The biggest noise pollution was the clopping of shod hooves on a Saturday morning when the horse-drawn carriages full of tourists drove by.