Noah continued, “Meet back at that ugly-ass dolphin statue, in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.” She scanned the room. “I don’t see him, do you?”
“No.”
“Well, hi, there. So nice of you to show.” Steph Kelley, dressed in a short red number walked up carrying a stemmed glass filled with bubbly. She nodded at the coat check.
A woman hustled over. “May I take your coat, ma’am?”
Fiona slipped the black cashmere from her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Nice dress,” Steph said with a bit of attitude as she looked her over in a way that made Fiona want to knock the drink out of her hand. Instead, she said—
“Thank you. This is a beautiful home.”
“It is, isn’t it? Ah, here’s the lady of the house now. Mrs. Margaret Norris.”
An elegant woman in an ivory silk dress and long gray hair pulled into a bun, stretched out her jewel-covered hand. To Fiona’s surprise, she was the same age, if not older, than the senator.
“Mrs. Norris, this is Special Agent Fox and Agent Monreau.”
“Pleasure to meet you both. Frank mentioned you’d be stopping by.”
“Pleasure to meet you as well.” Fiona shook her thin hand.
“I certainly hope this party clears everything up for you.” Mrs. Norris said with a sweet, thick Southern drawl, and a hint of threat in her eye.
“Hope so, too. I haven’t seen the Senator this evening.” Noah said, cutting to the chase.
Margaret rolled her eyes. “He’s been in and out all evening. Mingling. Last I saw he was in the kitchen brow-beating the staff about an under-seasoned something.” Her eye caught someone more important. “Excuse me, I’ve got to…” and she was off before even finishing the sentence.
“Well,” Steph said after clearing her throat. “The bar is in the dining room. Can I get you something?”
“We’ll find our way, thanks.”
“Alright, then.” The staffer took one more head-to-toe look at Fiona before turning away.
Noah lightly gripped her arm and guided Fiona down the hallway, obviously sensing the tension between she and Steph.
What the hell was that about, anyway?
As they turned into the dining room, she looked over her shoulder to see Steph talking intensely on her cell phone. The moment their eyes met, Steph turned, and disappeared into the sea of people.
Fiona’s instincts piqued.
“Come on,” Noah whispered as he pulled her into the dining room.
The tables had been cleared and replaced with multiple small, tall tables to rest drinks on while campaigning for money. Pictures of Norris, his wife, and his daughter decorated the walls.
“Good evening. What can I get y’all to drink?” The bartender, dressed in a tuxedo, wiped his hands on a towel.
“Beer.” Noah said.
“Same.” She had no doubt she’d be the only woman at the party with a beer. She checked her cell to see if Ace had texted anything else.
“Here you go,” the bartender winked as he handed her a fancy microbrew.
She sipped, turned, and slowly raised her eyebrows. Noah had been pulled into small talk with who else but an extremely attractive brunette. She watched him for a moment, the ease of conversation, the casual, lighthearted tone that suggested he was doing anything other than hunting a killer. The man was a chameleon, able to adapt to any situation to get what he needed. No wonder why he was so good at his job… and wooing women. As if reading her thoughts, he turned to her.
“And, this is Fiona Monreau.” He slid his arm around her.
Surprise, followed by jealousy flashed in the woman’s eyes.
“Fiona, this is Angie Jones. The mayor’s daughter.”
“Nice to meet you, Angie.”
“You, too.”
“Is the mayor here this evening?”
“Yes, somewhere,” Angie said, with a bit of a slur. The college-aged brunette cocked her head. “You’re with Black Rose, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Angie gave her the once-over, then nodded. “Well, nice to meet y’all. I think the bartender’s cut me off. Excuse me.”
Angie headed toward the front door where Fiona’s gaze shifted to Patrick Brown, Chief of Staff, in the hallway texting rapidly on his cell phone.
She nudged Noah, who had already noticed. Together, they crossed the room.
“Mr. Brown.”
Patrick looked up from his cell and pinned Noah with the same fiery expression as earlier. “Special Agent Fox, Agent Monreau. Good of you to come.” His tone suggested otherwise.
“Nice party.”
“Throwing parties is Steph’s main talent.” The disdain for the scheduler, and part-time party planner, was evident.
Fiona glanced down the hall. Where had Steph gone? More importantly, who had she called moments after seeing she and Noah? There was much more to this little group than met the eye. Her gut was screaming at her.
Another suit walked up to join the conversation.
“Excuse me,” Patrick growled as he stepped away.
The man introduced himself to Noah, and before she had to engage in small talk again, her phone beeped. She clicked it open—one new message from Officer Hunter.
Fi, tried Fox, no answer. A lab tech from Graves just got here and found a burner phone under the driver’s seat. Last call to another burner, but the two before that were to Norris’s staff member, Steph Kelley. I’m parked outside Norris’s gate, Zander’s on his way.
She quickly typed a response.
Stay there. Don't do anything yet. Let me get eyes on the Senator, first. Talk soon.
She turned to Noah, with a calm smile on her face. “I’m going to mingle. See you in a bit.” Her gaze lingered a moment—fifteen minutes, ugly-ass dolphin.
He nodded, a slight look of concern crossing his face. “You have your cell loaded? I remember your battery was running out.” Do you have your gun, he meant.
“Yes.” She tapped her purse. “Speaking of phone, you might want to check yours. I think I heard it beep.”
He reached into his pocket as she turned and made her way down the hall, her eyes scanning for Steph and Norris. What the hell was Steph doing in communication with Joel? Could she be the one who stole Misti Seager’s key and dropped it at the cemetery?
She pulled her cell and opened a text to Ace.
Need to know what kind of car Steph Kelley has, ASAP.
She slid the phone back into her purse and wove her way through the penguins and their wives. She passed the foyer, glancing up the curved staircase. Too many eyes if she went that way. She paused, glancing around the room, then slid under the shadows of the staircase. An elevator centered between two hallways. The lights were dim, a subtle “no trespassing” message for the partygoers.
No trespassing. She snorted and hung a left. Her hand itched to grab her gun as she descended the dark hallway, the music and laughter fading into the distance. She glanced into each room as she passed—guest bedroom, guest bathroom, utility closet, laundry room. All empty. She came to a door at the end of the hall, and after a quick glance over her shoulder, she turned the knob. The room was pitch black and smelled of motor oil.
The garage.
She quietly closed the door behind her and flicked on her cell light.
A black Tahoe, white BMW, and black Chevy—all brand new and shiny. No red two-door something that purrs. She maneuvered between each car, glancing inside and checking the tires. The engines were cool and not a speck of dirt on the tread.
She pushed through a side door and stepped outside, paused and listened. Bugs chirped around her. The cool evening breeze rustled through the trees. The muted sound of the party hummed in the distance. No voices, no footsteps. Only the sound of her breath. Her gaze landed on several cars parked against the woods. She shifted to her tiptoes and crossed the perfectly manicured, yet very soggy, grass.
A Lexus, another Lexus, BMW… S
he froze… and one shiny, two-door, bright-red Maserati that no doubt purred like a kitten.
Her pulse picked up. She jogged to the car noticing the fresh mud sprayed around the tires.
“A little lost, aren’t you?”
She spun around. With his hands shoved in his pockets, the devilishly handsome James Miller, Norris’s communications director, flashed a smile.
She blew out a breath. “You startled me.”
He laughed, stepped forward. “Sorry.” He nodded to the car. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.” She glanced in the driver’s window. “You know who owns it?”
“Sure do.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
A hand wrapped around her mouth and nose moments before everything faded to black.
CHAPTER 16
Noah stepped out of the kitchen—no Senator Norris, no Steph Kelley, and no Fiona.
After Fiona had slipped away, the immediate desperation to get her back in his sights made his pulse pick up. The thought of her searching the massive house alone didn’t sit well with him.
He wasn’t surprised when he read Hunter’s text about Steph. Hell, she was Norris’s right-hand man, or woman for that matter, and nothing got past her. Norris couldn’t take a shit without her scheduling it. Of course she was involved.
Feeling a rush of urgency to find Fiona, he made his way to the foyer, his gaze sliding up the staircase. Fiona wouldn’t have risked going that way. He moved behind the stairs and slipped into the elevator.
A chill snaked up his back as he stepped onto the second floor. A brewing in his gut that something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He checked his cell. Four minutes until their agreed meeting time by the ugly-ass dolphin.
Where the hell was Norris?
He silently walked down the hallway, glancing into each room, until he came to the last room.
Senator Norris’s office.
Bingo.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder before jogging over to the large, cherry-oak desk. He unscrewed a thumb drive from his keychain. The room was dark, just the way he liked it. The desk was set up like a command center with multiple computer screens. He hit the power button. Password protected, of course. Glancing at the doorway, he inserted the thumb drive and ran a decrypting software and bypassed the password screen. He slid another glance to the door as files copied to the drive.
Come on, come on.
He straightened, his stomach twisting, an instinct gnawing at him. Something was wrong. He turned toward the sweeping windows that led out to a balcony. Something moved on the ground below. He frowned and stepped closer.
What the—
His pulse spiked as he watched James Miller shove Fiona’s limp body into a red Maserati.
CHAPTER 17
Noah yanked the thumb drive from the computer and burst onto the balcony.
The red sports car purred to life, and the headlights clicked on.
Fuck.
He pulled his gun and flung himself over the railing. His body hit the ground with a thud. He sucked in a breath and sprinted across the lawn.
“Hey!”
The valet turned, wide-eyed.
“Get me my car, now!”
“Uh, yes, sir.” The young kid turned quickly and began rifling through a box.
Noah’s veins sped with panic as he watched the Maserati’s taillights fade down the driveway. His gaze shifted to a man sliding on a helmet next to a brand-new Harley.
“FBI.” He flashed his badge alongside his gun. “I need your bike.”
“What? But...” The man took a step back, grasping his keys.
Noah raised his gun. “Keys. Now.”
“Jesus Christ, okay, okay.”
Noah caught the keys mid-air as he jumped on. The Harley roared and he took off like a rocket down the hill. The cold air sliced through his jacket, flapping in the wind. He narrowed his eyes as the red taillights came into view.
The car braked at the gate, paused, then peeled out.
Shit. He’d been made.
The gate started to close.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He twisted the throttle as the iron gate slowly began to close.
Come on, come on…
The gate clipped his jacket as he flew through—another second and he would’ve been roadkill. He blew out a breath and skidded around the corner.
Lights and sirens kicked on as Officer Hunter, hidden behind a thicket of trees, pulled onto the road behind him.
Fucking great.
Sixty, seventy, seventy-five miles an hour down the mountain on a narrow two-lane road. Up ahead, hairpin curves. He was gaining on the Maserati, and he’d have the advantage once it hit the corners. Blue and red lights flashed around him, and he wondered if he’d even make it to Fiona before a bullet from Hunter’s gun exploded his head. There was no way in hell Hunter knew it was him on the bike. Right now, according to Hunter, he was just some punk running from the law and there were only a few ways that could turn out.
He ground his teeth and pressed on, inching closer and closer to the Maserati.
Tires squealed as they entered the mountains, the wind feeling like ice in his lungs.
He could only make out one silhouette in the car behind the steering wheel, which meant Fiona was very like incapacitated in the back.
A rush of adrenaline burst through his body. The thought of James hurting her dissolved all logic and rational thought. Rage took over, the old, familiar feeling, as he rammed the throttle and swerved into the left lane as a corner approached. He was totally blind. If a car came from the opposite direction—splat.
They skidded around the corner. He sent a snarling glance into the blacked-out driver’s side window as he flew by.
Then, everything faded, clouded, as he turned the handlebars, swerved into the right lane and hit the brakes. Tires squealed behind him, and he braced for impact. Then, everything stopped.
Hunter’s voice boomed through the air as Noah jumped off the bike and sprinted to the Maserati. He passed the driver’s side and threw open the back door, where Fiona lay, eyes closed, her hands bound by a zip tie.
He threw himself inside and grabbed her face in both hands. “Fiona!” He shook her head. “Come on, baby. Come on.”
She opened her eyes.
Relief flooded him. “Fiona,” he leaned into her ear. “Are you okay?”
“James.” She jerked away, her eyes round. “It’s Miller, Noah. Norris’s communications director.”
“I know.” At that moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was the woman in front of him. “Fiona, are you okay?”
“Yes.” She twisted her head looking at the driver’s side door that was standing open. “Go get him!”
“Noah, what the fuck?!” Hunter ran up behind them.
Noah looked out the front windshield as James sprinted down the road.
“Go get him, Noah!” Fiona yelled in his ear.
He quickly kissed her lips, pushed off of her and turned to Hunter. “Stay here with her.” Before Hunter could protest, he took off like a bullet down the dark, two-lane road.
James came into view, and a fresh spurt of rage tingled over his skin.
The son of a bitch could’ve killed her.
Fiona could be dead.
He pressed harder and closed in on him. He could smell James’s sweat.
He leapt like a lion attacking its prey, and they tumbled to the asphalt.
James groaned as Noah pinned him.
He saw red. The switch flipped, and he was blinded with fury.
Noah pummeled his fist into the bastard’s face, over, and over, and over. Blood sprayed his face, his neck. His hands dripped with blood.
The body went limp under him. He didn’t notice. Again, again, the unbridled temper Noah was known for was crunching the man’s skull.
“Get off him!” Hunter yelled, but Noah didn’t hear him.
/> More blood.
“Noah, stop! You’re going to kill him!” Fiona’s desperate scream shook him from his hypnotic state, seconds before James Miller would’ve taken his last breath.
CHAPTER 18
Headlights bounced off the walls. Fiona sat up. A smile crossed her face, despite the headache throbbing between her temples.
Harley set down her beer, jogged to the window and pulled back the curtain. She looked back at Fiona and winked.
“It’s your boy.”
Fiona rolled her eyes, although her boy sounded good.
Real good.
In sweatpants and a hot-pink hoodie with the letters BRI printed across the chest, Harley unlocked the front door and padded across the living room. She kneeled by the oversized armchair that Fiona had been glued to since her incident the evening before.
“How you doing?”
“Better. Seriously, I’m fine.”
Harley frowned and tucked a lock of hair behind Fiona’s ear. “Son of a bitch.” She ground her teeth. “I’d like to meet Miller in a dark alley… No weapons, just mano a mano.”
“I’m pretty sure Noah took care of that task for you.”
“Good.” She nodded. “That’s good.”
Just then, a knock at the door.
“It’s open.” Harley yelled out, sending a wave of pain through Fiona’s head.
She quickly straightened as the door opened, smoothed her hair and tried to look at least half as pathetic as she felt. She started to stand.
“No.” Noah and Harley said in perfect unison, as Noah strode into the room.
He stepped in front of her and kneeled down. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, the collar wrinkled, cuffs rolled in a way that told her what she already knew—he’d been in meetings and interviews all day. Circles faded his usually sparkling eyes, and she wondered if he’d even slept since saving her life the night before.
“How’re you doing?” His face dropped with concern as he slid his hand over hers.
“Better. Headache’s fading.”
He traced his finger down the side of her face. His jaw twitched, anger, hurt, and worry flashing in his eyes.
“Well,” Harley cleared her throat and said, “I’ll be on my way, then.”
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