Winter's Curse

by Mary Stone

  The Preacher.

  He’d taken her family from her in the most brutal way possible when she was just thirteen years old and left her for dead. After over a decade, she was going to do what the rest of the FBI agents assigned to the case hadn’t been able to do. She was going to find the sick fucker and bring him down.

  “Who’s that?” Noah’s voice was casual as he leaned over, but his green eyes were sharp when they met hers.

  She glanced up at him. He knew her story. He also knew better than to pry.

  “You heading out?” she asked instead, snapping the sketchbook closed and tucking it into her bag.

  “Yep. Want to walk me to my car? Gets dark out there early this time of year.” He grinned, a dimple creasing one cheek. “You know I’m afraid of the dark.”

  Winter rolled her eyes, for the most part immune to his easy charm by now. “Sure.” She gathered up her things and shrugged on her light wool peacoat. Noah tugged her braid free from her collar in a casual move she barely noticed.

  “You know,” he started in as soon as the elevator doors began to slide shut. “You should give Sun a chance.”

  “To do what? Slide a knife in my back? If you saw her face like I did today, you’d know she’s actively considering it.”

  Noah shook his head and huffed out a breath. “You two are a lot alike, you know.”

  Winter scowled at that. Jumping to the defensive was a no-brainer after such an idiotic statement, but she couldn’t let that slide. “I—”

  He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m just saying. Both of you are strong, brilliant, capable women. Neither of you are what I’d call flexible. But she’s good. With those porcupine quills of hers, Max would have fired her years ago if she wasn’t.”

  The ding of the elevator arriving on the main floor cut off her pithy response.

  “You’re too much of a nice guy, Dalton. Always trying to be the peacemaker.”

  Noah shrugged his broad shoulders and stepped ahead of her to hold open the door. “When everybody gets along, darlin’,” he drawled, laying on the Texas twang like barbecue sauce, extra thick, “things get done a lot easier.”

  The sky was dark, and lightning licked along the horizon. It had been cold in Richmond the past week, even for early December, but a warm front was trying to push in. Severe storms were in the forecast.

  The weather matched her mood. Unsettled and pissed.

  Thunder rumbled with distant menace, and a breeze whipped up as they walked toward their cars. “So, how would you recommend I deal with Sun, Dr. Phil?”

  He smiled at her, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. “Just do whatever she says and bite your tongue.”

  Winter snorted, digging in her purse for her keys. “Right. That’s so how I operate. What was all the yelling between her and Miguel about?”

  “Apparently, he didn’t buy into her take on the case she just picked up. Told her she was crazy.”

  Winter snorted. “He’s just out of the hospital for an exploded appendix, and he already has a death wish?”

  “He’s got a point, though. Most banks don’t keep enough cash on hand to make it worthwhile, and armed robbery wouldn’t pass a good crook’s risk assessment.”

  “Armed robbery? American Bank and Trust in San Clemente, California?”

  Noah nodded and grimaced. “It’s been all over the news, for the cold-bloodedness of the killings alone. Dead security guard and bank manager. Sun has this idea that it’s something other than a run of the mill robbery and talked Osbourne into letting her take it.”

  “Far be it from me to question anyone else’s gut feeling.” Winter’s tone was wry as she unlocked the door to her aging Civic. “But isn’t there a field office in San Diego?”

  “The FBI just isn’t looking at bank robberies as hard as they used to, and San Diego is a busy office. They’ve got their hands full there. We handle robberies, of course, but since 9/11, they’re handled more by the local LEOs, unless they’re really bad. No one else is interested in or has time for this one right now, apparently. But Sun.”

  “And now me. Yay.”

  She slid into the front seat. Fat raindrops began to fall, splattering the windshield.

  “Seriously, you’re doing okay, right? Ready to jump into another case?” Noah held the door in a loose grip, his face concerned.

  “I’m fine.” It was true. The stitches in her arm had come out the week before, and she hadn’t even used any of the painkillers she’d been prescribed. “I’m just lucky you didn’t pull a move from Speed and decide to shoot the hostage.”

  She tried to smile at Noah with some reassurance, but it felt forced.

  Sure, her arm had healed up, but she had a new recurring nightmare to add to her already-gory repertoire. One that featured the tiny, malformed bones of buried children and the hot barrel of a gun pressed to the base of her skull.

  “How’s Parrish doing?”

  The question sounded like it had been wrenched out of Noah via torture. Winter couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you weren’t a fan of the SSA of the BAU.”

  Noah glowered. “Actually, I’m not a fan of the damned Supervisory Special Agent of the damned Behavioral Analysis Unit.” His nose wrinkled as he said the words. “Can’t stand the guy. He’s an uptight prick, and I’m pretty sure he won’t quit trying to get you to cross over to the behavioral analysis dark side. But any agent that can take two bullets for another and live to brag about the scars at least deserves some respect.”

  “I’ll text you later and let you know how he’s doing. I’m on my way over there now. Now, go away before you get struck by lightning.” The rain had picked up, and the strobe flashes that lit the parking lot were getting more intense.

  Noah didn’t look happy that she was going to see Aiden, but he gave her a mocking salute and a grin before heading toward his truck at an easy jog.

  Irritated by his attitude, Winter slammed her car door a little harder than was necessary. Noah Dalton and Aiden Parrish had a weird, petty rivalry going on, and both of them were annoying the hell out of her. When they’d all ended up working the same case together, Winter had to battle a near-constant urge to bash their heads together. If they weren’t sniping at each other, they were ganging up on her.

  She started the car and hit the window defogger, the red glow of Noah’s new Ford’s taillights shimmered through the humid haze that covered the inside of the windshield. Her phone buzzed with a text: I’m not leaving until you do.

  She texted back a middle finger emoji.

  A sad little yellow face followed almost immediately.

  Sighing, she used the arm of her coat to wipe away most of the condensation on the inside of the glass. Noah’s misplaced sense of chivalry was too deeply engrained to repair at this point. Trying to curb his protective streak was like beating her head against a very handsome brick wall. She put the car in drive and tried to ignore the big red truck exiting the parking lot at a polite distance behind her.

  3

  Lightning forked across the sky in a savage display of natural pyrotechnics as Winter hurried into Aiden’s apartment building with a carryout bag of Chinese food. She could smell the crab rangoon inside, and her stomach rumbled. She was hesitant to work on her own investigation during work hours and skipping lunch had become routine.

  Aiden’s apartment building was in downtown Richmond, and a far cry from her single-level, one-bedroom apartment building done up in fifty shades of utilitarian beige. The lobby floor was marble, and looked more like a hotel reception area, with comfortable leather seating areas and a desk manned 24/7 by a security guard.

  The uniformed woman on duty nodded at Winter as she passed through the entryway to the elevators. Winter had become a regular visitor since Aiden had been released from the hospital. She didn’t like seeing her one-time mentor in a more human light, but she figured that for all the support he’d given her in the years following her family’s deaths, she owed him. An
d in all the times she’d visited him, she’d never run into anyone else.

  Besides, the bullets that had ended up in him had been meant for her.

  He was a solitary figure. There was nothing in him to pity. Aiden Parrish was cool, sophisticated, and sometimes manipulative. He came off as the epitome of a polished professional. But over the last several months, she’d caught glimpses of the man beneath the veneer.

  Aiden wasn’t charming and easy to be around like Noah. He was sharp, sardonic, attractive, and unsettling.

  She’d texted from the restaurant and didn’t bother to knock at his apartment door. He was healing, but still had a hard time getting around without difficulty. The physical therapy for the wound in his leg would ensure that he’d get back to full mobility, but he wasn’t there yet.

  Like any normal man, he wasn’t taking the restrictions forced on him with grace.

  “I told you, you don’t need to bring me dinner every night.”

  Winter set the bag on the counter in the kitchen, accustomed to the cold greeting. Aiden was stretched out in a chair in front of a large window, overlooking the city. He had his bad leg propped up on a black leather ottoman, and judging by the lines bracketing his mouth, the afternoon’s PT session had been rough.

  “It’s not every night,” she retorted. “You had to resort to ordering in from that fancy Italian place on Tuesday. What kind of wine goes with potstickers?”

  “The kind that comes in a box,” he replied in a flat voice, not looking away from the storm outside the glass. “In absence of that, pour me some of the Riesling, will you?”

  She grabbed a bottle and two glasses and brought them to the low, glass coffee table. Aiden’s apartment, like the man himself, was sleekly modern. It had none of the warmth and quirkiness of the vintage 1950s home her grandparents had raised her in, but it suited him right down to the ground.

  “Just one,” she warned, handing him his glass of wine.

  “Of course.”

  Even at home, in recovery, and having been out of work for a month, Aiden was dressed in a charcoal cashmere sweater and dark slacks. “Don’t you own any sweatpants?” Winter teased, trying to lighten the mood as she brought the brown paper bag to the table.

  “No.” Thawing a little, he looked at her, his blue eyes glinting. “And if you try to bring me any, I’ll have them donated to charity before you even get to your car.”

  Winter shrugged and set two plates down, settling in the chair across from him. She leaned forward and pulled out a white carton of egg fried rice. “There goes all my Christmas present ideas.”

  She dished up their food and handed him his, with the little red paper packet of chopsticks.

  “You know I have proper chopsticks in the kitchen, right? These…” he held up the packet, pinched between two fingers, “make everything taste like a tongue depressor.”

  She snorted indelicately and ripped open her own. “I own a single frying pan, and you have your own personal set of chopsticks. Admit it…they’re solid white gold and engraved with your initials, aren’t they?”

  Aiden’s lips curled in a reluctant smile. “Ho Wood and etched rose gold, actually. But no initials.”

  She’d gotten him out of phase one: irritation.

  The storm outside had quieted by the time they’d finished their meal. Even though he hated her doing things for him, Winter brought Aiden his pain pills and a glass of water to wash them down. That was phase two.

  She had his routine pegged. He’d be impatient and cutting when she got there, she’d feed him and he’d calm down a little, ready to relax afterward and more likely to take his meds. While she waited for them to kick in, she employed phase three. Shop talk.

  “I got a new case.”

  Aiden’s immediate shift into focused mode was fascinating to watch. “What are you working on?”

  “Did you see the coverage of the American Bank and Trust robbery? Sun Ming requested the case, and Max put me on it. I’m apparently healthier and more likely to survive than Vasquez.”

  Aiden grinned. “Sun Ming? She’s brilliant.”

  Winter kept her face carefully blank. “So I’ve been told.”

  “One of the best agents working in your unit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You could learn a lot from her.”

  “The next person to tell me that is getting face punched.” Aiden’s grin widened, irritating her even more. She pulled out a verbal strike of her own. “Noah was the last person to say that to me.”

  The grin fell away like it had never existed, and Winter laughed.

  “Seriously, she’s not as hard as she seems.” Aiden shifted back into a more comfortable position in his chair.

  Winter tilted her head, dubious. “Spoken as a behavioral analysist?”

  “Spoken as a man who dated her.”

  Winter would have been less shocked if Aiden had jumped to his feet and started yodeling. “You dated Sun Ming?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I have a life outside of work, you know.”

  “Says the guy who just admitted to an interoffice romance. Not the best argument.” Winter crossed her arms and leaned back in her own chair, narrowing her eyes. He stared steadily back, a half-smile on his lips.

  She could have kicked herself. Of course Aiden Parrish had a life. He was good-looking, unmarried, probably only in his late thirties or early forties, which was always a jolt to realize since it felt like she’d known him so long. He had a successful career, a scalpel-sharp mind, and a restless nature. And, if you ignored her bitchy nature, Sun was gorgeous with her shiny black hair, creamy skin, and lithe build.

  Aiden just seemed so solitary.

  “I don’t want to know any details,” Winter replied. Her decisive statement made him chuckle, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to picture the two of them together. It was too weird. “I have to work with her, you know.”

  “I wasn’t going to share any. She’s got more sharp spines than a cactus, but underneath, she’s a good person. A good agent. Give her a chance. That’s all I’m saying.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and Winter could see that he was getting tired. The pain meds he was on were strong ones. She gathered up their dishes and set them in the sink for his housekeeper, grabbing a bottle of water to set by Aiden’s chair.

  Before she could move away, he grabbed her arm in a light grip. “Thanks.”

  She laughed him off but stiffened a little. “For what? Getting you shot?”

  His fingers tightened, and she could feel the heat of his palm on her forearm through the material of her shirt.

  “For coming by like this, even when I insist you don’t. And you didn’t get me shot.”

  “I walked right into the line of fire.” She had. The memory made her burn with shame just thinking about it.

  “Get over yourself,” Aiden suggested with mild rebuke. “Everyone makes mistakes, and you don’t control my decisions. It’s not your fault.” When he finally let go of her arm, she moved to grab her coat and purse. “How are you doing? Any more headaches recently?”

  It was a loaded question. He’d witnessed one of her “headaches.” She shot him a look. He knew something of her abilities, but it wasn’t like him to call her out.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Would you tell me?”

  Would she? After he’d pulled rank and tried to take her out of the VC unit, shit had hit the fan between them. They’d brokered a temporary truce during the past few weeks, but it was a tenuous one.

  “Maybe,” she answered with as much honesty as she could. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you been working on The Preacher case?”

  “That’s blunt, even for you. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands in recent weeks to think about all kinds of things.”

  The sketchbook in her purse seemed to get heavier. She could tell him tha
t she’d gone through the house she’d grown up in, for the first time since she’d come close to being killed there. That she’d seen the face of her family’s killer in a vision. Heard him apologize to her just before he knocked her into a coma. Remembered him saying that he was there for her baby brother—six-year-old Justin—and not her.

  Aiden would believe her. But she couldn’t be sure what he’d do with the information. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her in a position to be able to go after the serial killer alone the day he’d tried to pull rank and transfer her out of violent crimes to a safer desk job, within his realm at the behavioral analysis unit.

  Winter gave him an assessing glance. “Maybe you could use some of your spare thinking time to look back on The Preacher case. We could compare notes.”

  He looked at her for an intent moment before nodding. “Maybe I’ll do that. Drive carefully. It’s still raining hard out there.”

  “Always.” She relaxed. The tension had dissipated.

  “Let me know how it goes with Sun,” he teased. Teasing from Aiden was rare. “Call me if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

  Winter smiled. With teeth.

  “I’ll tell Sun. She’s more likely to need one than I am.”

  If only she knew how much time he actually spent thinking about The Preacher case, Aiden thought as he watched Winter leave. It was worse, of course, now that he was confined to his apartment, suffering with just himself for company. She couldn’t know how her request had sliced at him.

  Aiden shifted his leg into a more comfortable position. Even with the meds, it still throbbed like a bastard.

  The serial killer had been one of his early cases. Aiden had been fresh out of Quantico himself, partnered up with an older, more experienced agent. Cassidy Ramirez. They’d both come a long way in their careers since then. He’d taken over the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and she was Associate Deputy Director of the Richmond office.

  They’d worked that case for over a year, following the Black murders. The Preacher, as he’d been dubbed—Aiden had always hated the moniker—had made his last kill on their watch. It had been over a decade, but he could still remember Winter’s parents, Bill and Jeanette Black. The way they’d been found.