Evidence of Passion

by Cynthia Eden

  “Right now, you’re contained,” Thomas told him.

  Jack’s gaze cut to him. “Am I?” He seemed surprised.

  What kind of game was the guy playing?

  “I have intel.” Jack focused on the mirror once more. “Intel that you need. But I’m not just going to spill to the first agent who walks into the room.” He straightened. “No offense, Dragon.”

  What?

  “I’ll talk to my Rachel, or I won’t talk to anyone.”

  Thomas sighed. He rose from his chair and slowly stalked around the table. Then he brought his face right in front of Jack’s. “Do I look like I care what you want?”

  “You look like a lackey to me. Someone who doesn’t have the power to make a call like this.” A smirk was on Jack’s face. “You think I don’t know how valuable I am? Why do you think Mercer didn’t give orders for me to be taken out instead of contained? He wants my intel.” Jack shrugged. “And if he wants it, then he’s going to have to play by my rules.”

  * * *

  NOELLE EVERS STARED through the two-way mirror. Mercer was beside her. Silent. Watching.

  “He’s still trying to pull the strings,” Noelle said. Jack’s behavior was just as she’d expected. The man was a control freak. Every act, every kill—it was about power to him, not about the money.

  “He’s also still trying to get Rachel Mancini,” Mercer murmured. He glanced at Noelle. “But after what went down at the harbor, how is he going to react if he does see her in person?”

  Seeing as how Rachel had pushed the man out a third-story window, probably not so well. “The attachment is still there. If you want to make him talk—” she knew that Mercer did “—then Rachel is your best bet.”

  Noelle didn’t doubt that Jack had secrets to tell. Secrets that Mercer wanted to hear.

  The door opened. She glanced over and saw Thomas stalk inside. “He’s a smug SOB,” he said, disgust in his tone.

  He came to stand next to her. Noelle automatically tensed. She did that every time Thomas got too close.

  Her job was to profile for Mercer—to watch both the agents at the EOD and the “suspects” that were brought in for questioning. Mercer wanted to make sure that he had no more rogues in-house at the EOD. He also wanted her help at getting into the minds of his enemies.

  Since she owed Mercer more than she could repay Noelle had traded in her job at the FBI for some time with the EOD.

  And with Thomas Anthony.

  She looked up and got caught by Thomas’s golden eyes. There was just something about him that was so familiar to her, but Noelle could not remember when they’d met.

  “Is he bluffing?” Thomas demanded. “Or will the guy actually talk if Rachel comes in?”

  She hesitated. “It’s a game to him. He wants to be the one who wins.”

  Thomas shook his head. “That’s not an answer. Is the guy going to tell us what we need to know or not?”

  Mercer’s phone rang then. He answered immediately, moving to the side. “What?” She heard him say. “Hell, no, that just makes things harder.” He ended the call abruptly and glanced back at her.

  “We were right,” Mercer said as he inclined his head toward the interrogation room. “The guy is ex-military. His real name is Kenneth Cross. According to the match we just found in the system, that guy was part of the U.S. Army 75th Ranger Regiment.”

  Noelle knew the situation had just gone from bad to much worse. Kenneth wasn’t just a killer, but they’d always known that. His ranger status put him in a whole new category.

  “His file said he died in battle.” Mercer’s jaw hardened. “Guess which senior officer signed off on that death? I’ll give you a damn hint. Old Jack in there killed him recently.”

  “William Harris,” Thomas muttered.

  Noelle focused on the cuffed man once more. He still had a faint grin on his face. “A ranger won’t break during interrogation.” And this guy...he was exhibiting behavior that made her strongly suspect psychopathic tendencies were working in his mind.

  But the attachment to Rachel doesn’t fit.

  During all of her years of study and her work in the field, Noelle had found that psychopaths rarely formed any sort of real attachment to other people. Others simply didn’t have meaning to them. Sure, some psychopaths would mimic the behavior of attachment. They’d go through the motions, but it wasn’t real.

  “Maybe he’ll break,” Thomas allowed. “Maybe he won’t.” He straightened his shoulders. “With your permission, sir?”

  Mercer hesitated. His eyes narrowed as he studied Kenneth Cross.

  “He’s not going to break,” Noelle stated again. But...this was why Mercer wanted her there. To tell him what she thought. “He’ll withstand pain. He might even enjoy the pain. He’ll like having the power, because he knows he has information that you need.”

  “He killed so many men and women.” Mercer exhaled heavily. “Those victims had some powerful ties in D.C. A lot of folks are wanting answers.”

  And vengeance.

  “Bring in Rachel,” Noelle said, her voice soft.

  Thomas swore. “You really want to just give that guy what he wants?”

  No. She wanted to push that guy to the edge. “Bring in Rachel and Dylan.” Because it was the dynamic between them all that she needed to observe. The more she watched, the better able Noelle would be to see the chinks in Kenneth’s armor. “We already know that Rachel is his weakness. If we want him to break, then we have to use her.”

  Mercer hesitated then he reached for his phone once more.

  * * *

  DYLAN’S PHONE RANG, vibrating softly on the nightstand. Rachel stirred a bit beside him, but her eyes didn’t open. Carefully, he eased his arm from beneath her head. He slipped from the bed, grabbed the phone and crept into the hallway.

  A glance at the clock showed him that it was 4:00 a.m. And he knew exactly who was calling him. “Mercer.” His voice was a snarling whisper. “Why couldn’t this wait?”

  “Is Rachel with you?”

  He glanced toward the open bedroom door. He could just make out the edge of the bed. “Yes.”

  Silence, then... “I’m going to need you to bring her in.”

  “Your questions can wait until morning. The woman has been through hell. She nearly died—”

  “This isn’t about getting questions for some report, Agent Foxx. Jack has said that he will only talk with Rachel, and I want you to bring her in. That’s an order.”

  For an instant, Dylan was sure that he’d shatter the phone. His fingers actually ached.

  “Agent Foxx?”

  He had to unclench his teeth. “I don’t give a damn what he wants. That guy isn’t getting near Rachel.” Was Mercer crazy?

  “He’ll be restrained at all times. And of course I’d expect you to be in the interrogation room with them.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Agent Foxx, I understand how you—”

  “I don’t think you do understand, Director.” His breath huffed out. “You don’t understand what it’s like to think that the woman you...you care about—” he stumbled over those words because there were things he wouldn’t say to Mercer “—is lost to you. When the whole world goes dark because she’s gone, and you know that you can’t go on without her.”

  Silence. Heavy. Thick. Then Mercer said, “I know exactly how that feels, and I’m sorry, very sorry, that you had to experience it.”

  His quiet words caught Dylan off guard. He’d heard a few whispers about Mercer’s past. Now he knew those whispers weren’t wrong.

  “But this case is bigger than you and Rachel Mancini. Other lives are involved.”

  “Rachel isn’t even EOD anymore.”

  “Ah, well, I haven’t officiall
y accepted her resignation yet, have I?” Mercer cleared his throat. “I need her here. I need you both here.”

  Dylan leaned forward and stared into the bedroom. Rachel was sleeping so peacefully. “At 0700,” he said, voice clipped. “But I stay at her side, every second.” He didn’t trust Jack. He’d be happy when the guy was locked away in a maximum-security prison. The sooner, the better.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Mercer said.

  Dylan ended the call and headed back into the bedroom. He slipped into the bed. He pulled Rachel toward him, cradling her against his chest.

  His fingers slid over her back, over the old, carving scar that marked her. Jack had sliced her with his knife three years ago. The man had almost killed her hours before.

  She whispered Dylan’s name in her sleep.

  He stiffened. Rachel.

  Dylan knew it was wrong, but he didn’t care about the other lives on the line. Or at least, he didn’t care as much.

  The life that mattered to him? It was her life. And he’d fight to the death in order to keep her safe.

  * * *

  RACHEL TOOK A deep breath and stared through the observation glass. Jack was on the other side of that glass. Handcuffed and with his ankles also secured in restraints. An armed guard stood behind him.

  “He’s been like that all night,” Noelle said. “And the man shows no signs of any fatigue.”

  “If he was a ranger,” Rachel said, turning to glance at her, “he wouldn’t, would he?”

  She’d been briefed on Kenneth Cross just a few moments before. Mercer didn’t want her going into that interrogation room without as much intel as she could possibly get.

  Her monster had a real name now. A real history.

  Kenneth Cross. Thirty-five. He’d grown up on a ranch in Montana. His mother had died when he was seven, and his father had passed away in an accident on Kenneth’s eighteenth birthday.

  Kenneth had joined the army after that, risen quickly through the ranks.

  He’d been a ranger when he died, under the command of William Harris. He’d supposedly been killed in a bombing while serving in the Middle East.

  Only he sure didn’t look like a ghost to Rachel.

  “He’ll try and control you when you enter that room,” Noelle warned her. Noelle’s eyes were worried. “You should be prepared for him to say anything. He obviously has some sort of plan in mind, or he wouldn’t have insisted on you coming in there.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time a prisoner had tried to manipulate the EOD. Just months before, they’d faced a dangerous terrorist, Anton Devast. Devast had thought that he could manipulate the EOD.

  He’d been wrong. He’d died.

  Noelle’s gaze darted to Dylan. “You have to stay in control.”

  “Dylan won’t have a problem with control,” Rachel said, her voice coming out sharp.

  Noelle bit her lower lip. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Rachel took a moment to study Dylan. His face was completely expressionless and his eyes showed no emotion. “I’m sure of him,” Rachel said.

  She was. If she hadn’t been, then Rachel never would’ve walked back into the EOD.

  Tension drew her shoulders tight. Rachel exhaled slowly and said, “So what’s the plan? I just go in there? Question him?” She knew how to handle a normal prisoner interrogation, but this wasn’t exactly a normal situation.

  “I think he’ll do the talking.” Noelle’s focus appeared to be on Jack. “At first, anyway. You need to break through the facade he has. Get to the real man underneath.”

  “You mean the killer inside.”

  Noelle nodded. “I’d...I’d ask about his father.”

  Rachel’s brows climbed even as her stomach knotted. She had a feeling about where this might be headed.

  “An accidental death on the guy’s birthday.” Noelle rocked back on her heels. “That could be quite a present to a psychopath.”

  “Is that what you think he is?” Dylan asked, a bite to his words. “You’re going to give him a label so that what he’s done makes more sense?”

  Noelle’s eyelids flickered. “Kenneth Cross is very unusual. I haven’t come across another killer like him before.”

  “Well, then I guess this will be a learning experience for us all,” Rachel said. Time to do this. She wasn’t going to cower in the room any longer. And—and Kenneth was staring straight through the glass, a faint smile tipping up the corners of his lips. As if he knew that she was there.

  The door opened behind Noelle. Mercer stepped inside. “Are we ready?”

  As ready as Rachel could get. She headed out first, brushing by Mercer. Two other guards were outside Kenneth’s interrogation room. She would’ve thought that was overkill, but she knew how the guy worked.

  One of the guards opened the door for her. Rachel took a steadying breath, tried to wipe the emotion from her face, then entered that small room.

  He stood, or at least Kenneth stood as much as the restraints would allow him to do so. “Ah, Rachel...I knew you’d come to me.”

  Dylan shut the door behind them. “We’re both here.”

  Kenneth’s face tightened. “You, I could have done without.” His eyes stayed on Rachel’s face. “Do you feel better today? I’m sorry for what I had to do, but you deserved it, you know. You shouldn’t have pushed us into the water.”

  There were two chairs across from Kenneth. Rachel didn’t sit, not yet.

  Neither did Dylan. Dylan did walk to the side, though, and he propped his back up against the wall as he stared at Kenneth.

  “What you had to do?” Rachel let her brows climb. “You mean drugging me, kidnapping me—”

  “Oh, no.” Kenneth shook his head. “I mean when I had to wrap the rope around your feet to keep you under the water.”

  Her skin iced.

  “We hit the water together, don’t you remember?” Kenneth asked her, a faint frown pulling his brows low. “I was angry at you, sweetheart, so angry, so when I felt the rope, I had to use it. I pulled on it, and when it didn’t give, I knew it had to be twisted beneath some old pilings or even an anchor.”

  “And you tied it around me.” She could almost see the image—memory?—now.

  He shrugged. “I was going to come back for you, but Agent Foxx over there delayed me.”

  Her gaze jumped to Dylan. His face still held no expression, but his eyes blazed.

  “She nearly died,” Dylan snapped.

  “Actually...” Kenneth eased back into his seat. “I think she did die for a minute there. I mean, that’s why you had to do the whole mouth-to-mouth scene, wasn’t it?” His head tilted as he regarded Rachel with curiosity. “What was that like? Did you see the big, white light that people talk about?”

  She pulled out the chair across from him, sat down and stared back at him. “Your name is Kenneth Cross.”

  Anger flashed on his face. “I’m Jack.”

  “You grew up in Montana. You lived on a ranch.”

  He laughed. “Got a hit on my DNA, huh? Or was it my prints?”

  “You were an army ranger, under the command of William Harris.”

  He leaned toward her. “Don’t tell anyone.” His voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I think he may be dead.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “We know who you are now.”

  Voice still low, he said, “You know nothing.”

  She thought about the files that she’d read. “I know that the real Aidan O’Sullivan is dead. I’m guessing that his body will be found eventually, and he’ll have a playing card on his chest.”

  His grin flashed. “He might.” Then his laughter came. “But wasn’t it a grand cover?” The Irish drifted back into his voice then. “I was in Ireland for ove
r a year. Met Aidan there. He wanted me to kill his grandfather, but I don’t just take any kind of work.”

  No. “You like to be challenged.”

  He nodded. “An old man wasn’t going to challenge me. He would’ve been too easy.”

  “That’s why you focus on ex-military, isn’t it?” Rachel asked him. “That way, you have more of—”

  “A fight?” He shrugged. “I think it evens the playing field.”

  “But...Brent Chastang wasn’t ex-military.”

  His jaw tightened. “He was a jerk who needed to stay away from you.”

  The guard stood, still as a statue, behind Kenneth.

  Dylan moved toward the guard then. He whispered to him. The guard hesitated, but then made his way out of the room.

  “Just us three?” Kenneth asked. He pursed his lips. “And of course, the ones watching in that little room next door.”

  Rachel decided to gamble. “There’s a profiler in there. She told me that you were a psychopath.”

  Rage ignited—plain to see—in his eyes. “The profiler would be wrong.”

  “I don’t know...all the people you’ve killed. Your total disregard for human life—”

  “I have regard for life. Your life.”

  Now Dylan stood behind Kenneth.

  “It’s the others that I don’t give a damn about,” Kenneth continued. He acted as if what he’d just said was perfectly reasonable. Probably because, to him, it was.

  “Did you give a damn about your father?” Was Noelle right? Had he—

  His grin flashed.

  He had.

  “He was a fool who spent too much time caring about the dirt beneath his feet. Like the land mattered. He wanted to hold me back, to keep me out there, when I was meant for more.”

  “So you killed him,” Rachel said, voice hollow. Eighteen. He’d killed his father then.

  “And I realized that I was very, very good at killing.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But I guess that’s something that Agent Foxx and I have in common, isn’t it? Shannon saw it. And you see it, too.” His focus shifted back to Rachel. “Don’t you?”