Cold Light of Day

by Anderson, Toni

  The FBI didn’t have his back, which left him with two options—seduction, or sedation?

  Chapter Six

  Lincoln Frazer knew something was up with this scenario but didn’t give away any hint of doubt with his expression or actions. Espionage and counterintelligence work was a complex dance of move and counter-move, and he didn’t pretend to know the characters or ramifications involved.

  Matt Lazlo headed into the interview room and jerked his head to indicate Scarlett Stone follow him out. The agent vibrated with tension. He was not happy with this situation and Frazer didn’t blame him. The guy might not realize it, but he watched the woman with a mixture of desire and reluctant compassion—and both factors were going to complicate an already tangled mess. Lazlo was a damn fine agent who worked his ass off—smart, dedicated, intuitive. Lazlo was also a former Navy SEAL, which made him function great in a team environment, but also operate well as a creative and independent thinker.

  He was also a man. And men made mistakes.

  One thing Frazer had learned over the years was while he could tell someone what to do, he couldn’t tell them how to think. He could remind them of rules and duty and the letter of the law, he could rebuke them for screwing up. But intelligent people made their own decisions based on individual situations. Circumstances made a difference. Past deeds only went so far in predicting someone’s future actions. And desperate situations produced desperate measures. He was living proof of that unfortunate behavioral truth.

  When Scarlett Stone got to the doorway, her eyes shot to Branson. She swayed slightly, looking so insubstantial a stiff breeze might knock her over. He understood why she brought out Lazlo’s protective instincts but didn’t intend to get sucked in. She reached out a hand to steady herself on the jamb. “Agent Branson, I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s been a long time.”

  “It’s Chief of the Counterespionage Section now, Scarlett,” Branson told her sternly. He sat on the corner of a desk, leg swinging as if relaxed and unconcerned. Frazer didn’t buy it for a minute.

  “Ah, of course, Chief Branson.” Bitterness rang out, loud and clear. “You haven’t been around to visit in a few years so I wasn’t up on the Bureau promotions. You’ve done well for yourself. Your wife and kids must be very proud.” Her gaze was unflinching, her chin raised high.

  There was an awkward silence. Clarkson kept his gaze glued to the floor. Branson’s lips thinned.

  “See if you can keep out of trouble, okay, Scarlett? There’s a good girl.”

  Her eyes narrowed at the patronizing tone, but she clamped down on whatever thoughts were running through her mind. Good choice. Branson was a powerful man, and powerful men did not like being shown up by young women, even those with genius IQs.

  Lazlo took her arm and led her out of the bullpen. Frazer felt a twinge of pity for the girl because she was in serious danger. No doubt she carried a lot of baggage regarding what her father had done, but it wasn’t an excuse to go bugging foreign powers. He understood some of what Scarlett Stone was dealing with—taking the law into your own hands was tempting when you felt justified, but it was still wrong.

  His superior hooked his thumbs in his pants, one of the boys. “Keep me apprised of any changes in the situation. I’ve made the safe return of the LeMay girl a Bureau priority. Hopefully she’ll be home for Christmas dinner.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s try and keep this amongst ourselves, huh?” Branson looked each of them in the eye, then he and Clarkson turned and walked away.

  Speculation was rife in Rooney’s gaze. “What do we do now, boss?”

  Frazer jolted whenever she called him that. It reminded him how badly he’d messed up and how hard he needed to work to make up for his mistakes. He trusted Rooney and Parker as much, if not more, than he trusted people he’d worked with for years. Their relationship had been forged through blood, death, and necessity, but also in an act of love and mercy. The fact she called him boss was a testament to her dedication to the job. He needed to earn the title.

  The correct thing to do in this current situation would be walk away and assume the rest of the FBI could do their jobs without his interference. His role was running Behavioral Analysis Unit-4, helping other law enforcement agencies find killers, traffickers, rapists, and other degenerates. God knew they had enough cases to keep them busy until the next millennia. They analyzed police reports, crime scenes and evidence; they did not run counterintelligence operations or investigations.

  But he’d lost faith in the system.

  He’d never take anything on blind trust again.

  What if Scarlett Stone was right about her father? What if he had been set up? Who in this building would consider that possibility? Who would care about a vulnerable young woman’s naïve quest for justice? And who might still be dirty?

  Frazer checked his watch.

  It wasn’t his job to question the veracity of old cases. The President of the United States had asked for help with a matter of national importance, and there was a certain assassin who needed to be tracked and caught before she killed again. There were files on his desk that needed urgent attention. It was Christmas Eve. HRT were in charge of the kidnapping investigation so he should just go home and get a few hours’ sleep. That’s what he should do.

  Frazer got out his cell and dialed a number. Lazlo answered. “You’re on bodyguard duty until we can find out exactly what’s going on. Keep her away from news outlets and tell her Angel has been found safe and sound. That should keep her quiet for the time being. If it doesn’t, use your initiative. In the meantime, we’ll figure out some way to neutralize the threat to her safety.” He hoped he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep or about to make enemies out of every one of his FBI colleagues. But he hadn’t joined the Bureau to make friends. He’d joined to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. “Keep a low profile and watch your back.”

  * * *

  Scarlett could feel Matt Lazlo’s disapproving gaze scour her back the entire walk out. They got to a door and he reached past her and opened it, indicating she go ahead of him. The polite gentleman switching out with the ass-kicking FBI agent.

  He unnerved her. The whole American hero persona he carried with him like an invisible cloak was the antithesis of her world, where oily doubt and suspicion clung to everything she or her family touched. The fact she was attracted to him on a physical level didn’t help. She suspected a lot of women were attracted to Matt Lazlo, even the ones who hadn’t seen him in his dress uniform.

  “So, what’s your next play?” He was trying for nonchalance but didn’t fool her. He was still pissed.

  As far as the Russians were concerned, she had limited options. One was knocking on the door of the Ambassador’s residence and begging for forgiveness, the other was to go home and wait for the kidnapper to contact her. The third was running away—but Angel was in danger. Plus, Scarlett had a life here, a career—assuming her boss didn’t find out what she’d been up to in her spare time and fire her from her position, which would make it hellish difficult to get hired on anywhere else. Dammit.

  She’d been so stupid to think she could spy on Andrei Dorokhov. Finding out anything useful had been a long shot. She’d planned to nudge a reaction by calling him and then listening in to what he said after he put the phone down. Great idea in theory. Useless if you got busted by both the FBI and the Russian Federation.

  Lazlo pressed a warm hand to her back, just above her waist. A shiver ran over her skin and she stumbled.

  “Steady.”

  His touch affected her more than she wanted to admit. Unfortunately, one of the times he’d touched had been to slap on handcuffs. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t her date. He was an FBI agent and she knew the lengths they’d go to get their “man”.

  “Scarlett?”

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?” he asked as if he was repeating the question. His voice was soft, gentle even. She
didn’t trust him or the effect he had on her.

  Belatedly she realized she’d stopped moving. “Yes.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  She jerked away from him. His nearness distracted her, her hyperawareness of him clouded her thought processes. She was a problem solver by nature. Fixing things was what she did, but she couldn’t fix this and she couldn’t fix her father’s situation. Humiliation and anger fought for space on her cheeks. “I need to figure out a way to get Angel to safety.”

  “FBI assigned a team.” He held another door. “If you interfere you might get her killed.”

  “But it’s me they want.” That much was crystal clear.

  “So what? You’re going to serve yourself up to them on a platter?”

  “Any other ideas?” She was open to alternatives.

  Something buzzed in his pocket. He held up his finger to indicate she wait for a moment. Pulled out his cell. Listened intently. She stopped walking even though freedom beckoned within sight. Running away might activate his prey-drive and she was reluctant to show weakness. He’d already rescued her twice tonight. Once with a ride home, the other time from a bullet.

  The expression in his eyes shifted but she couldn’t read it. “Roger that.” There was a long pause, then, “That’s good news. Great. Thanks for letting me know.” He hung up and met her gaze. “You don’t need to sacrifice yourself. They found Angel LeMay wandering near DuPont Circle. She’s a little groggy, but basically in one piece.”

  Her knees wanted to give out, but she locked them. “Can I see her?”

  “They’ve taken her to the hospital.” He tilted his head, mouth compressed. Pity filled his eyes. “I doubt the LeMays are gonna want you around for a while.”

  Oh, crap. She doubted they’d want anything to do with her again. She’d betrayed their trust and gotten Angel abducted. Her hand rose to grip her throat, her voice barely a whisper. “She’s okay though, right?”

  He gave her a terse nod.

  She needed to talk to Angel, to apologize, but a little time to recover and cool down might be a good thing. She hoped the bastards hadn’t hurt her. She needed to make this stop. Now. Before anyone else was injured or terrorized. “I guess my plan is to go to the Russian Ambassador’s home, beg forgiveness, and hope they decide to leave me alone.”

  “Seriously? That’s your plan?” He was looking at her like she was an idiot. “To turn yourself in and beg for mercy?”

  “If I go home they’ll find me—even if I run away for a few weeks or months they can afford to wait me out. Then I’ll be right back where I started, minus a job and most of my savings. I can’t abandon my mother and father right now either.” She wouldn’t be hard to find in Colorado. “The only way I can think of to end this is to apologize and promise I won’t do it again. Dad always said the Russians liked people to grovel, so I’ll grovel.” The idea that her dad was dying was worse than the thought of having to apologize to the man who she believed had a hand putting him in prison. Much worse.

  “You are fricking unbelievable.”

  Her spine stiffened. “Why thank you so much, Special Agent Lazlo. You’re fricking unbelievable, too.”

  She turned on her heel and marched away, pushing through the main doors. Most women probably fell at his feet, blinded by the action hero build and chest full of medals. They hadn’t been arrested or insulted by the man.

  Outside the frigid air took her breath, but the scent of freedom made up for the chill. The freedom might not last long.

  She hunched her shoulders as defeat pressed down on her. Time to pay the piper. “I need to call a cab.” She dug into her pocket, searching for her cell phone before remembering she didn’t have it. In her rush to escape, she’d left it with the other guy, Alex Parker. No way was she going back inside, just in case they changed their minds about releasing her. She’d have to walk and see if she could flag down a cab.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Lazlo offered.

  She backed away. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve caused you enough trouble for one night.”

  “Lady, you’ve caused me enough trouble for a lifetime.” A wry smile crossed his features, but there was something in his eyes…a calm patience that told her he was used to getting his own way.

  She batted her eyelids dramatically. “You’re such a charmer, Special Agent Lazlo. I don’t know how the ladies resist you.”

  “And yet they continue to do so.”

  “Maybe that’s why you were so quick with the handcuffs?” she suggested with an arched look. “To stop the ladies running screaming at the earliest opportunity?”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “Hadn’t thought of that, but thanks for the tip.” Before she had time to refuse, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and propelled her toward the SUV he’d left in the secure parking lot. Fine. He lifted her into the front seat. Gritting her teeth against being manhandled, she drew in a deep breath to calm herself. Getting a ride would be the most expedient way of getting to 16th Street so she should just be grateful.

  Sure.

  He was eye-level with her. Their faces so close she could see the thickness of his lashes around those mesmerizing eyes. She tried to control the shivers that wracked her body. She didn’t know if it was cold, fear, or this man’s nearness that affected her. Probably a combination of all three. “Thank you.”

  His smile turned wolfish. “You’re welcome.” He slammed her door and she jolted. Next she heard him opening the trunk and unzipping something. He spoke briefly on the phone. By the time he got in the driver’s seat, he’d removed his flak jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The thick cords of muscle ran the length of his forearms, and flexed when he gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes flicked over him. He wasn’t just good looking, he was perfect.

  The scent of clean sweat mingled with his cologne—warm, male, virile. Dammit. She fidgeted uneasily. Why couldn’t he have a paunch and some flab? Maybe a broken nose or a unibrow, with a severe case of BO?

  It’s just pheromones, she reminded herself. Basic biology. But her pheromone receptors were doing a happy dance and her breath became tight in her chest as her pulse picked up.

  Thank God she was wearing enough clothes to disguise the rest of her body’s unwanted arousal, but from the glint in his eyes he knew exactly what he did to her. She looked out the window, but his reflection stared back at her in the glass and her breath caught. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong man.

  Definitely, wrong woman.

  “I need a coffee, how about you? Might be your last chance?” The words were nonchalant, verging on callous.

  Her gaze swung back to his as her mouth dropped open. What the…?

  “Hey.” His shrug was almost jaunty. “I need coffee. You’re determined to do this. I’ve been ordered to stand down. I can’t stop you, but at least I can buy you a drink first.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He probably thought she deserved whatever she got and maybe he was right. But she didn’t want to go to the Russians, dammit. She didn’t want to grovel before Dorokhov. “I don’t see that I have any alternative.”

  “You could run away? Go under the radar?”

  “They’ll find me. Unlike the FBI, I don’t have unlimited resources. Plus, I like my job. I’m good at it.”

  “Pity you didn’t think of that beforehand.”

  “My dad is dying. I know he didn’t do all the things he was accused of.” Her voice broke. Embarrassed, she looked away.

  He started the engine, adjusted the temperature, pulled away, and swung onto 9th Street without making any more snide remarks. It took her a moment to get her emotions under control. She was tired, scared, defeated. She didn’t need him to rub her nose in her failings.

  After a few minutes he found a coffee shop that was still open and he pulled up outside, leaving the engine running, the heater blasting. “What shall I get you?”

  It was the middle of the night, she was tired. Caffeine might help.


  “Hot chocolate would be great, thanks.” She dug into her wallet for some change but he was already gone. She dropped a five-dollar note into the change holder on the console. She swiveled to see if there were any cars following but, except for the few vehicles that were already here when they arrived, there was no one on the roads.

  She doubted the Russians would tail them from FBI HQ. They could afford to be patient. She couldn’t.

  Lazlo came back a few minutes later and handed her a large cup. “Server gave you whipped cream. Hope that’s okay.”

  She’d drink gasoline as long as it was warm. “That’s fine, thank you.”

  He sank heavily into the leather seat, blowing on his coffee to cool it. “I’m so exhausted I could pass out.”

  “I’m sorry for keeping you up.” Jeez. The guy was seriously lacking in tact.

  “That was a crazy stunt you pulled back there. You should have just seduced Raminski and bugged his bedroom instead.”

  The idea sent a shudder through her bones. “I’m not the seductress type. More Angel’s forte.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” At first he stared straight ahead. Then he looked her in the eye. “You could have seduced me with very little effort.” The flatness of his tone told her it was too late now.

  The thought that she’d stood a chance with a guy like him sent a shot of something sharp and aching through her chest. Hot guys like Lazlo didn’t date nerd girls like her. But something about his expression, the memory of the way he’d looked at her when she’d stood on the sidewalk outside the embassy, told her it might have been true. And she’d messed it up, along with everything else.

  It would have been messed up anyway, as soon as he learned her identity, so the point was moot. But the reminder of that earlier connection was unsettling. What ifs and maybes rolled through her system like breakers on a beach. To cover her disquiet she took a large swallow of hot chocolate. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’d have had a hell of a shock if you’d made it to third base.”