Cold Light of Day

by Anderson, Toni

  He released a heavy sigh. “The point being…we did polygraphs on one another and then played truth or dare,” his sudden grin was wicked, “so I have some experience with this stuff. These traces don’t seem to jive with the interview or the answers your father gave.”

  Truth or dare with a polygraph machine? Maybe she wasn’t the only nerd in the room.

  “So what are you saying? This isn’t dad’s polygraph chart? Why would someone substitute it?” Scarlett contained her excitement. There were probably all sorts of reasonable explanations, though she didn’t believe any of them.

  “It’s likely he took more than one exam and this audio tape is for a different polygraph trace.” He was frowning at the images. “Or they mixed up the traces accidentally.” He pointed to the screen. “Does that number there look different from the rest?”

  She peered closer, aware of Matt’s face so close to hers that if she turned her head just slightly her lips would brush his cheek. “It’s a little darker than the other numbers, and looks a little offset.”

  “Almost as if someone used Letraset on it afterwards.”

  “Letra-what?”

  He grimaced. “Never mind. You just reminded me how young you are.”

  She turned her head and held his gaze. “I’m not that young, Matt, and you’re not that old.”

  He held her stare, the gold flecks in his eyes starting to glow.

  She forced herself to turn away. This situation wasn’t about her obvious attraction to Matt; it was about her father. “I thought the FBI had proper procedures for this sort of thing.”

  She pushed down her sense of elation. She knew better than to get her hopes up. But someone was actually questioning the evidence rather than just gung-ho following the hysteria of mass hate.

  “They do, but after a case is closed it’s possible someone took out the evidence and somehow mixed it up. Or maybe someone spilled something on the paper copy and wanted to hide the fact they’d screwed up.” He checked the file again. “Pre 9/11 the systems weren’t fully computerized. The FBI was probably the most technologically poor law enforcement agency in the world at that time, thanks to a director who didn’t believe in technology.”

  Her father had often bemoaned the computer systems at work where he hadn’t even been able to send attachments with his email.

  “Maybe when this was digitized, someone mixed things up and tried to cover their tracks rather than risk getting fired.”

  Scarlett rolled her eyes. It seemed everyone got a free pass on their mistakes except her dad.

  Matt went over to the couch and picked up one of the burner cells Parker had provided and called the guy. “Can you give me a location on a guy named Ken Maidstone, who worked as a Polygraph Examiner for the Bureau back in two-thousand?” He wrote something down on his little pad of paper. She checked over his shoulder. The address was about an hour’s drive away from where they were holed up. “Any updates?” He was quiet as he listened but it didn’t look like good news. “He lives close enough I’m going to pay this guy a visit. Charts in the case file don’t match the audio recording of the session. I want to ask him a few questions. See if he remembers the case.”

  As if he’d forget one of the most notorious spy scandals in history?

  He hung up. Scarlett shrugged into her sweater, then grabbed her jacket.

  “You’re not coming,” Matt said firmly, checking his weapon, not looking at her.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “My head will explode if I stay here.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The idea of him leaving her behind hurt, and that was too stupid for words.

  He stood motionless, for a big guy he had stealth and stillness down to a fine art. “Look”—the patronizing tone made her want to smack him, which beat the whole lust thing hands down—“I don’t think this guy is going to talk to the daughter of a man he helped put away for espionage.”

  “I’ll stay in the car.”

  He looked unconvinced.

  “I promise I’ll stay in the car.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but his jaw relaxed a fraction.

  “Come on, Special Agent Lazlo. I’ll be good. I always keep my promises.” She wasn’t above begging. “It doesn’t make sense to leave me here with the Russians after me. Anything could happen.” Now she was playing on his sense of chivalry. It worked.

  “Fine, Dr. Stone. But if you disobey my instructions in any way, I’m going to spank your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

  Her spine stiffened. “I didn’t know you were into abusive relationships—”

  “Hey, some people enjoy it.” He opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together as if clamping down on the next words, eyes going molten before he masked it.

  A wave of sexual awareness rushed through her and made her mouth parch. It wasn’t as if she’d never had sex. She’d had sex—passionless, boring are-we-done-yet? sex.

  He was older than she was and had seen things in the military and as an FBI agent she couldn’t begin to comprehend. She got that. And he was trying to warn her that despite the spark that shimmered between them, they were incompatible.

  Duh.

  What he didn’t understand was, incompatible was her norm. She didn’t fit with anyone. Anywhere. Being a misfit, a reject, was standard operating procedure in her world. If not because of her father, then because of her place in the education system, her age. She didn’t fit in. Period. She was used to it.

  It was the heat that passed between them, the weird electric sizzle that didn’t seem to care he’d arrested her last night, that was extraordinary. So a few sexual innuendos were not off-putting. They were thrilling, because no one had ever gone there with her before and certainly not a guy she was attracted to as much as she was attracted to Matt Lazlo.

  Telling him that would humiliate her and scare the crap out of him, so she kept her mouth shut. Emotional masochism was not her thing. So even though the man tempted her on a physical level, she wasn’t going to go there. He was putting up the same barriers as she was and that was a good thing. She was too smart to fall for him. And, apparently, he was way too professional to fall for her.

  He grabbed the laptop and cash and cells Parker had organized for them. “Fine. Bring everything. We may as well get a motel closer to where Maidstone lives. Should help throw anyone on our tail off the scent.”

  She jammed on her sneakers. She had nothing with her except the clothes she was wearing. Just before he opened the door, she touched his arm. “Thank you. Thank you for trying to help my dad.”

  Eyes as cold as sea glass pinned her in place. “I’m not doing this to help your father, Scarlett. I’m trying to figure out why the Russians are so pissed they don’t give a shit if they take out others with you. I’m trying to keep you alive to see Christmas Day because that’s my job. I still believe your father is a traitor to the United States and the antithesis of everything I believe in and fought for.”

  The words hit with a meaty punch to the stomach. Thankfully, she was well practiced at hiding pain beneath a calm exterior and a nod of understanding. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

  She dropped her hand. “Of course. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Matt glanced at Scarlett. She sat in the passenger seat of the SUV Parker had arranged for them, an indifferent expression on her face. Matt wasn’t fooled. He’d hurt her feelings. Couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to pretend he was doing this for a man who’d admitted his crimes. Matt was detail-oriented, tying up loose ends was one of the reasons he was so good at his job. Trying to find out why the Russians were so damn pissed with Scarlett for trying to bug Dorokhov would be the key to ending this thing. A certain amount of anger and posturing was expected. Snipers and bombs were taking things to the next level, which meant someone had secrets to hide or a giant ego—or both.

  He sipped a can of Red Bull—another habit he’d picked up in the t
eams and never quite quit—and checked the route finder as they headed north.

  Ken Maidstone lived in a small town just north of Leesburg in northern Virginia, situated at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was a historic area set in wine country, with the Potomac winding its way lazily along its eastern flank.

  According to the information Alex Parker had dug up, Maidstone’s wife had died of lung cancer about five years ago, and he’d retired from the Bureau one year ago. Now the guy did some freelance consulting.

  Being Christmas Eve, traffic was nose-to-tail, fist on the horn. Matt had never gotten the polar opposites between theory and practice of the goodwill toward all men. He hadn’t been one of those kids surrounded by a million relatives and a huge sit-down turkey dinner. When he’d been in country, it had been just him and his mother.

  He suspected he had that in common with Scarlett.

  He didn’t want to miss this Christmas with his mom. Guilt ate at him, but part of him knew the most important part of her was already gone. It didn’t mean he could just abandon her though.

  He glanced again at Scarlett. Maybe he should transfer her to protective custody with the US Marshal Service? He was veering over the line toward personal and that would bring nothing but trouble. The idea of getting to know her better, of pursuing some sort of relationship once they’d cleared up the mess she currently found herself in, was tempting. He avoided making those kinds of mistakes whenever possible, but the idea of a relationship with Scarlett had slipped past his guard from the very beginning.

  Relationship?

  He didn’t even know her. She looked innocent, but she was trouble with a capital T.

  She was also courageous, smart, and loyal. Even as he considered the option of handing her off to someone else, he dismissed it. He was a part of this mess now—they’d already proven his death meant less than nothing to them, so fuck them.

  It was good to know where he stood so he could return the favor if it came down to the wire.

  And the idea they would hurt a woman… He didn’t understand men like that. Who knew what the hell they were doing to Angel LeMay? And when Scarlett found out he’d lied about her best friend, she was going to go through the roof. Frazer hadn’t gotten back to him on whether or not there was any progress there. The idea Dorokhov felt powerful enough to take the daughter of a United States Congressman without retaliation seemed nuts, and yet even though they were looking, there was no proof the ambassador had been involved.

  What was really going on? What had Scarlett stirred up with the stunt she pulled last night?

  He bet Richard Stone wasn’t half the man she thought he was. He doubted the guy deserved anyone as devoted or loyal as this young woman who was sacrificing her own life in a quest to prove his innocence.

  “Why did your father confess?” He wanted to push her, make her view this from his perspective. Wanted to open her eyes so it didn’t hurt quite so much when she was finally forced to confront the truth.

  She turned to face him. Young, sweet, pretty. Hair tousled, dark eyes wide, skin pale. “What do you mean?”

  “Your dad. One minute he denies everything, then he just admits it. Why?”

  “I thought about it,”—he bet she had—“when they told him he failed the polygraph he knew the chances were he was going to prison. I think someone must have threatened me and my mother if he didn’t go quietly. He knew he couldn’t protect us from inside jail and I assume he didn’t know who he could trust. Also thinking about that confession he wrote…if anyone had checked the details even a little they’d know all the information he gave was false—”

  “What is a spy except a professional liar?”

  Her mouth pinched in anger. Her brows rose and her tone turned sarcastic. “Silly me. I just assumed they taught basic law enforcement procedures at the FBI and verified information.”

  Some asshole in a yellow sports car zipped by him and got blasted by horns of oncoming traffic. Insanity. The weather was as grim and oppressive as he felt. Christmas felt about a billion light-years away. “Did your father have any pressure points? Any deep, dark secrets?”

  She shook her head and bit her lip. Damn, he wished she’d stop doing that because even though he was trying to drive a wedge between them, her white teeth on those lips made him hard as a horny seventeen-year-old.

  “Could he have been having an affair?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Gay?”

  “No.”

  “Pedophile?”

  “No.”

  “Bestiality?”

  She shot him a look filled with venom, but her voice was cool and placid as a northern lake. “He liked dogs and children the same way any good, healthy man does.”

  “Were your mom and dad into partner swapping or kinky swinger parties?”

  Her eyes became huge. “Obsessed with sex much? Where do you even get these ideas?”

  “From the case-files of other spy cases in the eighties and nineties,” Matt said evenly. “CIA mole Karl Koecher and his wife attended sex orgies to try and gather information. Hanssen set up a close-circuit TV camera so his buddy could watch him having sex with his wife—the wife didn’t know.”

  “Ewww on both those counts.” She scrunched up her shoulders. “I’m beginning to think most federal employees are closet perverts.”

  Matt had been trying to dig deeper into the type of person her father was, but her disgust was so genuine he grinned. “Most of us are deprived rather than depraved.”

  “Deprived?” Her eyes ran over his torso and down his legs. “I doubt it.” Embarrassment burned her cheeks, and she looked away, but there was also a shimmer of interest, of heat. Shit. He kept his eyes on the car ahead of them and refused to think about the fact she was attracted to him. Frazer’s words came back to him in a rush. Women like that…they can bring you to your knees.

  He was beginning to think the guy knew what he was talking about, because the idea of being on his knees in front of Scarlett didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Shit.

  “I know what you’re doing, you know,” she said.

  Really? Because he had no fucking clue.

  “You’re demonstrating how worldly and experienced most people are compared to me.”

  Maybe at some point that might have been his intention, but it had backfired on him big time. Now he was just thinking about sex. She’d told him she hadn’t dated in school. Was she a virgin? The heat, the interest he saw in her eyes might be simple curiosity rather than lust. He was an asshole for pushing it. The fact he had pushed it told him he was playing with fire. He wanted her, and flirting with her was not a good way to keep her at arm’s length. Time to back off. Keep it professional.

  “Not a lot surprises me anymore, from sexual preferences to Modus Operandi for murder.” He caught her eye. “If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”

  “You don’t make me uncomfortable.” The tinge of pink in her cheeks looked good on her, but she managed to hold his gaze. “Talking about my parents’ sex life does. My dad and mom were devoted to each other and not in some weird, creepy way. He worked hard, and she was a kindergarten teacher until she had to stay home with me after his arrest. It’s not impossible he was doing something on the side with someone, but it didn’t fit the perception of my childhood. I never picked up any vibes that they were anything except madly in love with one another. They still are.”

  Her words made him question himself. Was he letting his own bias influence him? Not everyone’s father was an asshole. Apparently, even convicted spies were better fathers than his had been. “Could he have had a gambling problem?”

  She shook her head. “He had no interest in slots or poker that I know of. I used to make him play Old Maid, but he hated it. I know everyone wants to believe he’s guilty, but I don’t see it. My mom visits him as often as possible; she’s with him now. She still wears her wedding band and kept his name. Financially we struggled but I ma
naged to get scholarships through college—”

  “That’s why you worked so hard.”

  The line of her throat rippled as she swallowed and looked away. “Maybe.”

  No maybe about it. Her choices suddenly made a lot more sense.

  He was aware how fine-boned she was, next to his six-two, two hundred pound frame. He still didn’t understand why she attracted him so damn much. He hadn’t been interested in a woman for a while—even the blonde from the Christmas party had gone home alone despite an invitation for a playdate. He’d told himself he was too busy with work and his mom to get involved, but as soon as a woman turned up that his body paid attention to he was on a fricking road-trip.

  It’s work.

  Sure.

  “Look.” Scarlett geared up to give him a lecture, and he quashed a grin. “Back in the year two-thousand, no one considered the Russians a threat. Their economy had tanked and they were supposedly our ‘friends’. But Dad didn’t trust them and was certain former KGB elements were trying to penetrate all aspects of American society from the ground up.”

  “Why was he so sure?”

  “He knew some of the players involved from his earlier years in the Bureau and didn’t think they’d changed their ways.” Her voice was gruff, as if holding back emotion. Or secrets. He maneuvered around a minivan and got honked at for his audacity even though he never even broke the speed limit. Merry fricking Christmas.

  “He said they were crooks at best, spies at worst, and most were probably both. No one at the Bureau wanted to listen, so they shifted him over to a counterfeit case where thousands of designer handbags and soccer shirts were being sold across the country. Trouble was when he fingered an organized crime figure as the major culprit, it was another Russian. He lost credibility. The powers-that-be thought he had a beef with the Russians. When they later turned around and arrested him for spying, they said he’d used his previous accusations as a smokescreen for his real allegiance.”