Deadly Lies

by Cynthia Eden

  Or killed.

  The music was loud. No, ear-splitting. But this dive on the edge of the Georgetown campus was where Sam needed to be.

  She stood just inside the doorway of The Core, letting her gaze sweep across the packed bar. The bouncer at the door, a tall, muscled guy with an ear full of piercings, had waved her inside when she’d flashed her badge. She knew other agents had already talked to the guy. Kevin Milano had been working the door the night Jeremy vanished, but he hadn’t remembered seeing the vic leave.

  According to the e-mails that she’d read, Jeremy Briar had met his friends here every other Friday night.

  And the third victim, Curtis Weatherly, the guy who’d managed to come back home and then get shipped right out to Mexico, had also visited this bar. Sure, a visit to The Core had meant a long drive from his home in Virginia, but he’d come… a week before he’d vanished. Curtis hadn’t answered the agents’ questions, so she hadn’t gotten that detail directly from him.

  Luckily, he’d posted it on his Facebook page, and she’d logged his activities.

  Two victims, one bar.

  Another pattern. And maybe, just maybe, if she dug deep enough into the lives of the other victims, she’d find that they were linked to The Core, too.

  It was edging close to midnight. She hadn’t told Luke about the link yet, but she’d tell him first thing tomorrow.

  And she was there because—

  Someone bumped into her, and Sam spun around, her arms coming up.

  “S-sorry…” A drunken slur as the man weaved past her.

  She exhaled slowly. Get a grip. Her weapon was in her bag. She was surrounded by drunken frat boys. Not killers.

  But, no, maybe one of them was a killer.

  And that was why she was here. Why she’d forced herself to come inside the bar after staying in the car for twenty minutes. She was an FBI agent, for Christ’s sake! Her job was to follow leads. She could do this.

  If she’d called someone else to check the bar, Hyde would’ve wondered about her. Even more than he already did. A quick sweep, sure, she should be able to handle that.

  Right?

  Pulling her jacket close, Sam eased her way through the crowd. Not her scene. But then, she’d graduated college when she was seventeen, so it hadn’t exactly been legal for her to be in a joint like this.

  After an eternity, she made it to the bar and slapped her palm down on the gleaming surface. The bartender glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “Whattaya need?”

  Sam took a breath. “I’m looking for a man.” The profile pointed to a man as the leader of the kidnapping ring.

  “Sweetheart…” He motioned to the crowd, “take your pick.” The guy looked to be around thirty with a gleaming bald head and tattoos on his hands.

  Her back teeth ground together and her spine snapped up. “No, a young guy, probably in his twenties, attractive, smart—”

  “Yeah, look, your to-do list is fuckin’ fascinating, but—”

  “He would have been alone,” she continued doggedly, aware that her cheeks were heating and her words coming too fast. “And he would have spent his time staring at the other customers. Maybe focusing on the ones who liked to spend too much money…”

  “Samantha?” The gravel-rough voice came from behind her. Sam spun around—

  And came face-to-face with Max. What?

  He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”

  Oh, crap. She wet her lips. “I—”

  “She’s looking for a man, bud, same thing as all the others.” The bartender’s bored drawl rose behind her.

  Max’s eyes slit. “The hell you are.”

  Oh, damn. This was not good. “Um, no, I was—” Working a case.

  He leaned in close. “Looking for more no-strings sex?” Anger glinted in his gaze.

  Maybe it was time for an explanation. Hi, I’m Sam, an FBI agent. I picked you up in a bar, and I don’t even know why I did that. I may be having a breakdown but don’t tell my boss because he’ll fire my ass.

  Sam licked her lips. Not the right time, not the right place, and no way could she get all that information out right then. “It’s not what you think,” she managed instead.

  The steel in his eyes told her that he wasn’t buying that one. “Look, I was—”

  “Max!” Another man shouldered through the crowd. Younger, familiar. “Max, I didn’t think you’d ever get here!”

  Dark gray eyes. Pretty-boy face. Ruddy cheeks already flushed from too much beer.

  The image clicked instantly. He’d been at the party last night. And that voice—he was the guy who came out on the balcony.

  Her gaze flew back to Max. A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Samantha, I want you to meet my brother, Quinlan Malone.”

  She didn’t offer her hand. It would be a little hard to do because Max had both of them in a steely grip.

  Quinlan flashed her a smile but seemed to weave on his feet. “Nice to meet you, pretty lady.”

  Uh, right.

  “Did you talk to him?” he asked Max. “What did he say, man, am I—?”

  “No money, Quinlan,” Max gritted, turning his head a fraction to meet his brother’s stare. “No deal.”

  “Fuck.”

  Sam glanced between them. “Max…” Okay, this was just awkward. She didn’t have experience with the whole family situation. An only child, she’d never dealt with sibling drama.

  “Frank says you have enough for now.” Max’s lips were tight. “No more.”

  Quinlan spun away and stormed through the crowd.

  “Hell. Give me a minute, okay?” Max released her and took off after his brother.

  But Quinlan slammed into what looked like a football player, a big, thick guy, and chaos erupted.

  Fury. Fists. Screams. A ball of men tumbled onto the floor.

  Fear pumped through her blood but she raced forward. “S-stop!” She screamed.

  Quinlan got slammed into the floor. Hard.

  Her fingers moved to her bag and to the gun that was hidden inside it. She pushed forward. “Let him go! That’s an or—”

  “Jesus,” Max growled, shoving other bodies back, “give it a damn rest!” His roar seemed to quiet the crowd. He snatched his brother free of the violence.

  Sam took a breath.

  Quinlan shoved away from Max and took off through the gawking group.

  Sam realized that she had her fingers curled around her gun. Carefully, she eased her hold and let the weapon sink back into her purse.

  Then Max stalked back toward her. He held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He never hits the same bar twice.

  Sam put her fingers in his.

  Quinlan watched them leave. Sonofabitch. He’d known, deep down, that the old man wouldn’t give him the money.

  “That jerk shouldn’t have hit you.” A woman’s soft, sexy voice murmured. She sidled up to him, tall and slim, dressed in a slip of a black dress that barely skimmed her thighs.

  He took another long pull from his beer. “A sore jaw’s the least of my damn worries.” His horseshoe ring gleamed, mocking him.

  She sat next to him. Didn’t wait for an invitation. Just sat and that skirt hiked up a little more.

  No panties.

  “I’m a good listener,” she murmured, and her fingers skimmed down his arm. “I bet talking will make you feel better.”

  “No, the only thing that would make me feel better is if my tight-ass father gives me my money.” But his father wasn’t going to give him anything. How many times had he asked only to get fucking shot down?

  He’d hoped his father might change his mind, so he’d gone to Max to run interference. One last chance.

  No deal.

  And no more.

  Her lashes lowered. “Parents can be hell.” She leaned forward, and her long, blond hair brushed against his arm.

  “I just want what’s mine!” Was that so wrong? No, no, he wasn’t the one who�
�d made the mistakes. That had been the old bastard.

  She took his beer from him. Enjoyed a long, slow drink. “I know you do….” Her index finger traced around the rim of the beer bottle. “I know, Quinlan, I know….” Her fingers rubbed over the rim once more. “Finish this one,” she said, “and the next one will be on me.”

  “Where’s your car?” Max demanded, fury still heating his blood.

  Samantha blinked at him with her wide, dark eyes.

  Picking up another man? Shit, I should have known that I was just one in a line for her. Should have known.

  When she didn’t answer, he spun around and found the red VW at the end of the street. “You’re packing it in. You’re done for the night.”

  “I wasn’t there to pick up a lover.” Halting, soft.

  He turned back to find her frowning at him, a faint furrow between her brows.

  “If I need sex,” she told him quietly, “I know I can come to you.”

  What? Jesus, who went around saying things like that? Well, other than her?

  “You meet my needs. I don’t see why—”

  Sometimes, the woman seemed too damn clinical. “How old are you, Samantha?” He’d thought she was in her mid-twenties—please, don’t be younger—but she’d been at the bar, and if she was a student at Georgetown, she could be—

  “Twenty-four.”

  Okay. Still too young but, “I’m thirty-three.”

  She just nodded.

  “You’re in college. I’m—”

  Now she laughed. “I’ve been out of college for a long time. I finished up my doctorate three years ago.”

  What?

  She stroked his cheek. “You don’t really know me, Max. I’m not the woman you think I am.”

  Yeah, serious understatement.

  “Trust me on this. I wasn’t shopping for a new lover.”

  And why should it matter? She was right. He didn’t know her. They’d had sex, not long, deep conversations. He shouldn’t give a flying fuck who she wanted to screw. He’d had his fun, and now—

  I want more of her. Haven’t had enough yet.

  Samantha stood on her toes, bringing that unpainted, plump mouth close to his. “I like having sex with you.”

  His cock jerked. Down, boy.

  “You’re giving me what I need now. Exactly what I need.”

  In another two seconds, he’d be giving her what she needed, what she was asking for with those big eyes and that husky voice.

  Her tongue snaked out and licked his bottom lip.

  Dammit.

  He caught her arms and held tight. His mouth took hers, and his tongue plunged deep. She didn’t taste like wine or beer. Sweet, tangy.

  Just woman.

  Her breasts stabbed against his chest, the nipples already tight, and his hand pushed between their bodies. He cupped her breast through her thin shirt, squeezing and stroking and wanting that tight nipple on his tongue.

  “Max!”

  She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her. Just as much.

  Quinlan shoved away from the bar. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  The blonde smiled at him. “Want some company?”

  Yes. He kissed her, took those dark red lips, and the room seemed to spin around him.

  He pulled away, real slow, and took her hand as he headed for the front door.

  “No,” she said, tugging back. “This way,” and she pointed to the back.

  Whatever. Right then, he’d go anyplace she wanted to lead.

  Any damn place.

  They made it back to Max’s place. Barely. He’d followed behind Samantha, tailing that Bug and cursing the hard need in his dick.

  He hadn’t been this bad off since he was eighteen. What was it about Samantha? Why couldn’t he seem to get enough of her?

  They stumbled through the lobby. When the elevator doors closed behind them, he couldn’t wait any longer. She slipped back against the mirrored walls, and he yanked up her shirt. Pale blue bra…

  He shoved aside the lace, found her nipple, dark red like a tight, sweet cherry. His mouth closed around her breast, sucking, taking that nipple against his tongue. Licking, stroking, using his teeth to score her flesh.

  Her moan filled his ears even as her hips bucked against him. His cock was so swollen that he hurt, and if the elevator didn’t move faster…

  He’d take her there.

  Ding.

  Her hands shoved against him. “Max, someone…”

  He had her shirt off in two seconds. Her face flushed, her eyes gleamed with lust, and when she glanced down, well, hell, Max knew there was no missing the tent in his pants.

  But no one was there. His floor. They hurried down the hall. He nearly knocked down his door before he got the key in the lock and the door finally swung open.

  Bed, bed, make it to the bed.

  Their clothes littered the floor. Her shirt. His.

  The hallway. They’d made it that far.

  She lost her shoes.

  His followed.

  Her pants came down.

  Fuck.

  She stumbled into his bedroom. Stripped off her bra. The panties…

  Samantha fell back onto the bed, spreading her pale thighs, and he caught her silken flesh, opening her up more. His turn to taste.

  He found her wet. Ready. Her flavor was richer, sharper below. He licked her clit, loving the way that she pressed up against him, and her breath hissed out. But this time…

  “Say my name, Samantha.” He nearly growled the order.

  They were using each other.

  Sex. Pleasure. Fair enough, but he wanted no confusion when it came to who was fucking her.

  His tongue drove inside her.

  “Max!”

  One more lick. One more. Damn, not enough. He tasted her, and he wanted more. Like a damn addiction.

  Her hips arched. Her climax was close, so close that he felt the quiver in her sex.

  Max reared back and yanked out a condom from the nightstand drawer. He sheathed his cock, positioned, and drove deep.

  Samantha came with the first thrust. A hard explosion that shook her whole body and had her sex clamping fist-tight around him.

  He rode out her pleasure. Plunged into her, again and again, and the tension built. Higher. Sharper. Stronger.

  Sweat coated his shoulders. Her moans filled the air. The bed started to squeak.

  Her legs wrapped around him. Her ankles dug into his ass. Her eyes were open, on him.

  Seeing me.

  He erupted inside of her.

  Max dozed, not long, and woke to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open.

  Awareness came instantly. He shot up in bed. “Running away again?”

  Clad in her bra and panties, Samantha glanced back at him. “I can’t stay the night.”

  Can’t. Won’t. Right. Just sex.

  If he wanted a woman to stay the night, he had a drawer full of numbers he could call. Maybe he would. His jaw clenched, and he gritted, “You know the way out. Just go and—”

  The phone on the nightstand rang. Who the hell was calling him this late? Shit, if there was a problem at one of his sites… Swearing, Max grabbed the phone. “Ridgeway.”

  Samantha backed out the door. He wasn’t going after her. Wouldn’t stop her. Maybe it was time for the madness to end. This was going nowhere; it was—

  “I have something of yours….” A gruff whisper.

  “What?” Max blinked and then ran a hand down his face. “Who is this?”

  “If you want him back, you’ll make sure I get my payment.”

  “Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you are, but this conversation is over.” Too late for this shit.

  Samantha stilled in the hallway. He caught the flash of her hip, the curve of her sweet ass.

  “Don’t call again, got me?” Max started to drop the phone.

  “How much is your brother’s life worth?” That same damn whisper taunted.

>   It took a moment for understanding to sink in. Brother. His spine snapped straight. “What are you talking about?” he barked.

  Laughter. Mocking. Chilling his blood. “I have your brother, and if his old man doesn’t pay, I’ll send him back to you in pieces.”

  No, no, this wasn’t happening. This was bullshit. Some sick joke. “You’ve got Quinlan?”

  The door squeaked. Not closing this time; opening. Samantha slipped back inside. His gaze shot to her, and Max found her watching him with wide eyes and a pale face.

  “If you want Quinlan to keep the blood inside his body, you’ll do what I say.”

  Hell. “Let me talk to him, now!”

  “You don’t give the orders.”

  That drumming in his ears—nearly drowning out the bastard’s words—was that his heart? “You don’t have him,” he said with sudden certainty. Sick freak. “You don’t even know—”

  “If you hadn’t been so busy trying to screw the pretty whore on the street, you might have even seen me take him from The Core. You were right there. You could have saved him.”

  His fingers nearly smashed the phone. Watching. “Put my brother on the line!”

  “No.” Again that twisted laughter. “Just be a good errand boy and do what you’re told. I’ll be sending the old man a message—and you’re going to damn well make sure he pays.”

  Joke, had to be a joke—

  “You go to the cops, you try to mark the bills, and the ME will be piecing your brother back together for weeks. Got me? Weeks.”

  Then the phone went dead.

  CHAPTER Four

  Max?” Samantha stepped toward him. “Max, what’s going on?”

  Very carefully, he set the phone back on the cradle. “You need to leave now.” Quinlan. Shit, how had this happened?

  He’d read an article in the paper about that guy, Briar. The poor bastard had been nearly sliced apart and then left outside his parents’ house. But Jesus, that had been over in Maryland. Not in D.C., not—

  Max jumped from the bed and started yanking on his clothes. “Leave, Samantha.” She couldn’t be here for this. He didn’t want her anywhere near the nightmare that was about to come calling on him.

  Taken.

  He had to get to Frank’s place. Hold on, Quinlan. Just hold on.

  Max spun around and nearly slammed into Samantha. Her hands reached up and locked around his shoulders. “Tell me what’s happening.”