Deadly Lies

by Cynthia Eden

  Proof.

  He smiled.

  He knew just what piece he’d send to the big brother asshole. Just the proof the guy wanted.

  “Call return,” Samantha said, and Max blinked at her. “Do star sixty-nine now,” she ordered. “You can get his number.”

  He glanced over at the caller ID. “Unidentified number, there’s no way for me to—”

  Sam spun away from him. “He could have blocked before he called, but I bet he’s probably calling from a disposable cell.”

  Max frowned. His temples throbbed as he stared at her. Her shoulders were back, her strides tight and quick, and the way she was talking—

  “Only on the phone for forty-two seconds.” Her gaze was on her watch. “He’s timing this thing, working it so that—”

  “Wh-where’s… Quin?” Groggy, slurred. Frank was awake.

  Max loomed over his stepfather. “Not here. Look, he’s been—”

  But Frank’s eyes weren’t on him. They were on Samantha. “K-Katie? I-is… that—”

  Max’s hands curled into fists. “It’s not her!”

  “He always asks for her when he wakes,” Donnelley said, shrugging his rounded shoulders. “Give him some time, let him adjust, and then you can tell him—”

  That his only son was gone and might soon be dead.

  Max shook his head. Five million dollars. “Beth, come with me. We need to get downstairs, and we need to call the bank.” As his father’s assistant, she’d have access to Frank’s accounts.

  “We need to call the cops!” Beth fired at him, backing up fast. “Are you kidding me? We can’t handle this! We need the police. They can find Quin! They can—”

  Get him killed. “We’re telling no one.” Max let his stare drift around the room, touching on each face, even locking with Frank’s bleary eyes. “Not a soul, do you understand me?”

  Beth would be the weak link. She was standing there shuddering, as fear raked her body. He’d need to watch her carefully. “This story isn’t winding up on the news because if it does, we won’t see Quinlan alive again.”

  “You believe… them.” Donnelley’s hesitant voice. “You’re sure it’s not a trick?” His green eyes were steady but the lines on his face looked deeper, harder.

  “They have to give you proof,” Samantha’s hands were on her hips. “If they can’t prove that he’s—”

  “They were at The Core. They saw us, and they took Quinlan.” This wasn’t some bullshit scam. He knew it.

  Samantha shook her head. “You don’t know what happened after they left the club.” She paused, then said, “Your brother could have tried to get away. They could have used too much force to subdue him….”

  No, Jesus, no.

  “Quin… lan?” Frank pushed up against the covers. “Wh-what’s h-hap… pening?”

  Samantha never looked away from Max. “Before you give them the money, you have to get proof that Quinlan is still alive.”

  Because she thought his brother was dead.

  And he was afraid she might be right.

  Forty minutes later, Luke received the next text from Sam. His phone beeped, and the screen lightened. Then…

  K called. Unidentified number.

  “Dammit.” He’d expected as much based on the other cases, but they’d still be contacting the phone company. Maybe, just maybe they’d find a link back to the killer.

  “When we get the records, it’s gonna be like the others,” Ramirez warned. “Just a disposable, we’re not—”

  Luke whistled as he read the last of the message.

  Cops=dead.

  He dragged a hand over his face. “I need a way in.” His gaze met Ramirez’s. “Find me a way in, Jon.” A hard trick because he’d bet a month’s salary that the kidnappers were watching the house. They’d be making sure no cops came. No new faces.

  I have to get in.

  “Get him a cover,” Monica said. She sat nearby, watching. “He has to be doing a job that won’t set off any alarms, but one that’ll give him access to the house.”

  “Give me some time,” Ramirez promised, “and I’ll have you walking right through the front door without raising any suspicion.”

  Luke knew Ramirez could do it. No doubt.

  But…

  What about Sam? What cover was she using in that house? And she had to be using a cover. Because if the kidnappers knew that she was an FBI agent, then the vic was already dead.

  • • •

  Quinlan Malone screamed when the knife sliced into his skin. Blood flowed over his hand, wet, warm.

  “This’ll convince them.” Whispered. “A piece…”

  Quinlan’s breath hissed out. The pain blasted him like the touch of fire, and bile rose in his throat.

  “He’ll pay.” The words were gritted. “He’ll… f-fucking… pay…”

  Quinlan’s heart thundered in his ears, nearly drowning out the words. His hand throbbed and burned and, oh, shit…

  Tears leaked down his cheeks.

  “He’ll pay.” So quiet, then, “He’d better.”

  “We’re not paying the kidnappers a dime.” Sam’s eyes widened at his words. The speaker’s voice wasn’t slurred any longer. No, now the voice was strong and fierce and very, very pissed.

  Sunlight flickered through the windowpane in the study as dawn cut through the last of the night. Frank Malone stood by the window and stared out into the distance. Dressed now, completely aware, he was no longer the drugged man desperate to understand.

  Max paced in the room, tension evident in the taut lines of his body. At Frank’s words, Max stilled. “You’re not serious.”

  “I damn well am.” Frank spun toward him. “I’m not going to bow to pressure, boy. I’m not going to—”

  “He’s your son,” Sam said, stunned. “If you don’t do something, he’ll die.” Didn’t the guy get it?

  Steel gray eyes raked her. “I don’t know you, sweetheart, and I’d advise you to keep your nose out of family business.”

  Right. Sam swallowed and lifted her chin. Once upon a time, she would have backed down at that, dropped her head and hunched her shoulders. But she wasn’t the same woman any longer, and staring into Frank’s gaze, she realized that this guy—with his power, his money, and his arrogance—didn’t scare her. When you’ve already faced the devil, a pompous jerk is nothing.

  “Haven’t you read the papers? Didn’t you see what happened to Jeremy Briar when he was taken? This—this seems like the same kind of—”

  Frank waved his fat fingers in the air. “It’s a copycat. Some assholes read about the crime, and they thought they’d get rich off it, off me.”

  Yes, the SSD had been worried about a copy, but…

  “This could even be Quin’s doing.” Frank’s eyes, if possible, narrowed more. “Little bastard just hit me up for cash. Maybe he thinks this’ll be the way to—”

  “What if it’s not Quinlan?” Max demanded, and Sam’s gaze flew to him. “Do we just sit with our thumbs up our asses and wait for Quinlan to die?”

  “That Briar shit wasn’t even in D.C., Max!” Frank paced toward him. “Come on, you’re smarter than this. At least, I thought you were.”

  Sam almost preferred the guy drugged.

  “This isn’t the same bunch.” Frank was adamant. “They wouldn’t come to D.C. when they’re hunting in Maryland—”

  “Yes,” Sam said quietly, “they would.” The certainty in her voice was obvious, and Max’s head cocked at her words. His gaze bore into hers.

  Her heart pounded way too fast. Her hands were sweating. Tell him. Have to tell him.

  Frank wasn’t going to pay. She could see it in his eyes. Feel it in the thick tension in the room.

  So maybe Quinlan Malone was an immature asshole who liked to burn his way through his father’s money. She’d sure met enough of that type in her lifetime.

  But this was a different game, not some spoiled-boy routine, and she had to make sure that they all
knew that.

  The silence in the room stretched too long. Then…

  The floor creaked softly as Max stalked toward her. “Samantha…”

  She’d loved the way he said her name. Never Sam, not with him. He stroked the word out, tasted it each time. Made it sound sexy. Strong.

  But this time, there was something different in his voice. Suspicion. The heat was gone, and now a chill had caressed her name.

  “You know more than you’re saying, don’t you?” Max pressed.

  Sam wouldn’t lie to him. Not then. She gave a slow nod and saw his eyes narrow. A muscle flexed along his jaw.

  “Who is she, Max?” Frank demanded. “You don’t ever bring women here. You don’t—”

  “She didn’t really give me a choice,” Max murmured, drawing closer. His eyes seemed to burn through her. “She was with me when the call came in, and she was with me when I saw Quinlan for the last time at The Core.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Oh, no, she knew where this was going. “You don’t understand—”

  “The Core?” Frank’s voice dripped disgust. “I told Quin to stop hanging out at that shithole. After he got clean, I told him to—”

  The back of Max’s hand brushed down Sam’s cheek. “I don’t really know you, do I?”

  She could only shake her head. He had no idea.

  His fingers curled around her chin. Max leaned close and whispered, “Who the fuck are you?”

  The rage in his eyes was new, and dammit, a flicker of fear ignited inside her.

  What else is new?

  “Max?” Confusion came from his stepfather. “What’s—”

  “Quinlan was taken from The Core.” Max’s hold tightened. “She was at The Core. She was at the Lenwoods’ party the night before… when Quinlan was there. She comes from nowhere, right before my brother vanishes, and I can’t tell you who she really is.”

  Sam struck out with her left arm and shoved him back.

  “And there’s that,” he said. “Baby, you’re a whole lot stronger than you should be.”

  If only.

  “It’s not what you think.” Sam’s eyes darted from Max to Frank. “I-I’m not working with the kidnappers. That’s not it!” She took a breath. “Look, I haven’t been completely honest with you, okay?”

  But Max just waited and watched and she knew—he’s going to freak.

  “What I tell you can’t leave this room, do you understand?” Her voice dropped, hardened. “You can’t tell Beth. You can’t tell Donnelley. You can’t tell anyone else.”

  Max’s eyes had never seemed so cold. “Tell them what?”

  She held his stare. “I’m with the FBI.”

  CHAPTER Five

  Bullshit,” Frank’s automatic response.

  But Samantha just shook her head and her eyes—stark and sad—held Max’s. “I work with the SSD—”

  “What the hell is that?” Frank demanded.

  Samantha never looked Frank’s way. “It’s the Serial Services Division, a fairly new unit in the FBI that was formed specifically to track and apprehend serials.”

  Rage churned in Max, and a film of red coated his vision. “You’ve killed him,” Max growled, the words rising up from his gut. I’ll get my brother back in pieces.

  Samantha blinked, and for a second, it seemed like tears glittered in her eyes. But, no, nothing was there now. Just darkness.

  “You’re too damn young.” Frank moved to Max’s side. “You’re not—”

  “I’m twenty-four years old,” came her cool voice. “And I’ve been working for the Bureau since I completed my Ph.D. at MIT.”

  What? No, wait, computers, she’d said she worked with—

  “My specialty is information retrieval.” Still so cool and calm. “I also work on pattern detections through a careful analysis of—”

  “They said no cops,” Max gritted. “I told you. You knew.”

  “By then it was too late,” she whispered. And what, was that pain in her voice? No damn way. This woman had been playing him from the first minute they’d met.

  An FBI agent. A genius from the sound of things. She’d come on to him for hot, dirty sex. Was that the way it worked for the Bureau folks? Did they—

  “No!” She burst out, and Max realized he’d been barking his words at her the entire time.

  Samantha caught his arms and held tight. “You don’t realize… the SSD has been working this case for so long.”

  His heart raced in his chest.

  “That bar… the night we met,” she wet her lips. “I was there because that place fit the kidnappers’ hunting profile. The kidnappers take men from bars near campuses. I wasn’t there because I was looking to hook up, I was canvassing the place. Then… then I saw you.”

  The fucking FBI?

  “When you got the call… your brother…” Her lips trembled. “Your brother, my case. I couldn’t walk away, not when this was my chance to—”

  Max pulled free. Her chance. “This isn’t your chance for any damned thing. This is my brother’s life we’re talking about here! This isn’t time for you to get some media coverage ’cause you’re working a case. This is my brother.” Didn’t she get it?

  Her lashes lowered, and she blinked. Once, twice. He could almost see her processing, like some kind of freaking robot.

  Robot.

  Where was the woman who’d gone molten in his arms? This—this wasn’t her.

  Max rubbed his grainy eyes. Think. “They don’t know who you are.” Oh, Jesus, he hoped they didn’t. “You haven’t called in to your boss, so the—the—” What had she called it? “SD—”

  “SSD. The Serial Services—”

  He dropped his hand. “Do I look like I give a shit right now?”

  Her lips tightened.

  “They don’t know,” he fired on, aware that Frank was now watching Samantha with assessing eyes. Different eyes. “And you’re not going to tell them. We’re not going to so much as breathe a word to your FBI boss until this is over, and Quinlan is home.” We can do this. We can….

  “She’s already contacted them,” Frank said, tilting his head as he studied her. “Haven’t you?”

  What? No! Max had been with her nearly every moment—

  Nearly.

  Samantha nodded. “I’m sorry… but it’s my job.” A quiet admission.

  Anger shot through Max’s body, heating his flesh, boiling him from the inside out, and he spun away from her.

  And slammed his fist into the nearest wall.

  Blood pooled on the floor. Dark, dark red. Not bright. Why did people always think blood was bright? It wasn’t. It was dark and really, after the first few moments, it was so cold and—

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  The kidnapper stared at the token in his hand. “No, we’ve got proof.” He held it up and heard the swift inhalation of air from behind him.

  “What did you do? Are you fuckin’ crazy? What did you—”

  Slowly, he turned to fully face his lover. Her beautiful face looked so pale, almost stark white, beside the golden rain of her hair. Not that the pallor hurt her looks any. No, the ivory skin just made her look softer. Like she was weak.

  But she wasn’t.

  He’d never made that mistake about her.

  A smile curved his lips as he stared at her. She’d been such a good lure. It was so easy to take the victims when they were willing. “The asshole wanted proof.” He shrugged. “I got him proof.”

  Her gaze darted to his hand, then away. “Y-you could have just—”

  “Let the guy talk to his brother on the phone?” He finished and shook his head. “No, we couldn’t risk that.” He smiled. “Besides, this way was so much more fun, love.”

  She swallowed.

  He touched her neck. His hand stroked that soft column, and he left his bloody fingerprints on her flesh.

  He’d have to clean the blood up soon.

  All of it.

  She glan
ced at the chair behind him, almost helplessly. “You… like this too much.”

  His fingers tightened around her throat until he cut off her air. Fear flickered in her gaze. Smart—because she was right to fear him.

  His grin grew. “So do you.” He crushed his mouth to hers and eased his grip, just enough to let her wheeze in some air.

  A whimper hung between them.

  He took his time with her mouth. Enjoyed it, but this wasn’t the right place. Not for what he had in mind.

  And there was more work to do.

  His head lifted slowly. “Are we working on the next target?” Because the plan he had—oh, it was going to be good.

  So damn good.

  The media had his story now. The Feds were watching. He’d give them something special to watch.

  She nodded, but wet her lips with a flash of her pink tongue. They’d use that tongue later. “Are you—are you sure this will work?” she asked.

  His smile was gone. Really, she shouldn’t have any doubt. “Two for the price of one, love. You can’t beat that deal.”

  Do the unexpected. Always keep the enemy off-guard. Lessons he’d learned so long ago.

  Do the unexpected.

  They’d be profiling him. Planning and plotting and trying to track his next move, but they’d be wrong. Dead wrong.

  He tossed his prize into her hands. Her horrified yelp made him laugh. “Have that delivered, will you?”

  He had another victim to meet.

  Veronica James was shaking as she prepared the package. She hadn’t signed up for this deal. No damn way.

  Blood was on her hands.

  Shit. She hurried to the sink and turned on the water. The icy cold blasted her as she scrubbed and scrubbed.

  He was going too far, he was—

  “It’s almost over, love,” his voice whispered from behind her, and Veronica stiffened. The pink water poured down the drain.

  The old floor creaked beneath his feet. “A few more days,” he told her, his voice rumbling, “and we’ll be free and clear.”

  Her hands were clean now. Blood was surprisingly easy to wash away. If you did it fast enough, there was never any stain. She turned off the water and faced him, her heart pounding too fast in her chest. When she’d first seen him at The Core, she’d thought he would be the perfect target.