Deadly Lies

by Cynthia Eden

  “Get it ready. I’m taking it today.” No discussion, just a flat demand.

  And that’s why he was called Fuck ’em Frank.

  John’s sigh drifted over the line. “Sir, you don’t seem to realize just how—”

  An ear-splitting scream ripped through the house.

  Samantha.

  Max leapt from the chair and ran for the door. Frank followed right on his heels. The banker’s voice droned behind them.

  Max’s feet pounded over the tiles. “Samantha!”

  The scream echoed again. Even louder now and then…

  Retching.

  He spun, sliding around the corner, and saw Beth curled on the floor, her long blond hair streaming around her face.

  Not Samantha.

  “Beth?” Frank demanded. “Woman, what the hell were you screaming—”

  Her head lifted. She shoved back her hair, and her eyes fixed on them. “B-box…”

  Footsteps thudded behind them. “Max!” Samantha’s voice now. Fierce.

  He didn’t look back. He’d seen the box. Small and brown, lying on the floor with the top torn open.

  Beth pushed back, crawling like a crab away from the box.

  A fist squeezed Max’s heart. “Where did it come from?”

  “I-it was on the steps. The guard put it there, I-I thought…” Beth sucked in a sharp breath. “I thought one… of the m-messengers had brought it from the office.”

  Max bent down and reached for the box. Jesus.

  Beth whimpered.

  Samantha grabbed his hand. “Don’t.” Her soft skin pressed against his. Her mouth came close to his ear as she whispered, “Not bare skin… we have to check for fingerprints.”

  His hand fisted.

  “Use this.” She dug a pen out of her pocket.

  He took it, his fingers rock steady. He shoved the top off the box with the tip of the pen. Fuck me.

  A bloody finger lay nestled inside.

  Beth started crying.

  A ring finger, one still adorned with his brother’s lucky horseshoe ring.

  Sonofabitch.

  “Max?” Frank’s voice wasn’t so tough now. “What’s in the box?”

  Proof. “They’ve got Quinlan.” And he’d just gotten a piece of his brother. His head turned, and he met Samantha’s worried stare. The first piece.

  Max surged to his feet. Samantha rose right with him, her hand gripping his wrist. “He’s still alive, Max,” she said urgently.

  Max tried to shake her off. Her grip just tightened. “He’s still alive. This is just to screw with you, to make you desperate.”

  “It’s his f-finger!” Beth cried out.

  Samantha didn’t look away from Max. “It’s a message. You wanted proof, so they gave you proof. Your brother is out there. He’s alive, and we’re going to get him back.”

  Proof sent.

  Luke scanned the text. Victim’s finger delivered in box. Fingerprint and DNA testing needed ASAP.

  “Fuck.”

  His head lifted, and he stared at the team assembled in the SSD’s conference room. “The kidnappers just made contact again.” The first time that they’d done this. Changing the MO.

  Hyde straightened in his chair. “They called already?”

  “No.” His gaze found Monica’s. She’d been working on the profile for the kidnappers. “They sent a finger to the Malone house in a damn box.”

  No change of expression crossed her perfect face.

  “Why change the plan, Monica?” Luke pressed because she would know. When it came to the killers, she always knew.

  “Because the kills are changing him,” she said.

  Yeah, that’s what he’d feared but he’d wanted her take on the situation.

  “The leader was much more violent with Briar’s body than he was with Peter Hollings’,” Monica continued. “He kept Briar alive longer. He inflicted the wounds not to kill, but to hurt.”

  Yeah, and that worried him.

  Monica confirmed his fear when she said, “Seems to me that our perp might have found something he likes.”

  “Or maybe we’re not dealing with the same kidnappers,” Jon Ramirez offered from his position on the far right of the table. “Maybe this is some wannabe who read about Briar in the paper, and he thinks he needs to slice and dice to make his point.”

  Monica gave a slight negative shake of her head. “There are too many similarities that weren’t released to the press. No one knew the men disappeared from college bars, and no one knew the initial calls came within three hours of the disappearances. And no one knew a ten o’clock call was promised, but never delivered.” Her hands flattened on the table. “It’s the same leader. The same group.”

  “And just how many folks are we talking in this group?” Hyde asked from the head of the table, his gaze sweeping all of their faces.

  “Kidnappers are rarely solo workers,” Luke said. “You’re talking a unit here, one that follows an alpha…”

  “Like a pack of dogs,” came the quiet rumble from Special Agent Kim Daniels. Her eyes glinted but her face was as blank as Monica’s.

  “Someone has to stay with the vic, to guard him at all times.” Luke lifted his hand as he began to count off the possible abduction team members. “Someone has to go for the drop. And someone has to cover the leader’s ass.” Because the leader would never leave himself vulnerable. “And someone is the constant watcher who keeps an eye on the victim’s family.”

  They needed to identify that watcher. In case it was someone in the household, Sam would continue to communicate through texts for secrecy. They weren’t taking any chances with this case.

  “At a minimum,” Luke told them, “we’re looking at four people. At most, six—no more than that, though. That would mean too many hands in the pie.”

  “We need that box,” Hyde stated flatly. “The sooner we dust and run a fingerprint check, the better.”

  Hell, yeah. They were all on the same page there. Luke grunted. “We need to talk to those other victims.” Luke wanted to meet with them, one on one. And actually get them to answer all of his questions. But money and power—those got in the way of sit-downs. “I want them back in the country.”

  Hyde nodded. “I’m working on it.”

  If Hyde couldn’t get them back, no one could.

  Luke considered his options. Not many. “In the meantime, let’s get them on the phone. Get a conference call set up ASAP because I need to talk to them.”

  The vics were scared shitless. He got that. They wanted to pretend the nightmare that they’d lived through wasn’t real. But another man’s life was hanging in the balance.

  And Luke wasn’t in this business to stop the killers after the fact—after the blood had flowed and the dead had been hauled away. He was there to save lives, dammit, and that’s what he was going to do.

  Sam went to the bank with Max and Frank. She smiled at the other customers. She kept her face all nice and bland. After a few moments of small talk, the bank manager, John Adams, led them into his office, and the money was brought out to them.

  Five million dollars. The price of a life. Quinlan Malone’s life.

  The bank manager was sweating. So was Frank.

  Not Max.

  Max kept a strong hold on her hand. Almost too tight. His fingers threaded with hers, keeping her close.

  He had his job to do. She had hers. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she murmured. “Could you please direct me to the ladies room?”

  The bank manager pointed to the left.

  She offered him a wan smile, then she stood and walked down the narrow hallway and toward the restroom. The dress she’d borrowed from Beth shifted easily as she walked. Within moments, her hand pushed open the women’s restroom door.

  As she headed toward the sink, a woman turned around, reaching for a hand towel. They bumped into each other.

  The purse Sam had borrowed slipped to the floor.

  “Sorry,” the woman sai
d, her blue eyes wide. She bent, her curtain of black hair sliding around her face as she picked up the purse. “Didn’t see you there.” Her grip on the bag was firm.

  Sam inclined her head. Special Agent Monica Davenport always had perfect timing. “No harm done.” The finger and the box were inside that purse, covered by a plastic bag.

  The exchange was made in less than ten seconds.

  When Sam walked back out, her head was up, the bag was hanging on her arm, and Max waited for her, a duffel bag gripped in each of his hands.

  Her gaze darted to the bags.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Frank said.

  A guard stepped forward and led them to the door. Sam’s borrowed heels—way too tight—clicked on the floor. It seemed like every eye was on them.

  Frank had his personal guard with him. Jared Kinney doubled as his driver and his bodyguard. Sam had learned that Jared lived at the Malone house, in an apartment above the garage.

  Jared pushed open the door. Bright sunlight hit Sam in the eyes. In another hour, the sun would be setting. It had taken so long for the bank manager to get that money ready. Too much daylight had already been lost.

  But another phone call had to come that day. If the kidnappers followed their established routine, they would contact Max again soon.

  They walked down the steps, slow and steady, not saying a word. Jared opened the door of the Cadillac for Frank. When the older man was inside, Max handed off the duffel bags. Max’s Jeep waited on the other side of the road. He turned away.

  But Frank grabbed his hand. “You’re coming back to the house?”

  Max stared down at him.

  “I need you. You have to stay ’til this mess is over.”

  “I’ll be back.” Max eased away. Jared slammed the door. She and Max watched as the long car pulled away.

  When the light changed, she and Max began to walk across the street. A slow, direct stride as—

  A car’s engine roared to life.

  Sam’s head whipped to the right. A small, black BMW headed straight for them, coming fast, so fast…

  What the hell? Her heart slammed into her ribs in a split-second of understanding. “Run!” The damn car was aiming right for them. Coming closer, faster, turning to follow them as they rushed across the nearly deserted street.

  No, not them. The car wasn’t aiming at them.

  She shoved Max forward and felt the rush of air behind her as she launched after him. Sam slammed into Max, and they crashed onto the cement. The smell of burnt rubber and blood filled her nose. She pushed upright as quickly as she could and turned back to see the taillights on the car vanish as the BMW took a hard right and disappeared.

  “What the hell?”

  Sam glanced at Max. He was up on his knees and brushing off hands that dripped blood.

  Just like hers did. The cement could be a real bitch. “We need to get off this street. Now.”

  “Because some asshole ran the light?”

  “No.” She grabbed his arm and all but jerked him toward the Jeep. “Because I’m pretty sure some asshole just tried to kill you.”

  CHAPTER Six

  The angel in the red dress came up to him in a cloud of perfume and sex. Adam Warrant blinked at her, took another long look, and enjoyed the view. “Baby, where have you been all my life?”

  She smiled at him and reached for his beer bottle. Pretty fingers. Long and pale. Blood-red fingertips traced the mouth of his beer. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Those fingers circled the mouth of the beer again. “But I’m here now, Adam.”

  His brows furrowed. The music was so damn loud. He could barely hear her. He leaned in closer and caught more of her scent. Just like sex. His cock throbbed. The top of her dress nearly showed her nipples. “Who are you?”

  One more slow slide of her fingers around the top of the beer bottle, then down the neck, a caress, almost a pump.

  He gulped. Jesus.

  She handed him the beer, and her fingers pressed against his chest. “I’m the woman who’s going to give you a night you’ll never forget.”

  Adam smiled at that, then he drained his beer. “Promises, promises…”

  Near hit and run. Almost took Max out. New game?

  Luke shook his head as he read Sam’s text. “Kim, we’ve got a problem” A big problem. A hit and run wasn’t part of the MO.

  “Hey!” Her voice came, high and tense, from right beside him. She had her phone pressed to her ear. “Ramirez is on the line. He says a BMW nearly clipped Sam and Ridgeway at the bank on Pines!”

  Ramirez. Their shadow guy on this case. He was watching Sam and Ridgeway, and he’d make sure no one saw him. “Yeah, I know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did you know that Ramirez got the guy’s license plate?” Her fingers tapped on the nearest keyboard.

  Luke stared over her shoulder as she pulled up the DMV access and typed in the numbers. It took less than five seconds for the results to pop up. “I’ll be damned…” He muttered. The tag number matched the BMW registered to one Jeremy Briar. A car that had been reported missing by his mother right before she’d been booked for killing her husband.

  Jeremy’s car. A car that his killers had just tried to use to run down another man.

  But… why? Sure wasn’t good business sense. Dead men couldn’t pay ransoms.

  “We need to talk about this,” Sam said when it became obvious that Max was just going to ignore the near hit-and-run. Ignore it. Was the guy crazy? He’d almost been killed, and he hadn’t said a word.

  They’d gone to his place and picked up fresh clothes and an overnight bag. They were nearly back at his stepfather’s, and they were going to discuss the attack.

  Sam saw his jaw clench. She swallowed back her own fear and fury and tried to sound calm. “Max… someone aimed at you.” Okay, not so calm. Forget calm.

  “Why the hell would they want to hit me?” he demanded. The Jeep accelerated with a growl of sound.

  That’s what she wanted to know. She didn’t like this situation. Not at all. The kidnappers had never made an attack like this. Breaking the MO would mean trouble.

  “You shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way,” he told her, his deep voice rumbling.

  She fiddled with the seatbelt. “Well, if you moved faster, I wouldn’t have needed to push.”

  His fingers curled around the steering wheel. “You made yourself a target out there. You should have hauled ass and gotten out of the way, not worried about me.”

  “Worrying about you is my job.” For now.

  “That all it is?”

  Sam blinked. “Wh-what?”

  But he was turning the wheel and pulling into the long, winding drive that led up to the Malone house. A guard stood at the gate, and when he saw Max he waved them through with a roll of his hand.

  “I don’t get you,” Max said, easing the Jeep toward the house. “The FBI? Hell, no, I never would have pegged that for you.”

  Why? Because she was weak? “It’s all I’ve ever done.” All she’d ever wanted to do.

  He braked the vehicle and turned to face her. “And what? You get off on it? On tracking the killers? On seeing the bodies?”

  Her breath sucked in. “No.”

  “Why do it?”

  “Because I know that some monsters are real.” God, how she knew that was true. When she closed her eyes, she saw her own monster. “And they belong in cages, far away from innocent people.” Or they belonged in the ground. But she wasn’t supposed to say that. Think it, yes, but the badge wouldn’t let her say it.

  Max’s hand reached out, and his fingers caught a lock of her hair. “You think every killer belongs in a cage.” A darker tone hardened his voice.

  “My job is to stop killers. That’s what I do.” Sam unclipped the seatbelt but didn’t pull away from him. The sad truth was that she liked the touch of his hand against her cheek.

  But his hand fell away and his mouth tightened. “Everything’s
black and white for you. You don’t have room for gray in your world, huh?”

  “Do you?” She fired back. “I saw your face when you found out I was with the FBI. You were pissed, Max.” No masking that look of fury.

  “I am pissed. You shouldn’t be here. You should be so damn far away from here…”

  Way to make a girl feel wanted. “I’m not going anywhere.” The SSD wouldn’t let her, and besides, she wasn’t leaving him.

  This was her time to be strong. I can do this. Hyde would be monitoring her every move. If she screwed up…

  Well, Quinlan would be dead. Max would hate her. And she’d find her ass on the street.

  No pressure.

  “They’ll call tonight,” she said. The kidnappers always made contact again twenty-four hours after they took the vic. “They’ll give you instructions for making the drop.”

  “And you’ll tell your agents.” He killed the engine.

  “Trust me, okay?” Yes, there was desperation creeping into her words. “The SSD won’t blow this. The agents will be far enough away that no one will see them, but they’ll see everything. They’ll be able to track the kidnappers after the drop. They’ll stop this. No one else will get hurt.”

  “I want to believe you, baby.” His fingers closed around the keys, forming a strong fist. A fist with bruised knuckles courtesy of that punch into the wall earlier. “But the thing is, I seem to have trouble trusting you.”

  Sam kept her chin up. “Then don’t trust me, but listen to me. This isn’t my first case. This isn’t the SSD’s first case. We bring down killers, and we bring victims back alive.” They’d brought her back.

  His head cocked, and his eyes glittered. “Now why do I think you’re not being all that truthful with me? Some of the victims, they don’t come back, do they?”

  She turned away from him and shoved open the door. Cold air hit her like a slap, but it was what she needed. Sam hurried forward, determined to get inside the house.

  “Samantha.”

  She froze at Max’s voice. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he followed behind her. Then he was there, catching her fingers, and curling his own around them. “You never know who’s watching, baby.” A sensual reminder, one with an edge of steel.