by Cynthia Eden
“You’re not what you pretend to be,” Max said, voice rumbling as the fingers holding her began to stroke her in long, slow glides. Trying to soothe. “You’re not the tough agent, are you?”
She wanted to be.
He lowered her hands to the carpet, but kept his caressing hold. “Someone hurt you,” he said with certainty and, finally, with the anger that she’d expected.
Her lashes lifted. “Let me go.” They’d make it through tonight. Somehow, some way, they’d make it through. After the exchange tomorrow, she’d tell Hyde what happened. She couldn’t protect Max—not when she was the one attacking him.
And Hyde would see that he’d been right. She shouldn’t be back on duty. She wasn’t ready. Not even close.
“Were you raped?” he asked with his body flush against hers, strong muscles tight.
Sam jerked beneath him. I-I’ll do any-anything! Just d-don’t… “No,” she whispered. The truth. That bastard hadn’t been interested in sex. Just fear. “Let me up.”
“You’re crying,” Max told her, and his voice was… odd.
She couldn’t stop the tears. They just trickled down. Why couldn’t she be like Monica? Monica would never cry. She’d look at the killers, she’d rip them apart, and then she’d go right about her business.
Max released her wrists, and his callused fingertips brushed away her tears. Her breath seemed to burn in her lungs.
Slowly, he rose off her and stood. Max reached a hand down for her, and she took it, noticing the tremble in her own fingers. “After the drop-off, a new agent will be assigned to your case.” The words were wooden but she just had nothing left right then. She stood on legs that felt too weak. “I-I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did.”
She exhaled and realized that he still he held her hand. “I’ll report the incident immediately and…” And what? What would she do?
“I was a dick,” Max said, and her gaze snapped up to snag his. “I was furious, and I struck out first.” He inclined his head toward her. “There’s nothing to report.”
She’d attacked him. In her book, that counted as something.
“You didn’t hurt me, baby, and something tells me, if an FBI agent really wanted to take someone down, she could.”
A bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “Maybe she couldn’t.” Because she hadn’t been able to get away before. And she sure hadn’t been smart enough to see the devil coming for her.
Her gaze dropped again.
“Look at me.”
But she didn’t want to. She saw herself reflected in his eyes, and she couldn’t stand that image. Sam pulled her hand away. She grabbed her purse and kept her back straight as she headed for the door.
“I killed him.” His confession fell heavily into the room.
She didn’t look back.
“I picked up that bat and I swung, and Dean went down, and there was blood all over the floor.”
Won’t look back. The door was close. Just a few more feet.
“Before I swung, I told him to get away from her. I told that bastard to stop hurting her, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Her fingers flipped the lock.
“She was bruised and bloody and begging him to stop.”
Her hand curled over the doorknob. Hesitated. Sam looked back. His stare pinned her.
“I wasn’t going to let that bastard rape my mother,” Max said, “so I took the bat I’d brought home from baseball practice, and I swung.” Echoes of fury and pain slipped into his voice. “One hit and he went down, and he didn’t get up again.”
Fourteen.
“They locked me up.” His shoulders straightened. “I did my time, and when I was eighteen, they pulled me up in front of a roomful of folks and asked me if I was sorry I’d killed John Dean.” The strained half-smile that tilted his lips was a touch cruel, a touch cold. “I told them ‘hell, no.’ You see, Samantha, if I had the chance, I’d do it again. I’d take that swing, and I wouldn’t hesitate.” He shrugged. “That’s who I am.”
Not perfect. Dark. Dangerous.
“But I want to know,” the faint lines near his eyes seemed to deepen, “just who are you?”
I don’t know. Sad and true. “I-I have to…” Run. She swiped a hand over her cheeks and felt the wet stains from her tears. “I need to finish checking the other computers here. There’s not much time left.” Sam turned away from him. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you don’t think he’s like the perps you chase.
Say something. The order was a scream in her head, but this time, the words didn’t come out. She opened the door and walked away.
“You can’t run forever,” his whisper followed her, and she knew he was right.
CHAPTER Seven
I have something of yours, Mr. Warrant.” The kidnapper glanced at the watch on his wrist. The lamp light shone down on him, letting him see perfectly. One-thirteen a.m. They’d taken Warrant’s son two hours before, right in front of the cops who’d been stationed in The Core. Thanks to his inside man at the club, he’d known all about the cops… and how to avoid them.
Getting his guy hired at The Core had been a stroke of luck. No more hunting down the prey they wanted. Now, well, he just waited for the fools to come looking for him. When they came in The Core, his man gave him a call.
Then playtime started… as Adam had found out.
Adam. Dumbass Adam. Since Adam had left willingly—just like all the others—the cops hadn’t noticed a thing out of the ordinary.
“Wh-what?” Warrant’s voice was groggy, but then, that figured. He’d awakened Slayton Warrant from his mistress’s bed.
The same routine. The old bastards were so predictable. It made the game so easy. “I have Adam,” he told the guy, keeping his voice a whisper, “and if you don’t pay, I’ll send him back to you in pieces.” That always got their attention.
“What? Who the fuck is this?”
Now Slayton was awake. Good. “I’m the man who has dear dumbass Adam, and I’m the man who’ll kill him if you cross me.” He began to walk. The street was deserted, always was, but he knew better than to stay in the light too long.
“This is crap. You don’t have—”
No one ever believed what they were told. Sad. Why were the folks in this world so untrusting? “I can send you proof.” He rather liked that part now. And it would only be fair. If he was doing a favor for one family, he should provide the same courtesy to them all.
“Adam’s at school! He’s not—”
“He was at The Core, drinking like a good frat boy.” The cops and the FBI agents would face hell in the papers after this one. Took him while you watched. Adam had been so eager for a piece of ass, there’d been no need to drug him. When the sexy blonde had left, Adam had gone racing after her, alone. His mistake.
“I’ve got Adam,” he said, “and he’s tied up and begging for his life.” Or Adam would be begging, if he didn’t have duct tape over his mouth.
“No, you’re lying, you—”
“How much is he worth to you?” He cut across the yell. “You’d better figure it out, old man, and figure it out fast.” Adam would be his last mark. He’d have enough money then—they’d have enough money—to get the hell out of that area. No, out of the country. That was supposed to be the plan, right? And everyone on his team knew the plan.
Silence hummed on the phone.
“You go to the cops, I’ll start cutting and your boy will die.” He gave warnings, so it wasn’t like the deaths were his fault. If people couldn’t follow simple instructions… well, they hurt themselves—and the ones they loved.
“Wh-what should I do?” Slayton asked, the fear breaking his voice.
“Wait for my call, and start getting your money ready.” He disconnected and grinned down at the phone. So easy. He strolled over the bridge ahead, hunching his shoulders against the cold swipe of the wind. When he was dead center on the bridge, he tossed the cell into the murky water and never stopped walking.
T
he watcher would keep an eye on Warrant. Usually he had two watchers per prey, but this time, he’d split his resources.
Now it was nearly time for the big finish.
The faint glow from the computer screen lit Samantha’s face. Max walked into the room, deliberately making his steps loud so she’d know he was coming. She was in the bedroom that they’d been assigned. His bedroom, not that he ever stayed there.
Frank was down the hallway, not dosing on sleeping pills tonight, but, from the sound of things, fucking Beth.
Max closed the door, locked it, and stared at her. “Find anything?” He knew that she’d gotten access to every computer in the place as he’d shielded her from prying eyes. She had Quinlan’s laptop again, and he wondered what she’d found on his brother’s system.
She looked up at him, and he saw the hesitation in her stare.
“What?” He stripped off his shirt and tossed it toward the chair. Almost two-thirty in the morning, and he was still wired. Christ, he’d never get to sleep at this rate.
How can I sleep when I don’t know what the hell is happening to Quinlan?
“You know Beth is your brother’s lover, too, don’t you?” Samantha asked.
His arms crossed over his chest. “I didn’t.” He didn’t move closer. He didn’t want to scare her. Not again. “But I’m not surprised. He’s the one who introduced her to Frank.” If Frank had thought his son was sleeping with Beth, then, yeah, in his mind, that was all the more reason to screw her.
Frank was a real dick.
But not nearly the worst guy that his mother had picked in her life. She’d sure been good at choosing losers.
Don’t go there.
“Your brother gambles.” Samantha’s fingers curled around the laptop screen. Her legs were stretched out on the bed with the computer nestled on her thighs. “It took me a while to find it, but there’s a code system in here.” A quick swipe of her tongue made her lower lip slick and kissable. “He gambles a lot, Max.”
Her admission had him blinking, then shaking his head. “Gambling?” Drugs—yes, he knew about them. But gambling?
“He deleted the e-mails. But they were easy to recover,” she added under her breath. “The gambling has been going on for a while. And he seems to bet on everything. Playoffs, horses, fights.”
“No wonder he wanted me to hit Frank up for an advance on his trust.” Max huffed out a breath and paced toward the window. A million-dollar view that was worth nothing. “How deep is he in?”
Silence. Then… “He asked for money before he disappeared?” A soft click as the laptop closed.
Stars glittered over the lake. The first time his mother had seen the lake, she’d been blown away. She’d called him, talking about how beautiful it was as it reflected the stars. But now, when he looked at it, all Max saw was just black water. “Yeah, Quinlan needed money, and he wanted me to do the asking. He never could stand up to Frank.” Tension had an ache building in the back of his neck. “Like it was gonna make a difference that I was the one coming with my hand out.”
He glanced over his shoulder and found Samantha watching him, a faint line between her brows. “How much?” he asked. “How deep was he in?”
“About two hundred grand.”
Fuck. “I’ll pay it.” Quinlan should have just come to him. “When we get him back, I’ll clear it up. I’ll make sure he stays out of that mess. Everything will be fine.” If he said it enough, it might make it true. When we get him back.
She eased to the edge of the bed and stood slowly. “Does Quinlan have a lot of problems that you have to help him with?”
She still wore that borrowed dress, one that was a little too loose across the top of her chest. One that gave him a tempting glimpse of flesh when she leaned forward. He took a breath and could almost taste her. “You already know about the drugs, don’t you?” he asked. The woman seemed to know everything.
She knows about me. Knows and can’t stand for me to touch her.
Max glanced back at the lake. His fingers pressed against the cold pane of glass.
“When I saw him before…” She cleared her throat. “Uh… Max, is he using now?” Worry thickened her voice.
Hell, probably. “He’s been in a half-dozen rehab centers. He got hooked after—after my mother became sick.” All I’ll say now about her. He’d laid his soul bare enough for one night. “Just when I think he’s clean, the drugs pull him right back.” And it didn’t help that Frank didn’t seem to really give a shit what Quinlan was doing.
“It’s hard to watch someone you love fight an addiction.” Her words were so quiet—and it sure sounded like she was talking from experience.
“You can’t fight it for them,” she said, and the hardwood creaked beneath her feet as she came closer to him. “No matter how much you might want to.”
He squared his shoulders as he faced her once more. “Who was it for you?” He asked.
“My mother. It took a long time, one hell of a long time, for her to drag her way out of the bottle.” Samantha gave a sad shake of her head. “Her friends weren’t any help. She was just partying, right? What was wrong with that?”
Samantha pushed back her hair. “But they didn’t live with her. They didn’t see her drinking at breakfast. Didn’t see her stumbling in after midnight, all but crawling up the stairs, and they weren’t there the day—” She broke off, sucking in a deep breath of air. The smile that covered her lips then was grim. “It’s hard,” she said again. “Very hard.”
He just stared at her. “They weren’t there the day—what?”
Such darkness in her eyes. “They weren’t there the day I fell into the lake, and she didn’t even notice because she was so drunk.”
His hands clenched into fists.
“She’s been clean for years, but it was a long, hard fight. My dad didn’t stay around for it. She lost most of her friends… I guess she wasn’t as fun to them anymore.”
The day I fell into the lake…
“You can’t control other people,” she said after a moment. “You can’t make them do the things you want, even if it’s for their own good.”
She’d been brutally honest with him. He could give her the same benefit. Guess I am going back to hell tonight, for her. “My mother was diagnosed with cancer two years ago. She went through the rounds of surgery and chemo, but nothing worked.”
He’d watched her wither away right in front of him. Every day, she’d just grown paler, weaker. “Quinlan… his own mother abandoned him and I don’t think he could handle watching someone else disappear before his eyes.” I sure couldn’t take it.
Quinlan had always been in his mother’s room. Watching her and talking to her as she slipped away.
“At first, no one even noticed what Quinlan was doing.” They’d all been so busy mourning his mother that it had taken them a while to see the shape Quinlan was in. “I think the drugs must have numbed the pain for him, at first anyway. Then…” Then Quinlan had just gotten to where he liked the rush.
Their gazes held.
“I’m not giving up on him. I won’t.” But he knew that she was right. He could send his brother to every program, but if Quinlan just planned to start using the minute he walked out… Max ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying to push away that knot. “I’ll get him home, and I’ll do anything I can to help him get clean.” What else was there to do?
“It’s all you,” she whispered. “What you’ll do for him. What about Frank? What’s he doing?”
Frank seemed shaken now, like his world had spiraled away from him—and it had. Maybe he’d step up now and finally see his son.
Her head tilted. “How would you say Quinlan feels about his father?”
“He hates the old man.” And that’s what Quinlan always called him. “Frank is screwing his lover, so how do you think he feels?”
“I’d say there is animosity there.”
Yeah, too damn tame a word. But then Max understood. He a
dvanced on her. “No, hell, no. Don’t even think it.” His back teeth clenched. “My brother is the victim here.” Had the woman been playing him just then? Trying to make him feel close to her, trying to get him to let down his guard?
One of her shoulders lifted in what was probably supposed to be a careless shrug. “I never said he wasn’t.” Her stare didn’t waver.
But for a minute, when he’d first gotten the call, he’d doubted. He wondered. Quinlan had wanted that money so badly and then just disappeared…
The doubt hadn’t lasted long, though, not with that prick on the line promising to hurt Quinlan. Then that damn package had arrived.
His brother was the victim. “Get to sleep,” he ordered, tired of the doubt and the worry. “It’s late, and we’re both going to be sharing the bed.”
Her eyes widened as she glanced at the bed.
“Part of our cover, remember?” Screw the cover. The grim truth was that he still wanted her. And the sick truth was that she didn’t want him touching her.
You could run from your past. You could spend a dozen years trying to change, but there would always be people who looked at you and saw the blood and guts of who you were.
A killer. When Samantha looked at him, he knew what she saw.
She exhaled on a breathy little sigh. “I’m not here right now because I need a cover, Max.” Her hair looked soft and silky, and her lips, bare of color, were plump and just inches away. “I’m here because I want to be. I told you about my past because I wanted you to know me.”
What?
“You scare me,” she admitted.
Just great. You scare me, too, baby.
“And I—I’m sorry about what happened to your mother. The cancer… and before. With her attack.”
She might as well have hit him again. He tried to hold on to his anger, but with her, it kept sliding away. “Got the story verified, did you?” She must have called her agents when she was alone. He didn’t buy that she’d taken him at his word.
“Max…”
He brushed past her. “I’m going to bed. Do whatever the hell you want.” He ditched his pants. No boxers. Like she hadn’t already seen him naked. “Stay up all night.” He probably would. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that severed finger and wondered where his brother was. “But don’t worry about me. I’m not going to jump you.”