by Cynthia Eden
“Malone?” Luke questioned the other man. He was kneeling on the ground and hunched forward.
“I’m all right.” Gruff. “Bastard shot at me and would have blasted a hole in my head if Max hadn’t been here.”
Luke noticed both men still had guns in their hands. Holding ’em tight.
“Who are we looking for?” Sam asked as she worked to staunch the blood from Max’s wound. “Who did this?”
“Don’t… ah… didn’t see much… a guy from the looks of things. Maybe six two, two hundred pounds, black jogging suit—”
“Two men wearing all black,” Frank muttered, his knuckles white around the gun. “We gave them the money and they tried to kill us.”
Not part of the MO. What was going down here?
“Get the EMTs here,” Luke ordered, knowing they were already on standby.
Max shook his head. “No, they could still be watching. They’ll see—”
“They know, Max.” Sam’s voice. Tighter and harder than Luke had ever heard before. “When the shots were fired, we ran right over, anyone watching—they know.” Her breath heaved out. “You’re bleeding too much, and it’s not stopping. We have to get you to a hospital.”
“Quinlan—”
“Our priority is you.” She nearly shouted at him. “We don’t have Quinlan here; we’ve got you!”
“I’m all right.” A muscle flexed along his jaw, and Max caught her hands. “I’m not going to be hauled away from here, not while Quinlan is still out there.”
Luke’s gaze swept the ground. Too much blood. Shit. Sam was right. The bullet must have clipped an artery. “EMT, now.”
The park would be insane. Luke knew it. Those gunshots would have sent folks right into panic mode. Chaos would reign as everyone ran.
That would be just what the kidnappers needed. So easy to disappear in the madness.
“Ramirez, tell me you’ve got him!” Luke said. Ramirez wouldn’t have lost his mark. No way. Ramirez never missed his man.
Static crackled in his ear. Then… “I got him.” But those words didn’t come from the earpiece.
They came straight from Ramirez as the agent shoved through the brush. Oh, hell.
“The perp circled back. I stayed clear at first, to see what he was doing…” His dark eyes narrowed. “I had to fire. He had a clear shot at Ridgeway. There was no choice.”
Sam’s breath hissed out. “Where is he?”
“On the ground, about fifteen feet back.” Cold.
“We’re not gonna be tailing him anywhere,” Luke said and cursed beneath his breath.
“Fuck,” Ridgeway growled, and Luke didn’t know if it was because of the pain he was in or because they’d lost a lead.
“The second man—where is he? Where is he?” Luke wrenched the tiny microphone as he fired out his question. Hyde was there. He’d—
“Moving,” came Hyde’s cool voice. “The suspect is driving fast, in a blue pickup truck, heading west.”
Hell, yeah. Calmer, Luke spun away as the EMTs burst on the scene. “I want chopper coverage on this asshole,” he instructed, knowing the command center was monitoring the line. “Keep him in sight, but stay back. Give me the tag number and let’s track this rat back to his hole.”
“What about Quinlan?” Frank demanded. “Where’s my son? Dammit, is he even still alive? What happened to that other boy? Where is he—”
In pieces. Monica had called to go give Luke the news. He lowered the mike, just for a moment. “Sir, stay with the agents,” he said to Malone. Luke threw a quick glance at Ramirez and Sam. Ramirez nodded but Sam didn’t look away from Ridgeway.
Luke sucked in a quick breath and turned his attention to the civilians. “Until this is over, you’re both remaining in protective custody.” He wasn’t losing either man.
Hyde rattled off the license plate number in his left ear. The techs would have heard it, too, and the APB would be hitting the airwaves—but with the order to stand down. Follow the perp, but no confrontations. Not yet.
“What happened to the other young man?” Frank demanded, voice shaking.
Luke holstered his gun. Malone and Ridgeway deserved honesty. He always tried to give the victims honesty when he could. Even when the truth hurt. “They killed him.” With the way this drop had gone down, Quinlan Malone would be the next to go. If he wasn’t already dead.
But that part he didn’t tell them, because he knew Malone was already close to breaking.
“I’m coming with you,” Ridgeway’s cold voice stopped Luke as he turned away.
Luke slanted a fast glance over his shoulder. Bloody, but on his feet now, Ridgeway stared back at him. Sam stood right beside him.
“You’re not shoving me to the side,” Ridgeway said. “I’m coming.”
Luke could understand the man’s determination. This was about family. Didn’t even matter that it wasn’t by blood. Family was family.
“I played by your damn rules,” Ridgeway snarled, “and look at the shit that’s happened.”
Luke squared his shoulders. Did the guy really know what he was asking? “You understand what we might find.” Once they’d tracked the kidnappers back to their base, there might not be a happy ending. Just more blood and another body.
“You all think he’s already dead.” Ridgeway’s gaze darted to Sam. She didn’t speak. Just stared right back at him. Once, Luke knew she would have tried to give him hope. Not now.
“Either way,” Ridgeway said, not even flinching when two EMTs grabbed for his arm. “I’m coming.”
It would be so easy to put the man down. To lock him up until this hell was over. But that just wasn’t Luke’s way. “Stitch him up,” he ordered the EMTs. “He’s bleeding all over our scene.” If they could stop the bleeding, if an artery hadn’t been nicked…
Then he’d give the guy what he wanted. Luke just hoped Ridgeway knew what he was asking for.
“Stay with him,” he ordered Sam. Then he inclined his head toward Ridgeway. “You’ll stay with the team for as long as we can let you.”
The two EMTs got to work on Ridgeway. His jaw was clenched tight, blood covering his shirt. His right hand was locked around Sam’s. Luke couldn’t tell if Sam was holding him, trying to give her lover support, or if Ridgeway was trying to chain her to him.
Maybe it was both.
The blue pickup swept into the parking garage, driving nice and slow, and circled down to rest on the second level, near the side entrance. The level without a security camera. The level half-concealed by darkness thanks to the lights he’d broken earlier.
The driver hopped out, now clad in a white t-shirt and blue jeans. “We’ve got it. Hot damn, we got it.” Sweat coated his black hair, making it stick hard to his head.
The guy hurried toward him as he waited near the old sedan. They wouldn’t have long for the transfer, maybe a minute. Less. “Throw the bags in the trunk,” he told the driver.
His trunk was already open. Ten seconds. The first two bags were tossed inside. Thirteen seconds. The other bags landed with a thud.
Sixteen seconds for the exchange. Perfect.
“Mike went back to finish them off, just like you said.” A wide grin split the truck driver’s face. “Bet it was like shooting ducks to take out those two bastards.”
But Mike hadn’t called in. Maybe it hadn’t been so easy.
No Mike meant… even less time. “You used gloves in the truck?” The stolen pickup that they’d had for three hours. They’d swapped plates and been good to go.
“The whole time.” The guy slammed the truck’s driver side door closed. “Now let’s get out of—”
The knife caught him right between the ribs. The blade dug in deep, then twisted. Blood bubbled up from the driver’s lips.
“The plans have changed.” Not really. This had been his plan all along. Why split the money? Splitting didn’t make sense. Not when it could all be his.
“Sorry, Jim, but I guess you won’t be get
ting out of here.” He pulled back the blade in a long, slow glide.
Jim fell to his knees. His head sagged back as he stared up with big, dumb, what-did-you-do eyes. Stupid sonofabitch. Had he really not seen this coming?
No time to waste.
He slashed Jim’s throat open from ear to ear. One down…
By the time Jim’s head smacked into the cement, he was already in the sedan.
Then he just backed out, adjusted his mirror, saw the dead man on the ground—and kept going.
Hyde stared down at the body, careful to keep his distance from the pool of blood already settling on the cement. Different clothes, same build, and the guy was positioned right behind the damn truck that Hyde had been following.
Hyde’s jaw clenched. He’d known the instant the truck turned into the garage that trouble was coming. He’d gotten in as fast as he could, but it had taken two minutes to get inside, thanks to a traffic slowdown on the street. Two minutes.
Plenty of time for someone to die.
His gaze rose and swept the perimeter. No security cameras. Figured. He pulled out his radio. “Seal the place up,” he ordered. Too late, though; he knew it. The kidnappers had been so smooth. “No cars in and no cars out.” Not until they’d checked every inch of the place.
“Sir?”
“Get Dante on the line. Tell him we’ve got another body.” He shook his head. And tell him to get ready for more.
Because he knew how criminals operated, and it sure looked like someone was tying up loose ends.
CHAPTER Nine
Max had never been in FBI headquarters before. He paced the small room, his hands knotted and his shoulder aching.
Samantha had herded him there after they’d left the park. They’d swept away from that chaotic scene right before the reporters swarmed. She hadn’t talked to him much, but he’d caught her glancing at him, eyes wide but shadowed.
The door squeaked open behind him. He didn’t turn around. It was about time someone came in, though he knew that he’d been watched every moment since he’d arrived. That long mirror to the left had to be a two-way.
“There’s been a new development.” Samantha’s quiet voice filled the small room, and he couldn’t help but tense. “Hyde trailed the second kidnapper to a parking garage near the train station.”
Max looked over his shoulder.
“By the time Hyde got inside—”
“Who the hell is Hyde?”
Her shoulders squared. “Keith Hyde created this unit. Hyde is the Serial Services Division.” She’d ditched the eye-hurting pink jogging suit and now wore a simple black blouse and pants. The black made her skin look paler. Her hair tumbled across her shoulders.
So they’d sent in their big dog on this case. “And?” Because there was more that he wasn’t going to like. But what had he liked so far? Christ, sitting there doing nothing was killing him. For almost two days now, he’d done nothing.
Not the kind of guy he was.
“By the time Hyde got inside the garage,” she said, “it was too late.”
His heart slowed, then immediately began racing too fast as he faced her.
She exhaled. “The perpetrator he’d followed was dead, and the money was gone.”
What? “What about Quinlan? Is he alive?” He wanted the brutal truth.
Max got it.
“I don’t know,” she said softly and he realized that Samantha feared his brother was dead.
The kidnapper knew the authorities were involved. He had his money. Why bother keeping Quinlan alive?
“They planned to kill you and Malone all along,” Samantha told him. “You realize that, don’t you? That’s why they attempted the hit in the park.”
His shoulder throbbed.
“Special Agent Monica Davenport wants to talk with you. She has some questions about your family—”
Max grabbed her, clasping her shoulders and drawing her close, even as he ignored the burst of pain from his wound. “I’m a suspect? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Samantha shook her head. “Monica’s our best profiler. She’s trying to figure out why things are going differently with your family. These perps—they’ve never gone after any of the other families at the drops. But they came gunning for you.”
If he hadn’t heard that twig snap…
Samantha’s brows lowered and a faint furrow appeared on her forehead. “If you’d walked in there unarmed, you would have been a sitting duck. Even with weapons, if it hadn’t been for Ramirez, you’d probably be dead.” Her voice seemed wooden, so at odds with the dark fire in her eyes.
Max stared at Samantha, caught by her burning gaze. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be there.” If he’d known… hell, what would he have done? No way to stop her.
“I couldn’t let you walk in there without me. And when I heard the shots…” Her breath rushed out. “You scared me, Max.”
Honesty. Real emotion plain to see on her face and to hear in her voice.
This was the woman he’d needed to see. The one who’d been hiding from him. Maybe from herself. Christ, this was the woman he wanted.
“Max?”
He took her lips, crushing his mouth against hers, and he just tasted her. Not over. She couldn’t slip away from him yet.
A low moan rumbled in her throat, and a shudder worked the length of her body. Then her hands were on him, tightening around his shoulders and—
He wrenched back from her. “Fuck!”
“I’m sorry. I forgot—”
Max caught her hands and pushed Samantha back against the wall. Screw the pain. He had her, right then, right there, and he wasn’t going to lose her.
His tongue plunged deep even as his cock shoved against the front of his jeans. Wrong time, wrong place. He couldn’t have her here, but he’d take his taste.
And it would have to sustain him when she walked away.
Her breasts stabbed against his chest. Tight nipples, eager, aroused. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They touched and ignited.
“Why?” The question was torn from him as his mouth tasted the slender column of her throat. “Why do I need you so damn much?” Like an addiction. The more he had, the more he craved.
Was it the same for her? Did the hunger just keep growing?
Her pulse thudded beneath his mouth, so fast, but she didn’t answer him.
And he heard the squeak of the door again. Fuck them. He tightened his hold on Samantha.
“Ah… should I come back?” Quiet, cool, a woman’s voice questioned.
Samantha stiffened against him. Her hands jerked beneath his. Strong again. Why did he keep forgetting that strength?
Max eased away from Samantha and turned his stare on the new agent.
“Is everything okay in here?” Now the guy was there. Dante. He crowded in behind the dark-haired woman, and Max didn’t miss the way the guy’s hand moved to the small of her back.
“Everything’s fine,” Samantha said, and she really, really needed to get better at keeping her voice level.
Max flashed a cold smile at the agents in the doorway. “You interrupted.” So they could come grill him. Tired of this shit. He could play the bastard, and he was getting ready for his role. “I thought you were going to keep me in the loop from now on, Agent Dante.”
The woman strolled inside with careful tap-tap-taps from her high heels. She pulled out a chair next to the small wooden table. Yeah, he knew that he was in an interrogation room. These rooms all looked the same, and he hadn’t forgotten his last visit inside one.
He’d been alone then. No lawyer. No family beside him. His mom had been hysterical. They’d shoved her into the back of an ambulance, and then they’d taken him away. He’d confessed fast enough. After all, why lie?
I swung. I hit the bastard. I’d do it again.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Ridgeway?” The female agent suggested.
“Call me Max.”
Her lips curled but her bright blue eyes didn’t warm, not even a little. “Max, I’m Agent Monica Davenport.”
Right. The profiler.
Dante walked around and positioned himself near the window. A window Max was sure was reinforced, but since they were several floors up, he figured perps didn’t jump much.
Max pulled the chair out with his foot. He sat down and stretched his legs out before him. Samantha hadn’t moved yet.
Had these two been watching them from behind that mirror? If so, then they knew his weak spot. Her.
“So I heard your team screwed up again, and the other asshole is dead,” Max said, ready to cut right through the bullshit.
“I’m afraid the perpetrator was dead before our agents could arrive on scene,” Monica said cooly, not so much as a line appearing on her face. “But I assure you, we are doing everything possible—”
“Not good enough.” Max turned his stare to Dante. “I told you, I want to know everything. No more shutting me out. Good, bad, I want to know.”
Dante nodded. “We just need you to answer a few questions first.” The guy’s voice was so calm, almost friendly. “Then we’ll move ahead and share everything we have with you.”
Max laughed. “Really; what is this? Are you supposed to be the good one?” His gaze returned to the woman. Good cop, bad cop. Stupid game. “You don’t look bad,” he told her.
“You have no idea,” she murmured back, and the arctic in her gaze nearly froze him.
“Do you know,” Dante’s voice with its hint of a southern drawl cut through the room, “why your family was targeted?”
He leaned back in the chair. “Because my stepfather is rich. Pretty easy one to figure.”
“Your stepbrother fit the victim profile,” Samantha said. His gaze slanted toward her. She stepped forward with that chin up. “I told you, he was victim number five.”
“He didn’t fit the profile perfectly. Quinlan wasn’t attending college,” Monica pointed out.
“No.” Max shook his head, aware that Samantha was coming closer. “He dropped out of Georgetown last semester.” Just a year away from getting his degree. Quinlan had said that he’d go back. Now would he have the chance?