by Cynthia Eden
But this time it would be different.
Sam knelt on the soft carpet. Her fingers were steady as she undid his pants and lowered the zipper. His erection spilled into her hands, and she stroked him, enjoying the hiss of her name from his lips.
She leaned forward. She licked his cock, enjoying the taste. And then Sam took him into her mouth.
His hands locked on her shoulders. Not to push her away, but to bring her closer. She licked, and she sucked, and her sex moistened as she savored him.
Her hand eased down her body, and her fingers pressed between her legs, right over the tight ache that had her quivering.
“Now.” Max pushed her back. “I can’t wait, baby. I need you now.”
Sam glanced up, swiping her tongue over her lips as she enjoyed that last taste.
A muscle flexed along his jaw, and he pulled her up onto the couch. Then his fingers were pushing her panties to the side and driving knuckles-deep into her body.
Her knees pushed into the couch cushions. “Yes. That feels so good…”
“It’s about to be better.” And one hand yanked out his wallet. She caught sight of the foil packet. Sam took it from him and opened the condom.
She rolled the protection over his straining length. Sam braced her hands on Max’s chest, being careful not to touch his shoulder, then slowly, so slowly, she eased down.
His cock stretched her, filled her, and… perfect.
She began to move. Up. Down. Not too fast. Not too rough.
“Not… easy.” Max’s hands locked around her waist. He lifted her, taking over the rhythm. Making it faster, driving ever harder into her.
She forgot about his shoulder. She felt only… him.
Sam arched forward. His cock slid along her clit, and the rush of sensation jolted through her.
Again.
Another thrust. One that had her sex clamping around him.
Sam stared into Max’s eyes and saw the same desperate desire she felt.
She kissed him. Their tongues met as he thrust into her once more. She came, gasping against his lips. His hips lifted, pushed, again, again…
When he came, she held him tight. So tight because she didn’t want to let him go.
Unfortunately, she knew that was exactly what she’d have to do.
There was no time for soft touches after sex. No tender words. They dressed. She checked her weapon, and they left—all in silence.
Silence… when Sam had so much to say.
I need you. Don’t leave me. Trust me again. I won’t let you down. We will get Quinlan back.
But she didn’t speak then because Sam didn’t want to make a promise she might not be able to keep.
Sam didn’t take Max to The Core. No real point in that. Other FBI agents would already have staked out that bar, waiting, hoping to see the blonde.
So she and Max went to the other bars she’d mapped that fit the profile. One after the other. They questioned waitresses and bartenders and tried to find out if anyone else had seen the blonde with the knife tattoo.
The problem was that there were too many young blondes in the city. And when people were drinking, they didn’t exactly pay close attention to the folks around them.
Their sixth stop was a club called Express. Loud. Smokey. A band shrieked onstage, and dancers crammed the small floor. Sam made her way to the bar and did her usual routine of slapping the counter and leaning forward to talk to the bartender. “We’re looking for a woman,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the roar of music.
When Sam flashed her badge, the redhead with the pierced nose and eyebrow stared back at her with vague interest. Tattoos lined the woman’s arm. Snakes. Blades.
“She’s blonde.” Max crowded in beside her. “Around twenty-one—”
“And she’s got a tattoo on her right shoulder. A small knife,” Sam said and hoped the tat would click, because from the looks of things, this woman knew her tats.
The bartender didn’t blink. “Don’t know her.” Her voice rose a bit.
“It’s important we find her.” Sam slid her card across the bar.
“Why? She in trouble?” Asked too fast.
Sam held her wary stare. “She could be. We need to find her so that we can help her.”
The card wasn’t touched. “Well, good luck with that.” The bartender spun away and grabbed a thick beer mug.
“Fuck. Another one.” Frustration boiled in Max’s voice. “Should we talk to the waitresses? Go to the next bar?”
Sam grabbed his arm. She rose onto her toes and whispered in his ear, “No. We find a dark corner, and we wait.” Then she led him away from the bar. He followed her as she pushed through the crowd. There. The booth to the left. The one that let them see the front door and the back exit.
She pushed him down first, then sidled close to him, real close. “This is it.”
Max stiffened against her. “What?”
“The bartender knows her.” There had been worry in the woman’s voice. A tremor that she hadn’t been able to hide. Sam’s gaze searched the crowd. So dark, hard to see… “If she’s here now, the bartender will tell her about us, and she’ll try to slip out the back.” Her eyes tracked to the front door. “Not that way.” Sam’s nails drummed on the table. “We just have to wait.”
His hand curved into a fist near hers. “I’m not so good at waiting.”
“Not like we have much choice.” She wouldn’t take her gaze off that back door because it would only take a split second of missed concentration, and the woman could disappear. “We can just—”
A slim blonde shoved open the rear exit door. She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes sweeping the room. The woman wore a black leather jacket, so no seeing the tattoo, but…
“Is that her?” Max asked, his entire body tensing.
Sam was already on her feet. “Only one way to find out.” She stepped forward, her holster a steady weight at her side.
He rose beside her. They were less than ten feet from the door.
The blonde’s gaze slid right past Sam, but then she saw Max. In that instant, fear flashed across the woman’s pretty face, and she spun away, rushing out into the night.
“She knows you.” The blonde had recognized Max, and she’d run. As a rule, the innocent didn’t usually run.
As a rule.
Sam took off after her. She raced forward, intent on the door—and slammed into the bartender. The woman had rushed out in front of Sam and knocked her down. Drinks tumbled onto the ground and broken glass bit into Sam’s arm.
“Oh, didn’t see you…” The bartender murmured, fake innocence in her voice but a grim smile on her lips. Sam cursed and shoved the woman to the side.
Max grabbed Sam’s arm, pulling her to her feet. Seconds later, she and Max tore through the back door. The cool night air hit her, and she heard the fast rapping of high heels on the pavement. With no time to call for backup, Sam sucked in a deep breath and chased her prey.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The FBI was after her. The FBI and him. If Gina hadn’t given her that warning…
Veronica James threw a glance over her shoulder. How had they found her? She was supposed to be safe. Untouchable. He’d promised her. Promised.
Veronica had to get out of there. Her car was parked three blocks up from Express. She could cut back around, sneak down the alley, and get away. Gina had agreed to buy her some time, so she should damn well be able to make it.
Veronica’s heart slammed into her ribs as she ran. She hated running. Already her side stung and her breath choked out. Damn asthma, soon she’d be choking, trying to gulp in air.
Footsteps thudded behind her. Close, closing in.
No.
They couldn’t catch her. That wasn’t the way things were going to end. She wasn’t going to jail. She was going to an island. She’d be a rich bitch and drink piña coladas on a beach for the rest of her days. No more poor white trash. No more rich frat boys look
ing down their stuck-up noses at her.
She’d earned her new life, and no one was taking it away from her.
“Stop!” A woman’s voice. The redhead who’d been with him. “I’m with the FBI, and I’m ordering you—stop!”
Veronica threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Her right foot stumbled. She almost went down. Almost. But this wasn’t the first time that she’d had to run like hell through the night. She ditched her shoes and ran faster.
She snaked into the alley. Her breath wheezed out. She’d make it. Veronica knew there was no choice. Not going down for murder.
Mike was already dead. She’d seen the story on the news. The drop had been screwed, and those agents had shot him. They wouldn’t be able to identify him, though, not for a while. Mike had always skated right past the cops. Not this time.
Mike was gone, but Kevin was still out there, and she’d always been able to count on Kevin. She’d meet him at the warehouse, and they’d lay low until some of the heat cooled off.
Someone grabbed her. A hand slapped over Veronica’s mouth and closed off the ragged gasp of her breath.
“Don’t move.” At his familiar whispered voice, she sagged. He shouldn’t have been there. They weren’t supposed to meet—but, oh, damn, she was glad to have him with her in the dark.
He pulled her deeper into the alley and shoved her behind the garbage bin. He kept one hand around her mouth while he locked one hand around her waist.
Tears leaked from her eyes. Her lungs hurt. But he was there. He’d take care of her. He’d promised.
The footsteps grew louder, pounding hard. Or was it her heart?
His?
Don’t look in the alley. Don’t look.
She saw the redhead. Caught a flash of her hair under the streetlight. The woman ran forward. Heading for the parking lot. Exactly where Veronica had been going.
Max Ridgeway thundered past with her. He never once glanced Veronica’s way.
Her lips pressed harder against the soft glove on her lover’s hand. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “They’re gone.”
She was safe.
His hand eased away from her waist, and a white-hot pain sliced her heart.
His hand pressed harder over her mouth, choking back the scream that built, the scream she didn’t even have enough breath to voice.
“They’re gone, but they’ll be back soon. So I have to hurry, love.” The knife twisted. Burned.
A numbing cold swept into her blood.
“Did you really think I’d let you have the money?” His voice was still a whisper. “You’re such a dumb bitch, but a perfect whore.”
He pulled the knife out of her heart. Her blood splattered upon the ground. Her body began to sag. She tried to grab for the garbage bin but her hands slipped on the side. The metal lid crashed down as she struggled to stand.
And he melted into the black night.
Sam skidded to a halt. She’d heard something. A clang, a hollow echo—like a metal door slamming shut. She spun back around.
“Samantha?”
“The alley—” Her gun was up, and she gasped out the words as she ran.
Ten feet. Five. The mouth of the alley that she’d passed earlier yawned before her. Sam hurried inside.
A cat screeched and shot past her legs.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“She’s gone.” Max’s disgusted voice, and he didn’t even sound winded from the run. He stalked farther into the alley. “Shit, this connects to the main road. She probably went through here and back to her car.”
Sam’s nostrils flared as she caught the harsh scent of garbage, cigarettes, and crap that she didn’t even want to think about. A big garbage bin slumped to the right, its lid half closed.
A metal screech.
She took a few more steps forward. Another scent filled her nostrils. Heavier. Fresher.
“That bartender knows her,” Max said. “We need to go back inside and make her tell us where that woman lives!”
Sam’s eyes narrowed as she struggled to see in the thick darkness.
A car engine revved in the distance. Tires squealed. And a heavy ache lodged in her chest. “I know where she is.”
Max whirled back around to face her.
Shaking her head, Sam leaned forward. She knew the scent of blood. A sliver of light trickled down from a second story window. Light that fell on strands of blond hair.
Sam pulled out her phone and called Dante. When he answered, she said, “I’ve got a body.”
The killer’s foot pressed hard against the accelerator. Damn, but that had been close. He rolled down the window and let the cool air blast against his face.
Too close.
He’d planned to kill Veronica. Just not then, not there. But he’d been following that dick Ridgeway, and when the guy had gone in Express—time’s up.
Veronica was weak; he knew it. He’d used that weakness. If the Feds had gotten hold of her, she would have confessed and ruined everything.
He’d known that he had to move. And then sweet Veronica had run right to him. Good thing he’d been prepared for her.
The Feds were closing in faster than he’d anticipated. He had to be ready for them.
He stopped at the streetlight. He looked down and saw the blood staining his shirt. Veronica had died easily. No long, pain-filled death. Just a quick kill, with minimal pain. He figured she’d deserved that.
Poor Veronica. All her life she’d never been worth much.
But she’d sure been one fine piece of ass.
He fished out his phone, dialed the number, and when old Fuck ’em Frank answered with his trembling voice, he told him, “It’s time.”
CHAPTER Ten
Spotlights shone down on the body. Max stood behind the yellow police tape, but he could see the woman, see the red that bloomed from her chest. The blood that mixed with the trash and the mud beneath her.
“Let him through!” Dante’s order broke the air, and suddenly, Max was pulled under the tape and led closer to the scene.
“You know what’s happening,” Dante said.
No, he didn’t have a clue. He just knew dead bodies were turning up and that wasn’t good.
“The lead kidnapper’s covering his tracks. Taking out his team and eliminating anyone who can ID him.”
“What about Quinlan?”
A muscle worked in Dante’s jaw. “At this point…” Dante ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Ridgeway, but the odds of his survival are slim.”
Max took that hit, and his hands fisted.
“We were so damn close to her.” He could still see her face. Wide eyes, staring at him with recognition before she’d run into the night. “If she’d just talked to us…”
“Then she might not have wound up with her heart nearly carved out.” Brutal.
The agent wasn’t pulling any punches.
“You’re seeing this!”
Max turned at the voice. Samantha’s voice. Angry, fierce, and splitting with emotion.
She was at the south side entrance to the alley. Her hand was clamped around another woman’s arm—the redheaded bartender who’d alerted the blonde and who’d tripped Samantha when they gave chase.
Those few moments… if they’d just had…
“Uh, Sam?” Dante rushed toward her, even as he motioned for Max to stay back. “Sam, what are you—”
She ducked under the police tape and hauled the woman after her.
The bartender screamed, “No, fuck, no, I don’t want to—”
“I don’t give a damn what you want.” Samantha jerked to a halt and glared at her. “Your friend is dead, and you are going to see her.”
The woman shook her head and tried to back away.
Samantha didn’t let her budge.
“Sam…” Dante closed in on her. “Crime scene, remember? You can’t just—”
“I’m out of time.” And just like that, the heat was gone from her voice. S
he sounded flat. Sad.
Max stepped toward her. Instantly a cop was there, putting a hand against his chest and stopping him. Making sure he didn’t contaminate the scene. Right. Like he probably hadn’t screwed the scene when he’d trampled through the alley the first time.
“I’m out of time,” Samantha said, “and so is Quinlan Malone.”
The bartender wasn’t looking at the body on the ground. “I-I don’t know any—”
“My brother,” Max snapped. “His name’s Quinlan Malone, and he’s missing.”
Samantha glanced his way. Their eyes held for a beat of time. Then she dropped her hold and stepped to the side. The redhead got a full view of the dead woman. “No!” The bartender whirled away, shaking.
Samantha stared at the woman’s back. “You were friends, Gina.”
Gina gave a fast nod.
“You warned her to get out of the bar, but you should have listened to me. I told you I could help her.”
Gina’s shoulders shook as she cried—loud, gulping sobs.
“I need to find the man who did this,” Samantha said.
Gina glanced back at her and did not let her gaze drop to the body again.
“I need to find him because if I don’t…” Samantha shook her head. “More people are going to die.”
“Cover the body,” Dante ordered the tech who’d just finished photographing the scene. “Now.”
Gina’s lips trembled. “I-I don’t… know any-anything—”
“You knew her.” A jerk of Samantha’s thumb over her shoulder toward the body. “And now we need to know her. We need to know everything about her.”
A white cloth was pulled over the body.
The redhead’s eyes dropped, and she stared at the cloth.
“He left her with the garbage,” Samantha said. “Is that what she deserved?”
“N-no…”
“Then help me find the bastard who killed her.”
A tear trickled down Gina’s cheek, and she nodded.
“Good, good.” Samantha caught Gina’s shoulder. “Let’s start with her name. What was her name, Gina?”
“V-Veronica. Veronica J-James.”
“And where did she live?” Samantha asked as she guided her away from the crime scene.