Deadly Lies

by Cynthia Eden

  As his brother cried, Max stood there helpless knowing there was nothing he could do.

  “I killed him.”

  • • •

  Sam spun away from the hospital room. The sound of Quinlan’s sobs tore at her heart.

  Dammit, the last thing I expected.

  Frank Malone shouldn’t have been at that scene. It should have been a rescue mission. Not body recovery. She yanked out her cell and called Luke’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something on Frank’s phone,” she said.

  A rustle of air. No, his sigh. “The number went back to a disposable cell, one we found here, in the same damn room that they kept Quinlan in.”

  Luke was still at the crime scene. She knew that he was searching the area and going over every inch with the investigation unit.

  Her eyes squeezed closed. “Are we missing something?” Someone.

  Not… m-me.

  “Ramirez is at The Core, talking to the manager,” Luke said. “He found out that Milano was hired on at that place just four days before Jeremy Briar went missing.”

  “From then on,” Sam said, rubbing her aching temples, “Milano watched every move the cops made.” And he’d taken more men, with the authorities right beside him. Damn ballsy.

  “And there’s something else you should know,” he continued. “The money isn’t here.”

  Her eyes opened. “It wasn’t at Veronica’s.”

  “Either the perps stashed it somewhere before hell came to town, or—”

  Or someone else had the money. And if someone else was out there…

  Then the nightmare wasn’t over.

  • • •

  By the time Monica and Luke made it home, the clock was edging past nine a.m.

  The door closed with a soft click behind them, and Luke’s sigh whispered to her.

  She turned and caught his hands, pulling him close. “This isn’t your fault.” But she’d seen the guilt in his eyes. When it came to the victims, Luke always took things personally.

  A muscle flexed along the hard line of his jaw. “We had the perps’ location. If we’d just gotten there fifteen minutes sooner, Frank Malone would still be alive.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how he got there. He shouldn’t have been there.”

  Monica stood on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “The perps wanted him there. It was part of their plan.” Luke understood that, but right then, Monica knew that emotion ruled him.

  It often did.

  “Come on, let’s get in bed,” she said. More questions would come soon. More interviews. More crime scene searches. But for a few hours, it would just be the two of them.

  Luke nodded slowly and stepped forward.

  Monica didn’t move. Her heart drummed faster. This wasn’t the perfect time. She’d thought to wait for romance and—hell. Her fingers were shaking.

  “Monica? Baby, what is it?”

  “I love you,” but she knew that he already realized that. Now for the hard part. “And I-I…” A deep breath. “Yes, I want to marry you.”

  And just like that, she was in his arms. The death and the blood were pushed away, and it was just her and Luke. He was smiling and holding her tight, and in that moment, she was happy.

  His mouth took hers in a deep, long kiss.

  Sometimes, it wasn’t about the killers and victims.

  Sometimes, it was just about life.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  Sam wasn’t much for funerals. She stood away from the gravesite, hanging back beneath the yawning branches of an oak as she watched the graveside service.

  Max was there, dressed in a dark suit, his face grim. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew that he wouldn’t be crying.

  Quinlan stood beside him. Pale. Weak. No sunglasses for him, and she saw him swiping away tears with the back of his hand.

  Beth hovered at Quinlan’s side. She’d wrapped her arm tightly around his waist. Beth wore a stylish black dress and a small black hat perched on her blond hair.

  No tears from her either. Mascara stains probably wouldn’t go so well with that perfect image.

  Sam eased back but kept watching.

  At least two dozen mourners were gathered around the gleaming coffin. A giant stream of red roses covered the lid. Blood red.

  They’d delayed the funeral until Quinlan could be there for the service. And there he was.

  Frank Malone would be in the ground soon, and then the family would gather for the reading of the will. Sam would be there for that part, too—courtesy of orders from Hyde.

  But for now she watched and waited.

  Quinlan shuffled forward, with Beth close to offer help. Did he know about her secrets?

  Quinlan bent down and placed a trembling hand on the casket. Sam saw his lips move as if he were talking to Frank. Maybe he was. He could be telling his father that he was sorry. Maybe whispering good-bye. After a moment, Quinlan straightened and walked away, his head down.

  One by one, all the other mourners followed suit. Some approached the casket. Some just walked away. Soon they were all gone.

  All but Max. His shoulders weren’t hunched—they were thrown back, strong, and he wasn’t looking at the coffin. No; he’d shifted his position. Even with the sunglasses on, she knew he was looking at her.

  Sam just waited. Taking his time, Max came to her. A slow, deliberate stride brought him under those hanging limbs and close to her.

  “I thought the SSD was giving us some space,” he said. His sunglasses reflected her image back at her.

  The SSD had been staying back. Not anymore. Hyde wanted the gloves off, and he wanted the interrogations to begin.

  “Can’t even give us time at the grave, can you?” Anger boiled beneath his carefully controlled surface.

  “There have been some… developments,” she told him. Like the fact that the money is gone. Gone. The SSD had searched every location linked to the crimes and the perpetrators. They’d turned up nothing. “I wanted you and Quinlan to be aware that there is a very strong possibility another suspect was involved in the kidnapping.”

  He took off his sunglasses. His blue stare locked on her face. “Any agent could have come and told me this.”

  She knew what he meant. “I requested the assignment.” She’d needed to see him.

  “I haven’t heard from you in six damn days.”

  Her breath caught. Did that mean he’d wanted to hear from her? “You wanted space. You were grieving.” One shoulder lifted, fell. Staying away had ripped me apart. She kept her voice level, saying only, “Hyde gave orders that the family was to have privacy.” But she’d thought about him. No, she’d worried about him.

  “Hyde.” Max’s lips twisted. “Yeah, from the sound of things, he gives a lot of orders.” His head inclined toward her. “Why’d you ask for this job?”

  “Because I wanted to see you.” She couldn’t get more honest than that.

  He looked away, glancing back over his shoulder at the grave. “When I close my eyes at night, I see you.” His gaze slowly came back to her. “What did you do to me?”

  She shook her head. “No, Max, I—”

  “Max!” Quinlan’s yell.

  She took a quick breath. “The cars are leaving.” The black limo waited up at the front with the back door open. “You need to go.” She’d see him at the house. This wasn’t the end. Not even close. Hyde wanted to know what the will said.

  So did she.

  Max caught her hand. “We both know you’re going for the will reading.” The faint lines around his eyes deepened. “What is it? Your boss thinks maybe I had something to do with all this? That I tortured my brother with some sick idea that he’d attack my—”

  “We believe the kidnappers planned to kill Frank.” She could reveal that. “Calling him, telling him the location—we think it was a setup. We found the phone records. We have proof that Frank received a call from a cell phone recovered at the scene, so we
know they lured him there.”

  His fingers tightened. “You think I set him up? For money?”

  “No, I don’t.” Honest. But Hyde wanted more than her belief. Hyde wanted cold, hard evidence.

  “I’m not getting a damn thing from that will.” His thumb brushed over her wrist.

  “Max!” Not Quinlan’s cry this time. Beth’s. The SSD would be getting to her very soon. Kim had already dug deeper into her past. Now it was time for a trip to the SSD and a one-on-one interview.

  “I believe you.” And Sam meant it. She’d started trusting someone again—him.

  “Should have been different,” he said. “A different time…”

  “Different place.” She forced a smile. So much lay between them. Half-truths. Blood. Death. Was there any going back from that? Could they even try?

  His left hand lifted, and his knuckles brushed over her cheek. “I wanted you from the minute I saw you.”

  Her heart jumped.

  He dropped her hand and stepped back. “I still do. Probably always will.”

  • • •

  Sam and Jon waited outside the lawyer’s office. When the door opened and she saw Max’s face, Sam snapped to attention.

  “Why are they here?” Beth’s fierce demand. Her grip on Quinlan was still deathly tight.

  Max strolled toward them. The lawyer, Kris Jared, followed right behind him. Max shook his head, and his gaze drifted from her to the ever watchful Ramirez. “I got it all,” he said with a tiger’s smile.

  Not what she’d been expecting.

  “Only until Mr. Malone turns twenty-five,” Jared interjected, wiping a sweaty brow. “Then Frank Malone’s estate will revert back to his biological son, Quinlan.”

  Holding it in trust. Sam gave a nod. Okay, right. The SSD agents had known this outcome was a possibility. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Quinlan. “I know this is a difficult day for you…”

  He blinked at her. “You… you’re my brother’s girlfriend.”

  She didn’t look at Max. Or Ramirez. “I’m Special Agent Samantha Kennedy, and I’ve been working your case.” She kept her voice low. Others were around, too eager to hear and run to the news. Every day, a new story appeared in the papers or on the news about Quinlan.

  It was a good thing that Hyde had called Kenton Lake in from the Virginia office to help with the press. So far, the media had an insatiable appetite for the kidnapping case. The more lurid the details, the more they fed.

  The fact that the other two surviving victims were back in town and broadcasting their story on every news channel wasn’t helping. Those two victims thought they were safe now. They just might be dead wrong.

  “I already talked to the other woman.” Quinlan’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at Jared. “Daven—”

  “Monica Davenport,” Sam inserted smoothly. Yes, Monica had wanted to talk to him right away. She’d only been able to talk with Quinlan briefly, though, before his lawyer had swooped in and closed them out. They’d had the options of forcing an immediate sit-down with Quinlan—and letting the press make them look like the big, FBI assholes who were attacking the injured victim—or waiting until he was out of the hospital. They’d waited.

  Quinlan was out of the hospital now, and although she understood his situation was damn painful, she had to bring him in. The waiting game was over.

  “This isn’t the time…” Jared began, huffing with indignation.

  Max just watched them with inscrutable eyes.

  “We’ve given you time,” Ramirez said as he kept his arms loosely at his sides. “Time’s up.”

  Sam held Quinlan’s gaze. “Tomorrow morning, we need you to come into the FBI office and answer some questions for us.” Deliberately, she let her stare drift to Jared. “You and your lawyer should check in at nine a.m.”

  “You actually suspect my client of—”

  She raised her hand. “Save it, Jared. We have routine questions for him.” Questions that the lawyer had blocked in the hospital. And with the press raining down on them, the SSD had allowed the delay.

  But they’d kept a constant eye on Quinlan.

  An eye that told them that, despite his injuries, Quinlan had spent last night with his father’s mistress. Grieving? Hurting? Yes, undoubtedly.

  And screwing.

  “We need you in the office tomorrow,” Sam said again. Then she turned her attention to Beth. “And we’ll need you, too, Ms. Dunlap.”

  Beth’s lips parted in an outraged gasp. “Me? Why would you need—”

  “We have some background questions for you,” Ramirez said flatly, and Sam caught the woman’s slight flinch.

  Yes, Beth, we know. A past can be an inconvenient thing.

  Beth fired a fast, nervous glance Quinlan’s way.

  And this was the hard part. Sam turned her attention to Max. She found him staring at her with too-watchful eyes. “And we’ll need you there, too,” she said.

  He didn’t blink. Damn but it hurt to see his eyes so blank like that.

  “I’ll be there.” He inclined his head.

  “Thank you.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words to offer comfort to him. Sometimes, the job sucked. Ramirez took her elbow, and they both stepped back.

  “I don’t—your girlfriend’s an agent?” Quinlan’s voice seemed too loud. “What the hell?”

  She didn’t hear Max’s response and maybe that was a good thing. Because right then, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know what he had to say.

  When someone pounded on her door just after midnight, Sam was awake. Awake, lying in bed, and staring up at the ceiling. Her heart lurched at the hard thumps, and she jumped to her feet. Her hand automatically dove into the nightstand drawer—going for her gun.

  This time of night…

  She hurried down the stairs of her townhouse. The pounding came again, harder now.

  Sam peered through the peephole and saw Max. She wrenched open the door.

  He froze with his hand still up. Raindrops glistened in his hair and clung to his wet coat. The chill air slipped inside, raising goose bumps on her arms.

  “You think you need that?” he asked, and she followed his gaze to the barrel of her gun.

  She kept her hold on the weapon. “What are you doing here, Max?”

  “I traced your name. Traced you. Should have done it long ago.” The words were deeper and darker than she’d heard before.

  Understanding hit. “You’re drunk.”

  “I wish.”

  Lightning streaked across the sky behind him.

  “You’re a genius.” His hands slapped against the wood on either side of her door. “How many degrees did you get from MIT?”

  She shook her head. “Why are you here?”

  His gaze seemed to burn her.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because I needed to see you.” He leaned forward. Max ignored the gun as he caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head back. “I just needed you.” His lips crushed hers. His mouth was hard, hungry, wet from the rain, and she wanted him. Her lips parted, and Sam tasted whiskey on his tongue. Whiskey and… him.

  Her mouth widened. She needed more of him. Her left hand pressed against his chest, right above his heart that raced so fast beneath her fingers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she moaned in her throat, a low rumble, even as her breasts tightened with hunger.

  More.

  His tongue swiped against hers. His head lifted. Slowly, so slowly. “I figured out something tonight.”

  She fought to keep her breathing steady. Okay, he was playing it cool. She could do it too. “What’s that?”

  “We’re not over.”

  She knew her eyes widened.

  “Work your case. Do whatever you have to do, but we’re not ending, not yet.” A pause, then his lips kicked up on one corner in a rough half-smile. “That is, unless you tell me to drag my ass out of here.”

  She didn’t say anything. One hand
stayed over his heart and one hand clamped around her gun.

  His gaze searched her face. “We started… at the wrong place. Too fast. Too hot.”

  But she shook her head. He didn’t understand. “No, we started just right.” He’d been what she needed. Sex. Pleasure. No past. No future. And now…

  A blast of thunder broke the night. Sam inhaled sharply. “Come inside.” She turned away and headed toward the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. The snick of the lock seemed a bit too loud.

  She opened the drawer and put her weapon inside.

  “You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.

  With her back to him, Sam hesitated.

  The wood groaned beneath his feet as he walked toward her, then his hands caught her and wrapped around her shoulders. “You know what I’ve done.”

  She stared at the closed drawer of the desk.

  “They say everyone’s got the capacity to kill…”

  If pushed far enough. Yes, she believed that.

  “… but we both know I’ve crossed the line.” A stark pause. “And if I had to protect someone I loved, I’d do it again.”

  The hands that held her had killed. Her gaze shifted to her own hands. Pale. Small. But they held her gun so well.

  “I want you to know, though,” he said, and his breath blew lightly over her ear, “that I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping. With any of them. I don’t need Malone’s money. I don’t want it. As soon as Quinlan turns twenty-five—just a year and a half to go—it’s his.”

  Her breath hissed out, and she turned toward him. “Max…”

  “I’ve always tried to protect the people in my life, but no matter what I do, they get hurt.” His gaze burned bright. “They get hurt, and I can never stop the pain.”

  She swallowed. “Wh-where is Quinlan?” The FBI still had a team watching him. One phone call, and she’d know instantly where he was.

  A muscle twitched in Max’s jaw. “He’s back at Frank’s, with Beth. I hired bodyguards for him. They’ll stay with him, 24–7, until we’re damn sure he’s safe.” His hair was slick from the rain. “I just… I had to see you.”

  Sam leaned toward him. She wouldn’t ever forget his eyes in the hospital. All that rage had been directed right at her. “Max, I’m sorry about the way this went down.” Because, yes, she felt guilty as damn hell.