Deadly Lies

by Cynthia Eden

Dead? “What happened?” Max asked. He hadn’t heard any gunshots after the agents went inside.

  “It appears that Beth went to your father’s room and killed herself.” Samantha paused. Her gaze was still on Quinlan. “She slit her wrists and died at the foot of his bed.”

  CHAPTER Fifteen

  When the knock came at his apartment door, Max hurried forward, rubbing grainy eyes. He pulled open the door and found Nathan Donnelley waiting for him.

  The doctor had a small black bag in his right hand. So damn typical. “I called you an hour ago,” Max said.

  Donnelley grunted as he came inside. “Do I need to remind you that I don’t work for you or your family any longer?”

  “Since when? Dammit, Donnelley, you were Frank’s private doctor for years. And you just what—walked away?”

  “Frank was dead.” Donnelley shrugged. “Therefore I wasn’t needed any longer.”

  Max grabbed the man’s arm and dragged him over the threshold. “You’re needed now.” Max slammed the door shut behind him. “Beth’s dead.”

  “I know.” Flat. “I heard the report on the news.”

  Right. Hell, everyone knew. “I need you to check on Quinlan, okay? He’s too quiet. Shit, I’m worried about him.”

  Donnelley’s green eyes raked him. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Check him. I don’t know; go do whatever it is that doctors do when patients are about to break down.” Helpless, yeah, that’s what Max was, and he hated it. “Just make him better.”

  That cold, clinical stare pinned him. “You know as well as I do that sometimes, you can’t make people better.”

  Because Donnelley had been there when Max’s mother died.

  “But I’ll talk to him and see what I can do.” Donnelley brushed by him. “Which room is he in?”

  “Down the hall. Second door.” Max exhaled. “Just so damn much,” he muttered. “Every day, something new. I thought this mess was over.”

  “I’m sure it will be over,” Donnelly said, not glancing back. “Soon.”

  A soft knock rapped on her office door. Sam glanced up, her mind still on the data that she’d retrieved, and mumbled, “Come in.”

  The door opened, and Kim Daniels stood there with her eyes glinting. “I need you to come with me, Sam.”

  Sam shut off the screen in front of her, automatically hiding the text. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at the clock: 8:12 p.m. “Okay, just let me finish up…” She’d hacked her way into Nathan Donnelley’s personal bank account and found out that the man had barely a thousand dollars in his savings. Since the doc drove a top-of-the-line Benz and flashed a Rolex—yeah, she’d caught sight of that watch—the lack of money set off red flags in her mind.

  “Hyde needs us all in his office. The ME finished working on Dunlap, and Hyde wants to go over the report.”

  Sam jumped up, and the knot of tension at the top of her spine tightened. She followed Kim down the hallway, turned a fast right, and then they were at Hyde’s office.

  Luke closed the door behind her. “Thanks,” she whispered, pushing up the glasses that she’d put on earlier. She’d thought the glasses might help to ease the headache she had. No such luck.

  Hyde sat on the edge of his desk. His fingers gripped a manila file. Monica Davenport was to his right. Figured. Ramirez wasn’t there. He was still out shadowing Weatherly.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Hyde said, and his gaze zeroed in on her.

  Her shoulders straightened. “Sir?”

  “With the first slash of that glass, the veins and tendons in Beth Dunlap’s wrist were cut, and they were cut too damn deep.”

  Sam could still see the blood soaking the wooden floor.

  “Because Dunlap was right-handed, we must assume the initial cut was made to her left wrist,” Hyde continued, “and according to the ME, her left hand would have been all but useless within seconds.”

  Sam’s breath rushed out. “But her right was cut—”

  Hyde shook his head. “The ME says there’s no way Beth Dunlap could have done that on her own. And a tendon was severed there too.”

  Oh, hell. Sam rocked back, and her elbow slammed into the closed door.

  “Sam?” Luke’s murmur.

  She shook her head. “We didn’t see anyone else in the house.”

  “Because Beth Dunlap told the doctor—what was his name?” Hyde riffled through his papers. “Donnelley? According to him, she said that his services weren’t needed any longer.”

  “And Quinlan told the maids not to come in,” Luke said. “He told them he wanted some space to grieve.” His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “But during his grieving time, he was fucking Beth Dunlap. It seems Kerri Grace, one of the day maids, heard them upstairs before she was told to hit the road.”

  “Upstairs?” Sam asked.

  “Kerri said they were in Frank’s room this morning.” His brows rose. “She told me the, ah, noise was louder than her vacuum.”

  Fucking and dying in the same place.

  “Something else.” Hyde’s deep voice filled the entire room. “Crime scene techs found two drops of Beth Dunlap’s blood in the hallway, right outside of Frank Malone’s bedroom.”

  Sam swallowed. “Quinlan was there when we pulled up. He wasn’t in his car, he was standing right beside it. He said—he said he’d just arrived.” She should have touched the hood. Should have seen if he was telling the truth.

  But she’d wanted to believe him. Wanted to think that he was a man who’d survived a nightmare. She still wanted to believe that. “We need to question the first responders from the bomb squad,” she said quietly. “They would have touched Quinlan’s car.” They’d gone over every vehicle there. “They can tell us if his story is true.”

  “Where is Quinlan now?” Monica asked.

  “I put a detail on him,” Hyde said. “No way was I letting him just walk away.” He inclined his head toward Sam. “He’s at his brother’s place, and that’s where you’re heading, Kennedy.”

  Like he could have kept her away right then.

  “I want you to talk to Quinlan. I want you to get him to tell you every move he made this morning. Get him to talk about Beth. See if you can find something for me to use here.”

  When Hyde gave an order, you didn’t refuse. But… “Did you find any evidence to tie Quinlan directly to Beth’s death?” Circumstantial. He’d been outside, and Sam had seen his clothes—there’d been no visible blood.

  And that crime scene had been full of blood.

  So either Quinlan had managed to hide his clothes and get clean, real fast, or the guy was innocent.

  When Hyde’s lips compressed, she had her answer. But then he said, “You’re getting the evidence. You’ll wear a wire when you go in.”

  A wire?

  “You have an in with Quinlan. His brother’s not going to turn you away.”

  But what would Max do if he found out that she was wearing a wire in order to trap his brother? The brother who looked dead guilty. “I’m telling Max.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll wear the wire, but Max has to know.” She wouldn’t budge on this point.

  “You trust him?” Hyde stalked toward her. “People are dying, left and right on a case that should have been over. Are you really sure you trust Ridgeway enough to risk this case?”

  She stared into his dark, glittering eyes. Hold your ground. “I do.”

  He nodded. “All right. Then you tell him. But if this comes back on us…”

  He didn’t need to say the rest. She knew that it wouldn’t look good on her already shaky performance record.

  “Prove his innocence or prove his guilt,” Hyde said. “Get him to talk.”

  “I will.” She hesitated. “But Quinlan Malone isn’t our only suspect here. I got access to Nathan Donnelley’s bank records. His savings are nearly empty.”

  Luke whistled. “Money’s always a motivator.”

  Even for murder.

  �
��Where is Donnelley now?” Hyde wanted to know. “Find him and get the good doctor in here for another interview.” He clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s get moving, people. And be ready for any damn thing.”

  Donnelley knocked lightly on the bedroom door, and after a moment he heard the gruff, “Come in.”

  He turned the knob and stepped inside, making sure that he had a big smile on his face. “Well, now, Quinlan…” His gaze swept the room, and he saw no one else. He shut the door behind him, and let the smile fade away. “What the hell have you done?” Because the kid was screwing with his plan.

  “The bitch tried to kill Max. She did kill Jacobson.” Quinlan swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What did you think I was going to do? Let her walk away? She screwed with my plan.”

  “Our plan.” Nathan Donnelley snapped, pacing quickly across the room. “Our damn plan. And she’s not the one who fucked it up; you are.”

  Quinlan’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why did you kill them?” Nathan’s hands fisted. “That wasn’t the agreement. You said you were just going to hold the men, just going to make some money off them—”

  Quinlan rose. “I would have, if their fathers hadn’t been dicks.” A little shrug lifted his shoulders. “I had to change my plan.”

  “I gave you the drugs because you promised you wouldn’t kill those men!” It had all seemed so simple at first. Take the men. Don’t ask for too much money. Get the cash that the rich bastards would have sitting in their banks. Then get out of town.

  Quinlan laughed. The boy actually laughed in his face. “You gave me the drugs,” Quinlan stalked closer and jabbed a finger into Donnelley’s chest, “because you wanted your cut of the money. And you were a hard negotiator, Don. Forty percent.” Quinlan smiled, and the sight chilled him. “Of course, I had to get rid of everybody else with you taking that much money.”

  Asshole. He’ll get rid of me, too. Only a matter of time. He had to be careful with Quinlan.

  But then, he’d been careful with Quinlan Malone for years, since the boy was fifteen. Donnelley hadn’t been Frank Malone’s doctor, not at first. He’d been there for Quinlan.

  Because the boy had liked to hurt himself. Too much.

  “Don’t worry.” Quinlan’s jabbing finger finally left his chest. “The Feds think the bitch killed herself.” His mouth hitched into a half-smile. “Another suicide.”

  “How did you kill her?” That part hadn’t been on the news.

  “I slit the whore’s wrists.” Quinlan turned toward the window and gazed below. “She killed for me.” His head shook a bit. “Had to admire that. If she hadn’t messed up my plans, I might’ve even let her live. Beth was always ready to do anything for me.” He tossed a glance back at Donnelley. “You know what I mean. She fucked you quick enough when I told her to.”

  Donnelley swallowed. “When do I get my money?” This whole thing was about to blow up in their faces. He wanted to be long gone before the shit hit the fan. Far away from Quinlan and the bastard’s blood-stained hands.

  “I already transferred it to your account.” Quinlan stared out the window. “It’s in the Caymans, just like we agreed. You can get it anytime you want.”

  Donnelley’s hands were sweating. “And what are you going to do?” Killing Frank hadn’t been part of the plan. Never the plan. Not for me.

  But he wondered now… had Quinlan been planning that all along? Was the bastard that smart? Maybe. Quinlan had hated Frank, and shit, now Frank was dead, and Quinlan only had one person standing between him and the Malone fortune.

  Maybe the little prick had planned it all from the beginning… or maybe Quinlan had just started to enjoy the blood too much.

  “I’ve got to take care of some final business.”

  “What you need to do is get out of town.” Donnelley realized his voice was threatening to rise and sucked in a deep breath. “Those Feds are going to piece this shit together. Get out while you can.” If that money really was waiting on him, he’d be running soon, too. As fast as he could go.

  “Maybe they will.” A shrug. Quinlan finally turned to face him. A shark’s smile curved his lips. “Or maybe when you disappear, they’ll think you’re guilty. After all, they are going to find your semen on those sheets. Frank’s sheets. And your fingerprints were all over his room.”

  “You kept the sheets?” Bastard.

  “Why do you think I sent her to screw you?” A wink. “Always got to have a backup plan. When you cut out of the city, you’ll start to look mighty guilty. That’ll make those Feds shift their focus.”

  Nathan’s fingers curled over the black bag. One last batch. He’d brought the drugs Quinlan demanded, and now the kick in his gut told him who they’d be used on.

  “You want the account number, Don? Go give my brother a drink, and it’s yours.” Quinlan’s smile flashed again, and the sight of it made bile rise in Donnelley’s throat.

  Only one person between Quinlan and the Malone fortune. And now Quinlan wanted him to dose Max. Donnelley tossed the bag at Quinlan. “You do it. I’m done.” He had enough blood on his hands.

  “Then you don’t get a dime.”

  A tremble shook his body. Part rage. Part fear.

  “I need your fingerprints on the glass, Don. Yours, not mine. When the Feds check, I need to be clean.” He walked closer, nice and slow. “You’ll be long gone. Hell, go jump a plane tonight. Doesn’t matter what you leave behind because they won’t be able to touch you.”

  Money. Finally, he wouldn’t have to kiss some rich jerk’s ass. Wouldn’t have to watch while everyone else lived the good life while he stood on the fringes.

  “I know why you stayed with dad. Your career was shot after that nurse found you using, wasn’t it?”

  He didn’t speak. Why bother? Quinlan would know. The guy knew everything. Watched everyone.

  “I had a PI do some research on you a couple of years back. That nurse—her name was Sheila, right?—she still remembered you.”

  Of course the bitch had. “My wife… she’d just left me.”

  Quinlan shook his head. “Do I really look like I give a shit? I don’t need to know why. Save that crap for your shrink.”

  Donnelley glared at him. Asshole.

  “I picked you to help me not because of the drugs. Hell, I could get those from anyone I wanted on the street.” When had Quinlan’s gaze become so mocking? “You’re my fall guy, Donnelley. The man who takes the blame, but gets to walk away with a boatload of cash.”

  Only if the Feds didn’t grab him first.

  “Go back outside,” Quinlan ordered. “Tell my brother I’m fine. Then have a drink with him.” Quinlan’s gaze dropped to the bag. “Just a drink. Then you walk away.”

  Max stopped pacing when Donnelley came out of Quinlan’s room. “How is he?”

  Donnelley stared at the floor, shaking his head. “He’s not—he’s not going to be the same, Max.”

  Donnelley walked across the room and headed straight for the bar. Max frowned. “Are you okay?”

  Donnelley’s hands shook as he reached for the bottle of whiskey. “Your stepfather was my friend.” The back of Donnelley’s hand swept out and sent a tumbler falling to the floor. It shattered, and glass flew everywhere. Donnelley stooped down to pick it up.

  “No, careful! I’ll get it!” Max bent and hurriedly scooped up the large chunks. He pushed them onto the top of the bar as worry filled him. Donnelley looked shaken. And the guy wasn’t meeting his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Donnelley’s hands covered two glasses. “Beth was such a troubled woman.”

  Beth? “I didn’t realize you two were close.” Beth had barely seemed to tolerate the doctor.

  Donnelley picked up one of the glasses and handed it to him. “You learn a lot just by watching people. Beth, she was so unhappy.”

  Max took the glass. “You knew she’d been screwing Frank when my mother was still alive, didn’t you?”


  Donnelley drained his glass in two gulps. “Doesn’t really matter what she did now, does it?” A long sigh escaped him. “In the end, does it matter what any of us do? Death comes, no matter what.”

  Max took a sip of the whiskey. “That’s one hell of a pessimistic view you’ve got there, doctor.” This time, he took a longer pull from the drink.

  “When you’ve seen all that I have, you tend to get pessimistic.” Donnelley’s glass hit the bar top with a soft clink. “Your brother—he needs to keep seeing that shrink. Maybe… maybe this one will even be able to help him.”

  The whiskey burned down Max’s throat as he drained the glass. “Maybe.” He could hope.

  “The Feds aren’t pressing charges against him?” Donnelley’s eyes dipped to the empty glass that Max had just set on the bar.

  “Frank’s death was an-an accident.” Max put his hand to his temple. That damn ache was back.

  “If that’s what you think.”

  What?

  Donnelley came closer. The light glinted off the top of his balding head. “Sometimes people have blind spots.”

  The room seemed to dim a bit. “What are you talking about?”

  Donnelley’s hand slapped down on his shoulder. “I kind of liked you. Of all the assholes around Malone, you were the one who bothered me the least.”

  His knees gave way, and Max hit the floor, hard. “Wh-what the… f-fuck… d-did…?” The drink.

  Donnelley crouched above him. “And I am sorry about your mother.” Another sigh whispered from him. “Everything went downhill after her death.”

  Max’s hands were numb. No, his arms were numb. A heavy weight seemed to settle over his entire body. He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open and on Donnelley. The doctor Frank had trusted.

  “I hope it’s quick,” Donnelley said, but the words sounded funny. Distorted. “You shouldn’t have to suffer.”

  • • •

  It was a little after nine p.m. when Sam knocked on the door of Max’s apartment. The doorman had let her through when she flashed her badge, and now she stood in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot. She was wired, a quick process, and she knew every sound that she made was being transmitted back to the team outside.