It was a good idea.
“How’d you end up in the FBI, anyway?” She glanced at the stainless steel ring he wore on the pinky finger of his right hand. “You were an engineer.”
He glanced at her in surprise.
“I dated an engineer once.” Her expression told him she’d been less than impressed.
He grinned. “I did an engineering degree before I applied to the FBI.”
“Why join the FBI if you had a good job?”
“Why become a journalist?”
She sighed and looked out the window. Her hands rubbed up and down her thighs. It was wrong to imagine doing the same so he put his eyes back on the road, ignoring the shot of lust that rushed through him.
Not good.
“English was the only thing I was really good at in school. I loved telling stories, but I needed a way to pay the bills and enjoyed the college newspaper. Ended up taking journalism courses, discovered I enjoyed figuring out the puzzles, and exposing bad guys.”
“Me, too.”
She went silent and he knew it was his turn. “I was always going to be an FBI agent. It was my dream even as a little boy.”
She watched him intently.
“My dad was killed during a bank robbery when I was a kid.”
Her eyes reflected shock and pain, but she didn’t say anything.
“That’s when I met my first therapist.” he admitted. “I stopped talking for a while. Shut down completely. My mom persuaded an FBI agent to come and talk to me and the guy promised he was going to catch these robbers and put them away.”
“Did he?”
“Yes and no. Robbers were caught doing a job on a bank in Jersey. Cops surrounded the place. An HRT sniper took out both robbers without any hostages getting hurt. That’s when I started talking again. After they were killed. That’s when I decided to join the FBI.”
She frowned. “Why do engineering first? If you knew as a kid you were going to be an agent, why not do criminology or become a cop?”
“It’s complicated.”
She gave a short laugh. “You wanna talk about the weather instead?”
“No.” He grunted. He liked having a real conversation with her. Getting to know her without reading the damned background file even if he was the one doing most of the talking. “My mom met and married another guy, Tom. He had a daughter, Joanna. Jo.
“And she was killed in action,” he continued gruffly. He’d already told her this. His stomach turned over. He understood grief. He understood Pip. Maybe that’s why he liked her so much. “We weren’t related by blood but we were close. All four of us were close even though Jo was six years older than me. Tom had been a good friend of Dad’s. His wife walked out and left them.”
Pip’s jaw hardened.
“Jo joined the military at eighteen. When she died in combat, it broke them a little. My mother especially. She made me promise I wouldn’t join the military, and would instead get a proper career.” He shrugged. “I liked engineering and was able to work for a few years and pay off my student loans. Then I applied to Quantico. I only told Mom and Dad when I was about to graduate the academy. I planned it that way and didn’t actually break any promises.” His fingers flexed around the steering wheel. “I think she’s finally forgiven me.”
“How long ago?” Pip asked.
“Over five years now.”
“Your parents sound great. The Resnicks were good people, too.” She breathed in deeply and gave her head a little shake. “I’m sorry about your birth dad and your sister. It sucks to lose people you love.”
Hunt nodded, wanting to ask her about her background. He hadn’t read the file Libby Hernandez had sent him yet. He wanted Pip to tell him first.
They reached the road that led to the lake and she tensed.
“You don’t have to come down to the cottage,” he said. “I can walk in from the road and take a look around.”
Pip shook her head. “I need to face it. I need to go back. I have a lot of happy memories here. I’d like to keep them from being tainted.”
Hunt wasn’t sure that would be possible, but he didn’t say so.
They rode in silence and ten minutes later he turned onto the single track that led down to the lake. He could feel Pip bracing herself. He slowed just before the cottage came into view.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
Her dark eyes were huge, her bottom lip wobbled but still she nodded. He took her fingers in his. Her skin was freezing despite the warm air.
“It’ll be okay. I’m here. I’ll help you.”
She nodded and held on tight to his hand for a few seconds before letting go.
He wasn’t sure why he’d held her hand but it was something he wanted to do again. Not exactly how they taught FBI agents to behave during New Agents Training.
He pulled to a stop beside the outhouse and wood pile, and turned off the engine, exactly the same place he had on Monday morning.
They sat in the car without saying a word. Sunset was painting the lake with fingers of red and pink. There were no powerboats, no noise. Just someone fishing in the distance. It was an idyllic place.
But the beauty of the view was juxtaposed against the memory of a young woman’s naked body pulled up out of the water just a few short days ago.
Silent tears streamed down Pip’s cheeks. He was about to pull her against him to comfort her when she shoved open the door and got out of the car.
Slowly, he followed.
Pip walked down to the edge of the lake and stood with her arms wrapped tight around herself.
“Are you okay?”
She moved away. “No. I’m angry. I’m so damned angry. With Cindy. How could she have been so stupid?” She sobbed and he took another step toward her but she stepped away again. “I just need some time alone.”
He nodded. “I’ll go look around inside. Is that okay?”
She dug in her pocket and tossed him her keys. Then she walked to the end of the dock and sat, cradling her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. He wanted to comfort her but sometimes people needed to be alone as they worked through the stages of their grief. Anger was a good sign, as long as she eventually got past it.
He headed inside the cottage and winced slightly at the grime of fingerprint powder on the door handles and light switches. He looked at the coffee table. Most of the coke residue had been cleaned off the surface. The cushions were in disarray—they would have been carefully vacuumed for any trace evidence.
Results from Cindy’s electronics were due back in the morning, but her laptop power cord was still plugged into the wall.
He headed into the kitchen, donning latex gloves and leafing through piles of bills and letters on a small telephone table. No keycard. He headed into the office at the back of the house. Went quickly through the desk and drawers. Nothing.
He went up the stairs and checked the two bedrooms at the back of the house, one decorated in all dark plaid, the other painted a deep red. He was sure this was where Pip slept when she stayed here. She seemed to have an affinity for the color red.
He went to the main bedroom and quickly searched the bedside table. Condoms. Notepads. Pens. Books.
No diary. He needed to ask the national laboratory if she’d had it in her purse.
The bedding had been removed. He flicked through the books because some people would use a card as a bookmark. The corners of the pages were turned. His mother would have a fit.
He glanced at the vanity. Lots of makeup neatly lined up. And there were pictures tucked into the edge of the mirror. Cindy with her parents, her brother. Cindy and Pip horsing around. He didn’t recognize everyone but there were group images with Sally-Anne, Pete Dexter, Angela Naysmith and the professor. There was a picture of a half-naked guy who had to be the dim but good-looking Dane. Mind, when you were a genius capable of Nobel Prize worthy leaps in vaccine development, Hunt figured he was just as dim and only half as handsome.
So
was there another new guy?
Had she picked up guys at the local bar? Taken them home for one-nighters to relieve the stress of writing her thesis? Had one of them given her the coke? They’d found no evidence to suggest she’d tried to sell her vaccine on the black market. And why lodge a patent application if you planned to undermine yourself that way?
Hunt pulled out his phone and called the local detective, staring out the window down at the lone figure huddled at the end of the dock. Pip looked so small and alone. She was obviously used to working through her problems on her own. Hunt couldn’t imagine having no one. His family had been through some rough times but they’d always been there for each other.
Detective Howell answered on the third ring.
“Agent Kincaid here. I was wondering if you’d come up with anything in the Cindy Resnick case?”
“I was wondering the same thing, Agent Kincaid.”
That was a little reprimand for not calling sooner, but Hunt had been kind of busy. “Another girl who worked in the same department as Cindy Resnick died of a drug overdose late last night—coke and fentanyl mix. APD found the dealer they believe sold them the drugs. Brains blown out.”
“Someone not happy with the product?”
“Apparently junkies like their high without the guaranteed added extra of a violent death.”
“Can’t say I blame them.”
“APD is in charge of that case and said they’d be in touch with you.”
The guy loosened up. Did he think Hunt had been sitting around with his feet up all day?
“So how can I help you, Agent Kincaid?”
“The lab found traces of spermicide on Cindy’s body and some contact DNA. They also found traces of semen on the bed sheets from a different source. Did you hear of Cindy hooking up with anyone from the local bars?”
The detective made a long humming sound. “Not that anybody recalls. I checked the bars and spoke to some of her neighbors. They say she was always friendly but I didn’t get the impression they had intimate relations with her. I can ask again. People don’t always admit sexual relationships with individuals who die under suspicious circumstances.”
“Let me know if anything comes up, will you?”
“Sure. Can I ask why?”
Hunt cleared his throat. “Just a loose end I’d like tied up. Her friend is insisting Cindy wouldn’t have taken the drugs voluntarily.”
“She thinks she was murdered?”
“Yeah, murder or manslaughter.”
“We’ll keep asking around.” The detective would know how a loose end could niggle away at a man until it all but drove him crazy. He thanked the detective and rang off.
Pip climbed to her feet and Hunt watched her walk slowly back toward the cottage. Her eyes were red and swollen.
Not pretty, but there was no denying he was attracted to her. A gnawing hunger was starting to eat at him and it had Pip’s name all over it.
The light was fading fast. He headed back downstairs, went out onto the deck and opened his arms wide. She came to him and leaned against his chest and held on tight, but she didn’t cry. Something told him that despite the fact he’d seen her cry several times over her friend on that first day, Pip West rarely lost control of her emotions. He hugged her tight, enjoying the soft feel of her against him, her scent invading his senses—strawberries and sunshine mixed with a subtle hint of desirable woman.
“How’s it look in there?” Her voice was rusty and deep.
Sexy as hell.
He cleared his throat. “There’s fingerprint dust all over the walls. There are firms you can hire to clean it up…”
She shook her head. “I’ll do it myself next time I come up.”
Self-sufficient. Independent.
“You okay to drive back?” he asked.
She nodded and pulled out of his arms. “I’m sorry for falling apart. I guess I needed that. I’ll be fine driving though. Just give me a minute.” She looked up at him and her eyes were almost black in the twilight. His gaze dropped to her lips and the urge to kiss her hit him all over again.
Don’t be a fool.
He wasn’t being strictly honest. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t naive or stupid enough to jeopardize the case, but he could still show a little kindness to a woman he was starting to care about and not screw with her feelings when she was vulnerable.
“Give me the SUV keys and I’ll make sure it starts.”
She dug in her pocket, but said wryly, “I’m not an idiot. I can start a car.” When he held out his hand, palm up, she handed over the keys with a resigned sigh. “Fine.”
He got into the vehicle and turned the ignition. He did a quick sweep of the glovebox and the middle console and the pocket in the door. No key card.
The fact he couldn’t find the thing meant maybe Pete Dexter was lying. Maybe the guy had sneaked into the lab to do something illegal—like make weaponized anthrax or vaccines. Or steal Cindy’s work.
He backed the SUV out of its spot and pulled up beside his truck, where Pip stood waiting, composing herself.
He jumped out and helped her into the high seat, trying to keep his eyes off the molded jeans and skintight t-shirt.
Then his stomach growled loudly and Pip laughed. “Hungry?”
She had no idea.
Her eyes danced and those damned freckles made her look sweet and innocent and so goddamned cute.
He reached up and cupped the back of her head, pulling her toward him so he could kiss her. Electricity and heat flared between them.
He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened tentatively.
He wanted to take the kiss deeper but waited. Waited for her to hesitantly taste him and explore him. Let her lead.
They’d both almost died today and that basic need to prove that he was very much alive surged through him.
It was a natural reaction. He knew that.
She gripped his jacket and pulled him closer, mouth angling with a hunger that seemed to match his. She tasted rich and sinful, and sweet as sugar.
His hands slid up her sides and he was immediately hard as stone.
Dammit. What the hell was he thinking?
He gave a shuddering breath and pulled back. She blinked in surprise. Lips red and slick.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
She was upset. Emotional. His boss and his friends had all told him to steer clear. Even so, he wanted to kiss her again and never stop.
“Wow.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Wow.”
She swallowed. “You’re a good kisser, Agent Kincaid.”
He laughed again and moved a half step closer. “Pretty sure you should call me Hunt after that.” He reached up and wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of her mouth.
That mouth of hers gave him all sorts of ideas. X-rated ideas. Ideas that would get his ass kicked at work.
But, God, she was sexy. From virtually the day he’d met her he’d wanted her. Which made him an asshole.
“You ruined my makeup. And there I was looking so good.” She rolled her eyes.
Regardless of tears and smudged makeup, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever met.
She flipped down the sun visor to check the mirror and something small and plastic fell into her lap.
He reached out and picked it up using the edge of his t-shirt. Pete Dexter’s goddamn plastic entry keycard for Blake University. “Mind if I take that?”
“What is it?” Pip looked confused then seemed to register it was an ID card. “Okay.”
He couldn’t explain, which made him feel doubly guilty for kissing her, especially as he’d used a ruse to search her friend’s houses. An honest ruse, but a ruse all the same.
“I’ll follow you back into the city.” His stomach growled again. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d last eaten. “Wanna grab some dinner in Atlanta?”
Pip huffed out a mix between a groan and a laugh. “I probably shouldn’t.”
&nbs
p; “It’s only dinner, Pip.”
Her gaze locked on his and her smile dropped. “We both know that’s not true, Hunt Kincaid.” Her voice suggested hot naked sex rather than food and Hunt fought the reaction his body had to the idea.
She’d called him on the bullshit he’d even been selling himself.
He nodded. “We should get going.”
Dusk was falling. He didn’t want to be on the road around here at night if he could avoid it. Too many chances for misadventure. He shut her door and stepped away.
Maybe she was right. Maybe they’d already crossed a line but they could still step back from taking it any further. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to go there. He did. Although it was probably best for his career if he pretended she was just part of a case. Not someone whose scent aroused him beyond rational thought.
He got in his truck and slipped Pete Dexter’s keycard into an evidence bag. Shit. He’d been sure he was onto something, but it looked like the guy had been telling the truth about giving Cindy the card after all.
Hunt turned his truck and followed Pip back along the track. Keeping his distance was probably a smart idea.
Chapter Twenty-One
Pip’s lips buzzed from the kiss she and the sexy FBI agent had shared. After the last few weeks it was a change to experience something other than grief or death. Her life had become a war zone. Forgetting the pain, even for a few moments, had been a welcome relief.
She signaled onto I-75 heading south to Atlanta, Hunt Kincaid following a safe distance behind. Cindy’s SUV handled like a dream and reminded Pip of how excited her friend had been when she’d driven it off the lot four short months ago.
Warmth washed through her. There was comfort in being surrounded by memories of Cindy in happier times. Pip needed to hold onto that if she hoped to get through the next few weeks without losing her mind.
It wasn’t the only thing she wanted to hold close.
That kiss had ignited a desire she hadn’t felt in years, not since she’d fallen in love with Van whom she’d stupidly followed to Miami before he broke her heart. Hunt was turning into a temptation she didn’t want to resist, something to keep her mind off the ugliness and emptiness of her reality. And she liked the fact she had gotten under the skin of his federal persona. She liked that a lot.
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