Killer Colton Christmas

by Regan Black

  In full investigative mode, he wondered what the woman was hiding. Most people would appreciate extra time at the holidays. He made a mental note to take a closer look at her file. Nothing indicated she’d be sympathetic to the Cohort, though he’d seen stranger things and known women who excelled in hiding their true natures.

  Finn stood up and came around to stand at the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “No, thank you.” Although her lips curved upward, the expression couldn’t be considered a smile. “I’ll need my car to make the most of my unexpected time off.” The resigned, almost sad glance she aimed at her bosses made Emiliano flinch inside. “Happy holidays, Zane, Fowler, T.C. Give my best to your f-families.” She hurried away without waiting for a reply, leaving Emiliano and the rest of the room a bit stunned in her wake.

  “We can’t let her leave. Not alone,” Finn appealed to SAC Dashwood. “She might be the access point the Cohort needed.”

  The brash remark drew everyone’s attention. Astonished incredulity radiated from the faces of those who weren’t FBI. Emiliano glared at him. They didn’t publicly call out a suspect that way without evidence to back it up. Then again, Finn had been working for nearly an hour and he was one of the best at rooting out hacker signatures within computer code.

  “Did you find something?” he asked.

  “Call building security,” Dashwood ordered before Finn could reply. “Have them hold her at the door.”

  “I’m on my way.” Finn pulled his keys from his pockets and started for the door.

  “No.” Dashwood’s stern gaze stopped Finn cold. “I need you here, Agent Townsend. You have the most experience with the Cohort and their primary hackers.”

  Temper moved over Finn’s boyish face like a thundercloud, but he didn’t argue as he returned to his seat. When Selene used that tone, none of them argued.

  “Agent Ortega, you’ll stick with Meyers until we can mute these threats. Her safety is your first priority as we work this case.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Emiliano closed the laptop he’d brought along and stowed it in his computer bag, no happier than Finn with the new orders.

  Smart and gorgeous, all signs pointed to Marie Meyers being a difficult woman for him to keep an eye on. He’d done his best to clear drama and difficulty from his life. Guarding a suspect or potential victim was the least favorite part of his job description.

  He hurried down the hall to Marie’s office. She was already gone.

  “Hang on, Ortega,” Dashwood said, catching him at the elevator.

  “So she is a suspect?” Emiliano kept his voice low.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He waited for her to clarify.

  “We both know this isn’t typical Cohort strategy,” she said. Only her narrowed gaze revealed her frustration. “I want to stop this before it becomes a trend. We’ll work it from this side while you keep working it off-site. With or without the CDO’s cooperation.”

  He understood what she wouldn’t say outright in this building. They had to protect Miss Meyers based on the credible threats. In doing so, he would be close enough to catch her if she was cooperating with the hacktivists.

  “When did you put her in the suspect category?” He knew some cyberattacks were assisted by insiders, but this felt like a big leap in judgment against Miss Meyers.

  Selene spread her hands wide. “We’re just getting started. I’m not ready to rule out anything.”

  “Let’s move fast. I’m not looking forward to spending Christmas in my truck.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

  “If it does, you can explain it to Scrabble.” His beloved corgi would be grumpy if he wasn’t home soon and she could hold a grudge. “I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

  With a brisk nod, she strode back down the hallway to the conference room.

  Alone in the elevator, Emiliano smiled as he thought of his dog patiently waiting for him back at his family ranch in Shadow Creek, several hours away. She had plenty of care and company out there; he didn’t worry about that. It was the idea of being stuck in the city for the holidays that put a pinch between his shoulder blades. There was a fresh sincerity in small-town life he’d never found in the major cities he’d worked in. Only gone half a day, he already missed the rhythm and routine of the ranch that kept him grounded.

  Dallas, in particular, set his teeth on edge. Despite the gloss and polish that impressed so many residents and tourists, he saw the unsavory elements lurking just under that pretty surface. And whose fault was that? he wondered with a sigh.

  He stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and walked right into the unwelcome glare of Miss Meyers.

  * * *

  Marie could hardly contain her frustration. The FBI had ordered security to hold her here until an agent arrived to escort her. She had been taking care of herself, and doing a fine job of it, since turning eighteen.

  She wished she could take back her promise not to argue this decision. Who would they send? Not the woman in charge, and probably not the rumpled-looking Mr. Staller. The idea of Agent Townsend hovering over her life turned her palms damp with nerves.

  Agent Ortega stepped off the elevator and relief flooded her system. There was a kindness in his gaze, a compassion that she wanted to trust.

  “Thanks for your patience,” he said.

  “They said I didn’t have a choice.” She gripped the handle of her purse with both hands, her computer bag over her shoulder. “How exactly will this work?”

  He gave her a hesitant smile. “With your patience and cooperation you won’t notice me at all.” She almost laughed. Overlooking this handsome agent in any environment was unimaginable.

  “The goal is your protection, not inconvenience,” he said, holding the door for her. “We work quickly and should have your life back to normal by the holidays.”

  He couldn’t know how little comfort that was—the holidays were always a study in loneliness for her—but she thanked him anyway.

  “We’ll take my truck to your car, and then we’ll head to your place and make a plan.”

  Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement and she noticed he slowed his pace just enough that she didn’t feel rushed. The heels put her at nearly eye level with him and she appreciated the sense of equality.

  “A plan?” she echoed after a moment. “The FBI considers house arrest a plan?”

  “You think you should be under house arrest?”

  “No.” Exasperated with the entire day, she puffed her long bangs up off her forehead.

  He unlocked the truck and let her settle into the seat before he closed her door. After stashing his computer bag behind the driver’s seat, he climbed in and started the engine. “Where are you parked?”

  She gave him directions and then closed her eyes, silently counting to ten. There was a logical way out of this nightmare. When the truck didn’t move, she opened her eyes and found him watching her intently, his lips tilted up at the corner.

  “My mother used to do that when she got fed up with my brother and me.” He pulled away from the parking space, his gaze on the road.

  The man had a striking profile. “You have a brother?”

  He nodded without volunteering any information. She got the impression he didn’t make a habit of sharing personal details. A tactic she could respect. What people didn’t know about, they couldn’t judge.

  “I could help this investigation, you know,” she said as he pulled up behind her car.

  The full weight of that dark, enigmatic gaze landed on her and she resisted the urge to fidget or plead. Would nothing convince his team or her bosses that she could be an asset? Didn’t the FBI have safe houses or something outside the Cohort’s reach where she could help?

 
“Right now the best way to help is to stay safe and give us room to work,” he replied.

  “This is outrageous.” She pulled her car key from her purse and shoved out of his truck before her temper snapped and she said something she might regret.

  * * *

  Emiliano noticed there had been no searching or rooting around for her key. The woman was organized. He appreciated efficiency, focused on that trait rather than her lush feminine curves and lovely legs.

  Both ranch life and FBI experience had taught him that calm was the best option when tempers turned hot. He braced for the slamming door. It would be easier to get a read on her once she relaxed.

  Suddenly she turned back, her eyes flashing.

  “I’ve never jeopardized or abused customer information the way the Cohort does.”

  He listened to her words and studied her body language. Hard to believe she’d willingly let in a hacktivist group.

  “We do not share or sell personal information,” she continued, in that staccato pattern that reminded him of her high heels on the pavement.

  “Good.”

  “I knew programmers with hacktivist ideologies and skills. In school.” Those dark eyes met his, held. “I didn’t agree with them then and I don’t support their criminal behavior now.”

  “All right,” he said.

  She sucked in a breath as if his acceptance offended her. “Do you know my address?”

  “Yes.” Her address, along with her cell phone number and the make, model and license plate of her car, was in her file. He plugged the address into his navigation app on the truck’s dashboard. “I’ll follow you over.”

  “Are you planning to stay in my apartment?”

  He wasn’t sure yet how they would work that out, only that he had orders to keep an eye on her. “Let’s get over there and we’ll talk.”

  Her lips twisted, though she didn’t speak as she finally closed the truck door. The spunky Mini Cooper suited her, he decided. Painted creamy white with a dark green rocker stripe, it would be useless anywhere but the city.

  And why was he analyzing her car? She put her purse and computer bag behind her seat and slid behind the wheel. He prepared to move his truck so she could back out, when she opened her door and peered at the windshield.

  He powered down the passenger window. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. A flyer or something.” She stretched an arm out and he ordered her to stop.

  “Let me see it first.”

  He grabbed his phone and hustled around the front of his truck to her car. Tucked low under the windshield wiper was a small square of white paper.

  “Not a flyer,” he said as much to himself as to her. He took pictures and used the flashlight app on his phone to peer under the hood. He dropped to the ground and checked the undercarriage.

  She crouched beside him. “What are you doing?”

  He deliberately kept his focus on the car rather than her legs. “Looking for any obvious signs of tampering or tracking devices.” On his feet again, he called Dashwood and gave her an update.

  “Tampering? You’re a bomb expert, too, I suppose.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Not an expert.” He dusted off his palms and smacked at the dirt on his trousers. Why couldn’t he remember he was in a suit on the job, rather than in his work jeans at the ranch? “The FBI does keep us trained.”

  “Of course.” She tucked a lock of hair, teased loose by the breeze, behind one ear. “I’m not handling this well,” she admitted softly. “My work is everything to me and I don’t appreciate strangers interfering with that.”

  There hadn’t been any mention of a spouse or other family in her file and he’d assumed the rest of her background was in process. Now Emiliano wondered what that background would reveal. “May I?” He pointed to the note.

  She shrugged, arms folded again. “Go ahead.”

  Using the end of a pen, he freed the note and unfolded it there on the windshield.

  The image of a Guy Fawkes mask filled the top half of the letter-sized paper. Underneath, one sentence in all caps threatened her.

  YOU WILL PAY FOR TRADING PERSONAL PRIVACY FOR PROFITS

  Emiliano took a picture of the note and sent it to his boss by text message. Within two minutes she replied that an evidence team was on the way. The only hope for a lead was a camera on the parking area or fingerprints on the paper itself. The standard copy paper and black-and-white printing would be impossible to track down. Anyone could have printed this at home, an office or a copy store.

  It took a little more than an hour for Emiliano to sign over the scene to the crime-scene unit. Miss Meyers wasn’t happy about leaving her car to the investigators, but he convinced her it was temporary.

  “That’s one thing settled,” he said as they drove away.

  “One thing?” Another huff of frustration lifted her bangs.

  “You can’t stay in Dallas.”

  She gaped at him. “I certainly can’t leave. Not without my car and not while the investigation is ongoing. Sooner or later you’ll discover I can help.”

  “We’ve got it under control,” he said. The woman had plenty of nerve to think they’d share information before they made a determination on her involvement.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving town.”

  She was wrong. “You’re under my protection, so that choice is out of your hands.”

  “Third-worst day,” she muttered. “Special Agent Ortega.” She said his name with such respect it startled him. “I can manage on my own.”

  He believed her. “Since these circumstances aren’t normal, I’m transporting you to a safe place until we sort this out.”

  He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard himself suggest to Dashwood or that he was about to say it again. “The FBI has decided you’ll stay at my family’s ranch until we’re sure it’s safe for you to return to Dallas.”

  Chapter 3

  Marie was sure she’d misunderstood Special Agent Ortega. Yet here she was again in his pickup truck, her suitcase stowed in the bed and the city she loved well behind them already. It was all she could do not to ask him how much longer they’d be on the road.

  He’d stated in that infuriatingly calm tone that he was taking her to Shadow Creek, Texas. She’d done a quick search on her cell phone while she packed. Thank goodness, too, since he’d surprised her by confiscating her phone and laptop before they left Dallas. He’d made it clear that she would not be allowed any internet access during the investigation.

  Located in the Texas Hill Country, the area’s primary claim to fame was a quaint town center giving way to businesses surrounded by acres of cattle ranches. The idyllic pictures of rolling grassland, clear rivers, green hills and livestock dotting the landscape made her nervous. Checking the street-view pictures provided for Main Street didn’t help. Not a high-rise in sight. The closest thing to a city-like feature was the Shadow Creek Memorial Hospital. She’d found it odd that a local hospital would feature so prominently on the search results until she read that it had been built by Livia Colton, hot story of the day.

  As they passed through Austin and the landscape on either side of the highway gave way to the wide expanse of ranch land, she suspected they were getting close.

  At the first sighting of a longhorn cattle herd grazing well back from the road, her palms went damp. She didn’t do rural and couldn’t imagine staying anywhere close to a heavy animal with horns like that. A city girl at heart, she’d only been camping once, though she suspected her experience wouldn’t qualify in Special Agent Ortega’s book. The excursion had only gone so far as pitching tents at the edge of the wooded greenway behind the youth center. Already the quiet beyond the low rumble of the truck’s engine pressed in on her
.

  “Not much longer,” he said.

  She jumped on the first words he’d spoken in over an hour, needing the conversation. “How can you be a rancher and an FBI agent?” she asked, hating the nerves making her voice tight.

  “Family effort,” he replied.

  He glanced her way and the look of contentment on his face launched a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. “You’re moving me in with your parents?”

  His eyebrows flexed into a scowl. “They’re out of town right now,” he said. “Plenty of room even if they were home. It’s not like we’ll be tripping over each other.”

  She gazed out at the wide-open landscape, wishing for the clear boundaries of a stable city structure. “I doubt anyone out here has that problem.”

  “Shadow Creek and the surrounding area will also make it harder for anyone wishing you harm to succeed.”

  She supposed he would know. Protection protocol wasn’t her thing. “The note on my car can’t really mean anything.” If someone wanted to attack, wouldn’t they have waited for her to show up? Although restating her earlier protest wasn’t likely to make him turn around now, she felt she had to try. “The Cohort posted all my information for free already. Good grief, they knew my pay rate. Knowing what I drive and where I park is the least threatening aspect of this nightmare.”

  Without a word he exited the highway at the sign for Shadow Creek. Under other circumstances she might let herself enjoy his handsome, stoic profile.

  “I’d really rather deal with this in a familiar area,” she added.

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Can you blame me?” she asked. Were all FBI agents so unyielding? Townsend’s face flashed through her mind. Initial charm aside, he clearly hadn’t liked her and he might even suspect she was involved in the cyberattack. Investigators often looked for an inside source. Marie quickly counted her blessings again that Dashwood had assigned Ortega to watch over her.