Born to Die

by Winter Austin

  Liza let him take the driver’s seat since he knew his way around Eider after spending time here during The Priest investigation. When they’d arrived at the bank, he’d been amazed that the streets and roads were—for the most part—cleared and drivable; Boyce could handle driving for the time being. If he were to fully admit it to himself, he preferred the snow to the ice that coated the streets in Memphis.

  “What’s the old Hunt-tuition sayin’?” she asked as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot onto the street.

  “First, I want to hear your profile of our robbers.”

  Liza reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her notepad, flipping to her notes. “The robbers had this planned down to the wire. They knew the layout perfectly. I even watched footage that went back as far as three weeks and didn’t notice anyone who lingered overly long or who frequented more than once or twice a week. My initial thought was the robbers were employees or former employees.”

  “Did those thoughts pan out?”

  “Dead end on the latter. Everyone who works there currently has been there for years. The last person to leave retired eight years ago. Could it be a current one? Maybe.”

  Boyce let off the gas, preparing for a four-way intersection, but hit the brakes too hard and fishtailed into the stop. He gripped the steering wheel harder at Liza’s not so subtle “ahem.” So sue him, it had been a long time since he’d last driven on a wintery road.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “From the footage on the day of the robbery, I noticed the robbers were well aware of where the security cameras were placed. They were careful about keeping their backs to the lens or presenting a side profile that was completely distorted by what they wore.” Liza turned in her seat to the point that she could look at him without bothering to unbuckle. “Are you sure you want to discuss this before you watch the tapes?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You’ve never done it like this before. Hell, you were a damn stickler for making sure I never said a peep until you had everything filed away in that brain of yours.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Liza. What else?”

  She grunted and skipped over a few pages of notes. “I don’t think they wanted to kill anyone, but from the way one of them bludgeoned the clerk, it’s only a matter of time before they actually follow through.”

  “They may have already.”

  “Last night’s murder?” The confusion in her voice made Boyce glance at her.

  “It’s a theory.”

  “And does Deputy Rivers believe the same thing?”

  Boyce heaved a sigh. “I’ve been ordered not to interfere in that investigation.”

  Liza’s snort bordered on derisive. “When has that ever stopped you? Especially when it comes to the elusive Cassandra Rivers.”

  “Understand one thing, Liza: Cassy is an off-limits topic.”

  Liza slapped her notebook shut, shoved it back into her coat pocket, then slumped in her seat. “Fine, hard-ass, but if your theory pans out, her ultimatum is null and void. That means I will hold you accountable on the topic of why the hell you let a good thing slip through your fingers and ran.”

  “I really despise that you know so much about me,” Boyce grumbled.

  “You’re in the wrong line of work to be upset about that fact.”

  He found the entrance to the police station, pulled in, and parked in an empty visitors’ spot. Before Liza could vacate the car, he caught her arm and stalled her exit. “Not many people in there are happy with me. I didn’t exactly play by their rules the last time I was here.”

  “And this surprises me how?”

  “I’m giving you a heads up, in case you’re the one who has to explain things.”

  Liza patted his hand. “Oh, Boyce, you really need to improve your people skills.”

  “Why bother when you’re always there to bail me out?”

  “Stupid me.”

  Getting out of the car, Boyce shivered at the blast of cold. He needed to wrap up here in Eider and get back to Cedar Rapids. The longer he was away from the office, the less information he would gain from Memphis. The last Boyce had heard, one of the undercover agents had found the Achilles’ heel in Mother’s organization. Deep in his gut, Boyce knew she was about to meet her end. He had to get back there, had to be at the office, or the street for that matter, when it all went down, because Mother had to see that he’d held true to his promise to witness the utter annihilation of her empire.

  Chapter Five

  The first time Cassy had visited The Killdeer Pub, she’d been with Nic, Con, and Boyce. It was the night Boyce presented her with a challenge: get to know the one he suspected was The Priest, do some undercover work, and she might get in good with her sister. Cassy should have told him to shove his idea up his ass and walked away. But her ego got in the way. While the whole ordeal did get her in good with Nic, emotionally and physically it had cost all of them. Yet Boyce got to return to his cushy life in Memphis with no regrets over what he’d done.

  Entering the crazy-named pub, she was greeted by the comforting scents of seared beef, savory potatoes, and the finest Irish ale. Once the heavy wooden doors with their original stained-glass windows shut, a few of the patrons hailed her from their tables. She touched her forehead in a single-finger salute and headed for the bar, removing her gloves and coat.

  Tall, dark-haired, scruffy, and with an upper body built like an MMA fighter, The Killdeer Pub’s newest bartender draped a white bar towel over his shoulder and scooted awkwardly to where Cassy sat. She’d long suspected Xavier Hartmann was missing a lower limb and wore a prosthetic, but she hadn’t caught him out from behind the bar in the whole time he’d been working here. In fact, she never seemed to see him around town, either. A mystery she shrugged off for “one day.”

  “Well, nice to see your bright, shining face, Deputy Rivers,” he said with his faded accent, one she couldn’t place. “What can I get you?”

  “I’m still on duty. Get me one of those fancy cappuccinos.”

  With a crooked smile and a twinkle in his hazel eyes, Xavier slapped the bar top and moved to fill her order.

  Against her son’s advice, Maura O’Hanlon had added a special coffee machine that made espressos and cappuccinos. Con had griped about it to Nic and Cassy for weeks, until his mom showed him the increase in sales and customers. The Irishman had eaten crow for a month.

  Cassy wiggled on the barstool to ease the weight of her belt, then pulled out her phone, and began scrolling through her missed messages. There was one from Nic, and two from the DCI guy who was processing the evidence from Wallis’s murder. She should call him back, but she’d come to the pub to take a break. She checked the clock on her phone—three thirty in the afternoon—and calculated how long she’d been awake. Thirty-four hours.

  A large, white mug filled to the brim with frothy goodness was placed in front of her. Cassy rewarded Xavier with a smile before wrapping her hands around the mug. The heat seeped through the chill, warming her fingers. She brought the cup to her lips and inhaled the warm scent of cinnamon, almond, and white chocolate. Xavier knew her tastes well. Almost too well.

  Cold blasted inside the pub as another person entered. Cassy sipped her cappuccino.

  A file slapped down on the bar next to her, making her slosh the hot liquid over her hand. She hissed, setting the mug down and flicking off the coffee. “What the … ? Boyce.”

  “When you cornered me this morning to tell me to stick to my own case, you didn’t bother to mention you were one of the responding officers to the robbery.” He set a gloved hand on the edge of the bar and leaned forward. “My mistake, for overlooking your name in my initial reading of the files. Shame on me.”

  Humphing, she lifted her cup and pressed the rim to her lips. Her gaze remained on Boyce, watching as his eyes glazed over. If she wanted to hazard a guess, he was thinking about one of their wilder sexual encounters that involved some kinky action with her hand
cuffs. She blew into the hot liquid, enjoying the heated look that flared to life on Boyce’s face. Oh, this was going to be so fun torturing him all over again with what he was missing out on.

  With a hard shake of his head, he scowled and backed a step away from her. “We can do this here or back at the department. Which is it?” There was a huskiness to his voice.

  That tone did unwanted things to her—tingly, chest-tightening things that left her aching and breathless. Damn her body for reacting to him. She sucked in a mouthful of the burning cappuccino, wincing at the hot liquid’s path over her tongue and down her throat. But the pain she inflicted on herself was enough to vanquish the desire. Setting the cup down, she touched her tender lip.

  The intoxicating, citrus scent of key lime tickled her senses, making her too aware of how close Boyce stood.

  “Keep up with your games, sweet pea, and things could get dangerous between us.” His breath warmed her ear and sent a flush through her body.

  “Back away from me, Agent Hunt, or I’ll see to it that you’re the last of your kind.”

  “Promises, promises,” he whispered, before retreating.

  Cassy’s body shuddered under the implications. The baser side of her, the passionate and out-of-control side, was one she kept tightly under wraps, but Boyce had always been the one able to unlock those chains and set her free. He’d turned the key in this moment, ready to make her unravel. It was taking more control than ever not to cuff him by the collar and drag him out of the pub into the parking lot, where she could prove to him how much he’d gotten to her.

  “I’m on break,” she said, amazed her voice didn’t crack, but sounded normal. “You can wait for me at the department.” She chanced a look at his face, and her gut cramped.

  That determined set to his features that made his eyes darken and his nostrils flare was a look she’d seen more times than she could count. Their little verbal foreplay had set off a fire, and she was starting to feel the heat. Boyce had been given a glimpse of something he couldn’t have, so he would be determined to take it.

  “Why don’t I just sit here and wait? When you’re back on duty, then we’ll go. Together.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Not happening. I’m rather enjoying my cappuccino, and I don’t want your presence spoiling it.”

  “Should have thought about that before you started playing coy with me.” He grabbed a nearby stool to sit down next to her.

  Short of shooting him, there would be no getting rid of him now.

  Bravo, Cass, you just made your bed. Time to lie in it. And not literally.

  “I wasn’t aware The Killdeer started serving fancy coffee.”

  “If you’d stuck around long enough, maybe you would have known that.”

  Her barb didn’t faze him. Normally, the corners of his eyes would twitch or his jaw would turn rigid, but not this time. Something had changed Boyce in the past two years.

  Cassy rested her arms on the bar top, crossing them. “Why are you back in Iowa? And paired with Bartholomew again?”

  “Official business.”

  His curt answer sent the red flags into a frenzy. During their brief affair, Cassy had done a lot of digging into Boyce’s life. Most disturbing was his association with Ruby Jean Gladstone, his mother. But the biggest question that came out of her personal investigation: How did a man like Boyce Hunt, raised by a criminal mastermind like Ruby Jean, end up in the FBI, on the side of good? If Boyce knew about her poking around in his past, he’d never mentioned it. Which didn’t sit well with Cassy, because he could hold that information against her.

  “I’m baffled that you moved here, Cassy. After The Priest incident, I didn’t figure you’d want to be so close to the source of your pain.”

  He was goading her, trying to get back at her for withholding the tidbit about her involvement with the bank robbery and for toying with him.

  “Some of us find ways to muscle through the damage done, instead of tucking tail and running.” She savored a long drink from the cooling coffee.

  If her mark hit home, he didn’t show it.

  “Is this how it’s going to be between us? Shooting barbs and trying to one-up the other?” he asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  Sighing, Boyce gave her a nod and slipped off the stool. “I’ll be at the department, waiting.”

  His retreat should have been a relief, giving her a thrill for managing to drive him away. She set the mug down on the bar top with a thunk and pushed it away. It now tasted more like downing sticky, sweet Quaker State sludge.

  • • •

  “You two are like a country breakup song.”

  Boyce glared at Liza. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the video surveillance footage? Not thinking about Cassy and me.”

  They had moved their work to the McIntire Sheriff’s Department to wait on Cassy. Truth be told, Liza had probably gotten more work done than he had. He spent more time rehashing each encounter with Cassy since he arrived in Eider.

  “But you two are so much fun.”

  “I’m thrilled that my misery amuses you.” And damn it, he was in misery. He couldn’t fathom how he’d let Cassy get to him. Agent Boyce Hunt was supposed to be the epitome of calm under pressure; emotions were just an endgame to get what he wanted. None of this pigswill was supposed to be used against him.

  “Oh, geez, Boyce, you’re sitting there stewing over how Cassy learned to get the upper hand with you.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “I call BS. You’ve got that particular pissed off look you only get when you can’t analyze it down to the atom.” Liza tossed the remote onto the table, letting her feet drop to the floor. “Think about it. Cassy’s an investigator, and she’s damn shrewd. She’s got you pegged to the letter.” Liza shook a finger in his direction. “Betcha anything she used her sister’s or daddy’s connections to dig up dirt on you.”

  His blood froze at Liza’s remark. He was an unmitigated blockhead. Damn it to hell and all that jazz, but not once since he met Cassy had he ever thought that she’d go snooping around in his past. Shit, he hadn’t known who her father was until two years ago, and even then, Boyce hadn’t stopped to think about the implications of her connections. He’d been thinking with his damn dick. This, this is what got agents killed in the field.

  “Wow, that must be some kind of strip-down you’re giving yourself, if the look on your face is any indication.”

  Liza’s voice ripped him out of the ugly void he’d sank into. It was a black place he always went when he screwed up, a place Mother had helped create when he didn’t meet her expectations.

  “Piss off,” he hissed and slapped his tablet cover shut. Standing, he shoved the chair under the table and, ignoring Liza, stalked out of the small room they’d commandeered.

  Serious voices out in the bullpen attracted his attention. Boyce paused long enough to compose himself and then strolled onto the main floor of the sheriff’s department. Eider police detective Con O’Hanlon—Cassy’s brother-in-law—and Deputy Deacon Nash stood around Cassy’s desk while the woman in question sat in her chair, rocking the seat back and forth. Boyce caught himself, entranced by the sway of her ponytail. He suppressed the urge to yell at this stupidity—bewitched by a hairstyle!—and moved in to break up their little confab.

  At his approach, Cassy lifted her chin to look up at him through shuttered eyes. He hated how the look made his gut clench and his muscles tense in anticipation. This exasperating woman always had that effect on him.

  “Agent Hunt, I heard you were waiting for me.” The corner of her mouth twitched. She clearly wanted to smirk at him and inflame the situation between them but wouldn’t put the other men in an awkward position.

  Boyce tugged on the corners of his blazer, rallying his lagging poise. “Well, here you are. Shall we get this unfortunate business over with, so we can both move on with our individual investigations?”

  Inclining her head to the right, she gave him
a curt nod and pushed out of her chair.

  Boyce’s gaze flicked to O’Hanlon and Nash. O’Hanlon was staring back, probably trying to get a read on any motives he might have toward Cassy.

  “I hear congratulations are in order on your marriage and the birth of a son. It’s nice to know Nic has settled down.”

  “Aye, that she has.” O’Hanlon’s Irish lilt was more pronounced than Boyce remembered.

  “Sheriff said we could use his office.” Cassy gestured at the open door with a jerk of her thumb. “Let’s get on with it.”

  With a shrug directed at the two men, Boyce followed Cassy into the office. He closed the door, making her turn abruptly. Her features darkened.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This is an ongoing investigation, and that means the door gets shut.”

  “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that BS from you before. With our history, it could just be another ploy to get in my pants.”

  Boyce took a calming breath and let it out slowly. They were both on an emotional roller coaster after their exchange in the pub, and his was twofold after his confrontation with Liza.

  “Cassy, I’m not going to make any advances on you. What I said in the pub was nothing more than to get a rise out of you. You’ve made yourself crystal clear.”

  She stared at him, her body motionless and stiff. He gestured for her to take a seat and then headed for the interesting addition to Sheriff Hamilton’s office—a battered leather sofa. Boyce settled in the middle with his tablet on his lap. He glanced up as Cassy dragged a chair in front of him and plopped into it. She sat bent at the waist, legs spread, her elbows resting on her knees and her gaze zeroed in on him. They stared at each other.

  “How’d you know about Nic and Con and the baby?”

  No point in lying to her. “Hamilton.”

  “Trying to suck up to get in their good graces?”

  “Despite what you might think of me, Cassy, I find it refreshing to hear about good marriages and children. Nic and Con had a lot going against them, and yet they made it work. I applaud that.”