by Tess Diamond
She needed . . . she needed . . .
Her attacker’s hands fell away as he crumpled and dropped to the floor behind her. Maggie coughed and gasped for untainted air. Her throat felt raw and abused as she turned to lean against the wall. She stared down at her now-unconscious attacker, a burly man with a shaved head and a five-o’clock shadow.
Jake stood above him, his fist still raised. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his casual tone belied by the worry shining in his green eyes.
Maggie stared at him, mouth burning from the chemical-soaked rag. “What the hell just happened?” she asked hoarsely. Her question died in another sputter of coughing, tears streaming down her face as she fought for air.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded, wiping away the moisture staining her cheeks. “Yeah,” she said. “I just . . . I didn’t see him. I didn’t even hear him.”
Pulling a zip tie out of his back pocket, Jake secured the man’s hands behind his back and then looked up at her. “What do you want to bet that our new friend Mr. Black knows this guy?”
In a second, Maggie’s fear and panic morphed into hot and blinding anger. Black. How dare he? He’d sent someone to attack her on her own crime scene?
Before Jake could stop her, she stepped over the unconscious man and stormed out of the mobile unit, heading toward the command tent that SWAT had set up. The wind had picked up, and it sent her hair flying. She pushed it impatiently out of her face, wincing as she licked her lips. They felt cracked, almost burned, from whatever the hell that rag was soaked in. Her throat was dry and raw from the coughing, and her lungs ached as if they’d shriveled up.
Driven by the furious anger inside her chest, she marched toward the tent, branches and leaves snapping beneath her feet.
Frank stood under the flapping canopy, talking to one of the techs. He caught sight of her, at the wild spray of her curls, the tear tracks down her face, the redness around her lips. His mouth tilted in concern. “Maggie, are you okay?”
But Maggie marched right past him, ducking underneath the command tent door flap and making her way through the agents milling about. She had eyes for only one person, and he was standing over a table in the middle of the tent, SWAT members surrounding him like he was their god.
“Black!” Maggie shouted.
His head shot up, his steely eyes sparking for a moment before his normal, disinterested expression settled in them.
“Surprised to see me?” Maggie sneered.
“Can you give us some space?” Black asked the SWAT agents. They scattered like obedient schoolboys, refusing to meet her eyes. Maggie glared at them, disgusted at the way they were acting. What the hell was wrong with everyone? Couldn’t they see what a danger this man was to the case? He’d throw Paul’s life away in a second if he thought he could get his hands on Mancuso. They should realize that he only had his own interests in mind, not the hostages’.
“Why would I be surprised to see you?” he asked. “You can’t seem to stay away.”
“One of your cronies just attacked me in the mobile unit,” Maggie said. “Care to tell me why you felt the need to chloroform me?”
“My cronies?” Mr. Black asked, frowning. “Whatever gave you the idea that I’d send someone to hurt you?” He looked her up and down, and a smile spread across his face. A horrible, menacing, shark-like smile that showed his true nature. A chill ran down Maggie’s spine. “Doesn’t look like they did a very thorough job. My men are thorough.”
The not-so-subtle threat hung between them like smoke. Maggie’s fists clenched. She felt a sharp sting near the corner of her mouth. When she licked her lips, she tasted blood.
“Not as thorough as Jake, it seems,” Maggie said.
“Mr. O’Connor does seem like the heroic type,” Mr. Black said. “Following you around like a lapdog, I see.” He looked meaningfully over her shoulder, and she didn’t have to turn to know Jake was there, near the edge of the tent, ready to help her if needed.
“You’ve been looking into things you’re not supposed to, Ms. Kincaid.” Mr. Black moved away from the table and stalked toward her as if she were prey. “I warned you, but you didn’t listen. You’ve given me no choice.”
He pointed at Jake behind her and looked at the circle of agents who were milling around nervously, pretending not to listen. “Gentlemen, please take Mr. O’Connor into custody. He broke into my car, and I’d like to make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble.”
Agent Collins moved forward tentatively, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his hand. Maggie glared at him. “Collins, you do not work for Black—you work for me.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Collins said. “We’ve got orders from the director himself.”
Maggie’s eyes widened, horrified at the implication. He hadn’t—he couldn’t . . .
“Ms. Kincaid,” Mr. Black said, brushing an imaginary speck off his shirt. “You’re fired. I’ve been given leave by the FBI director to take over this case. Special Agent Edenhurst has also been relieved of his duties—and reprimanded for bringing in a former agent who clearly still suffers from PTSD. Really, Frank,” he scoffed. “I don’t know what you were thinking. I know you have a fondness for her going all the way back to Quantico, but she never struck me as anything special.”
Maggie whirled around, looking at Frank, his wrinkled face somber and regretful. He gave her a quelling look, telling her all she needed to know. He was powerless.
She was powerless.
She watched in horror as Agent Collins slipped the cuffs on Jake’s wrists. Jake tensed, and for a moment she worried he’d fight Collins off. In a fair fight, Jake would win, but he couldn’t take all of them on. She had no idea what Black was capable of. He clearly had no regard for human life. He’d already sent someone to attack her under the noses of dozens of FBI agents. There was clearly no line he wouldn’t cross. She couldn’t risk Jake. She couldn’t let him get hurt because of her. Because he protected her.
She looked at Jake, silently begging him to remain calm, to not do anything stupid. Jake sighed, nodding his head to her silent request, letting Collins snap the cuffs shut without protest.
“This is insane,” she told Mr. Black. “What evidence do you have to arrest Jake?”
“I don’t need proof,” Mr. Black said smoothly. “One of the perks of being me.”
“Jake—” Maggie rushed forward, but two agents muscled in front of her, blocking her.
“You’re heinous,” she hissed at them. “Your own team leader is in that damn cabin, and you’re playing lapdog to this guy?” She jerked her thumb at Black. “Where’s your loyalty?”
“We’re just following orders, Kincaid,” said one of the agents.
“Don’t worry about it, Maggie,” Jake told her as Collins led him away from the tent. He smiled reassuringly at her, which just made her feel worse. “Concentrate on Kayla,” he called over his shoulder.
“That won’t be necessary,” Mr. Black said. He held out his hand. “I will be needing your phone.”
Maggie glared at him. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m giving Mancuso one hour to surrender,” he replied. “Then I’m sending a team in, guns hot.”
“That’s a terrible move,” Maggie said flatly. “He’ll blow that cabin—and everyone in it—sky high.”
Mr. Black shrugged. “Let us hope the SWAT team is better at neutralizing a slightly above-average thug before he drops the trigger.”
“How did your undercover operative fare against him?” Maggie said. “Because I’m pretty sure your ‘doctor’ is dead somewhere in the cabin. What do you bet, Black? Do you feel any remorse? You made a bad situation ten times worse. You could care less about body count here. Even if it includes one of your own!”
“Our jobs carry risk.” Mr. Black shrugged. “He was aware of that.”
“You’re a sociopath,” Maggie said, contempt dripping from her voice. “And you’re not even a smart one.
Mancuso’s willing to die,” Maggie said. “Look at his profile. You send someone in there, he will sacrifice his life for his mission. Or is that what you’re counting on, Black?”
Mr. Black’s placid face didn’t even twitch with emotion. God, what a monster. Maggie felt like spitting. Or slugging him.
“Your phone, Ms. Kincaid,” he said, his hand still extended.
Maggie made no move to give it to him.
“Don’t make me force you,” he said quietly.
The expression on his face, the muted anger hiding in his eyes, sent chills spreading through her body. She stood tall, refusing to look away. She would not show her fear. That’s what he wanted. “You sent one man after me and it didn’t work,” Maggie said. “How dangerous could you be?”
“I’ve kenneled your bodyguard,” Mr. Black pointed out.
“He’s a threat, isn’t he?” Maggie asked. “He got the drop on you.” A smile spread across her lips, making the cracked skin break and bleed, but she ignored it. “He’s good, you’re right. But I’m better. You haven’t begun to see what I can do.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to find out what I can do,” Mr. Black said, and the dark promise in his voice made the bad kind of goose bumps prickle across her skin. “Just give me the phone, Maggie, and leave like a good little girl, or I’ll have you escorted out in cuffs. The journalists would love that.”
She slapped the phone down hard on his palm, hoping it hurt.
“This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me,” she said.
“You better pray it is, for your sake,” Mr. Black replied, the warning clear.
She knew she should be scared of him. If Jake hadn’t intervened, she would probably be tied up in a car trunk on her way to a CIA black site by now.
But she was done with fear.
And she was done with Mr. Black.
Chapter 55
Two agents silently escorted her to her car. They refused to meet her eyes, and for the entire walk, Maggie seethed, furious at how easily they’d been swayed.
Even if she’d been an underling, even if she’d gotten a call from the director himself, she never would have fallen under Mr. Black’s thumb so easily. She knew better. Frank had taught her better.
Even Frank was powerless against Black.
But she wouldn’t let herself be.
“Thanks for the escort,” she said sarcastically as they got to her car. “I can take it from here. Maybe go concentrate on saving Agent Harrison’s life, if that even matters to you.”
They walked away, shame in their eyes. Maggie unlocked her car and got inside, gunning it out of the clearing because if she went slowly, she knew she’d turn back. And then Mr. Black would probably arrest her—or kill her.
Her headlights cut through the darkness as she made her way out onto the main road, driving away from the wilderness and toward civilization. The farther she drove, the harder it hit: the exhaustion, the panic, the worry. Everything that she’d been pushing down and pushing down, trying to ignore so she could do her job—now she had no excuse to ignore it.
Now she was free to scream and cry and throw things.
Kayla Thebes was going to die. She was going to die—and it was Maggie’s fault.
A car honked wildly at her, and she gasped, yanking the steering wheel to the right. She’d almost drifted into the other lane, distracted by her thoughts. The car sped past her, still honking.
She couldn’t take it anymore. This wasn’t safe. She’d been driving for only fifteen minutes, but when she saw the neon sign for a roadside diner, she pulled into the parking lot.
It was a kitschy place, with black-and-white checked tile floors and rickety Formica tables. She headed to the pay phone in the back, and with tired hands and a heavy heart, she dialed a number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” she said.
Twenty minutes later, a Buick pulled into the diner’s parking lot, and her mother, a petite woman with a shock of curly blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, got out.
“Sweetheart,” she said when she walked into the diner and found Maggie sitting in the far booth, a cup of coffee on the table in front of her.
“You look awful,” she said bluntly. It made Maggie smile. Her mother had never been one to beat around the bush. “When was the last time you ate?”
“I couldn’t eat anything right now,” Maggie said.
“I’m guessing your case didn’t end well,” she said, sitting down across from her daughter.
“It hasn’t ended yet.” Maggie’s voice shook. “It’s still going on. I just got fired.” Her face crumpled, hot tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “They’re going to die, Mom. And I can’t even be there to try to stop it. Just like Erica died because I wasn’t there to stop it. Because I left her behind.”
Her mother’s expression, her gentle face, full of warmth, flickered with concern and worry. “Sweetheart, that’s not . . . that’s not what you think, is it?”
Maggie stared at the depths of her coffee cup because she couldn’t look at her mother while she said it. While she admitted it. “I can’t forgive myself for what I did,” Maggie said in a hushed voice, her heart tearing in little pieces at the thought of Erica, of what she did. “I left her. I shouldn’t have.”
“Margaret.” Her mother reached over and grasped both her hands in her own, holding on tight. “Look at me.”
Maggie forced her eyes to meet her mother’s, terrified of finding blame there. Terrified she’d find all the hate she’d directed at herself for so long.
But she found none. There was unwavering love and sympathy in her mother’s eyes—nothing else.
“Losing Erica was the most devastating thing that could have happened to any of us. It’s not something I will ever be able to understand or justify or be at peace with. The only thing that would’ve been worse is if I’d lost both of you. Sweetheart, it was never your fault. The man who took you? This was his fault. His choice. His evil. You were a little girl. You did what your big sister told you to. And the fact that in her final moments, she knew you were running to safety . . . that you were going to be okay? That must have brought her—and will always bring me—more comfort than anything else ever could. You were so brave, Maggie. You did everything you could have to save her. I was so proud of you then—and now. Of the woman you’ve become.”
“I failed,” Maggie said. “I never found her. I tried, and I failed. So now you and I visit an empty grave next to Dad’s, and I—” She couldn’t continue, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“The point is that you tried,” her mother said, her eyebrows drawn tight in concern. “You looked for her for years. You didn’t give up.”
“But it doesn’t make me feel better,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t change things. It doesn’t change me. And now I’m sitting here, miles away, while Kayla Thebes’ life is in the hands of a man who couldn’t care less about it.”
The powerlessness, like being a bear in a trap, was overwhelming. Her wrists ached, her forever reminder. She didn’t even bother trying to hide her compulsive rubbing from her mom.
“Sweetie,” her mom reached out, placing her hands over Maggie’s, stopping the movement. Maggie’s cheeks burned. “I know it hurts,” she said quietly, brushing over the tops of Maggie’s fingers lightly. A light movement that soothed in the way only a mother’s touch could.
“If Kayla’s still alive, there’s still a chance, Maggie,” her mother said. “If she’s still alive, you haven’t failed yet, have you? Go back there. Be the woman I raised you to be. The woman Erica wanted you to be.”
Maggie looked at her, strength blossoming inside her. She couldn’t help but remember Black’s warning.
But she was done with warnings.
It was time for action.
Chapter 56
Jake had been escorted to one of the empty mobile units by agents who wouldn’t even meet his eyes. One of them cuffed him to the seat, and then they slinked out,
the shame coming off them obvious.
Jake shook his head in disgust. There was following orders—and then there was just plain wrong. And Black was all wrong. He felt it in every fiber of his being. Jake couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to end up at some sort of CIA dark site after Black botched this case—probably on purpose.
The worn vinyl bench he’d been tossed on was cool to the touch. There was a big rip in the middle of the seat, and for a moment, Jake considered digging through the vinyl to locate a spring, use it to pick the cuff locks.
It was a bad idea. He might be able to get out of the SWAT truck without being noticed, but getting past the cordons was nearly impossible. Black and his cronies would grab him before he took more than a few steps.
Jake’s hands clenched behind his back, trying to banish the pins-and-needles creeping up his arms. He needed to keep his blood circulating, just in case he had to fight.
He’d fought cuffed before, though he didn’t exactly relish the idea of doing it again. There were only so many moves you could make with such limitations. Brute force—the kind that killed—was usually necessary to win. And he knew Black would shoot him before trying to fight hand to hand. He was the type of man who relied on his gun more than his guts.
God, this was a fucked-up situation, Jake thought hopelessly. But he’d been in worse in the Middle East, and he knew there was no use in panicking. It wasted energy he might need.
He would try to stop Black, and he might succeed. But they were at the end of the line, and he knew it. Black had control, and he wasn’t going to give it up. It would have to be taken from him.