The building was Hoover’s baby but the father of the FBI had died before construction finished. It took up two and a half million square feet and housed over seven and a half thousand staff. They even had their own Starbucks on the ground floor.
He crossed E. Street and walked up to the window of Lincoln’s Waffle Shop opposite Ford’s Theatre.
The place was packed but his wife was easy to pick out of the crowd.
Ex.
Ex-wife.
It had been two years and he still had trouble getting the terminology right. That was the problem with saying what you meant and meaning what you said.
What the hell was he doing here?
Heather Surrey was a short, bubbly blonde who had the sort of curves that made a man’s palms itch. Not him though. Not anymore. She wore a bright crimson coat and matching hat. The color reminded him of how much she’d made him bleed during the divorce proceedings.
Looking at her now, he hardened his jaw along with his heart. He’d been curious as to why she wanted to talk to him, but now he didn’t want to know. He was about to turn and run when she spotted him, stood, and waved.
Damn.
Reluctantly he went inside. The waiter, a squat, harried little man, asked him where he wanted to sit.
“Unfortunately, I’m meeting someone.” Mac pointed to a smiling Heather who held out a chair for him—as if they hadn’t parted bitter enemies.
He so did not want to be here.
Mac wound his way through the tourists and locals, all happily stuffing their faces in the cramped setting. It was noisy and overcrowded, and popular enough for there to be a line out the door during the breakfast rush.
This wasn’t Heather’s usual kind of haunt. She liked high-end, waiter service and linen napkins. He’d picked it for that exact reason. Plus, it was close to work.
She went to kiss his cheek but he avoided her by sliding into his seat. As hot as she undoubtedly was, Mac found it hard to believe the two of them had ever been a couple, let alone a married couple. He must have been temporarily insane.
“You made it,” she said with a wide smile like they were old friends. Technically speaking, he supposed they were.
Ex.
Ex-friends.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t fully come to terms with the altered status of their relationship.
The look in her eyes suggested she hadn’t thought he’d come and was relieved he hadn’t stood her up. Unlike some people, he always kept his promises.
“What do you want, Heather?” he asked without preamble.
Her expression tightened at his less than friendly tone. She drew in a breath and watched him through her lashes. “I wanted to touch base now you’re in DC.”
Geography hadn’t been the problem. Her touching other people’s bases had.
He leaned back in his chair, his long legs stuck out to the side of the small table to avoid any accidental contact with hers. “And how’d Lyle feel about that?”
She swallowed tightly and turned her attention to the flyers on the wall. “Lyle isn’t in the picture anymore. I left him.”
And everything became crystal clear. He should stand and walk out, but his inner sadist was obviously working overtime.
Before Quantico he’d been based in Philly, which was where Heather met Lyle when she’d taken a job as the asshole’s PA. Lyle was a hotshot partner in a law firm with offices all over the country. After the divorce, she and Lyle had gotten hitched and settled in DC, which had suited Mac fine, until yesterday.
Mac said nothing. Anything he did say would be used against him.
The waiter came over. “What would you like to order?” the man demanded brusquely.
Mac picked up the menu, staring at it blindly before realizing he’d lost his appetite. “Coffee with milk, please.”
“French toast for me.” Heather gave the guy a bright smile as fake as her new breasts.
Mac frowned. What did she want from him? Money? He didn’t have any. Blood? She’d already sucked him dry.
She filled his silence. “I thought that maybe…” Her fingers reached over the table, edging toward his. Whoa! He withdrew his hands into his lap as if she was a cobra about to strike.
No fucking way.
This was not happening.
Not when everything was going so well.
The only kind of woman he wanted in his personal life right now was the type who wanted to use his body for a few hours of sexual gratification, and only on the condition it didn’t interfere with work. Names were optional. Numbers were off the table. No one was getting between him and his goals.
His coffee arrived, thank God. Mac added one sugar, stirred, took a sip and then put his cup back down on the table, hoping it would be enough of a barrier between him and whatever fucked up drama was about to come out of his ex-wife’s mouth.
Heather plowed on and he must be a callous bastard because rather than shutting her down, he let her spell it out. “I thought that maybe we could, you know, give our relationship another chance?” She was looking at him with big blue eyes and another man’s diamonds on her fingers.
“Are you insane?” He leaned forward so he didn’t have to raise his voice. “You dragged me through the courts, accused me of being abusive, attacked my reputation. Hell, you even took the fucking cat, and you don’t even like cats. Now you want to get back together?”
Heather’s lips pinched at his use of bad language but he was done pretending to be something he wasn’t. He cursed. A lot. And he goddamned liked it.
“I loved that cat,” she argued.
Loved? Past tense. So the cat was dead and she’d never bothered to tell him. The woman was a piece of work.
She reached out and finally placed her hand on the back of his. He forced himself not to flinch.
“I was hurt and lashing out. I said things I didn’t mean.”
“Heather.” He slowly withdrew his hand, relieved there was no trace of the lustful insanity that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. “I found out that taking dictation in your boss’s office involved you naked on his desk. What the hell did you think I’d do when I found out, join in for a threesome?”
Mac realized he was speaking too loudly when the woman at the table beside them glanced over with interest lighting her gaze.
“Lyle was a mistake,” Heather said determinedly. “He used his position to seduce—”
“Heather,” he growled.
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
He didn’t look away or back down. She’d gotten away with shit her whole life because she was a spoiled brat who knew her way around men’s egos the way a Russian spy knew his way around a hidden camera. “Don’t bullshit me. You liked the fact he was loaded—”
“I liked the fact he was there!” she raised her voice and then glanced around in consternation.
“Well, that hasn’t changed, darlin’,” he drawled and on cue his phone rang and he checked his messages. He smiled sharply. “Like the ladies, my job always comes first.”
With a patience that was new, she gathered her temper rather than lash out at him the way she probably wanted to. She must be desperate.
“Look, Mac, honey, I still love you. I want to try again.” Her fingers played with the sugar packet in front of her. “You have to admit we had something special. We were married for two years.”
“During which I was faithful and you were not,” he said coolly. “That’s not what I consider a real marriage.”
Heather glared at the woman beside them who was now openly eavesdropping. Mac winked at their spectator. She was easily sixty, possibly much older and appeared to be enjoying herself. At least someone was having fun.
“I made a mistake. It’s you I love. You I want to be with.”
He resisted rolling his eyes at the dramatic emphasis. After the way she’d hurt him he’d thought he’d enjoy seeing her crawl, but it turned out to be just as unsatisfying as the rest o
f their relationship. The real problem with their marriage was demonstrated by the fact she’d hurt his pride, not his heart. They’d never really been in love, just in lust and too stupid to appreciate the difference.
He finished his coffee, took a deep breath and said gently, “It’s over, Heather. We are never gonna happen.”
“Why not? We can make it good again—”
She was giving him a headache. He gritted his teeth. “Because I can’t forget you went behind my back, fucked that asshole, and then flat-out lied about it.”
Heather hissed back at him, “I made a mistake! Isn’t that one of your mantras about criminals? ‘Sometimes people make mistakes and poor choices, it doesn’t mean they’re bad people?’”
“Doesn’t mean I want to be married to any of them.” He was breathing heavily now. Trust Heather to use his empathy as a weapon against him.
He leaned farther across the table as more customers began to stare. All he wanted was to do his job and she was getting in his way. Time to make his position crystal clear. “You betrayed our marriage. You broke solemn vows. And then you dragged me through the courts, called me a bad husband, took my fucking cat, and you think I’d ever want to get back together with you?” And then he got it. “Lyle’s the one who had an affair, isn’t he?” He laughed though he shouldn’t. This was karma. “Is he fucking his new PA? Maybe he thinks it’s part of the job description?” He chuckled, knowing he was being an asshole now, but wanting to end this charade.
Heather picked up her bag and stood. “I should have known you’d never be able to forgive one little mistake.”
“It wasn’t ‘one little mistake,’ darlin’. It was a great, big, gigantic ‘fuck you’ to our marriage. And I got the message. Loud and clear. I may be a dumb cowboy, but I never make the same mistake twice.”
Heather slapped him and his eyes popped. Fuck.
“This was your last chance, and you blew it,” she spat.
Cheering would be wrong, right?
She headed to the door even though she hadn’t paid a bill.
Classic Heather. Just like old times. He rolled his eyes, threw down a twenty and followed her outside into the bleak winter chill. DC was having a cold snap but having grown up in Montana he’d experienced far worse.
It was too much to hope the woman had actually left. Where was the drama in that? She waited for him on the sidewalk, not yet satisfied with her pound of flesh.
“You think you’re so important being a federal agent. You think you’re so smart and dignified.”
He almost snorted at that. It was hardly dignified to be fighting with his ex on the second day of his new job. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited her out. He wanted her to say her piece and leave.
“You’re constantly trying to make up for being poor white trash, but you know what, Mac?” Heather stuck her hands on her hips and leaned toward him. “You’ll always be poor white trash.”
He narrowed his eyes and kept his mouth shut. She knew his weak spots. No way would he let her see her words had the power to affect him.
Pissed at not garnering a response, she turned and walked away.
Hallelujah.
A young man of about twenty whistled as he watched her go. “You were married to that?”
He eyed the guy who, in turn, was eyeing his ex-wife’s heart-shaped ass.
“Trust me, pal, it isn’t worth it.”
The guy shook his head, “I don’t know, man…” He looked tempted to go after her. Worse, Mac knew Heather would lap up the attention.
“Save yourself some heartache and find yourself a nice Doberman.” Mac put his hands on his hips and sighed. Men were inherently stupid when it came to chasing the wrong kind of woman. “Make sure you get your shots before you exchange bodily fluids.”
The guy grinned at him and started walking. Poor kid.
A couple of suits came out the door and eyed him curiously. He recognized them from HQ. Great. He stared down at the pavement beneath his feet. A couple of days in DC and he was already making an impression. He also appreciated that just because Heather had walked away didn’t mean she’d given up. He’d challenged both her femininity and her pride.
The good news was she didn’t know where he lived. The bad news was he was going to have to change his cell number. It was either that or murder her in her bed—and that probably wouldn’t be beneficial for his career aspirations either.
* * *
Tess wasn’t cut out for the espionage business. After a sleepless night, she’d decided to follow her brother and see what Cole was up to, whom he met. Anything was better than sitting home worrying about what the heck he was mixed up in. He spotted her coming out of a Metro Center turnstile before she’d even left the station.
“Hey, sis, where you off to?” He waited for her to catch up with him and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, giving her a hard squeeze. She’d spent the morning working on her laptop in a coffee shop near his local Tenleytown metro station. Spotted him walking down the hill close to eleven-thirty. She’d gathered her things and thought she’d done an okay job of following him without being seen, until now.
“Cole.” She forced lightness into her tone, kissed his cheek, noting the clean shave and spicy aftershave he was wearing. Part of her wanted to scream questions at him and shake him until he told her everything. Another part of her was sick with guilt for not trusting this boy whom she loved with her whole heart.
But he wasn’t a boy any longer, she reminded herself. He was a tall, handsome adult—who had the image, name, and address of a murder victim in his desk drawer. She needed to understand what was going on.
“I have a client meeting at one. Thought I’d check out the new exhibit at the Natural History Museum beforehand,” she lied.
“You always were a nerd,” he teased.
“Says the kid who writes code.”
“Nerds rule.” Cole bumped her shoulder and she laughed.
No way was her brother involved in murdering a mouse, let alone a federal judge.
“Where are you off to?” She strove for casual, but her voice cracked a little at the end.
“Meeting a friend.”
“Anyone I know?”
He avoided her gaze, suddenly evasive. “Someone from college.”
He was lying. She could tell from the way his ears turned pink. Her mouth went dry. Why would he lie about that unless he had something to hide?
She looked away before he noticed she’d noticed. He’d never kept secrets before—not that she knew about. How many other signals had she missed?
They walked past Ford’s Theatre. On the other side of the road a woman in a scarlet coat and hat was berating a tall, handsome guy in a gray suit.
He seemed vaguely familiar.
She frowned. Who did he remind her of? She couldn’t place him. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Or the confident stance that reminded her of someone. Maybe it was the fact she’d watched Jurassic World last Saturday night and Chris Pratt star-featured in her recent fantasies.
“They’re in the middle of a domestic, Tess. Don’t embarrass them by staring,” Cole chastised her and she let him propel her forward, almost giddy with relief.
“He looks familiar.” How could she think a boy who worried over someone being embarrassed would cold-bloodedly murder two people in their own home?
Cole said something else and then snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You’re still mad at me for forgetting you were coming over yesterday, aren’t you?”
Duh. “No.”
His lips curved. “I don’t believe you.”
“Fine. I was mad, but I’m not anymore. Is it a female friend you’re meeting today? Maybe the one you blew me off for yesterday?” She winced at her lack of subtlety.
Cole laughed. “I didn’t blow you off! I forgot, all right?”
“What’s her name?” She was appalled with herself for needing him to give her an alibi, but she pressed on r
egardless.
His smile was forced. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Tess made a wry face, knowing she needed to drop it before he got suspicious. “Well, at least one of us has a love life.”
He grimaced. “I don’t want to think about my sister having a love life.”
“Your brotherly outrage is a moot point right now so don’t worry about it.”
He gave her a long look. “Jason was an asshole. You need to get over him. You’ll find someone a thousand times better and he might be worthy enough to deserve you.”
She smiled. This was another reason she loved her brother so much—he believed in her when she didn’t believe in herself. She wanted to ask him straight out about the file in his desk. Surely there was a rational explanation. She opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come.
What if he lied?
It would kill her.
No matter how much she wanted to, she didn’t do blind trust anymore. Six months ago, her boyfriend had eloped with her best friend in the worst kind of clichéd love triangle. Jason and Julie’s betrayal had blindsided her, but had been a timely reminder of all the reasons not to take anyone at face value. Not even her brother. She needed proof, not words.
“What time are you finished with your client?” Cole asked.
She blinked stupidly for a moment and remembered her cover story for being here. “Not long. About two? Two-thirty.”
He checked his phone. “How about you call me when you’re done and we’ll head back to my place together? I’ll get the rest of those details you need for my taxes.”
And she could accidentally on purpose find that file with the photo inside and confront him directly. Gauge his reaction.
“Sounds good. I’ll text you and meet you at the metro.”
“See you later.” He tugged her hair lightly and walked away, getting lost in the crowd before she remembered she was supposed to be following him.
Darn.
She turned around and realized she stood at the southeast corner of the Hoover Building. Abruptly she was bombarded by a series of frightening memories and coincidences that seemed to be trying to tell her something. The FBI. A picture of a dead judge in her brother’s desk. Cole refusing to tell her who he was meeting for lunch.
Cold Malice Page 4