Cold Malice

by Toni Anderson

  “Well, thanks for the ride, cowboy.” She grinned as if she wasn’t hurting on the inside. “I can now vouch for the sex god status.”

  He frowned. Then drew back, as if uncertain about what they’d done.

  Join the club.

  “Tess—”

  “Call me if you have any developments with the case.” She told him before he made promises he couldn’t keep. “Or if anyone tracks down that ass of an older brother of mine.”

  He smoothed his tie, avoiding eye contact as her heart shriveled. “Sure. Keep the doors locked. I put your Ruger on your bedside table. Ammo in the drawer.”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t move from the floor. She was too crippled on the inside. Instead she stretched out, gave him a lazy smile and then let one hand drift down, her fingers stroking over her nipple. As if she were simply a sensual creature who cared nothing about the emotions they’d disturbed like sediment in the water, clouding an issue that should have been crystal clear.

  Her body language said she didn’t need him to love her. That was for weaker people than her. The sad and the needy. Not the goddess he’d awakened.

  “Keep doing that and my ex-wife can forget it.” His voice dropped an octave as his eyes followed her hand.

  She smiled and didn’t stop and he took a half step forward before another text dinged. He groaned with what sounded like genuine frustration.

  “Bye, Mac.” She smiled, letting a little sadness seep through as he held her gaze.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow, Tess.”

  She shrugged like she didn’t care. Tension tightened his features. He looked pissed to have to be heading out to talk to his ex. Or maybe it was an act. Maybe he couldn’t wait to get out of here and away from the potential conflict of interest that Tess represented. And sex with his ex had once been good enough for a marriage proposal, so who said he wasn’t going to the pretty blonde for another round?

  She heard him pick up his things off the floor. The front door opened and shut quietly, leaving only the shame of their encounter behind.

  Cold washed over her but even as she shivered she didn’t get up. She closed her eyes at the realization she’d made another colossal mistake. In her sexual haze, she’d allowed herself to ignore the fact her feelings for this man had deepened. She admired everything about him, his determined search for the truth no matter the cost, his dedication to his job. Combine that with the hot bod, cute dimples and that profound sense of connection she shared only with him, she’d been foolish to assume she could keep her emotions out of this. Her heart was entangled as surely as when she’d been that moonstruck kid watching her idol drive away.

  Steve McKenzie was an FBI agent, one who’d saved her life and her soul. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t sacrifice her now, she realized miserably.

  When her teeth started to chatter she figured it was time to move. Tess rolled over on her side and put her hand out to push herself up. Her fingers curled around Cole’s data stick.

  She didn’t remember seeing the drive with her belongings earlier.

  Whoever broke in here tonight had been looking for something that wasn’t cash, or jewels.

  No sign of forced entry…

  Cole could not be the intruder.

  Her brother wasn’t that good an actor. Was he?

  Her fingers tightened on the hard plastic. She needed to know. Right this minute. She needed to find out if Cole was involved in this mess. She climbed to her feet. She wasn’t putting this off any longer. She needed to know the truth and she needed to know now.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mac’s entire body throbbed with well-used satisfaction as he drove down Wisconsin Avenue toward Georgetown. Mixed into it was the growing sense of “holy-shit what the hell did I just do?” The justification for having sex with Tess had seemed sound when his body was burning up with lust. Get close, gain her trust, use the attraction he couldn’t control to forward the investigation. Be a dedicated FBI agent. Take one for the team.

  The fact he was still buzzing from his brain to his balls was a bonus.

  Very noble.

  The truth was, he’d wanted her so much he hadn’t been thinking about the case or the consequences until he’d already been in too deep. He’d fucked her without a goddamned condom because he’d wanted her that much. He’d never had that little self-control before, not even with the woman he’d exchanged vows with. A woman he needed to convince to stop calling him unless she wanted to seriously piss him off.

  Except that was bullshit. He’d latched onto Heather’s text so goddamned fast he’d almost given himself whiplash. He was running away—not from what he’d done with Tess, but from the emotions that had assaulted him, before, during and after sex. So much for separating the two.

  Tess had morphed from quiet, serious tax accountant to uninhibited erotic nymph and had reduced his brain to ashes. But something had shifted at the end, possibly the rising horror at the stupidity of two supposedly intelligent adults having unprotected sex…

  Except it hadn’t looked like horror, it had been more like she’d turned into his most wanton fantasy, which in any other woman might have been aimed at keeping him around, but with Tess it had seemed like the direct opposite, as if she could take him or leave him—when earlier she’d just been desperate to take him.

  He ran his tongue around his teeth. He could still taste her and even that was enough to have him rising to half-mast. He hadn’t had this much trouble controlling his dick since he’d been sixteen and had been initiated into the fine art of fellatio by one of his father’s girlfriends. Miranda had hooked on the side and given young Stevie a freebie in exchange for the cup of coffee he’d made her. Fact was he’d been happy to talk to someone who didn’t want to kick the shit out of him at home. And she’d been happy to receive a simple kindness. Maybe he was now mature enough to admit part of the thrill had been in getting some small-minded revenge against the miserable sonofabitch who’d been passed out in the other room. At sixteen he’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

  He sure as hell would never forget Miranda Wyatt for what she’d done to him that day in that suffocating little trailer, but what Tess had done with him in her home had been a million times more powerful, a million times more emotional…right up until the moment it hadn’t.

  It had started off like an inferno. Hell, they hadn’t made it up the freaking stairs let alone to bed. They’d spent an hour and a half exploring things neither one of them should have had any business touching and at the time he would have sworn it had been good, honest sex, but…

  Thanks for the ride, cowboy?

  As if she’d picked him up in a bar and didn’t know his name?

  Cowboy? What the fucking fuck?

  He set his teeth and maneuvered toward Georgetown. It was so unlike the woman he thought he knew. He tried to pinpoint when the mood had shifted but the only thing he could think of was Heather’s phone call.

  Ah, fuck. He hung his head.

  That would do it.

  How to piss off the naked woman you were literally on top of and possibly inside—by getting a call from your ex that made you drop everything and run.

  Goddamn.

  His mind drifted to the way she’d touched herself like some sex kitten at the end. He’d almost passed out from sudden blood loss. Now he figured she’d been torturing him for being that prick who left to deal with his ex. He thought about the other things he’d said although details were blurry. He remembered something about walls, screwing and controlling someone through sex.

  What a fucking dumbass.

  He shook his head at himself.

  He’d hurt Tess and she’d shielded herself in the one way that she’d known would make him think she was fine with it. Not by being clingy and vulnerable, but by being a sexy, confident woman who didn’t need anyone. Because as far as she knew he was off for blonde dessert in the ’burbs.

  “Shit.” He thumped the steering wheel with his fist.

>   A patrol car put its lights and sirens on in the distance, speeding off to someone else’s crisis. Traffic was light at three a.m. There were definite advantages to working the graveyard shift. He pulled into a drive-thru to grab a coffee. He needed to go back and talk to Tess. Apologize for being a coward and refusing to face the fact he had growing feelings for her. Tell her she was important to him and maybe once this case was over they could see where this thing between them might lead.

  Another text from Heather dinged. This one said she had something important to tell him about his new girlfriend. What the hell? Did she know about Tess, or was she just fishing?

  Was Heather drunk? Did she think she could blackmail him into coming back to her? That was insanity. Should he call the cops? That made more than fifteen messages in twenty minutes. He’d already texted back a less than flattering response. Maybe she’d heard from Lyle’s lawyer or discovered that his new girlfriend was younger and prettier than she was.

  She was. He’d checked.

  One thing was for damned sure, if it was an emergency she’d have called 911.

  Divorce meant no contact as far as he was concerned. They didn’t have kids. There was no reason for them to ever communicate again. Heather probably had seduction in mind but he’d fulfilled his quota of screw-ups for the day and it wasn’t even four a.m.

  He debated whether to head back to Tess’s, or go to Heather’s, but he was sick of being hassled by his ex. It was time to put an end to the insanity.

  Mac parked his truck in front of the address Heather had sent him, a large house on the edge of Georgetown, so close to the Naval Observatory some of the lights from the buildings shone through the trees.

  It was a nice place. Near the woods, and not far from where the congressman had been shot. Trettorri was still in a coma. Mac had checked before he’d had mind-blowing sexual relations with someone who might know something regarding the shooter.

  He got out of the truck and shut the door calmly despite his anger. The wide, front lawn was sprinkled with dead leaves that rustled as the wind blew in a strong gust.

  A light was on upstairs.

  Mac needed to convince Heather he’d moved on. That he had someone important in his life now. His mind flashed to Tess and he swallowed.

  Regret ate him up inside. He needed to talk to her. Explain… Explain what? That, although he couldn’t be in a real relationship with her right now, it was a smart idea for him to stick close to protect her from Eddie? And as they were together anyway maybe they could just fuck like bunnies until this was all over because his dick couldn’t get enough of her and his head was having a similar problem?

  Just as long as his heart wasn’t involved.

  But it was. He knew it was. He hadn’t had the kind of emotionally derelict sex with Tess that he usually embraced. But he couldn’t promise her a damned thing except she’d almost certainly regret getting involved with him and might get hurt in the process. It was another layer of shit added on top of all the other crap she’d had to endure over the years.

  He couldn’t do that to her. He had to walk away before either of them got in too deep, and maybe it was already too late for one of them, but that was his problem and he’d take it to his grave.

  And as for starting something after the case was closed…what was the point? He was a career FBI agent. He wasn’t getting out unless it was in a body bag. And Tess Fallon, only surviving daughter of Francis and David Hines did not fit in with that life choice. No matter how unfair that might be.

  It was unfair.

  It was damn unfair, but he wasn’t sure what the hell he could do to change it.

  Heather’s crazy ex text spree had done them both a favor, he realized as he moved toward the front door, although it hadn’t felt like it at the time.

  The icy wind dragged its claws over his skin, telling him winter still had a firm grip on this part of the US. A decorative wreath formed a bull’s eye on the red, front door of the Georgian mansion. He rolled his eyes at the situation he found himself in. Then he dialed 911 and reported a disturbance at this address. Heather would never be tempted to text him again after this went down.

  He climbed the three front steps and pressed the buzzer. No one answered. Another strong gust of wind blasted and the front door moved slightly. Shit, it wasn’t even latched properly.

  A shiver of unease ran down his spine and he slid his Glock from its cradle.

  Heather had gone through a phase when they were married, texting him as if there was some major issue at home, only for him to rush back and find her waiting in bed wearing nothing but sexy lingerie.

  It was cute the first couple of times, but then it started to interfere with his job. It wasn’t long after he’d started ignoring those text messages that Lyle had started getting a little extra boardroom action. Heather did not like to be ignored.

  Mac forced himself to feel a little compassion for his ex’s situation. He knew how much it sucked to be cheated on. Heather might have genuinely loved the guy and might be heartbroken, but she needed to realize it wasn’t Mac’s job to fix that.

  He got another text.

  “I’m upstairs. Come on up.”

  He eased the weapon back into the holster but left the clip undone. Even if he’d been stuck on a desert island for the last two years with only his right hand for company, there was no way an hour with his ex would be worth the year of misery that was sure to follow.

  He’d risked more than that to be with Tess…

  Which was beyond reckless.

  Since when had personal relationships been more important than his career? Since never.

  Impatient with everything that had happened tonight, he pushed the door open. Cops would be here soon.

  Dammit, he was in the middle of a multiple murder investigation and was dealing with women problems? What the hell was wrong with him? He was about to text Heather back when he realized how ridiculous the whole situation was.

  He stepped inside and yelled up the white-painted staircase. “Heather! You better be decent. Cops are on the way!”

  The sound of a TV playing loudly came from somewhere on the second floor and drowned out his words. Dammit. He turned on the lights and took the stairs two at a time. The house was beautiful with hardwood floors and framed pictures on the walls. One oil painting was knocked off kilter and he straightened it out of habit. Most of the rooms were dark but light shone from beneath one door.

  Shaking his head, he knocked on that door. “Heather. If you want to talk to me you need to come out here with some clothes on. Uniforms are on their way. You said this was an emergency.” Again, no answer. Could she even hear him over the racket of the TV?

  Part of him wanted to walk away and never to hear from Heather Surrey again. But he’d once pledged his life to the woman and though he despised her for throwing that commitment back in his face, another small part empathized with the fact she was hurting.

  “And damned if she doesn’t know it,” he acknowledged to himself.

  This nonsense had to end. He blew out a big breath and reached out for the door handle.

  “Heather?” Still no answer.

  He stepped hesitantly into the room, which seemed to be a small living room off the master bedroom. The TV showed the news—weird considering Heather’s idea of keeping up with current events involved watching Entertainment Tonight.

  Something felt off. He stopped walking, eased out his Glock.

  “Heather,” he demanded louder.

  Still no reply. He eyed the closed door and made his feet stay firmly planted where they were. He narrowed his gaze thoughtfully, then crept closer and listened for a moment. The TV was too loud to hear a damn thing.

  He took hold of the knob, knowing he was going to feel like an idiot if the woman was trying to seduce him, but he couldn’t shake the sense of unease rattling along his nerves.

  He burst into the room, weapon drawn as he cleared the fatal funnel and kept moving left. His he
art squeezed as gore rose up his throat.

  Heather lay on the bed. Naked. Her arms were restrained above her head by two silk ties, her legs spread eagle. Duct tape covered her mouth. The only other adornment was a thick gold chain around her throat. Blood soaked the sheets from two bullet holes. One to the heart. One to the head.

  He strode towards her, gun raised as he searched for a pulse in her throat. Her skin was still warm, but she wasn’t breathing and she was way past saving. He glanced around. Was the killer still here?

  Had she waited here naked for him, only to be surprised by some opportunistic burglar? Had Mac taken too long to arrive?

  Was that a pulse? He pressed harder against her throat, trying to find the carotid.

  “Christ.” He pulled out his cell, dialed 911 again. “I’ve found a woman with a gunshot wound to the chest and head.” He gave the dispatcher the address.

  “Officers are one minute out,” she told him.

  “Tell them an FBI agent is on the premises. I’m going to search the house for the suspect.”

  He cleared the en suite and bedroom as efficiently as possible without disturbing potential evidence. He’d worked his way through another three bedrooms by the time the first cops arrived.

  “Up here,” he yelled. He held his gold shield aloft. “ASAC Steve McKenzie. FBI. Victim’s through there.” He pointed to Heather’s bedroom. “I haven’t cleared the whole house yet.”

  “We’ve got it.”

  One guy, a little on the heavy side, gray hair and a buzz-cut, eyed him warily. “You injured?” the guy asked him.

  “Nope.”

  “You know the victim?” asked the other cop, coming out of the room and shaking his head, confirming what Mac already knew.

  Mac wiped his jacket sleeve over his forehead. Nodded. “My ex-wife.”

  “You often visit your ex-wife in the middle of the night?” The cop’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “I arrived about eight minutes ago,” he told the first cop. “Found her like this.” He frowned. “She asked me to drop by. Sent me dozens of texts.” He held out his cell phone to show the guy.