by Mary Stone
Morning breath or not, he deepened the kiss, tightening his grip to keep her in this bubble for as long as he could.
He’d never wanted to play hooky from work so badly before.
When she separated from him with a groan of reluctance, her blue eyes seemed brighter. He hoped the glint of longing in those eyes wasn’t just wishful thinking. Biting down on her bottom lip, she slowly pushed herself back to stand.
No, that glint hadn’t been his imagination.
22
Leaning back in the office chair, Bree tapped a couple keys on the laptop to bring up a video messaging app. She glanced from her phone to the screen a few times as she entered in Winter Black’s phone number.
After some much-needed alone time and a good night of sleep, Bree was confident that her hunch about Eric Dalton was right. The man hadn’t shown up to ask for Noah’s help. He had come to Richmond because he wanted something from his estranged son.
Though she hadn’t been able to figure out what that something was, she was sure enough in her theory that she’d brought it to Max Osbourne as soon as she arrived at the office that morning. After only a few seconds of contemplation, Max had nodded his agreement. They’d gotten word from Baltimore that the same trace evidence found on Drew’s clothes had been found in Natalie Falkner’s house and car.
There was no doubt that Natalie had been taken by the same people who killed Drew, but she hadn’t been taken as collateral for a cash debt. Eric owed the Russians something much darker.
Nothing else made sense.
Why else would the Russians have brutally murdered one of their own? And she absolutely believed that, even in the end, they’d believed Drew had been one of their own. All her contacts in the Baltimore FBI office and the Baltimore PD alike hadn’t caught wind of Drew’s cover being blown. And if things would have been different, she would have heard by now.
So, what was it?
The Russians’ agreement with Eric to launder money through his wife’s yoga studio wasn’t sensitive enough information for them to kill a loyal soldier, even if he had been asking questions about the arrangement. They might have roughed him up to make sure he stopped sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but they wouldn’t have killed him.
However, if their agreement with Eric Dalton involved more sensitive information, or information that was of dire consequence to them, then maybe the Russians would have thought to kill the nosy foot soldier.
The more sensitive the agreement, the harsher the penalty would have been for snooping around to learn the specifics.
And if the penalty for the curiosity was death, then the information must have been dire indeed.
Just as Bree thought Winter didn’t intend to answer the video call, the screen flickered to life. Her damp hair was freshly combed, but the strands still spilled over the shirt of her white blouse.
Bree offered her a smile and a little wave. “Morning. How are you?”
Winter shrugged as she scooted away from the camera. She was in a hotel room, and only a sliver of light pierced through the gap in the heavy curtains at her back. “I’m good. How are you? You holding up okay?”
At the concern on the younger woman’s face, Bree’s smile turned wistful. “You’re sweet. I’m all right, thank you for asking. Is Noah with you?”
Glancing to her side, Winter turned the camera of her phone to face a rich wooden desk against the wall. With the chair situated at an angle, Noah had propped his stocking feet atop the polished surface.
The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile as he raised a hand. “Hey.”
“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t realize how early in the morning it still was. Didn’t mean to interrupt you guys getting ready or anything.”
Did the agent turn a little bit pink?
Winter waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You’re fine. You aren’t interrupting anything. What’s up?”
Protest too much?
Forcing herself to focus back on the case, Bree tapped the edge of the laptop with an index finger. “It’s about the case.”
Glancing over to Noah and then back to the camera, Winter nodded. “We’re all ears. Shoot.”
“I don’t think Eric’s here because he owes the Russians money.”
Winter leaned forward, clearly not missing the hidden meaning in Bree’s comment. “What do you think he owes them?”
Bree yawned, not even bothering to cover her mouth. “I’m not sure, honestly. But whatever it is, it’s a big deal. And whatever it is, Noah, your father is in Richmond to get it from you.”
A heavy silence enveloped their digital interaction before Noah finally nodded.
“Something didn’t make sense about him being here,” Noah said. “Him here just to ask for help seemed farfetched, if I’m being honest. My sister and I talked about it the other day, and she didn’t think he was here just for help, either.”
Bree nodded her agreement. “I think Drew found out what it was, and I think that’s why the Russians killed him.” Even just the mention of her old friend’s name was enough to make her stomach churn.
“You think he wants something from me, and I’m inclined to agree.” Noah straightened in his chair and rested his feet on the floor as his green eyes met the camera. “I know I’m not officially on this investigation, at least not the part about Eric specifically, but I think I ought to be the one to ask him why the fuck he’s here.”
Clenching and unclenching one hand, Bree gritted her teeth. “I think so too. Let me go run it by Max, and I’ll get back to you. We can have someone come up to Baltimore to take your place, and then you can come back here to help me deal with Eric’s stupid ass. Because, anymore, I don’t see your involvement as a liability. I see it as an asset. Anything we can leverage against Eric Dalton, we need to use it.”
Noah’s mouth was set in a hard line as he nodded.
She didn’t need to speculate on whether or not Max would agree.
They needed to turn up the heat on Eric Dalton, and they needed to do it before anyone else got killed.
The man wasn’t a victim anymore. He was a suspect.
Swallowing the unexpected bout of nervousness, Noah turned away from the line to the Baltimore airport’s security checkpoint.
Winter lifted a manicured brow. “Got everything?”
He patted the pocket of his jacket to check for his phone. When he felt the shape of the device, he nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Though neither of them had given voice to the sentiment, there was an unspoken understanding between them that the case into Eric Dalton’s involvement with the Russians had taken a darker turn that morning. Whether that was the reason they hadn’t broached the subject of their night together or not, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Well, no time like the present, he thought.
Clearing his throat, he readjusted the travel bag slung over one shoulder. “So. Last night.” He sounded like an idiot. He knew it, but he couldn’t form a more eloquent sentence to save his damn life.
Winter scanned his face, a smile in her eyes. “No regrets. Don’t worry about it, okay? Let’s figure out what’s going on with Eric, then we can be grown-ups and have a grown-up conversation.”
His laugh sounded closer to a snort. “Good call, darlin’.”
As the next few seconds ticked away, the only sound was the drone of the airport in the background. He still couldn’t come up with anything to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a moron.
“Be careful.” Winter’s quiet statement snapped him out of the contemplation.
Clasping her shoulder with one hand, he offered her a reassuring smile as he nodded. “I will. You be careful too, all right? And tell Weyrick I said hey.”
She took a tiny step closer to him and reached up to squeeze the hand resting over her collarbone. “Will do. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
With one more gentle squeeze to her shoulder, he nodded again. “You will. Take care, sweetheart.”
Even if he knew he would see her again, he wasn’t so sure he would see her again like this. With the warm familiarity of a lover, or the comforting lull of hope.
He trusted Winter, and he trusted that she knew what she wanted.
But that didn’t mean that she would feel the same after she’d been given a few days of contemplation.
As he prepared himself for the series of security measures up ahead, he was struck with a sudden reality. Last night, they’d crossed the point of no return. If one of them backed away now, he wasn’t so sure their friendship would survive.
At this point, all he could do was hope. And god, he hoped the risk had been worth it.
23
Winter had no way to know if her nervousness about the uncertainty of her and Noah’s future was a mutual worry, but despite the lingering pang of anxiety, she felt as if a leaden weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She’d received a text message from Aiden to advise her that he’d made no headway into Justin’s case, and for the first time, Winter wasn’t assailed by guilt when she read the message.
Though the sensation wasn’t as noticeable as it had been earlier in the day, Winter had to put forth an effort to keep her walk at an even gait. Otherwise, she was sure she would have hobbled around like a cowboy or an old woman.
To be sure, the soreness between her thighs wasn’t obnoxious or frustrating, though the sensation had distracted her a handful of times. Even then, the thoughts and images that came to mind—the recollection of the dirty things Noah had whispered in her ear, for instance—brought the faint traces of a smile to her lips.
Whoever had coined the saying about everything being bigger in Texas hadn’t lied.
She only hoped that the first time they had sex wouldn’t be the last. The whole experience had been far too blissful to mark down as a one-off.
Males—some of them, at least—had a reputation for focusing strictly on their own needs in bed, but Noah was as far from the stereotype as a man could get. Just the thought was enough to make her insides tighten up with need.
Though the thought struck her as odd, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been that way with all the women he’d slept with. Just because Winter didn’t have much experience in the romantic relationship department didn’t mean she was naïve. A good-looking guy with a charming smile like Noah had probably been fighting off women for all his adult life.
As Winter mulled over the possibility, she was surprised by a pang of jealousy. Not an angry sense of envy, but a twinge of jealousy that she’d been dumb enough to wait this long when other women hadn’t hesitated at the opportunity.
Better late than never.
For the first chunk of the afternoon, Winter’s mind kept wandering. But when Bobby Weyrick strolled into the Baltimore field office, she finally managed to reign in her drifting thoughts.
To her surprise, Bobby wasn’t alone. At Bobby’s side, his tailored suit and his caramel brown hair as immaculate as ever, was Aiden Parrish. Winter double-checked her text message history, but nowhere had Aiden mentioned his intent to travel to Maryland. So far, the BAU hadn’t been all that involved in the Eric Dalton case, but after the death of one of their own, the bureau had decided to pull out all the stops. And, apparently, that included the Richmond BAU Supervisory Special Agent himself.
By the time Bobby and Aiden landed at the Baltimore airport, the audio forensics team had cleaned up the first chunk of Drew Hansford’s 911 call. So far, they’d only uncovered the identity of one speaker, but the man—a Russian mafia foot soldier—had been on the Baltimore PD’s shit list for years.
They knew his address, and by the time a pair of uniformed officers dragged the man into the office for questioning, Bobby and Aiden had settled in and made their introductions.
Now, Winter stood with Bobby, Aiden, and Marie Judd behind a pane of one-way glass. Since they had arrived, the man seated at the chipped table in the interview room hadn’t moved. If Winter didn’t know any better, she would have thought he hadn’t even blinked.
“Sergei Kolesov,” Marie Judd announced. “Even just getting his information was like talking to a brick wall. Forensics took his clothes, though. It’s too early to be one-hundred-percent sure, but Naomi said it looks like he had the same metal particles on his jacket.”
Bobby’s amber eyes flitted back to the glass as he crossed his arms. “Sounds like we’ll have him dead to rights, then. Any lead on who the other two voices with him might’ve been?”
Marie shook her head. “Not yet. They’re still cleaning up the rest of the audio file. Even then, it’s going to be tricky to make an identification with just a voice recording.”
Winter glanced from Marie to Bobby. “Sergei knows who the two people were, though.”
“He does.” Marie shrugged. “But, like I said, it’s been like talking to a literal block of concrete so far.”
Pale eyes fixed on the glass, Aiden stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “That’s not surprising. These guys, the Russians especially, they hold loyalty in high regard. To them, it’s better to go to prison than it is to be seen as disloyal. More often than not, they even think it’s better to die than become a rat. It’s a lot of cognitive dissonance and conformity.”
Winter nodded her understanding. She knew someone who could pry answers from the man, but Autumn was back in Richmond.
Not long after Autumn had confided in Winter about her sixth sense—her ability to size someone up with little more than a touch—Winter had asked her about the potential to conduct interrogations with suspects in custody. Not only did Autumn have the ability to sense a person’s motives, but she also had a Juris Doctorate.
It had been surprising, then, when Autumn’d shook her head and dismissed the idea. Not only did she lack the training necessary for suspect interviews, but her knack wouldn’t hold up under the scrutiny of a court of law. At best, using the ability in a criminal investigation was ill-advised, and at worst, it was unconstitutional.
Still, with the death of one federal agent and the potential risk to another—the man she’d just slept with—Winter would have been willing to roll the figurative dice.
“You know.” Bobby’s voice jerked Winter back to the dim room. The first hint of a smirk played along his face as his amber eyes shifted from Aiden to Marie Judd and then to Winter. “I was in the Special Forces for six years, and I learned a couple things from all those black ops guys I was around in the Middle East. There’s still a lot of hubbub about it for some reason, but the military’s known for a long time that torture isn’t effective. People are just as willing to lie about what they did or didn’t do to make the pain stop as they are to tell the truth.”
Winter turned to face him, one eyebrow arched. “I’ve heard that. There are scientific studies about it too, aren’t there?” Thanks to Autumn, she knew the answer to her own question, but she was still compelled to ask.
Bobby offered her an appreciative nod. “There are. But you know what is effective?”
Winter and Marie remained quiet as they waited for Bobby to elaborate.
“Leverage,” Aiden finished for him.
Glancing back to the glass, Bobby nodded. “Leverage.”
“Leverage?” Winter echoed.
Bobby gazed back at the man sitting on the other side of the glass. “Let’s take a look at Mr. Kolesov and see if we can’t find us some leverage.”
Though Winter could hardly imagine what type of leverage would be necessary to get answers from a battle-hardened Russian mobster, she kept the thought to herself.
Right now, Sergei was their best and only lead to figuring out what in the hell Eric Dalton was actually after.
No one knew Jon Falkner was dead. Ever since he’d received the news from Alek, Eric had kept
the knowledge to himself.
As far as everyone else was concerned, Eric hadn’t heard from the Russians since they told him they’d kidnapped Natalie.
Of course, that had been a lie.
Less than an hour ago, Eric had received a text from one of the Russians—he couldn’t be sure if the sender was Alek or one of the man’s goons. The message was clear. Eric had little more than thirty hours to deliver his promise, or Natalie would die. They’d even attached a picture of Jon. Eric had deleted the image immediately, unable to look into his son-in-law’s dead eyes.
Until he received the text, he hadn’t stopped to consider what else would happen if he failed to uphold his end of the arrangement. He knew without a doubt that the Russians would kill Natalie.
But what of the witness they so desperately wanted to find?
Based on Alek’s hurried tone and clear agitation the last time they’d spoken on the phone, the witness was critical to their organization’s wellbeing. They wouldn’t give up their search for the man just because Eric had been unable to deliver.
If Eric couldn’t convince Noah to give the location of the witness to Alek and his people, then they would go after Noah themselves.
At the thought, a pit formed in Eric’s stomach. He and Noah weren’t close, but he didn’t want his estranged son to become a target for the Russian mob. Risking Noah’s job was one thing, but risking his life?
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Eric stuffed the anxious thoughts into the back of his mind. For the first time, the bureau had facilitated a secure phone connection to allow Eric to speak with his wife. He didn’t want his voice to sound panicked or frightened. He wanted to reassure Kelly that they would be okay, even if he wasn’t sure of the statement himself.
Eric cast one last nervous glance to Special Agent Stafford before he raised the smartphone to his ear. Ever since the start of his debacle with the FBI, he hadn’t exchanged so much as a text message with his wife or his son, Ethan. He had the hidden prepaid phone to communicate with Alek and his people, but his own smartphone had been abandoned when he was shuttled off to the safe house.