Cold Wicked Lies

by Toni Anderson

  Behind a chair, beneath a rug, was a floor safe only he and his parents knew about. They had other larger caches dispersed around the building, one buried beneath the potato patch, another near the septic tank, one buried under the garage area that would require a jackhammer to retrieve, and yet another large one buried outside the concrete walls.

  No one knew about the gold. They might suspect, they might even have their own caches buried around the place, but he and his dad had buried their treasures before anyone had started arriving on their doorstep, looking for refuge and free board.

  TJ opened the safe and pulled out four thick rolls of hundred-dollar bills that he stuffed into the side pocket of his pack. He took a handful of gold coins and slid them individually into a gap he’d picked in the stitching of his jacket. He arranged the coins so they were evenly spaced and less likely to tear the lining.

  He closed the safe and hoped his dad forgave him for stealing, even though he’d always told him to use the money if he ever needed it. TJ knew Tom had meant if he was no longer around.

  He’d never defied his father before. Aside from sneaking out on Wednesday mornings, he’d been the perfect son.

  Now it was time to stand on his own two feet, time to find the woman he loved and decide what the next move would be for their future. If Kayla was alive, he wanted the chance of a life with her. Dying in a standoff was not part of that plan. Hiding in the desolate shell of a home for the next decade held no appeal either. Not anymore. He wanted to see the world.

  TJ headed out of his dad’s study and their apartment. He glanced up the stairs, into the part of the compound where other families lived. He used to feel guilty for having so much more space than the others, but it was something his father had insisted on when TJ’s mom had welcomed more and more “family” into their home. They could stay, but everyone pulled their weight, and the Harrisons’ living spaces were off limits. It was the only time TJ had seen his dad deny his mom anything. TJ was glad for that now.

  He headed north along their private corridor and approached the back of the structure. It was dark here. Shadows streaked the bleak 1960’s mud-colored walls.

  Guards had been positioned at the front and rear exit, but TJ wasn’t going out the main door. There was another way, a way no one knew about except him and his dad. The one he’d used for months to sneak in and out of the place without anyone seeing. A storage room led to a tunnel that came out in a culvert beyond the tree line.

  No lights shone nearby, but he knew his way blindfolded. He paused for a few moments, thinking he heard something scuff in the darkness, but decided it was his imagination. He put his hand on the doorknob and started to turn the handle. A powerful flashlight flicked on out of nowhere and dazzled his eyes.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Malcolm’s voice sliced through the darkness.

  What the hell? The guy was hanging out in the shadows, waiting to catch TJ unaware? TJ held up his hands to shield his eyes. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

  Someone grabbed his pack off his shoulders, and someone else caught hold of both his arms to restrain him.

  What the actual hell?

  Malcolm started going through his stuff.

  “What are you doing?” TJ struggled with the man confining him, but the guy was huge and didn’t budge.

  Malcolm pulled out a roll of bills. “Where d’you get the cash? You don’t have this sort of money.”

  How did he know what TJ had? Had Malcolm gone through his belongings?

  “Give that to me. You have no right to go through my things.” TJ tried to twist out of the grip of the man imprisoning him, but another one joined the first. They weren’t kidding around.

  TJ saw Malcolm’s fist heading toward his face a moment before it connected. Blood spurted from TJ’s nose as pain flashed bright white through his brain. He bit back a cry of agony.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” Malcolm started laughing as he shook out his fist. “Hurt like a bitch but was worth it.”

  “What’s going on here?” Tom Harrison’s voice echoed down the corridor. Brisk footsteps followed. Someone turned on the dim wall lights, and TJ blinked as Malcolm shone the flashlight into his face.

  “Your precious son was making a run for it,” Malcolm taunted.

  Shame crawled over TJ’s flesh as his father stared at him.

  “TJ wouldn’t do that,” Tom stated slowly.

  “His knapsack says different,” Malcolm amended.

  TJ hated the disillusionment he saw in his father’s eyes. Someone handed him the roll of cash, and Tom took it and flicked through it, knowing exactly where it had come from. Knowing TJ had stolen from him.

  “I was going to go talk to the Feds. Tell them what happened. Make them understand this was my doing and to leave you alone,” TJ said desperately. No way was he mentioning Kayla.

  “He’s running away. He murdered his girlfriend, and he’s running from justice, leaving the rest of us to take the fall.”

  “That is not true,” TJ snarled. “I never saw her before in my life.”

  His dad met his gaze but, for once, TJ saw doubt there. The fact his dad didn’t one hundred percent believe him was a kick in the gut.

  “Is she the one you’ve been sneaking out to meet?” Malcolm continued to pry open secrets that didn’t concern him.

  “Have you been sneaking out to meet a girl?” his dad asked him.

  TJ held his father’s gaze. “No, sir.”

  The disappointment in his father’s eyes almost defeated him, but he couldn’t tell anyone about Kayla. He couldn’t risk getting her involved in this mess until he knew what had happened on that mountain. What if she’d had something to do with the other woman’s death? What if they’d struggled, and the other woman fell or hit her head and died? What if it had all been a terrible accident?

  Right now, he was the only other person in the world who knew Kayla should have been on the mountain waiting for him. How would he find her if she’d left the campsite? Endless questions raced through his brain, and he needed answers.

  “What do you want to do with him?” One of the men holding his arms asked.

  Silence followed the question. Every man held their breath waiting to see what Tom Harrison would do with his normally pliable son.

  Malcolm spoke loudly, as if anyone doubted his point of view. “Send him out the front door and let the cops deal with him accordingly. Once they have him, they won’t be interested in the rest of us. He’s who killed her. He’s the one they were chasing. End this thing before anyone else gets hurt because of this monster.”

  TJ sucked in a shocked breath. Malcolm was painting him as a deranged killer. “I never hurt that woman. I never touched her.” TJ tried to take a step forward but, once again, two men held him back. “Dad!”

  “Place him in his quarters.” Tom stuffed the roll of cash into his pants back pocket.

  Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Not exactly the punishment I was thinking of.”

  Tom shoved Malcolm against the wall and got in the man’s face. “TJ isn’t the only one who goes sneaking in and out of the compound every now and then, now is he?”

  Malcolm’s lips narrowed, and he looked away. “That’s my business.”

  “Well, this is my property. My land. My son and my rules. You don’t like it you can gather your stuff and get the hell out.” Tom wasn’t shouting, but no one thought he was bluffing.

  Malcolm’s mouth twisted, and he fell away from Tom’s grasp, his jaw clamped shut in anger.

  What secret was Malcolm hiding? Why hadn’t his father mentioned it before?

  Tom looked at the men holding TJ but didn’t tell them to release him. “Put him in his room. Lock him inside.” He handed one of them the key he usually kept in his pocket. There was a spare in the drawer in the security room, which usually doubled as a general office.

  “Dad,” TJ implored.

  Tom took a step towards him, shaking his f
ist. “Do not speak to me.”

  “I didn’t do it! I don’t know her—”

  “I don’t care! You stole from me. You looked me in the eye and lied to my face.” Tears shone in his father’s eyes. “You tried to leave without talking to me first.” His voice broke. “You are all I’ve got, TJ, and I cannot lose you now. Lock him in his room until I say otherwise. It’s for your own safety.”

  TJ opened his mouth to defend himself, but his father was already striding away.

  Malcolm’s eyes glistened in the dim light, and TJ knew he’d played right into the man’s hands. A horrible feeling spread through TJ.

  Was Malcolm planning something? Had TJ somehow aided his cause?

  As he was shoved along back the way he’d come, TJ wondered what the hell was going to happen next.

  Once in his room, they tossed his backpack at him, and he caught it, standing uselessly in the middle of the familiar space. The other men left, and he heard the soft click of the lock.

  Had they locked the other doors that led into the apartment? Presumably.

  He needed to get to Kayla. He had to make sure she was safe.

  TJ wanted to yell and scream. How had he lost control of this situation? How had Malcolm figured out what he’d planned to do? How long had he known about the secret tunnel?

  Endless questions looped around his brain, but TJ was no closer to figuring out the answers than he’d been when he’d found the dead body in the woods.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Novak peeled open his eyes, instantly wide awake. He and Charlotte had called it a night at about two AM. The agent questioning the two men they’d caught on the mountainside still hadn’t returned, and McKenzie hadn’t been able to give them an update. Novak might have stayed in the Tactical Center longer, except Charlotte’s eyes had been drooping, and there was a general lull in activity. Usually being on someone else’s schedule would have pissed him off, but she’d had a hell of a day and hadn’t made a single peep of complaint.

  The negotiators hadn’t been able to contact anyone inside the facility. The FBI was in the process of tracking down Tom Harrison’s former military buddies and any close friends who weren’t cooped up with him on Eagle Mountain. Media and tech people were busy preparing to isolate and switch the video feeds without being noticed. On top of that they were still waiting on tests the ME was running and the reports on the trace evidence from the crime scene, the tent, and the SUV.

  The reconstruction of the fortress being built on a nearby military base was halfway finished. Charlotte had not been happy when she’d heard about that development, even though she knew it was standard operating procedure.

  He checked his cell for any urgent updates, but there were none. It was six thirty AM.

  The drone had sensed some movement on the other side of the door last night, but no one had come through it. Novak was convinced that this tunnel was the key to getting inside and planned to explore options later.

  He heard Charlotte turning over. Last night, he’d promised to wake her in time to shower before the eight AM team meeting, but he was reluctant because she obviously needed more than four and a half hours of slumber.

  He sat up and crawled down the ladder as quietly as he could. He was wearing his boxers and needed a shower. He glanced at Charlotte’s sleeping form, hesitant to wake her because she looked so freaking peaceful. But he’d promised, and he always kept his promises. Plus, he wanted to earn her trust. He leaned down and very gently touched her shoulder.

  Rather than finding himself flat on his back, her lids fluttered opened, and she yawned, throwing the covers back.

  Was that disappointment he was feeling that she wasn’t stretched out over him with her arm across his throat? Or some sort of primitive pride that her subconscious no longer considered him a threat? He told himself to be relieved not to have an elbow in his gullet, but paradoxically he missed the physical contact.

  Yeah, he was that desperate.

  “What time is it?” She sat up, leaning back on her elbows. He was so close to her the warm scent of her skin flooded his senses.

  “Oh six thirty.” His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and something else. Something he was working hard to quell.

  He realized he was a bit too close than was reasonable for a colleague and jerked away, only to whack the back of his head on the top of the bunk. He ducked out, stood, swearing under his breath.

  “Are you all right?” Worry colored her tone. She swung her legs out of bed and ran her fingers through his hair and over the back of his skull.

  “I’m fine.” He leaned into her touch, absorbing the comfort.

  “You know, you might be the clumsiest operator I’ve ever met.” She seemed oblivious to the way her arm wrapped around his, or her warm breast pressed against his back.

  But he wasn’t and, suddenly, wearing only boxers was a big mistake. Massive mistake. Sweet Jesus he needed to get out of here before she realized how fucking turned on he was.

  She stepped away, and he thought he was saved until there was a knock on the door. Rather than waiting for them to respond, the door started to open. Novak swung away and reached for the black pants on top of his kit bag. He saw Charlotte’s eyes widen to saucers as she spotted his tented shorts. Then her gaze shot to the door as her cheeks turned scarlet.

  McKenzie flicked on the light, and his voice cut through the quiet of the morning. “SWAT teams are almost here. Novak, I want you to tell them where to position themselves. ETA ten minutes. I want them deployed before dawn breaks.”

  Charlotte cleared her throat, and Novak swore she shot another look at his erection which was rapidly fading, thanks to the presence of his freaking boss.

  “What about me?” Charlotte’s voice was so high-pitched it was more of a squeak.

  “You two are glued at the hip,” McKenzie said sharply. “Remember?”

  Novak and Charlotte stood in frozen silence after McKenzie closed the door with a firm click.

  Glued-at-the-damned-hip was turning into a unique form of torture for Novak and probably terrified his female colleague. He stuffed his legs into his pants. “Sorry. I, hmm.” Fuck. He dragged on his socks and shirt, not knowing what the hell else to say.

  “It’s okay. I’m so sorry. I know it’s a morning thing. I apologize for invading your personal space a few moments ago. It must have made you very uncomfortable. Now, thanks to McKenzie, I still don’t have chance for a shower, but I appreciate you waking me.”

  He was fully attired by the time her mouth ran out of steam. He grabbed his cell and was on his way out, hand on the doorknob, when he paused and looked back at her. She stood there uncertainly in a baggy nightshirt that came almost to her knees but draped loosely over her shoulders, revealing the smooth hollows above her collarbones. Her arms drew up and crossed nervously over her chest.

  She was looking at him like she was worried she’d done something wrong, and he hated that.

  He cleared his throat. “For the record, it wasn’t a morning thing, and it wasn’t your fault. I apologize. It won’t happen again. I’ll let you get dressed and wait for you in the kitchen.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlotte had never been so confused in her life. The fact she was in a barn teeming with prime male specimens who were much more her type made her preoccupation with Payne Novak even more puzzling.

  Did Novak mean that he’d been thinking of someone else this morning, and that’s why he’d been aroused? Or that his body’s responses were his own responsibility? Or was he so packed full of testosterone that the simple proximity of any female near a bed made the blood pump south?

  Was it less about her and more to do with primitive male hormones?

  Had she imagined that flash of heat in his gaze yesterday?

  She wanted to know, but then why push the issue if she didn’t intend to do anything about it? He’d apologized, even though she was the one who’d touched him, she realized with a recurrent bolt of hu
miliation.

  She was a very tactile person, but that was no excuse. If he’d done that to her? She’d have been indignant and made uncomfortable, right? She wanted to close her eyes with humiliation. She especially shouldn’t have touched him when she was in her nightshirt and he was in his boxers, and they’d been alone in a room with two dense but totally functional mattresses a short step away. He could easily have gotten the wrong message.

  It was the wrong message, right?

  She watched Novak’s features tighten, brows clench, eyes narrow, lips pinch as he leaned over a map to figure out exactly how to distribute SWAT teams to form a secure perimeter. The sheriff’s deputies and state troopers would be moved back another half mile.

  Novak really was much better looking than she’d first appreciated. Apparently, it took working in close proximity and the viewpoints of two other women to even admit that to herself.

  She worked with good-looking men all the time. Dominic, Quentin, Max and Eban were all men who women fluttered over like nitwits—except their partners who were way too sensible to exhibit that nonsense. She’d witnessed it a hundred times and had women tell her how lucky she was to work with such hunks of men. It made her gag a little because they were her friends, more like brothers than potential lovers. She had never wanted to get sexually involved with any of them.

  Maybe she really was an old maid.

  But Novak had the kind of appeal her coworkers didn’t, rugged and less refined, but honest. Brutally honest. Her fellow negotiators were all tall, dark and handsome. Payne Novak was a Viking marauder in black Kevlar.

  Definitely not her type. Definitely not the man she imagined mowing the lawn every Saturday in July. She watched his hands as he pointed to different positions on the map.