Authors: Toni Anderson
He shrugged. “They had some big old country estate in Gloucester, but not enough space for their youngest daughter and her infant son apparently. I haven’t looked into it. Mom didn’t talk about them. They didn’t want her, so I didn’t want them. Probably a little immature in terms of attitude, but it works for me.”
She smiled. “I can live with immature. I just don’t like nasty.”
“I don’t like nasty either.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He was probably remembering the important work he did, work she was taking him away from.
“Have you caught many serial killers?” The idea of a human predator was chilling; someone who enjoyed killing for killing’s sake. Who would do that?
“It isn’t like the way they show it on TV. I rarely get to arrest anyone.” His quick grin suggested he did it sometimes though, and enjoyed it. She almost made a joke about him arresting her, but didn’t want to destroy the easy truce between them. “My profiles have helped narrow the suspect pool and aided convictions, but the most important thing in catching serial killers is good police work and solid investigations.”
He was being modest. Obviously he was good at his job. Good at tracking down killers. He was tough and smart—she could see him going head-to-head with monsters. She didn’t like that idea at all. “What qualifications do you need to be a profiler?”
“Behavioral Analyst,” he corrected, then shot her a glance. Maybe he realized she needed to be distracted from the huge hulking shadow of horror that the mansion represented. Stupid to be nervous of a building when she was being hunted by someone as ruthless as Andrei Dorokhov and some shadowy spy.
“You need a four year degree and three-to-ten years of experience in the FBI dealing with violent crime. But it’s very competitive, so even if you cross all those boxes you’d need to find a way to stand out of the crowd.”
“Like maybe being a Navy SEAL?”
“It didn’t hurt.” He slid her another grin.
A little pop of lust reminded her of the feel of his lips on hers. She’d much rather think about lusting after Matt than about serial killers. The timeline put him probably in his mid-thirties.
“The most important quality is the ability to avoid getting sucked into the darkness of the crime scenes, and being able to see clues amongst the gore—my time in the military got me used to gore.” Silence simmered for a moment. “You also need a really good memory.”
“I have a good memory.” Scarlett sometimes wished she didn’t, because maybe then past slights wouldn’t hurt so much. “But I couldn’t cope with the subject matter.” She swallowed to ease a suddenly dry mouth. “It’s too…”
“Yeah.” Matt nodded slowly. “It is.”
They were almost at the house. A huge, elegant holly wreath decorated the front door. Somehow the reminder of Christmas didn’t make it feel any more festive. She squared her shoulders. She could do this. It was just a house, not the
Lubyanka
.
Alex Parker stepped out the front door and indicated they drive around the side of the house. He was in jeans and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt. They pulled into a five car garage beside a Bentley, an SUV, an Audi, and a Mercedes.
Crikey.
Matt got out and slammed the door. She scrambled to follow, dragging her blanket around her waist like an extra-long kilt. Parker raised a brow at her attire, then nodded his head to indicate they follow him. Even without its disturbing history, the house was so out of her social circle the whole experience felt surreal. She felt like she was in a movie. Groomed grounds, dormant and cold, surrounded by a dense, dark forest. She shuddered as she remembered what had happened in those woods.
They went inside, through the mudroom into a big, brightly lit kitchen to find Mallory Rooney pouring champagne into glasses of orange juice. Scarlett hovered uncertainly near the center island. The last time she’d seen Rooney was when Scarlett was being questioned at FBI HQ after she’d broken into the Russian Ambassador’s office.
What did she think about Richard Stone’s daughter turning up at her family home? Especially during the first Christmas they’d had since they’d solved her sister’s abduction case.
“Matt, Dr. Stone.” Rooney nodded determinedly. “I’m going to take these through to my parents in the drawing room and I’ll be right back.” She headed off with the tray.
Parker pointed to the stove. “There’s soup and bread if you’re hungry. The housekeeper went off to a carol service but she’ll be back later. I told Mal’s parents this was a time sensitive matter and the less they knew the better. Trust me. They won’t interfere.”
“A federal judge and a retired senator minding their own business? What did you put in the soup?” asked Matt.
Alex grinned. “I have a few aces up my sleeve.”
“Thank you.” Scarlett smiled. Then it faltered. “But considering what happened to Maidstone, perhaps we shouldn’t stay here.”
Matt put his hands on her shoulders and she relaxed a fraction.
Alex’s eyes flickered over the connection. He turned away and pulled bowls out of the cupboard, serving up food even though Scarlett wasn’t sure she could eat.
“Right now the Russians and feds believe you’re dead and no one’s looking for you, yet. That will change as soon as the cops run that print from Maidstone’s house. I have an alert placed inside the system so we’ll know when we need to start worrying. It won’t be long.”
“I-I don’t want to put you out,” she stammered.
“She’s freaked about what happened here.” Matt ratted her out.
“I had the security completely overhauled.” Parker held her gaze and obviously recognized her unease for what it really was—cowardice. “You can relax for a few hours. It’s safe. I wouldn’t let Mallory stay here if there was any danger.”
The FBI agent came back into the room with raised brows. “Wouldn’t
let
me?”
Parker mouthed a curse.
“Busted,” Matt said in an amused undertone.
Parker grimaced. “How about ‘Would do everything in my power to help keep you safe?’”
“Better.” Rooney leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “But you need to work on remembering that while I might be pregnant, I’m also a federal agent who can take care of myself. I have a job to do and I don’t need you to protect me.”
Parker managed to choke down whatever he wanted to say, with effort.
Rooney handed Scarlett a pair of yoga pants.
She took them, surprised and grateful. “Thank you. Congratulations on your pregnancy, by the way. I had no idea.”
Rooney smiled. “It’s not for general consumption as I’m not that far along. But it might help you understand why Alex is so over-protective. The pants are capris on me, so shouldn’t totally drown you.”
She went into the mudroom and slipped the pants on beneath the blanket. When she was done she folded the blanket neatly and placed it on a stool beside the backdoor so they didn’t forget it on the way out.
By the time she got back, Matt had grabbed a bowl of soup and started eating. Apparently nothing put the man off his food.
“Is Maidstone still alive?” he asked between bites.
Parker nodded. “In ICU, but he doesn’t look good. Frazer managed to finagle some security for the guy.”
“How do you know the guards are trustworthy?” Scarlett asked, then grimaced. These people all worked for the FBI too.
Alex Parker grinned. “He was able to hire some people from my firm at a very good rate. Trust me, they’ll keep Maidstone safe.”
“But
why
should I trust you?” she asked in all seriousness. “No one has ever listened to me before. How do I know you’re not just placating me until I’m arrested or Dorokhov turns up to claim his prize?” She shifted from one foot to the other, half-tempted to run and not knowing where she’d go. Was she being a fool? Was she being lulled into a false sense of security? Matt trusted these guys, but she didn’t know them at all. She didn’t really know Matt either, for that matter—he’d arrested her once already, she had no doubt he’d do so again if ordered.
But she did trust him, as naïve and dumb as that seemed.
Alex’s gray eyes were suddenly piercingly direct and she felt as if she was seeing another side of the seemingly easygoing guy. “You shouldn’t trust us. Not without more information. But know this—if I was going to betray you to the Russians or to some other unknown entity, I wouldn’t do it here. I wouldn’t put Mallory in danger—gun and all.” He acknowledged his fiancée’s stare with a humorless smile. “But look at it this way, if you’re mistaken about your dad being innocent, then all we’re doing is giving you protection while Dorokhov cools his jets—no harm, no foul. On the other hand, if you’re right about your father, then the FBI and CIA fucked up, and there’s a good chance a Russian agent is still active within the US system.” His lips curled slightly. “One of my specialties is cyber-security, which means he’s probably circumventing everything I do from the inside. That makes me look bad.”
“
Now
you care about appearances?” Rooney snorted as she chewed a piece of fresh bread.
“Well, my future wife seems to like her job, and I want to know she’s working for the good guys.” Parker shot Rooney a grin that turned him from nice looking into devastatingly handsome. The glow on the other woman’s face said she knew exactly how gorgeous her man was.
“So assuming I’m right,”
because she was
, “you guys create profiles. What type of characteristics are we looking for in a spy?” Scarlett asked.
Matt and Rooney looked at each other. Matt gave Rooney a nod.
“Most exhibit antisocial behavior—think classic sociopath who only care about their own needs with no sense of right or wrong.” Rooney looked enthusiastic about her subject. “Many show traits of narcissism and grandiosity with a huge sense of entitlement, decided lack of empathy. When they don’t get what they think they deserve they blame other people and can be petty, vindictive, and vengeful.”
Matt took over. “Impulsive, immature. Emotionally unstable assholes unable to form a commitment. They can’t stick to one career choice, often have affairs and can be reckless to the point of lunacy because they think they’re better than everyone else.”
“None of that sounds like my dad.” Scarlett interrupted. “He was career law enforcement, did a stint in Vietnam and was given a medal for bravery. He and my mom were high school sweethearts.”
“Profiles can be wrong.” There was sympathy in Rooney’s eyes. “But, you’re right. Richard Stone doesn’t fit the typical profile of a spy.”
“And I’d agree on the psychological traits of spies with one caveat,” Matt added. “If someone was being blackmailed because of some indiscretion then they might spy for Russia for different reasons.”
Rooney nodded in agreement. “Motive is everything. Can we actually assume Dorokhov
was
a spymaster?”
“I checked out some more of his background but frankly the information is spotty,” Parker admitted. “Dorokhov has been what the Russians professionally term as ‘framed’ and is now squeaky clean. Even his KGB roots have been sanitized. According to documents, he’s a career diplomat with modest Russian origins. In reality he’s been holding hands with leaders in the Kremlin for the last twenty years—he and the president both served in Germany at the same time and have apparently been friends ever since.”
Powerful friends indeed. Powerful enough for the man to be confident in acting alone? Scarlett hoped so. The idea Dorokhov had the approval of his government in killing her sent a shiver of unease along every nerve in her body.
“Have you heard anything new on the other investigations?” Matt asked between bites. He noticed she wasn’t eating and pushed a bowl and a hunk of bread in her direction. “Eat.”
She didn’t think she could, but when the soup hit her tongue she discovered she was ravenous.
“Bomb blast on your boat is a federal investigation involving too many agencies to name. All members of Special Forces community have been told to ramp up personal security.”
“I shouldn’t be wasting time or resources like this.” Matt’s jaw firmed.
“You gave us an advantage that we needed to run with,” said Rooney. The female agent turned her clear gaze on Scarlett. “Have you given any thought to just disappearing?”
She felt her eyes bug. “I-I can’t. I have a job, a scientific reputation—”
“Which will mean zip if you wind up dead,” said Matt.
She folded her arms. “So if you had to give up being a federal agent…you’d just be okay with it?”
He raised his brow. “I’d have considered the risks before I took the law into my own hands.”
Rooney had effectively reminded him that this whole situation was Scarlett’s fault.
Great
.
“You know why I did it. No one would listen to me. My plan was to call Dorokhov and then see what he said when he put the phone down afterward. That was it. No State secrets. No great invasion of privacy.” All three operators exchanged glances. “I had to see if I could find any information that would prove Dad innocent before…” she trailed off, not wanting to think about the other battle her father faced—a more personal one as cells metastasized throughout his body. She closed her mouth. Nothing she said could change what she’d done. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’d have done the same thing. Except I wouldn’t have gotten caught,” said Parker.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I’ll bear that in mind next time.”
He grinned at her. “Your transmitter looked interesting. How does it work?”
“It powers itself by parasitically picking up any available electromagnetic waves—not a unique feature, obviously. Output frequency mimics the nearest source within the room—generally a cell or laptop. Hops on a cellphone or Wi-Fi network to transmit data when anyone within range is online or makes a phone call.” She crossed her arms. “But rather than silicon I built the chips using Gallium Arsonide.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Which has switching logic hundreds of times faster.”
“Exactly.” Scarlett nodded. “The speed at which the chip operates makes it virtually invisible to electronic detection—”
“I hate to break up your geek-fest, but Scarlett can show you her circuit diagrams some other time,” said Matt coolly. “The fact that Maidstone isn’t dead is going to create a major headache for the person who tried to kill him.”