Deadly Lies (19 page)

The woman strolled inside with careful tap-tap-taps from her high heels. She pulled out a chair next to the small wooden table.
Yeah, he knew that he was in an interrogation room. These rooms all looked the same, and he hadn’t forgotten his last visit
inside one.

He’d been alone then. No lawyer. No family beside him. His mom had been hysterical. They’d shoved her into the back of an
ambulance, and then they’d taken him away. He’d confessed fast enough. After all, why lie?

I swung. I hit the bastard. I’d do it again.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Ridgeway?” The female agent suggested.

“Call me Max.”

Her lips curled but her bright blue eyes didn’t warm, not even a little. “Max, I’m Agent Monica Davenport.”

Right. The profiler.

Dante walked around and positioned himself near the window. A window Max was sure was reinforced, but since they were several
floors up, he figured perps didn’t jump much.

Max pulled the chair out with his foot. He sat down and stretched his legs out before him. Samantha hadn’t moved yet.

Had these two been watching them from behind that mirror? If so, then they knew his weak spot.
Her.

“So I heard your team screwed up again, and the other asshole is dead,” Max said, ready to cut right through the bullshit.

“I’m afraid the perpetrator was dead before our agents could arrive on scene,” Monica said cooly, not so much as a line appearing
on her face. “But I assure you, we are doing everything possible—”

“Not good enough.” Max turned his stare to Dante. “I told you, I want to know everything. No more shutting me out. Good, bad,
I want to
know
.”

Dante nodded. “We just need you to answer a few questions first.” The guy’s voice was so calm, almost friendly. “Then we’ll
move ahead and share everything we have with you.”

Max laughed. “Really; what is this? Are you supposed to be the good one?” His gaze returned to the woman. Good cop, bad cop.
Stupid game. “You don’t look bad,” he told her.

“You have no idea,” she murmured back, and the arctic in her gaze nearly froze him.

“Do you know,” Dante’s voice with its hint of a southern drawl cut through the room, “why your family was targeted?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Because my stepfather is rich. Pretty easy one to figure.”

“Your stepbrother fit the victim profile,” Samantha said. His gaze slanted toward her. She stepped forward with that chin
up. “I told you, he was victim number five.”

“He didn’t fit the profile perfectly. Quinlan wasn’t attending college,” Monica pointed out.

“No.” Max shook his head, aware that Samantha was coming closer. “He dropped out of Georgetown last semester.” Just a year
away from getting his degree. Quinlan had said that he’d go back. Now would he have the chance?

“Does your stepfather have any enemies?” Dante asked.

Max laughed. “Yeah, dozens. Every business owner he’s ever screwed.” And there’d been a lot of them. “But for names, you’re
going to need to ask him.”

“We are.” Monica tucked a strand of dark hair behind her left ear. Her right shoulder moved in a small shrug. “Do
you
have enemies, Max?”

A hand came to rest on his uninjured shoulder. Soft and smooth, a light touch. Samantha stood by his side. Enemies? He straightened
a bit. “No one who hates me enough to do this.”

Monica opened a folder and pushed a series of photos across the table toward him. “Do you know any of these men?”

His gaze scanned the color photographs. He touched the picture of the blond with the winking grin. He would have recognized
the guy even if his picture hadn’t been splashed on the news. “Adam Warrant. He and Quinlan hung out a few years back.”

He felt the sudden tension in the room. “Anyone else?” Dante asked.

Max stared down at the photos. The redhead with the broken nose looked familiar. “I… might have seen him with Quinlan once,
but I can’t be sure.”

“Do you know his name?” Dante’s voice was still easy.

“No, no, I’m not even sure I saw him but I think—” He frowned, remembering a rain-soaked day when he’d gone
to Quinlan’s dorm room. “I think I saw him when Quinlan was at Georgetown.” His fingers tapped on the photo. “He another vic?”
Another one who knew Quinlan? What were the odds…?

“No, he’s not a victim.” Monica pulled the photo away. “He’s the perp we found with his throat slashed in the parking garage.”

His gaze flew up to catch hers.

Monica’s head inclined toward him. “Sam ran his prints and turned up a hit in our system. That’s where we got the picture.
His name’s James Hackley. He’s an ex-con, and as far as we can tell, he’s never been a student at Georgetown or any other
college.”

Max’s eyes narrowed.

“And this is the other man.” A photo slid toward him, and this time, it was obvious that the guy was dead. Close-cropped black
hair. Closed eyes. A bullet’s entrance wound in his forehead. “Do you know him?”

Had to be the guy who’d tried to kill him. “No. Never seen him.” At least, not without a black ski mask.

“He’s not in the system,” Samantha said, “but I’m running a facial recognition program right now. I’m comparing his image
to the video we took from the traffic cameras outside the bars. If we can tag his image and link him to a car, I can trace
the plate.” She exhaled slowly. “And the plate will give us a name.”

Monica pulled all the photos back. “We’re going to connect all these men, and we
will
find your brother.”

“
Pieces
of him?” The question burst out.

And Monica didn’t answer.

“We’ll find him,” Samantha’s soft voice reassured. “Don’t give up hope yet.”

He saw Dante’s gaze jump to her.

“You’ve given us a link,” Monica said. “Two victims knew each other. Maybe they
all
knew each other.”

“Or maybe they all knew the wrong person.” Samantha said.

James Hackley.

Monica straightened her files. “We start with Hackley and work our way out from there. He’s going to lead us to the others.”

Max’s hands flattened on the table. “You sure about that? My brother is out there,
dying
.”

Monica’s stare drifted to Samantha. “I understand.” And she actually sounded like she did. “Believe me, we are doing everything
that we can. Stay here, okay? We might have some more photos for you to ID soon.” She rose, shoving her chair back.

Max jumped to his feet, too. “That’s it? That’s all I get to do? Look at some damn photos?”

Dante stepped forward. “Easy. We know this is a tense situation—”

“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone you care about in a killer’s hands! You don’t know what it’s like for time
to trickle away while you
know
he’s going to die. You don’t
know
.”

Silence.

“I know.” Whispered from Samantha. His head whipped to the left, and Max found himself caught in her gaze. “And they know
too. Believe me, they do.” Her hand lifted, and her fingertips pressed against his cheek. “We’re working 24–7. Don’t give
up on us yet. You
can’t
give up.”

There was so much pain in her voice. “Samantha?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Samantha told him, and her voice was stronger, firmer. She fired a glance at Monica. “I read
the files. I know that you talked to the bartender, Nic, at The Core. He said—he said he saw a woman with Quinlan right after
Max and I left.”

“A blonde.” Monica’s gaze slid back and forth between them. “Maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He said she had long legs and
a small knife tattoo on her left shoulder.”

“He remembered her only because he remembered
you
.” Dante’s head was cocked as he watched them. “He said a redhead came up asking him questions, and some man with her got
into a fight.”

“You all left quite an impression on him,” Monica murmured.

“After you left…” From Dante, “the bartender saw a blonde approach Quinlan.”

“We haven’t been able to find her yet, but we’ve got plainclothes officers at The Core looking for her.” Monica eased away
from the table. “Thanks to Kim, we know a blonde matching her description was also seen with Adam Warrant right before he
vanished.” One dark brow arched. “The same bartender remembered her.”

Too damn big of a coincidence. “She’s part of the ring?”

“We think she was the bait.” Monica curled her hands around her files. “We wondered how the men were lured out—we know roofies
were used. The two men who were ransomed couldn’t remember anything about even
being
in the bars.”

“Memory loss is common after Rohypnol ingestion,” Dante explained. “But because of the drug, the guys couldn’t tell us who
led them out.”

“Now we have a suspect, one we’re looking for and one we
will
find.” Ah, finally some heat in Monica’s voice.

“Yes, we will,” agreed Samantha. “Max and I are going to hit the bars tonight. You promised him that he’d be part of the investigation,
and he will be.”

Well, damn.

“No more sitting on our asses. We’re in this thing.” Samantha gave the agents a curt nod. “If you need us, you can text me,
but we’re not waiting anymore.” She grabbed Max’s arm and headed for the door.

“The waiting’s hard, isn’t it, Sam?” Monica questioned quietly. “It reminds you too much.”

Samantha flinched. “I don’t need reminding. Forgetting—that never happened. No matter what I did, I just couldn’t forget.”

And what the hell was she talking about?

“Let’s get out of here,” Samantha muttered. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t
breathe
here.”

Max knew the feeling. He pulled open the door.

“Wait!” Monica called out. “Sam… do you—do you trust him?”

Ah, shit, there it was. His past. Sure they had all the gory details in their nice, neat files, and they just needed to throw
it in his face one more time.

“Doesn’t matter,” Samantha said. “I’m with him either way.”

Not the answer that he’d wanted, but one he’d take. He stepped forward and nearly slammed into another agent. A woman. Small,
delicate, with fierce green eyes.

“Come on, Max,” Samantha said, grabbing his arm. “We don’t have time to waste.”

No, they sure as hell didn’t.

• • •

Monica took a shaky breath as she watched Sam and Ridgeway hurry away.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe here.

She’d caught Sam’s words, and she’d understood. Once upon a time, Monica had felt like the world was closing in on her, too,
and it had been a struggle to push back the fear.

But she’d pushed and she’d pushed and she’d walled herself off from everyone else until…

“You okay, baby?” Luke’s voice whispered from right behind her. She felt his fingers skim down her arm.

Monica turned her head, just a bit. They were in the hallway, and too many eyes were on them.

But screw the other agents. All that they would see was two agents discussing an active case. So if she wanted to spend a
moment with the man she loved, then she would. “I was worried about you.” Her confession was stark.

Luke blinked, and his expression softened.

She held up her hand, stopping him before he could speak. “Since you’ve moved in with me, things are—”
More intense. Deeper.
“Good,” she said instead, because it was the truth. “Better than good.” She was the happiest that she could ever remember
being.

He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “For me, too.”

“I’m afraid.” Her admission was hushed.

He shifted closer to her. “Of what?”

With him, she could always be honest. “Good things don’t always last long for me. My life isn’t about picket fences and happy
endings. It’s not—”

“It can be,” he said, voice firm, as he cut across her words. “Your life,
our
life, can be anything we want.” His
gaze burned with intensity. “I was going to wait on this but…
dammit,
I love you, Monica, and I don’t just want to live with you. I want to marry you.”

And she lost her breath.

“Dante!” Hyde’s voice cut through the hallway. “I need you to prep for the press conference. We’ve got to explain how the
cops let Adam Warrant walk out of that bar. Dammit, we need Kenton Lake in here for this shit.”

But Luke didn’t move. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he told her softly. “You won’t lose me.”

And that was her fear. Ever since the Watchman case, she’d known that Luke was her weakness. When she thought about something
happening to him, dark terror washed through her.

“Dante!”

She swallowed. “Go. We’ll talk—”

“Soon,” Luke promised, eyes glittering, then he walked away.

I want to marry you.

“Yes,” Monica whispered and knew that when the time was right, she’d tell Luke.

No more fear.

Frank Malone wasn’t used to being kept in the dark. And he sure as shit wasn’t used to being stuck in some eight-by-ten room
while agents asked him the same damn questions over and over again.

Sweat beaded his brow, and he glared at the door. Five more minutes,
five more
, and he was getting out of there. The agents had been gone too long. They had already fucked things up, and if he didn’t
get his son back—

The phone on his hip vibrated. He hauled it up to his ear. “Look, I can’t talk now—”

“You’d better.” A soft whisper. Familiar.

Frank’s gaze flew to the mirror on the left-hand side of the wall.

“
I know where you are, Frank.
” Anger there, throbbing in that whisper. “And that makes me very, very
pissed off.
”

Frank swallowed. “Wh-wher—”

“Don’t talk, asshole. Just listen. I don’t want them hearing what you say.”

Frank shut up.

“You gave me your money, every dime I wanted, but you screwed me over.”

Fear nearly choked him.

“Guess who’s going to pay for that?”

“
Not—”

“
Told you to shut up!
”