Deadly Lies
Page 26
He blinked at her. “You… you’re my brother’s girlfriend.”
She didn’t look at Max. Or Ramirez. “I’m Special Agent Samantha Kennedy, and I’ve been working your case.” She kept her voice low. Others were around, too eager to hear and run to the news. Every day, a new story appeared in the papers or on the news about Quinlan.
It was a good thing that Hyde had called Kenton Lake in from the Virginia office to help with the press. So far, the media had an insatiable appetite for the kidnapping case. The more lurid the details, the more they fed.
The fact that the other two surviving victims were back in town and broadcasting their story on every news channel wasn’t helping. Those two victims thought they were safe now. They just might be dead wrong.
“I already talked to the other woman.” Quinlan’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at Jared. “Daven—”
“Monica Davenport,” Sam inserted smoothly. Yes, Monica had wanted to talk to him right away. She’d only been able to talk with Quinlan briefly, though, before his lawyer had swooped in and closed them out. They’d had the options of forcing an immediate sit-down with Quinlan—and letting the press make them look like the big, FBI a**holes who were attacking the injured victim—or waiting until he was out of the hospital. They’d waited.
Quinlan was out of the hospital now, and although she understood his situation was damn painful, she had to bring him in. The waiting game was over.
“This isn’t the time…” Jared began, huffing with indignation.
Max just watched them with inscrutable eyes.
“We’ve given you time,” Ramirez said as he kept his arms loosely at his sides. “Time’s up.”
Sam held Quinlan’s gaze. “Tomorrow morning, we need you to come into the FBI office and answer some questions for us.” Deliberately, she let her stare drift to Jared. “You and your lawyer should check in at nine a.m.”
“You actually suspect my client of—”
She raised her hand. “Save it, Jared. We have routine questions for him.” Questions that the lawyer had blocked in the hospital. And with the press raining down on them, the SSD had allowed the delay.
But they’d kept a constant eye on Quinlan.
An eye that told them that, despite his injuries, Quinlan had spent last night with his father’s mistress. Grieving? Hurting? Yes, undoubtedly.
And screwing.
“We need you in the office tomorrow,” Sam said again. Then she turned her attention to Beth. “And we’ll need you, too, Ms. Dunlap.”
Beth’s lips parted in an outraged gasp. “Me? Why would you need—”
“We have some background questions for you,” Ramirez said flatly, and Sam caught the woman’s slight flinch.
Yes, Beth, we know. A past can be an inconvenient thing.
Beth fired a fast, nervous glance Quinlan’s way.
And this was the hard part. Sam turned her attention to Max. She found him staring at her with too-watchful eyes. “And we’ll need you there, too,” she said.
He didn’t blink. Damn but it hurt to see his eyes so blank like that.
“I’ll be there.” He inclined his head.
“Thank you.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words to offer comfort to him. Sometimes, the job sucked. Ramirez took her elbow, and they both stepped back.
“I don’t—your girlfriend’s an agent?” Quinlan’s voice seemed too loud. “What the hell?”
She didn’t hear Max’s response and maybe that was a good thing. Because right then, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know what he had to say.
When someone pounded on her door just after midnight, Sam was awake. Awake, lying in bed, and staring up at the ceiling. Her heart lurched at the hard thumps, and she jumped to her feet. Her hand automatically dove into the nightstand drawer—going for her gun.
This time of night…
She hurried down the stairs of her townhouse. The pounding came again, harder now.
Sam peered through the peephole and saw Max. She wrenched open the door.
He froze with his hand still up. Raindrops glistened in his hair and clung to his wet coat. The chill air slipped inside, raising goose bumps on her arms.
“You think you need that?” he asked, and she followed his gaze to the barrel of her gun.
She kept her hold on the weapon. “What are you doing here, Max?”
“I traced your name. Traced you. Should have done it long ago.” The words were deeper and darker than she’d heard before.
Understanding hit. “You’re drunk.”
“I wish.”
Lightning streaked across the sky behind him.
“You’re a genius.” His hands slapped against the wood on either side of her door. “How many degrees did you get from MIT?”
She shook her head. “Why are you here?”
His gaze seemed to burn her.
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I needed to see you.” He leaned forward. Max ignored the gun as he caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head back. “I just needed you.” His lips crushed hers. His mouth was hard, hungry, wet from the rain, and she wanted him. Her lips parted, and Sam tasted whiskey on his tongue. Whiskey and… him.
Her mouth widened. She needed more of him. Her left hand pressed against his chest, right above his heart that raced so fast beneath her fingers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she moaned in her throat, a low rumble, even as her br**sts tightened with hunger.
More.
His tongue swiped against hers. His head lifted. Slowly, so slowly. “I figured out something tonight.”
She fought to keep her breathing steady. Okay, he was playing it cool. She could do it too. “What’s that?”
“We’re not over.”
She knew her eyes widened.
“Work your case. Do whatever you have to do, but we’re not ending, not yet.” A pause, then his lips kicked up on one corner in a rough half-smile. “That is, unless you tell me to drag my ass out of here.”
She didn’t say anything. One hand stayed over his heart and one hand clamped around her gun.
His gaze searched her face. “We started… at the wrong place. Too fast. Too hot.”
But she shook her head. He didn’t understand. “No, we started just right.” He’d been what she needed. Sex. Pleasure. No past. No future. And now…
A blast of thunder broke the night. Sam inhaled sharply. “Come inside.” She turned away and headed toward the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. The snick of the lock seemed a bit too loud.
She opened the drawer and put her weapon inside.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.
With her back to him, Sam hesitated.
The wood groaned beneath his feet as he walked toward her, then his hands caught her and wrapped around her shoulders. “You know what I’ve done.”
She stared at the closed drawer of the desk.
“They say everyone’s got the capacity to kill…”
If pushed far enough. Yes, she believed that.
“… but we both know I’ve crossed the line.” A stark pause. “And if I had to protect someone I loved, I’d do it again.”
The hands that held her had killed. Her gaze shifted to her own hands. Pale. Small. But they held her gun so well.
“I want you to know, though,” he said, and his breath blew lightly over her ear, “that I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping. With any of them. I don’t need Malone’s money. I don’t want it. As soon as Quinlan turns twenty-five—just a year and a half to go—it’s his.”
Her breath hissed out, and she turned toward him. “Max…”
“I’ve always tried to protect the people in my life, but no matter what I do, they get hurt.” His gaze burned bright. “They get hurt, and I can never stop the pain.”
She swallowed. “Wh-where is Quinlan?” The FBI still had a team watching him. One phone call, and she’d know instantly where he was.
A muscle twitched in Max’s jaw. “He’s back at Frank’s, with Beth. I hired bodyguards for him. They’ll stay with him, 24–7, until we’re damn sure he’s safe.” His hair was slick from the rain. “I just… I had to see you.”
Sam leaned toward him. She wouldn’t ever forget his eyes in the hospital. All that rage had been directed right at her. “Max, I’m sorry about the way this went down.” Because, yes, she felt guilty as damn hell.
“You busted ass to find him.” He shook his head. “What those bastards did—that was them, not you.”
Her eyes watered—stupid contacts, had to be them—and she blinked.
“I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.”
Oh, damn. Sam admitted, “I didn’t even try.” Because he’d been all she could think about.
“Fuck.” He pulled her even closer. His clothes were wet, but she didn’t care. “I need you,” he growled.
When they kissed this time, she was desperate for him.
A thin cotton t-shirt covered her br**sts. A pair of old jogging shorts skimmed her thighs, and she wanted them off. Wanted her clothes gone. Wanted his on the floor.
Wanted him on the floor.
No, the bed. Do this right. This was different. Not just sex.
Not. Just. Sex.
“You’re wet,” she whispered against his lips. “G-get out of those clothes.” She licked his lower lip. Nipped him.
A shudder worked over his body.
Her gaze bored into his. “Come to bed with me.” Her hands caught the bottom edge of her t-shirt, and she pulled it over her head. She tossed the shirt to the floor, let him look, then walked away—slowly, carefully, knowing that he watched her every move.
Sam climbed the stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her. He’s coming.
At the top of the stairs, she pushed down her shorts and ditched the panties that would only get in the way. Look back. Sam glanced over her shoulder. Max was halfway up the steps. His shirt was gone. That chest—oh, how she loved those sexy muscles.
His stare was like a hot touch on her skin. And he would be touching her soon. Touching every inch of her. Just as she’d touch him.
She went into her bedroom. Dark, so dark. She liked the dark. Always had. Things were softer in the dark. It was easier to hide in the dark.
Sam went to the bed and slid beneath the covers.
His footsteps were muffled by the carpet upstairs, but she could all but feel him. Sam knew the instant he walked into her room.
Closer, closer…
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see his silhouette looming near the edge of the bed. Her hand lifted and touched the flat planes of his stomach. Hot flesh. Her fingers slipped down. His pants were gone. His c*ck was up. Straining, thick, and more than ready. Her hand curled around him. She pumped that hard flesh. Once. Twice.
Max caught her hand and locked his fingers around her wrist. He climbed into the bed and surrounded her with his strength and his scent. His mouth took her breast, closing over the nipple as he sucked.
Her back arched off the bed. Sam bit her lower lip. Yes.
“Don’t hold back.” His breath blew over her tight nipple. “I want to hear you.” His hand eased its grip on her wrist. He stretched over her, reaching for the nightstand. The lamp light flickered on, too bright, and she blinked. “And I want to see you,” he said. “Every bit of you.”
No hiding in the dark. No pretending to be someone else. No pretending at all.
He’d risen over her. His gaze weighed her, and Sam realized he knew. Her secrets. Her fears. He could see everything. Maybe he’d always seen.
“Not just sex between strangers.” His whisper had her tensing. His palm slid down her stomach and curled around her hip. “I want more.”
She’d give more. This time, to him. Her legs parted and eased open for him. He could thrust inside, could take her and—
“No.”
An ache lodged in her heart, like she’d been punched, right there. “Max?”
Another swipe of his tongue over her nipple. The light score of his teeth against her flesh. “I’m going to watch you. I’m going to see everything.”
He already did. But his hands were on her—lifting her, turning her, and the covers rustled beneath her body.
Max stretched out on the bed. His eyes glittered, and he waited. His c*ck glistened, and he waited.
Sam rose above him. She put her knees on either side of his hips, and her sex brushed over his cock, a long, slow, slick glide because she was ready, too. Had been, since that first kiss downstairs.
The light seemed too harsh as it shone on them, but she knew it was just a small glow that barely drifted past the bed. Too bright. There was no hiding now, not from him or from herself.
His fingers were warm and strong on her hips, and when she arched up, the broad head of his shaft pushed just inside her sex.
Flesh to flesh. So tempting…
Swallowing, she eased back up. Fumbled. “I-I don’t…” She didn’t have protection near the bed. She did have a box of condoms in the bathroom, shoved in the back of her linen closet.
“Nightstand.” His breath blew over her skin. “I put one down before I got into bed.”
Her gaze shot to the left, and she found the foil packet. Her hands trembled when she grabbed it, and Sam knew he saw. She ripped open the packet, pulled out the condom, and eased it down his shaft as quickly as she could.
His body stiffened beneath hers. His muscles were so taut and hard.
She didn’t look at Max. Or Ramirez. “I’m Special Agent Samantha Kennedy, and I’ve been working your case.” She kept her voice low. Others were around, too eager to hear and run to the news. Every day, a new story appeared in the papers or on the news about Quinlan.
It was a good thing that Hyde had called Kenton Lake in from the Virginia office to help with the press. So far, the media had an insatiable appetite for the kidnapping case. The more lurid the details, the more they fed.
The fact that the other two surviving victims were back in town and broadcasting their story on every news channel wasn’t helping. Those two victims thought they were safe now. They just might be dead wrong.
“I already talked to the other woman.” Quinlan’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at Jared. “Daven—”
“Monica Davenport,” Sam inserted smoothly. Yes, Monica had wanted to talk to him right away. She’d only been able to talk with Quinlan briefly, though, before his lawyer had swooped in and closed them out. They’d had the options of forcing an immediate sit-down with Quinlan—and letting the press make them look like the big, FBI a**holes who were attacking the injured victim—or waiting until he was out of the hospital. They’d waited.
Quinlan was out of the hospital now, and although she understood his situation was damn painful, she had to bring him in. The waiting game was over.
“This isn’t the time…” Jared began, huffing with indignation.
Max just watched them with inscrutable eyes.
“We’ve given you time,” Ramirez said as he kept his arms loosely at his sides. “Time’s up.”
Sam held Quinlan’s gaze. “Tomorrow morning, we need you to come into the FBI office and answer some questions for us.” Deliberately, she let her stare drift to Jared. “You and your lawyer should check in at nine a.m.”
“You actually suspect my client of—”
She raised her hand. “Save it, Jared. We have routine questions for him.” Questions that the lawyer had blocked in the hospital. And with the press raining down on them, the SSD had allowed the delay.
But they’d kept a constant eye on Quinlan.
An eye that told them that, despite his injuries, Quinlan had spent last night with his father’s mistress. Grieving? Hurting? Yes, undoubtedly.
And screwing.
“We need you in the office tomorrow,” Sam said again. Then she turned her attention to Beth. “And we’ll need you, too, Ms. Dunlap.”
Beth’s lips parted in an outraged gasp. “Me? Why would you need—”
“We have some background questions for you,” Ramirez said flatly, and Sam caught the woman’s slight flinch.
Yes, Beth, we know. A past can be an inconvenient thing.
Beth fired a fast, nervous glance Quinlan’s way.
And this was the hard part. Sam turned her attention to Max. She found him staring at her with too-watchful eyes. “And we’ll need you there, too,” she said.
He didn’t blink. Damn but it hurt to see his eyes so blank like that.
“I’ll be there.” He inclined his head.
“Thank you.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words to offer comfort to him. Sometimes, the job sucked. Ramirez took her elbow, and they both stepped back.
“I don’t—your girlfriend’s an agent?” Quinlan’s voice seemed too loud. “What the hell?”
She didn’t hear Max’s response and maybe that was a good thing. Because right then, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know what he had to say.
When someone pounded on her door just after midnight, Sam was awake. Awake, lying in bed, and staring up at the ceiling. Her heart lurched at the hard thumps, and she jumped to her feet. Her hand automatically dove into the nightstand drawer—going for her gun.
This time of night…
She hurried down the stairs of her townhouse. The pounding came again, harder now.
Sam peered through the peephole and saw Max. She wrenched open the door.
He froze with his hand still up. Raindrops glistened in his hair and clung to his wet coat. The chill air slipped inside, raising goose bumps on her arms.
“You think you need that?” he asked, and she followed his gaze to the barrel of her gun.
She kept her hold on the weapon. “What are you doing here, Max?”
“I traced your name. Traced you. Should have done it long ago.” The words were deeper and darker than she’d heard before.
Understanding hit. “You’re drunk.”
“I wish.”
Lightning streaked across the sky behind him.
“You’re a genius.” His hands slapped against the wood on either side of her door. “How many degrees did you get from MIT?”
She shook her head. “Why are you here?”
His gaze seemed to burn her.
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I needed to see you.” He leaned forward. Max ignored the gun as he caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head back. “I just needed you.” His lips crushed hers. His mouth was hard, hungry, wet from the rain, and she wanted him. Her lips parted, and Sam tasted whiskey on his tongue. Whiskey and… him.
Her mouth widened. She needed more of him. Her left hand pressed against his chest, right above his heart that raced so fast beneath her fingers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she moaned in her throat, a low rumble, even as her br**sts tightened with hunger.
More.
His tongue swiped against hers. His head lifted. Slowly, so slowly. “I figured out something tonight.”
She fought to keep her breathing steady. Okay, he was playing it cool. She could do it too. “What’s that?”
“We’re not over.”
She knew her eyes widened.
“Work your case. Do whatever you have to do, but we’re not ending, not yet.” A pause, then his lips kicked up on one corner in a rough half-smile. “That is, unless you tell me to drag my ass out of here.”
She didn’t say anything. One hand stayed over his heart and one hand clamped around her gun.
His gaze searched her face. “We started… at the wrong place. Too fast. Too hot.”
But she shook her head. He didn’t understand. “No, we started just right.” He’d been what she needed. Sex. Pleasure. No past. No future. And now…
A blast of thunder broke the night. Sam inhaled sharply. “Come inside.” She turned away and headed toward the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. The snick of the lock seemed a bit too loud.
She opened the drawer and put her weapon inside.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.
With her back to him, Sam hesitated.
The wood groaned beneath his feet as he walked toward her, then his hands caught her and wrapped around her shoulders. “You know what I’ve done.”
She stared at the closed drawer of the desk.
“They say everyone’s got the capacity to kill…”
If pushed far enough. Yes, she believed that.
“… but we both know I’ve crossed the line.” A stark pause. “And if I had to protect someone I loved, I’d do it again.”
The hands that held her had killed. Her gaze shifted to her own hands. Pale. Small. But they held her gun so well.
“I want you to know, though,” he said, and his breath blew lightly over her ear, “that I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping. With any of them. I don’t need Malone’s money. I don’t want it. As soon as Quinlan turns twenty-five—just a year and a half to go—it’s his.”
Her breath hissed out, and she turned toward him. “Max…”
“I’ve always tried to protect the people in my life, but no matter what I do, they get hurt.” His gaze burned bright. “They get hurt, and I can never stop the pain.”
She swallowed. “Wh-where is Quinlan?” The FBI still had a team watching him. One phone call, and she’d know instantly where he was.
A muscle twitched in Max’s jaw. “He’s back at Frank’s, with Beth. I hired bodyguards for him. They’ll stay with him, 24–7, until we’re damn sure he’s safe.” His hair was slick from the rain. “I just… I had to see you.”
Sam leaned toward him. She wouldn’t ever forget his eyes in the hospital. All that rage had been directed right at her. “Max, I’m sorry about the way this went down.” Because, yes, she felt guilty as damn hell.
“You busted ass to find him.” He shook his head. “What those bastards did—that was them, not you.”
Her eyes watered—stupid contacts, had to be them—and she blinked.
“I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.”
Oh, damn. Sam admitted, “I didn’t even try.” Because he’d been all she could think about.
“Fuck.” He pulled her even closer. His clothes were wet, but she didn’t care. “I need you,” he growled.
When they kissed this time, she was desperate for him.
A thin cotton t-shirt covered her br**sts. A pair of old jogging shorts skimmed her thighs, and she wanted them off. Wanted her clothes gone. Wanted his on the floor.
Wanted him on the floor.
No, the bed. Do this right. This was different. Not just sex.
Not. Just. Sex.
“You’re wet,” she whispered against his lips. “G-get out of those clothes.” She licked his lower lip. Nipped him.
A shudder worked over his body.
Her gaze bored into his. “Come to bed with me.” Her hands caught the bottom edge of her t-shirt, and she pulled it over her head. She tossed the shirt to the floor, let him look, then walked away—slowly, carefully, knowing that he watched her every move.
Sam climbed the stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her. He’s coming.
At the top of the stairs, she pushed down her shorts and ditched the panties that would only get in the way. Look back. Sam glanced over her shoulder. Max was halfway up the steps. His shirt was gone. That chest—oh, how she loved those sexy muscles.
His stare was like a hot touch on her skin. And he would be touching her soon. Touching every inch of her. Just as she’d touch him.
She went into her bedroom. Dark, so dark. She liked the dark. Always had. Things were softer in the dark. It was easier to hide in the dark.
Sam went to the bed and slid beneath the covers.
His footsteps were muffled by the carpet upstairs, but she could all but feel him. Sam knew the instant he walked into her room.
Closer, closer…
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see his silhouette looming near the edge of the bed. Her hand lifted and touched the flat planes of his stomach. Hot flesh. Her fingers slipped down. His pants were gone. His c*ck was up. Straining, thick, and more than ready. Her hand curled around him. She pumped that hard flesh. Once. Twice.
Max caught her hand and locked his fingers around her wrist. He climbed into the bed and surrounded her with his strength and his scent. His mouth took her breast, closing over the nipple as he sucked.
Her back arched off the bed. Sam bit her lower lip. Yes.
“Don’t hold back.” His breath blew over her tight nipple. “I want to hear you.” His hand eased its grip on her wrist. He stretched over her, reaching for the nightstand. The lamp light flickered on, too bright, and she blinked. “And I want to see you,” he said. “Every bit of you.”
No hiding in the dark. No pretending to be someone else. No pretending at all.
He’d risen over her. His gaze weighed her, and Sam realized he knew. Her secrets. Her fears. He could see everything. Maybe he’d always seen.
“Not just sex between strangers.” His whisper had her tensing. His palm slid down her stomach and curled around her hip. “I want more.”
She’d give more. This time, to him. Her legs parted and eased open for him. He could thrust inside, could take her and—
“No.”
An ache lodged in her heart, like she’d been punched, right there. “Max?”
Another swipe of his tongue over her nipple. The light score of his teeth against her flesh. “I’m going to watch you. I’m going to see everything.”
He already did. But his hands were on her—lifting her, turning her, and the covers rustled beneath her body.
Max stretched out on the bed. His eyes glittered, and he waited. His c*ck glistened, and he waited.
Sam rose above him. She put her knees on either side of his hips, and her sex brushed over his cock, a long, slow, slick glide because she was ready, too. Had been, since that first kiss downstairs.
The light seemed too harsh as it shone on them, but she knew it was just a small glow that barely drifted past the bed. Too bright. There was no hiding now, not from him or from herself.
His fingers were warm and strong on her hips, and when she arched up, the broad head of his shaft pushed just inside her sex.
Flesh to flesh. So tempting…
Swallowing, she eased back up. Fumbled. “I-I don’t…” She didn’t have protection near the bed. She did have a box of condoms in the bathroom, shoved in the back of her linen closet.
“Nightstand.” His breath blew over her skin. “I put one down before I got into bed.”
Her gaze shot to the left, and she found the foil packet. Her hands trembled when she grabbed it, and Sam knew he saw. She ripped open the packet, pulled out the condom, and eased it down his shaft as quickly as she could.
His body stiffened beneath hers. His muscles were so taut and hard.
