And he melted into the black night.
Sam skidded to a halt. She’d heard something. A clang, a hollow echo—like a metal door slamming shut. She spun back around.
“Samantha?”
“The alley—” Her gun was up, and she gasped out the words as she ran.
Ten feet. Five. The mouth of the alley that she’d passed earlier yawned before her. Sam hurried inside.
A cat screeched and shot past her legs.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“She’s gone.” Max’s disgusted voice, and he didn’t even sound winded from the run. He stalked farther into the alley. “Shit, this connects to the main road. She probably went through here and back to her car.”
Sam’s nostrils flared as she caught the harsh scent of garbage, cigarettes, and crap that she didn’t even want to think about. A big garbage bin slumped to the right, its lid half closed.
A metal screech.
She took a few more steps forward. Another scent filled her nostrils. Heavier. Fresher.
“That bartender knows her,” Max said. “We need to go back inside and make her tell us where that woman lives!”
Sam’s eyes narrowed as she struggled to see in the thick darkness.
A car engine revved in the distance. Tires squealed. And a heavy ache lodged in her chest. “I know where she is.”
Max whirled back around to face her.
Shaking her head, Sam leaned forward. She knew the scent of blood. A sliver of light trickled down from a second story window. Light that fell on strands of blond hair.
Sam pulled out her phone and called Dante. When he answered, she said, “I’ve got a body.”
The killer’s foot pressed hard against the accelerator. Damn, but that had been close. He rolled down the window and let the cool air blast against his face.
Too close.
He’d planned to kill Veronica. Just not then, not there. But he’d been following that dick Ridgeway, and when the guy had gone in Express—time’s up.
Veronica was weak; he knew it. He’d used that weakness. If the Feds had gotten hold of her, she would have confessed and ruined everything.
He’d known that he had to move. And then sweet Veronica had run right to him. Good thing he’d been prepared for her.
The Feds were closing in faster than he’d anticipated. He had to be ready for them.
He stopped at the streetlight. He looked down and saw the blood staining his shirt. Veronica had died easily. No long, pain-filled death. Just a quick kill, with minimal pain. He figured she’d deserved that.
Poor Veronica. All her life she’d never been worth much.
But she’d sure been one fine piece of ass.
He fished out his phone, dialed the number, and when old Fuck ’em Frank answered with his trembling voice, he told him, “It’s time.”
CHAPTER Ten
Spotlights shone down on the body. Max stood behind the yellow police tape, but he could see the woman, see the red that bloomed from her chest. The blood that mixed with the trash and the mud beneath her.
“Let him through!” Dante’s order broke the air, and suddenly, Max was pulled under the tape and led closer to the scene.
“You know what’s happening,” Dante said.
No, he didn’t have a clue. He just knew dead bodies were turning up and that wasn’t good.
“The lead kidnapper’s covering his tracks. Taking out his team and eliminating anyone who can ID him.”
“What about Quinlan?”
A muscle worked in Dante’s jaw. “At this point…” Dante ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Ridgeway, but the odds of his survival are slim.”
Max took that hit, and his hands fisted.
“We were so damn close to her.” He could still see her face. Wide eyes, staring at him with recognition before she’d run into the night. “If she’d just talked to us…”
“Then she might not have wound up with her heart nearly carved out.” Brutal.
The agent wasn’t pulling any punches.
“You’re seeing this!”
Max turned at the voice. Samantha’s voice. Angry, fierce, and splitting with emotion.
She was at the south side entrance to the alley. Her hand was clamped around another woman’s arm—the redheaded bartender who’d alerted the blonde and who’d tripped Samantha when they gave chase.
Those few moments… if they’d just had…
“Uh, Sam?” Dante rushed toward her, even as he motioned for Max to stay back. “Sam, what are you—”
She ducked under the police tape and hauled the woman after her.
The bartender screamed, “No, f**k, no, I don’t want to—”
“I don’t give a damn what you want.” Samantha jerked to a halt and glared at her. “Your friend is dead, and you are going to see her.”
The woman shook her head and tried to back away.
Samantha didn’t let her budge.
“Sam…” Dante closed in on her. “Crime scene, remember? You can’t just—”
“I’m out of time.” And just like that, the heat was gone from her voice. She sounded flat. Sad.
Max stepped toward her. Instantly a cop was there, putting a hand against his chest and stopping him. Making sure he didn’t contaminate the scene. Right. Like he probably hadn’t screwed the scene when he’d trampled through the alley the first time.
“I’m out of time,” Samantha said, “and so is Quinlan Malone.”
The bartender wasn’t looking at the body on the ground. “I-I don’t know any—”
“My brother,” Max snapped. “His name’s Quinlan Malone, and he’s missing.”
Samantha glanced his way. Their eyes held for a beat of time. Then she dropped her hold and stepped to the side. The redhead got a full view of the dead woman. “No!” The bartender whirled away, shaking.
Samantha stared at the woman’s back. “You were friends, Gina.”
Gina gave a fast nod.
“You warned her to get out of the bar, but you should have listened to me. I told you I could help her.”
Gina’s shoulders shook as she cried—loud, gulping sobs.
“I need to find the man who did this,” Samantha said.
Gina glanced back at her and did not let her gaze drop to the body again.
“I need to find him because if I don’t…” Samantha shook her head. “More people are going to die.”
“Cover the body,” Dante ordered the tech who’d just finished photographing the scene. “Now.”
Gina’s lips trembled. “I-I don’t… know any-anything—”
“You knew her.” A jerk of Samantha’s thumb over her shoulder toward the body. “And now we need to know her. We need to know everything about her.”
A white cloth was pulled over the body.
The redhead’s eyes dropped, and she stared at the cloth.
“He left her with the garbage,” Samantha said. “Is that what she deserved?”
“N-no…”
“Then help me find the bastard who killed her.”
A tear trickled down Gina’s cheek, and she nodded.
“Good, good.” Samantha caught Gina’s shoulder. “Let’s start with her name. What was her name, Gina?”
“V-Veronica. Veronica J-James.”
“And where did she live?” Samantha asked as she guided her away from the crime scene.
“Seventeen-oh-nine Belmont…”
“Near Georgetown?”
“Y-yeah.”
They disappeared, turning right at the edge of the alley.
“Get the body out of here,” Dante ordered the team around him. “And I want a unit to head with me to Belmont.” He fired a glance at Max. “You in for this, Ridgeway?”
Try to keep me out.
Sam went with the uniforms to 1709 Belmont. The officers immediately went to work searching the one-bedroom apartment. Max came with them, but Luke ordered him to remain outside until they’d secured the scene.
Ignoring the team around her, Sam sat at Veronica’s keyboard, tapping quickly. The password was eliminated in five seconds. Veronica’s favorite band. Luckily, Veronica had left a stack of their CDs near her desk.
She scrolled through the files. Nothing. Nothing. E-mails flew past her, names, dates. She checked as fast as she could, looking for something that would tie Veronica to the kidnappings.
“Anything?” Kim asked from behind her.
Sam shook her head and went deeper into Veronica’s search history on the computer. Wait… driving directions.
She pulled up the archived file. Directions to 2917 Kyler Boulevard in Fairfax, Virginia. Directions that Veronica had looked up the day before the first victim went missing. The day before.
Fairfax was right in the middle of the kill zone. They’d mapped out a geographic zone for the kidnapper, and that area of Fairfax was within driving distance to every disappearance. She glanced back at Kim, who already had her cell out.
“Pull up this address,” Kim said into the phone. “Two nine one seven Kyler Boulevard. In Fairfax, Virginia. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Now tell me who owns that property.” After a few moments, Kim’s eyes widened. “No shit.”
Sam’s heart thudded against her ribs. Hurry, hurry. Kim whistled softly. “Guess who owns an old warehouse in Fairfax?”
Sam wasn’t in the mood to guess.
“Frank Malone.”
What?
“Seems he bought some property over there about five years ago. Bought it, used it, then forgot it. The warehouse has been boarded up for the last six months.” A brief pause. “Interesting, don’t you think?”
Sam jumped out of the chair. “I think we need to get to that warehouse.” Because Jeremy Briar had been left in his father’s driveway. Because Adam Warrant’s body had been found in a garage owned by his father.
No, Christ, no.
Fairfax would be a perfect kill site.
Frank had taken Beth’s car and slipped away without the guards. Frank had his gun—he wasn’t stupid—but he was scared.
The warehouse waited at the end of the street. Darkened windows, tall walls. Abandoned.
He reached for his phone. Hesitated. Call Max. The whisper in his head. He should let Max know where he was. What was happening.
Would you trade your life for his? Is he worth that much?
His hands curled into fists, and Frank sucked in a sharp breath. No, he wouldn’t call Max. Time for me to do something right.
He shoved open the car door and climbed out slowly. “Hello!” His voice echoed back to him. There were no cars here, no lights. Nothing but the night and that damn warehouse.
Was this a trick? Another sick, twisted joke to pull him in and leave him with nothing?
But then a low moan filled the air and he froze. No, not a moan. The slow grind of a door scraping over old wood. The front entrance to the warehouse… the door had opened.
He couldn’t see anyone, but someone was there and inviting him in. “Who’s there? Dammit, come out here! Bring Quinlan out!”
“Come in…” Was the taunt he got in return.
His jaw clenched, and he loped forward. If he had to, he’d kill every sonofabitch in there, but he was getting his son.
His hand closed around the old door handle, and he wrenched it all the way open. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the scent of blood and bleach burned his nose.
Quinlan?
Please, son, be alive.
“What’s going on?” Max demanded. They were in the back of a government SUV, racing behind two other units toward Fairfax. “What do you mean, we’re going to one of Malone’s properties? Why?”
Sam glanced at him, knowing that she had to be careful. “We found the address on Veronica James’s computer.”
“Malone’s warehouse?” He shook his dark head. “That doesn’t make sense!”
“By all accounts, it’s an abandoned building. No other businesses close by. It seems like…” She wet her lips. “Like it might be the perfect place to keep someone locked up.” Or to dump a body.
Max’s eyes narrowed, and she knew that he understood the unspoken words. “Faster,” Max barked at Luke. “Can’t you drive this damn thing faster?”
They were already flying past the speed limit.
“We’re going in silent,” Luke said, and she knew that he was talking into his phone, giving orders to the locals on scene. “We’re not giving these bastards any warning.”
“Samantha.” Max’s fingers brushed hers.
She held his gaze.
“Is he alive?”
Her breath came on a slow rush. “We’ll know soon.”
“That last guy… Adam… they found him on his father’s property, too, didn’t they? That was where they dumped the body.”
She curled her fingers around his. She wanted to give him hope. “Quinlan could be alive.”
He squeezed her hand, but didn’t speak again. And neither did she—Sam didn’t like lying to him.
“Quinlan? Are you here?” The scent of blood was so strong, filling Frank’s nose and making bile rise in his throat. He fumbled and drew out his gun. The Feds had confiscated the Glock that he’d had earlier. But lucky for him, there’d been plenty of other guns waiting at home for him.
His feet shuffled forward. The warehouse was too damn dark. He should have leveled the place months ago. “Are you here?”
Frank’s right foot kicked something. Something big and soft. His breath heaved out. “Quinlan?” He slipped and fell to his knees. “Quinlan!”
Sam skidded to a halt. She’d heard something. A clang, a hollow echo—like a metal door slamming shut. She spun back around.
“Samantha?”
“The alley—” Her gun was up, and she gasped out the words as she ran.
Ten feet. Five. The mouth of the alley that she’d passed earlier yawned before her. Sam hurried inside.
A cat screeched and shot past her legs.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“She’s gone.” Max’s disgusted voice, and he didn’t even sound winded from the run. He stalked farther into the alley. “Shit, this connects to the main road. She probably went through here and back to her car.”
Sam’s nostrils flared as she caught the harsh scent of garbage, cigarettes, and crap that she didn’t even want to think about. A big garbage bin slumped to the right, its lid half closed.
A metal screech.
She took a few more steps forward. Another scent filled her nostrils. Heavier. Fresher.
“That bartender knows her,” Max said. “We need to go back inside and make her tell us where that woman lives!”
Sam’s eyes narrowed as she struggled to see in the thick darkness.
A car engine revved in the distance. Tires squealed. And a heavy ache lodged in her chest. “I know where she is.”
Max whirled back around to face her.
Shaking her head, Sam leaned forward. She knew the scent of blood. A sliver of light trickled down from a second story window. Light that fell on strands of blond hair.
Sam pulled out her phone and called Dante. When he answered, she said, “I’ve got a body.”
The killer’s foot pressed hard against the accelerator. Damn, but that had been close. He rolled down the window and let the cool air blast against his face.
Too close.
He’d planned to kill Veronica. Just not then, not there. But he’d been following that dick Ridgeway, and when the guy had gone in Express—time’s up.
Veronica was weak; he knew it. He’d used that weakness. If the Feds had gotten hold of her, she would have confessed and ruined everything.
He’d known that he had to move. And then sweet Veronica had run right to him. Good thing he’d been prepared for her.
The Feds were closing in faster than he’d anticipated. He had to be ready for them.
He stopped at the streetlight. He looked down and saw the blood staining his shirt. Veronica had died easily. No long, pain-filled death. Just a quick kill, with minimal pain. He figured she’d deserved that.
Poor Veronica. All her life she’d never been worth much.
But she’d sure been one fine piece of ass.
He fished out his phone, dialed the number, and when old Fuck ’em Frank answered with his trembling voice, he told him, “It’s time.”
CHAPTER Ten
Spotlights shone down on the body. Max stood behind the yellow police tape, but he could see the woman, see the red that bloomed from her chest. The blood that mixed with the trash and the mud beneath her.
“Let him through!” Dante’s order broke the air, and suddenly, Max was pulled under the tape and led closer to the scene.
“You know what’s happening,” Dante said.
No, he didn’t have a clue. He just knew dead bodies were turning up and that wasn’t good.
“The lead kidnapper’s covering his tracks. Taking out his team and eliminating anyone who can ID him.”
“What about Quinlan?”
A muscle worked in Dante’s jaw. “At this point…” Dante ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Ridgeway, but the odds of his survival are slim.”
Max took that hit, and his hands fisted.
“We were so damn close to her.” He could still see her face. Wide eyes, staring at him with recognition before she’d run into the night. “If she’d just talked to us…”
“Then she might not have wound up with her heart nearly carved out.” Brutal.
The agent wasn’t pulling any punches.
“You’re seeing this!”
Max turned at the voice. Samantha’s voice. Angry, fierce, and splitting with emotion.
She was at the south side entrance to the alley. Her hand was clamped around another woman’s arm—the redheaded bartender who’d alerted the blonde and who’d tripped Samantha when they gave chase.
Those few moments… if they’d just had…
“Uh, Sam?” Dante rushed toward her, even as he motioned for Max to stay back. “Sam, what are you—”
She ducked under the police tape and hauled the woman after her.
The bartender screamed, “No, f**k, no, I don’t want to—”
“I don’t give a damn what you want.” Samantha jerked to a halt and glared at her. “Your friend is dead, and you are going to see her.”
The woman shook her head and tried to back away.
Samantha didn’t let her budge.
“Sam…” Dante closed in on her. “Crime scene, remember? You can’t just—”
“I’m out of time.” And just like that, the heat was gone from her voice. She sounded flat. Sad.
Max stepped toward her. Instantly a cop was there, putting a hand against his chest and stopping him. Making sure he didn’t contaminate the scene. Right. Like he probably hadn’t screwed the scene when he’d trampled through the alley the first time.
“I’m out of time,” Samantha said, “and so is Quinlan Malone.”
The bartender wasn’t looking at the body on the ground. “I-I don’t know any—”
“My brother,” Max snapped. “His name’s Quinlan Malone, and he’s missing.”
Samantha glanced his way. Their eyes held for a beat of time. Then she dropped her hold and stepped to the side. The redhead got a full view of the dead woman. “No!” The bartender whirled away, shaking.
Samantha stared at the woman’s back. “You were friends, Gina.”
Gina gave a fast nod.
“You warned her to get out of the bar, but you should have listened to me. I told you I could help her.”
Gina’s shoulders shook as she cried—loud, gulping sobs.
“I need to find the man who did this,” Samantha said.
Gina glanced back at her and did not let her gaze drop to the body again.
“I need to find him because if I don’t…” Samantha shook her head. “More people are going to die.”
“Cover the body,” Dante ordered the tech who’d just finished photographing the scene. “Now.”
Gina’s lips trembled. “I-I don’t… know any-anything—”
“You knew her.” A jerk of Samantha’s thumb over her shoulder toward the body. “And now we need to know her. We need to know everything about her.”
A white cloth was pulled over the body.
The redhead’s eyes dropped, and she stared at the cloth.
“He left her with the garbage,” Samantha said. “Is that what she deserved?”
“N-no…”
“Then help me find the bastard who killed her.”
A tear trickled down Gina’s cheek, and she nodded.
“Good, good.” Samantha caught Gina’s shoulder. “Let’s start with her name. What was her name, Gina?”
“V-Veronica. Veronica J-James.”
“And where did she live?” Samantha asked as she guided her away from the crime scene.
“Seventeen-oh-nine Belmont…”
“Near Georgetown?”
“Y-yeah.”
They disappeared, turning right at the edge of the alley.
“Get the body out of here,” Dante ordered the team around him. “And I want a unit to head with me to Belmont.” He fired a glance at Max. “You in for this, Ridgeway?”
Try to keep me out.
Sam went with the uniforms to 1709 Belmont. The officers immediately went to work searching the one-bedroom apartment. Max came with them, but Luke ordered him to remain outside until they’d secured the scene.
Ignoring the team around her, Sam sat at Veronica’s keyboard, tapping quickly. The password was eliminated in five seconds. Veronica’s favorite band. Luckily, Veronica had left a stack of their CDs near her desk.
She scrolled through the files. Nothing. Nothing. E-mails flew past her, names, dates. She checked as fast as she could, looking for something that would tie Veronica to the kidnappings.
“Anything?” Kim asked from behind her.
Sam shook her head and went deeper into Veronica’s search history on the computer. Wait… driving directions.
She pulled up the archived file. Directions to 2917 Kyler Boulevard in Fairfax, Virginia. Directions that Veronica had looked up the day before the first victim went missing. The day before.
Fairfax was right in the middle of the kill zone. They’d mapped out a geographic zone for the kidnapper, and that area of Fairfax was within driving distance to every disappearance. She glanced back at Kim, who already had her cell out.
“Pull up this address,” Kim said into the phone. “Two nine one seven Kyler Boulevard. In Fairfax, Virginia. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Now tell me who owns that property.” After a few moments, Kim’s eyes widened. “No shit.”
Sam’s heart thudded against her ribs. Hurry, hurry. Kim whistled softly. “Guess who owns an old warehouse in Fairfax?”
Sam wasn’t in the mood to guess.
“Frank Malone.”
What?
“Seems he bought some property over there about five years ago. Bought it, used it, then forgot it. The warehouse has been boarded up for the last six months.” A brief pause. “Interesting, don’t you think?”
Sam jumped out of the chair. “I think we need to get to that warehouse.” Because Jeremy Briar had been left in his father’s driveway. Because Adam Warrant’s body had been found in a garage owned by his father.
No, Christ, no.
Fairfax would be a perfect kill site.
Frank had taken Beth’s car and slipped away without the guards. Frank had his gun—he wasn’t stupid—but he was scared.
The warehouse waited at the end of the street. Darkened windows, tall walls. Abandoned.
He reached for his phone. Hesitated. Call Max. The whisper in his head. He should let Max know where he was. What was happening.
Would you trade your life for his? Is he worth that much?
His hands curled into fists, and Frank sucked in a sharp breath. No, he wouldn’t call Max. Time for me to do something right.
He shoved open the car door and climbed out slowly. “Hello!” His voice echoed back to him. There were no cars here, no lights. Nothing but the night and that damn warehouse.
Was this a trick? Another sick, twisted joke to pull him in and leave him with nothing?
But then a low moan filled the air and he froze. No, not a moan. The slow grind of a door scraping over old wood. The front entrance to the warehouse… the door had opened.
He couldn’t see anyone, but someone was there and inviting him in. “Who’s there? Dammit, come out here! Bring Quinlan out!”
“Come in…” Was the taunt he got in return.
His jaw clenched, and he loped forward. If he had to, he’d kill every sonofabitch in there, but he was getting his son.
His hand closed around the old door handle, and he wrenched it all the way open. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the scent of blood and bleach burned his nose.
Quinlan?
Please, son, be alive.
“What’s going on?” Max demanded. They were in the back of a government SUV, racing behind two other units toward Fairfax. “What do you mean, we’re going to one of Malone’s properties? Why?”
Sam glanced at him, knowing that she had to be careful. “We found the address on Veronica James’s computer.”
“Malone’s warehouse?” He shook his dark head. “That doesn’t make sense!”
“By all accounts, it’s an abandoned building. No other businesses close by. It seems like…” She wet her lips. “Like it might be the perfect place to keep someone locked up.” Or to dump a body.
Max’s eyes narrowed, and she knew that he understood the unspoken words. “Faster,” Max barked at Luke. “Can’t you drive this damn thing faster?”
They were already flying past the speed limit.
“We’re going in silent,” Luke said, and she knew that he was talking into his phone, giving orders to the locals on scene. “We’re not giving these bastards any warning.”
“Samantha.” Max’s fingers brushed hers.
She held his gaze.
“Is he alive?”
Her breath came on a slow rush. “We’ll know soon.”
“That last guy… Adam… they found him on his father’s property, too, didn’t they? That was where they dumped the body.”
She curled her fingers around his. She wanted to give him hope. “Quinlan could be alive.”
He squeezed her hand, but didn’t speak again. And neither did she—Sam didn’t like lying to him.
“Quinlan? Are you here?” The scent of blood was so strong, filling Frank’s nose and making bile rise in his throat. He fumbled and drew out his gun. The Feds had confiscated the Glock that he’d had earlier. But lucky for him, there’d been plenty of other guns waiting at home for him.
His feet shuffled forward. The warehouse was too damn dark. He should have leveled the place months ago. “Are you here?”
Frank’s right foot kicked something. Something big and soft. His breath heaved out. “Quinlan?” He slipped and fell to his knees. “Quinlan!”
