“I’ll get guards. I’ll hire some, bring them in—”
“You can do that, but the agents are going to stay on duty until the SSD is satisfied.” She pulled open the door.
“That’s it?” The words tore out. “You’re done now?”
Samantha stopped. “I told you, we’re going to finish the case.”
He caught a glimpse of a guy with close-cropped black hair and saw the flash of a badge. Screw who heard. “I was talking about us.” Look at me. She didn’t. “You’re just walking out.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” So soft.
And then she was gone before he could tell her that hell, no, that wasn’t what he wanted.
You pushed her away. Told her to leave.
Max whirled around and headed back to the chair near Quinlan’s bedside. He wasn’t leaving, wasn’t going to chase her.
Not yet.
Six hours later, Quinlan’s eyes opened. His hand moved first, jerking against the sheets, and Max leaned forward at the small movement.
“Quinlan?”
His eyes fluttered and opened in a squint. Quinlan blinked as fear filled his gray gaze. His mouth opened—
“It’s okay.” Max grabbed his stepbrother’s right hand. “You’re safe.”
Quinlan’s head turned toward him. Slowly, carefully. “M-Max?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” Max blew out a hard breath and punched the call button for the nurse. “Everything’s all right. You’re safe.”
Quinlan’s gaze drifted around the room, tracking to the left, then to the right. “H-hospital?” he rasped.
“You’re all stitched up.” Max tried to smile but the move just felt awkward. “In a few days, you’ll be as good as new.” But he’d carry the scars inside and out.
A deep furrow pulled down Quinlan’s brows. “Wh-what happened? I don’t…” His eyes widened. “That room.” His left hand flew up as the beeping machines screamed. “They… c-cut off my finger….”
And tried to slice him apart.
“Said—said I wasn’t w-worth… anything…” His voice broke. “Said D-dad wouldn’t…” He stopped. Didn’t seem to breathe. “Dad!”
Shit, shit.
Quinlan looked up at Max. “Where’s Dad?” The question came softer but was laced with fear.
The door opened behind Max. He looked back and saw a nurse bustle in. “He’s awake!” she said, smiling.
Max gave a grim nod. He tried to step away from the bed.
“Dad?” Quinlan’s fingers clamped down on his wrist.
Did the guy remember? Max didn’t want to tell him this.
Quinlan stared at him, his gaze searching Max’s face. “I-I… didn’t…” His hand fell away, and he shrunk back against the mattress. “Not a dream…” A hard sob broke from his chest, and he shuddered. “N-not… a-a…” His whole body shook, and his breath heaved out.
“Calm down, sir!” The nurse bustled past Max. “Everything’s all right.”
But the machines were going crazy.
“It’s okay!” she told Quinlan, grabbing for the IV bag. “You’re in a hospital. You’re—”
“Dead.” Such a low whisper.
Max couldn’t lie to him. He nodded.
“Wh-what?” The nurse glanced up with surprise.
Quinlan’s eyes closed. “Oh, God, Oh, God, it… was me…” Tears leaked down his cheeks.
As his brother cried, Max stood there helpless knowing there was nothing he could do.
“I killed him.”
• • •
Sam spun away from the hospital room. The sound of Quinlan’s sobs tore at her heart.
Dammit, the last thing I expected.
Frank Malone shouldn’t have been at that scene. It should have been a rescue mission. Not body recovery. She yanked out her cell and called Luke’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something on Frank’s phone,” she said.
A rustle of air. No, his sigh. “The number went back to a disposable cell, one we found here, in the same damn room that they kept Quinlan in.”
Luke was still at the crime scene. She knew that he was searching the area and going over every inch with the investigation unit.
Her eyes squeezed closed. “Are we missing something?” Someone.
Not… m-me.
“Ramirez is at The Core, talking to the manager,” Luke said. “He found out that Milano was hired on at that place just four days before Jeremy Briar went missing.”
“From then on,” Sam said, rubbing her aching temples, “Milano watched every move the cops made.” And he’d taken more men, with the authorities right beside him. Damn ballsy.
“And there’s something else you should know,” he continued. “The money isn’t here.”
Her eyes opened. “It wasn’t at Veronica’s.”
“Either the perps stashed it somewhere before hell came to town, or—”
Or someone else had the money. And if someone else was out there…
Then the nightmare wasn’t over.
• • •
By the time Monica and Luke made it home, the clock was edging past nine a.m.
The door closed with a soft click behind them, and Luke’s sigh whispered to her.
She turned and caught his hands, pulling him close. “This isn’t your fault.” But she’d seen the guilt in his eyes. When it came to the victims, Luke always took things personally.
A muscle flexed along the hard line of his jaw. “We had the perps’ location. If we’d just gotten there fifteen minutes sooner, Frank Malone would still be alive.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how he got there. He shouldn’t have been there.”
Monica stood on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “The perps wanted him there. It was part of their plan.” Luke understood that, but right then, Monica knew that emotion ruled him.
It often did.
“Come on, let’s get in bed,” she said. More questions would come soon. More interviews. More crime scene searches. But for a few hours, it would just be the two of them.
Luke nodded slowly and stepped forward.
Monica didn’t move. Her heart drummed faster. This wasn’t the perfect time. She’d thought to wait for romance and—hell. Her fingers were shaking.
“Monica? Baby, what is it?”
“I love you,” but she knew that he already realized that. Now for the hard part. “And I-I…” A deep breath. “Yes, I want to marry you.”
And just like that, she was in his arms. The death and the blood were pushed away, and it was just her and Luke. He was smiling and holding her tight, and in that moment, she was happy.
His mouth took hers in a deep, long kiss.
Sometimes, it wasn’t about the killers and victims.
Sometimes, it was just about life.
CHAPTER Twelve
Sam wasn’t much for funerals. She stood away from the gravesite, hanging back beneath the yawning branches of an oak as she watched the graveside service.
Max was there, dressed in a dark suit, his face grim. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew that he wouldn’t be crying.
Quinlan stood beside him. Pale. Weak. No sunglasses for him, and she saw him swiping away tears with the back of his hand.
Beth hovered at Quinlan’s side. She’d wrapped her arm tightly around his waist. Beth wore a stylish black dress and a small black hat perched on her blond hair.
No tears from her either. Mascara stains probably wouldn’t go so well with that perfect image.
Sam eased back but kept watching.
At least two dozen mourners were gathered around the gleaming coffin. A giant stream of red roses covered the lid. Blood red.
They’d delayed the funeral until Quinlan could be there for the service. And there he was.
Frank Malone would be in the ground soon, and then the family would gather for the reading of the will. Sam would be there for that part, too—courtesy of orders from Hyde.
But for now she watched and waited.
Quinlan shuffled forward, with Beth close to offer help. Did he know about her secrets?
Quinlan bent down and placed a trembling hand on the casket. Sam saw his lips move as if he were talking to Frank. Maybe he was. He could be telling his father that he was sorry. Maybe whispering good-bye. After a moment, Quinlan straightened and walked away, his head down.
One by one, all the other mourners followed suit. Some approached the casket. Some just walked away. Soon they were all gone.
All but Max. His shoulders weren’t hunched—they were thrown back, strong, and he wasn’t looking at the coffin. No; he’d shifted his position. Even with the sunglasses on, she knew he was looking at her.
Sam just waited. Taking his time, Max came to her. A slow, deliberate stride brought him under those hanging limbs and close to her.
“I thought the SSD was giving us some space,” he said. His sunglasses reflected her image back at her.
The SSD had been staying back. Not anymore. Hyde wanted the gloves off, and he wanted the interrogations to begin.
“Can’t even give us time at the grave, can you?” Anger boiled beneath his carefully controlled surface.
“There have been some… developments,” she told him. Like the fact that the money is gone. Gone. The SSD had searched every location linked to the crimes and the perpetrators. They’d turned up nothing. “I wanted you and Quinlan to be aware that there is a very strong possibility another suspect was involved in the kidnapping.”
He took off his sunglasses. His blue stare locked on her face. “Any agent could have come and told me this.”
She knew what he meant. “I requested the assignment.” She’d needed to see him.
“I haven’t heard from you in six damn days.”
Her breath caught. Did that mean he’d wanted to hear from her? “You wanted space. You were grieving.” One shoulder lifted, fell. Staying away had ripped me apart. She kept her voice level, saying only, “Hyde gave orders that the family was to have privacy.” But she’d thought about him. No, she’d worried about him.
“Hyde.” Max’s lips twisted. “Yeah, from the sound of things, he gives a lot of orders.” His head inclined toward her. “Why’d you ask for this job?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” She couldn’t get more honest than that.
He looked away, glancing back over his shoulder at the grave. “When I close my eyes at night, I see you.” His gaze slowly came back to her. “What did you do to me?”
She shook her head. “No, Max, I—”
“Max!” Quinlan’s yell.
She took a quick breath. “The cars are leaving.” The black limo waited up at the front with the back door open. “You need to go.” She’d see him at the house. This wasn’t the end. Not even close. Hyde wanted to know what the will said.
So did she.
Max caught her hand. “We both know you’re going for the will reading.” The faint lines around his eyes deepened. “What is it? Your boss thinks maybe I had something to do with all this? That I tortured my brother with some sick idea that he’d attack my—”
“We believe the kidnappers planned to kill Frank.” She could reveal that. “Calling him, telling him the location—we think it was a setup. We found the phone records. We have proof that Frank received a call from a cell phone recovered at the scene, so we know they lured him there.”
His fingers tightened. “You think I set him up? For money?”
“No, I don’t.” Honest. But Hyde wanted more than her belief. Hyde wanted cold, hard evidence.
“I’m not getting a damn thing from that will.” His thumb brushed over her wrist.
“Max!” Not Quinlan’s cry this time. Beth’s. The SSD would be getting to her very soon. Kim had already dug deeper into her past. Now it was time for a trip to the SSD and a one-on-one interview.
“I believe you.” And Sam meant it. She’d started trusting someone again—him.
“Should have been different,” he said. “A different time…”
“Different place.” She forced a smile. So much lay between them. Half-truths. Blood. Death. Was there any going back from that? Could they even try?
His left hand lifted, and his knuckles brushed over her cheek. “I wanted you from the minute I saw you.”
Her heart jumped.
He dropped her hand and stepped back. “I still do. Probably always will.”
• • •
Sam and Jon waited outside the lawyer’s office. When the door opened and she saw Max’s face, Sam snapped to attention.
“Why are they here?” Beth’s fierce demand. Her grip on Quinlan was still deathly tight.
Max strolled toward them. The lawyer, Kris Jared, followed right behind him. Max shook his head, and his gaze drifted from her to the ever watchful Ramirez. “I got it all,” he said with a tiger’s smile.
Not what she’d been expecting.
“Only until Mr. Malone turns twenty-five,” Jared interjected, wiping a sweaty brow. “Then Frank Malone’s estate will revert back to his biological son, Quinlan.”
Holding it in trust. Sam gave a nod. Okay, right. The SSD agents had known this outcome was a possibility. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Quinlan. “I know this is a difficult day for you…”
“You can do that, but the agents are going to stay on duty until the SSD is satisfied.” She pulled open the door.
“That’s it?” The words tore out. “You’re done now?”
Samantha stopped. “I told you, we’re going to finish the case.”
He caught a glimpse of a guy with close-cropped black hair and saw the flash of a badge. Screw who heard. “I was talking about us.” Look at me. She didn’t. “You’re just walking out.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” So soft.
And then she was gone before he could tell her that hell, no, that wasn’t what he wanted.
You pushed her away. Told her to leave.
Max whirled around and headed back to the chair near Quinlan’s bedside. He wasn’t leaving, wasn’t going to chase her.
Not yet.
Six hours later, Quinlan’s eyes opened. His hand moved first, jerking against the sheets, and Max leaned forward at the small movement.
“Quinlan?”
His eyes fluttered and opened in a squint. Quinlan blinked as fear filled his gray gaze. His mouth opened—
“It’s okay.” Max grabbed his stepbrother’s right hand. “You’re safe.”
Quinlan’s head turned toward him. Slowly, carefully. “M-Max?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” Max blew out a hard breath and punched the call button for the nurse. “Everything’s all right. You’re safe.”
Quinlan’s gaze drifted around the room, tracking to the left, then to the right. “H-hospital?” he rasped.
“You’re all stitched up.” Max tried to smile but the move just felt awkward. “In a few days, you’ll be as good as new.” But he’d carry the scars inside and out.
A deep furrow pulled down Quinlan’s brows. “Wh-what happened? I don’t…” His eyes widened. “That room.” His left hand flew up as the beeping machines screamed. “They… c-cut off my finger….”
And tried to slice him apart.
“Said—said I wasn’t w-worth… anything…” His voice broke. “Said D-dad wouldn’t…” He stopped. Didn’t seem to breathe. “Dad!”
Shit, shit.
Quinlan looked up at Max. “Where’s Dad?” The question came softer but was laced with fear.
The door opened behind Max. He looked back and saw a nurse bustle in. “He’s awake!” she said, smiling.
Max gave a grim nod. He tried to step away from the bed.
“Dad?” Quinlan’s fingers clamped down on his wrist.
Did the guy remember? Max didn’t want to tell him this.
Quinlan stared at him, his gaze searching Max’s face. “I-I… didn’t…” His hand fell away, and he shrunk back against the mattress. “Not a dream…” A hard sob broke from his chest, and he shuddered. “N-not… a-a…” His whole body shook, and his breath heaved out.
“Calm down, sir!” The nurse bustled past Max. “Everything’s all right.”
But the machines were going crazy.
“It’s okay!” she told Quinlan, grabbing for the IV bag. “You’re in a hospital. You’re—”
“Dead.” Such a low whisper.
Max couldn’t lie to him. He nodded.
“Wh-what?” The nurse glanced up with surprise.
Quinlan’s eyes closed. “Oh, God, Oh, God, it… was me…” Tears leaked down his cheeks.
As his brother cried, Max stood there helpless knowing there was nothing he could do.
“I killed him.”
• • •
Sam spun away from the hospital room. The sound of Quinlan’s sobs tore at her heart.
Dammit, the last thing I expected.
Frank Malone shouldn’t have been at that scene. It should have been a rescue mission. Not body recovery. She yanked out her cell and called Luke’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something on Frank’s phone,” she said.
A rustle of air. No, his sigh. “The number went back to a disposable cell, one we found here, in the same damn room that they kept Quinlan in.”
Luke was still at the crime scene. She knew that he was searching the area and going over every inch with the investigation unit.
Her eyes squeezed closed. “Are we missing something?” Someone.
Not… m-me.
“Ramirez is at The Core, talking to the manager,” Luke said. “He found out that Milano was hired on at that place just four days before Jeremy Briar went missing.”
“From then on,” Sam said, rubbing her aching temples, “Milano watched every move the cops made.” And he’d taken more men, with the authorities right beside him. Damn ballsy.
“And there’s something else you should know,” he continued. “The money isn’t here.”
Her eyes opened. “It wasn’t at Veronica’s.”
“Either the perps stashed it somewhere before hell came to town, or—”
Or someone else had the money. And if someone else was out there…
Then the nightmare wasn’t over.
• • •
By the time Monica and Luke made it home, the clock was edging past nine a.m.
The door closed with a soft click behind them, and Luke’s sigh whispered to her.
She turned and caught his hands, pulling him close. “This isn’t your fault.” But she’d seen the guilt in his eyes. When it came to the victims, Luke always took things personally.
A muscle flexed along the hard line of his jaw. “We had the perps’ location. If we’d just gotten there fifteen minutes sooner, Frank Malone would still be alive.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how he got there. He shouldn’t have been there.”
Monica stood on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “The perps wanted him there. It was part of their plan.” Luke understood that, but right then, Monica knew that emotion ruled him.
It often did.
“Come on, let’s get in bed,” she said. More questions would come soon. More interviews. More crime scene searches. But for a few hours, it would just be the two of them.
Luke nodded slowly and stepped forward.
Monica didn’t move. Her heart drummed faster. This wasn’t the perfect time. She’d thought to wait for romance and—hell. Her fingers were shaking.
“Monica? Baby, what is it?”
“I love you,” but she knew that he already realized that. Now for the hard part. “And I-I…” A deep breath. “Yes, I want to marry you.”
And just like that, she was in his arms. The death and the blood were pushed away, and it was just her and Luke. He was smiling and holding her tight, and in that moment, she was happy.
His mouth took hers in a deep, long kiss.
Sometimes, it wasn’t about the killers and victims.
Sometimes, it was just about life.
CHAPTER Twelve
Sam wasn’t much for funerals. She stood away from the gravesite, hanging back beneath the yawning branches of an oak as she watched the graveside service.
Max was there, dressed in a dark suit, his face grim. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew that he wouldn’t be crying.
Quinlan stood beside him. Pale. Weak. No sunglasses for him, and she saw him swiping away tears with the back of his hand.
Beth hovered at Quinlan’s side. She’d wrapped her arm tightly around his waist. Beth wore a stylish black dress and a small black hat perched on her blond hair.
No tears from her either. Mascara stains probably wouldn’t go so well with that perfect image.
Sam eased back but kept watching.
At least two dozen mourners were gathered around the gleaming coffin. A giant stream of red roses covered the lid. Blood red.
They’d delayed the funeral until Quinlan could be there for the service. And there he was.
Frank Malone would be in the ground soon, and then the family would gather for the reading of the will. Sam would be there for that part, too—courtesy of orders from Hyde.
But for now she watched and waited.
Quinlan shuffled forward, with Beth close to offer help. Did he know about her secrets?
Quinlan bent down and placed a trembling hand on the casket. Sam saw his lips move as if he were talking to Frank. Maybe he was. He could be telling his father that he was sorry. Maybe whispering good-bye. After a moment, Quinlan straightened and walked away, his head down.
One by one, all the other mourners followed suit. Some approached the casket. Some just walked away. Soon they were all gone.
All but Max. His shoulders weren’t hunched—they were thrown back, strong, and he wasn’t looking at the coffin. No; he’d shifted his position. Even with the sunglasses on, she knew he was looking at her.
Sam just waited. Taking his time, Max came to her. A slow, deliberate stride brought him under those hanging limbs and close to her.
“I thought the SSD was giving us some space,” he said. His sunglasses reflected her image back at her.
The SSD had been staying back. Not anymore. Hyde wanted the gloves off, and he wanted the interrogations to begin.
“Can’t even give us time at the grave, can you?” Anger boiled beneath his carefully controlled surface.
“There have been some… developments,” she told him. Like the fact that the money is gone. Gone. The SSD had searched every location linked to the crimes and the perpetrators. They’d turned up nothing. “I wanted you and Quinlan to be aware that there is a very strong possibility another suspect was involved in the kidnapping.”
He took off his sunglasses. His blue stare locked on her face. “Any agent could have come and told me this.”
She knew what he meant. “I requested the assignment.” She’d needed to see him.
“I haven’t heard from you in six damn days.”
Her breath caught. Did that mean he’d wanted to hear from her? “You wanted space. You were grieving.” One shoulder lifted, fell. Staying away had ripped me apart. She kept her voice level, saying only, “Hyde gave orders that the family was to have privacy.” But she’d thought about him. No, she’d worried about him.
“Hyde.” Max’s lips twisted. “Yeah, from the sound of things, he gives a lot of orders.” His head inclined toward her. “Why’d you ask for this job?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” She couldn’t get more honest than that.
He looked away, glancing back over his shoulder at the grave. “When I close my eyes at night, I see you.” His gaze slowly came back to her. “What did you do to me?”
She shook her head. “No, Max, I—”
“Max!” Quinlan’s yell.
She took a quick breath. “The cars are leaving.” The black limo waited up at the front with the back door open. “You need to go.” She’d see him at the house. This wasn’t the end. Not even close. Hyde wanted to know what the will said.
So did she.
Max caught her hand. “We both know you’re going for the will reading.” The faint lines around his eyes deepened. “What is it? Your boss thinks maybe I had something to do with all this? That I tortured my brother with some sick idea that he’d attack my—”
“We believe the kidnappers planned to kill Frank.” She could reveal that. “Calling him, telling him the location—we think it was a setup. We found the phone records. We have proof that Frank received a call from a cell phone recovered at the scene, so we know they lured him there.”
His fingers tightened. “You think I set him up? For money?”
“No, I don’t.” Honest. But Hyde wanted more than her belief. Hyde wanted cold, hard evidence.
“I’m not getting a damn thing from that will.” His thumb brushed over her wrist.
“Max!” Not Quinlan’s cry this time. Beth’s. The SSD would be getting to her very soon. Kim had already dug deeper into her past. Now it was time for a trip to the SSD and a one-on-one interview.
“I believe you.” And Sam meant it. She’d started trusting someone again—him.
“Should have been different,” he said. “A different time…”
“Different place.” She forced a smile. So much lay between them. Half-truths. Blood. Death. Was there any going back from that? Could they even try?
His left hand lifted, and his knuckles brushed over her cheek. “I wanted you from the minute I saw you.”
Her heart jumped.
He dropped her hand and stepped back. “I still do. Probably always will.”
• • •
Sam and Jon waited outside the lawyer’s office. When the door opened and she saw Max’s face, Sam snapped to attention.
“Why are they here?” Beth’s fierce demand. Her grip on Quinlan was still deathly tight.
Max strolled toward them. The lawyer, Kris Jared, followed right behind him. Max shook his head, and his gaze drifted from her to the ever watchful Ramirez. “I got it all,” he said with a tiger’s smile.
Not what she’d been expecting.
“Only until Mr. Malone turns twenty-five,” Jared interjected, wiping a sweaty brow. “Then Frank Malone’s estate will revert back to his biological son, Quinlan.”
Holding it in trust. Sam gave a nod. Okay, right. The SSD agents had known this outcome was a possibility. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Quinlan. “I know this is a difficult day for you…”
