If only. Frank had the right of it. Hard, driving sex was the way to shove the demons away.
The way to hold onto sanity until dawn came.
Hold on, Quinlan. Just hold on.
Max climbed into the bed, closed his eyes, and tried to shut her out. But he could hear her. Every soft move. Every rustle.
The bed dipped when Samantha eased in beside him. He caught her scent, light, flowery, and wanted more.
No. You couldn’t always have what you wanted. He knew that better than others.
Silence.
In bed with him. Close. If he reached out, he could touch her.
He wouldn’t reach out. But, dammit, he had to ask. “Is he alive?” His eyes opened to darkness. “You know these bastards. Do you think he’s alive somewhere, hurting and scared, or have they already cut him up?” His eyes struggled to adjust to the dark as he waited for her answer. Not a bullshit response, the truth.
Her fingers brushed his arm. Heat shot through him. “He’s alive.”
Max could almost believe her. Almost.
Her hand slipped over his chest, stopping just over his heart, and he knew that she had to feel the desperate drumming. “Wouldn’t do that,” he warned. This was the only warning he’d give. “Not unless you want me to finish what you’re starting.”
Between them, there could be no innocent touches now. No comfort in the darkness. In the middle of hell, he still wanted her. Fuck, had wanted her, every moment, even when rage bubbled in his chest.
His cock was hard, ready, because she was near. The temptation to reach out to her was strong because he knew she would make him forget, for just a few moments, the nightmare he was living.
“I’m afraid of the way you make me feel.” Her words came again. In the dark, his Samantha was being honest. A surprise. But, no, maybe she’d always been honest in the dark. Honest when their bodies touched and the need exploded.
The real her?
“I know I shouldn’t,” she said, her voice husky and seeming to stroke right over his cock, “but I still want you.” Samantha rose a bit, turning on her side, and her breath blew over his cheek.
And he wanted her. If she didn’t pull back…
No more warnings.
“It’s wrong,” she told him softly, her voice sin in the dark. “The case, us. But… but I need to be with you one more time.”
He grabbed her and pulled her toward him. Her skin slid against his, and he wanted more. He’d have more.
“You don’t trust me,” she whispered, and her lips were less than an inch away.
And you don’t trust me. But he didn’t say that. No need. They both knew it.
“You don’t—”
Max kissed her. He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulled her head down, and pressed his lips to hers. She moaned into his mouth and arched toward him. Still wearing that damn dress when he wanted to feel her bare skin.
His hands snaked down her body. No preliminaries. No caresses. This was sex. Wild. Raw. Pleasure and climax, that’s what he’d take.
She straddled him, placing one soft thigh on either side of his legs. The dress pooled around them. He caught the fabric and shoved it up to her hips. One tug and he ripped her panties away.
Her mouth broke from his as she gasped.
Condom. Christ, he needed the—
Hot, creamy flesh brushed against his cock. Ready for him, just as he was ready for her. No, he was damn near exploding for her. His hand shot out and fumbled with the night stand. He hit the lamp switch, and light spilled onto the bed. He’d stashed his wallet in the nightstand drawer earlier. One condom left. One.
She leaned over him and opened the drawer. “Got it.” So soft. Her fingers tore open the wrapper. She took out the condom. She touched him, and he shuddered. No, no, too close. When her hands were on him…
He rolled, pushing her back against the bed, leaving her legs spread, and the dress bunched at her waist. Just sex.
That was all it had ever been.
The condom covered him. Wanted flesh to flesh. Wanted that hot core, squeezing around me, nothing separating us.
His erection pushed against the entrance of her sex. She reached out to touch him again, but he caught her hands and pushed them back against the mattress.
Just sex.
Her gaze seemed to burn right through him.
Fuck, lost. One look and he was… Max kissed her. The kiss should have been hard and angry, but it was more. Desperate. Like he was starving for her, and maybe he was. Starving, addicted, so hungry for her.
His cock thrust deep. She made that moan in the back of her throat, the moan that made him crazy, and he thrust faster, stronger, and he kissed his way down her neck. Soft skin. So soft. He bit her flesh even as he thrust balls-deep.
She bucked beneath him, then whispered, “Harder.”
His cock stretched even more, and he gave the woman what she wanted.
Her hands were free. She’d pulled them from his grasp, and now her fingers were on him. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
He wanted her breasts. Wanted her nipples in his mouth.
She pushed against him, angled up, then swiped that small pink tongue over his nipple.
He groaned. And she laughed. Laughed. Her head tilted back, and she stared up at him. No fear in her gaze, just blind need.
A killer. She knew what he was, but she gazed at him and seemed to see just a man.
Faster, deeper. The bed squeaked beneath them, and he didn’t give a shit who heard. The climax bore down on him, but he didn’t want the pleasure yet. He didn’t want to stop. Her delicate inner muscles squeezed so tight. Too good. Don’t end.
His thumb pressed over her clit. She had to enjoy it. Had to need the sex as much as he did. More. He caressed her and felt her sex tighten even more around him as he drove into her.
She came, and he saw the pleasure wash over her face and darken her eyes.
Just sex. Just—
“Samantha!” He fought the release. Longer. More. Her sex contracted around him in a sweet ripple that had his body tightening. So close. He could feel her pleasure. Feel her. Inside, out. Everywhere, her.
He exploded inside her, the release a red-hot firestorm of pleasure that heated his blood and burned its way through his body.
Dammit, more. More.
So much more than he’d bargained for.
“Some people can’t follow simple fucking instructions.” He stared down at the bound man, and rage pumped through him. “I mean, really, how hard is it to understand?”
The guy jerked at his ropes and grunted something behind the duct tape.
“Guess you’re gonna get a real piss-poor deal on this one.” He gave a long sigh and let his fingers tighten around the hilt of the knife he held. “And just so you know… it’s gonna hurt.”
Moving fast, he ripped off the blindfold. Wide, desperate eyes stared back at him, and the guy shook his head, fast, over and over.
But he just shrugged as he stared down at the helpless bastard. “Blame the family, man. They’re the ones who are doing this to you. They are the ones who turned their backs on you.”
More muffled grunts came from behind the gray line of duct tape. He raised the knife and stepped closer to his prey. He caught a flicker of movement behind him and knew that she’d come to watch. Just like before.
He liked it when she watched him work.
The blade traced down the guy’s face. A slow, careful trek. That bastard Briar had pissed him off, but this one? He almost… liked him.
But he’d still slice the prick apart. “They should have just paid.” He shrugged. Not my fault. “I showed everyone what happens when you don’t pay.” They knew the rules.
He’d left his message for the world to see. But still, they tried to screw him. Thought that they could outmaneuver him.
A last sigh slipped from his lips. “You should have been worth more.”
Sam didn’t wake screaming that night, bu
t only because she didn’t sleep. She lay in bed next to Max, her heart still thudding too fast, his arm across her stomach, and she wondered what she was doing.
Not really a new question.
She should move. Get up. Not feel so comfortable in bed with him. Not feel like his body fit against hers.
The darkness surrounded them. She didn’t have to worry about her emotions flashing on her face. Sometimes it was so hard to hide what she felt. How many times had her mother told her, “I know what you’re thinking, Samantha Jane! I can see it… right there on your face.” Acting had never been her gift, but she was trying, as hard as she could.
Her fingers caressed his shoulder. He’d rolled onto his stomach, and his face was positioned toward her. She could hear his breathing, deep, even, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping.
Together, but so far apart.
A soft chime pealed in the room, and she tensed. Oh, no, not now, please.
But Max was already moving. He rolled away from her in a flash and stalked, naked, to pick up her phone. The dim light from her screen lit his face as he read the message.
Not Quinlan. Don’t say they’ve found a body. Max’s head lifted but shadows hid most of his face. “New development,” he said, voice rumbling. “ ‘Problem. Stay on guard.’ ”
She pulled the covers up, too aware of her nudity when she hadn’t cared before. “Max…”
But he’d spun away and lunged toward a tall cabinet near the balcony. He wrenched open the cabinet doors, revealing a large flat-screen television. “Dante said to turn on the damn TV.”
That drove her from the bed. Oh, shit, they’d found a body. She grabbed Max’s hand before he could press the button on the remote to activate the TV. “Don’t, Max. You don’t need to see—”
His thumb pressed POWER. The screen burst to life. Max flew through the channels, shooting past infomercials and old black-and-white films to find a local station.
Newscasters—faces tense as they sat at their desks, their hair perfect, their clothes pressed—stared back at her. “Shocking news out of D.C. this morning,” the dark-haired anchor said. “A well-known man has recently been kidnapped, and his family turns to you for help.”
“Oh, shit,” she breathed the words. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. She’d been with Max every moment. He hadn’t gone to the press. Had Frank? Was he the one who’d leaked the story to the world? Beth?
In the next instant, the reporters vanished, and a live action shot filled the screen. An older man with dark gray hair and fierce eyes glared at the camera. “I want my son back. Someone took Adam. The bastards have him, and I want him back.” An image of the missing young man appeared in the lower left-hand side of the screen. A smiling guy with curly blond hair and a dimple in his right cheek.
“They want me to pay to get him back. Well, I’m not playing their games,” the man on screen continued, staring hard out of the television set. “I’ll pay you to tell me where he is. I’m offering a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for any information about my son, Adam Warrant. He’s twenty-two, he’s five foot nine, about one hundred and seventy pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. He was out last night…” His words came fast. “At a bar near Georgetown. He was at The Core, and I know someone saw something.”
This wasn’t the right thing to do. Didn’t he understand? Her hands clenched. Oh, God.
“Call me.” He barked out a number, one that instantly appeared on the screen below him. “Tell me where my boy is, and tell me who these freaks are that took him.”
Sam’s eyes squeezed shut.
“That’s Slayton Warrant,” Max said quietly.
She knew who he was. Most of D.C. did. She also knew that he had a whole big chunk of money sunk into this particular television channel. No wonder he’d gotten an instant broadcast. Not that the news station would have passed up a story like this one, but…
But he doesn’t realize what he’s done. She opened her eyes, swallowed, and almost swore she tasted blood. “The SSD will be on their way to his house.” To try and stop him, too late. The damage would have already been done.
Max tossed the remote down as the broadcast continued to blast in front of them. “He’s right. Somebody did see something.”
And a lot of people had seen nothing. All those people would be calling in too.
He raked a rough hand through his hair. “Adam and Quinlan both disappeared from the same place…. Dammit! This shouldn’t have happened!”
“No,” her voice came so much softer than his. “It shouldn’t.” Another break in pattern. Two men gone at the same time. Two taken from the same bar. The SSD had interviewed the employees at the bar—twice—and they’d even put undercover agents inside The Core as a precaution. Oh, hell, Hyde was going to flip over this. No way should another vic have vanished from that place.
And why another victim so soon? This was rapid acceleration. Usually, the kidnappers only took someone else if the ransom had been paid or if—
She slanted a quick glance at Max.
If the other vic was dead.
“What’s going to happen?” He turned toward her, pinning her with his gaze, and Sam hoped the fear didn’t show in her eyes. “When they find out what Warrant’s done, what will the kidnappers do?”
Kill.
“Maybe Slayton will get the right tip,” Max said. “Maybe they’ll find Adam and Quinlan.”
If he wanted to believe that, why shatter his hope?
• • •
He walked down the street, taking his time as he rounded the curve and headed into the park. His hood was pulled up, concealing his face, and the thick jogging suit hid the shape of his body.
His gaze didn’t meet that of any of the other runners or walkers. When he was sure no one was watching, he ducked into the woods and pulled out his phone.
The call was answered on the second ring.
“Slayton Warrant.”
But, of course, it wasn’t him. The voice belonged to some flunky. Some idiot Warrant had slapped with the job because the asshole was all fake bullshit on the air.
“I’ve got a tip.” He kept his voice a whisper because he figured they were recording the calls. Recording, tracing, doing whatever they could. The cops would be at Warrant’s place by now. The cops, maybe even the FBI. He knew the FBI was following him as best they could.
Not good enough.
He’d taken Adam right under their noses. So much for the big, bad FBI and their cop flunkies.
Taking Adam in front of them had been such a big damn rush. No one can stop me.
“Sir,” the voice on the phone chirped in his ear, “Sir, I need you to speak louder. We have a bad connection—”
“He fucked up.” He didn’t raise his voice. “Warrant knew the rules, and he fucked up.” And he’d known instantly. As soon as that news van pulled up, the watcher had alerted him.
And Adam had been dead.
“Uh… sir?” A hint of fear there. Good. The idiot should be afraid.
“It’s his fault. Tell him that.” Simple damn rules. “But I gave the guy his son back.” Just not the way he wanted. A soft laugh. “Warrant has so many fucking properties in this town. Too many. If he wants Adam, he has to start cleaning house.” Oh, yeah.
“Wh-who is this? We have a reward, sir, if you’ll just—”
He could almost see the cop next to the jerk, probably rolling his hand and telling the guy to keep him on the line. Not going to happen. “I didn’t ask for 50K.” That small change wouldn’t have even been worth the effort. “Adam was worth more.”
Sighing, he ended the call. He had his gloves on so he’d blend in with the other joggers—it really was a bitch of a cold morning—so he didn’t have to worry about leaving prints as he dropped the phone. The cell fell into the bushes near his feet. Then he took a deep breath and ran forward, knowing the path picked up again in about thirty feet. His heart began to pump, faster, faster…
He shot out onto the path and ke
pt running. Blending with the others would be so easy now. Blending—he’d always been good at that. A smile could get you anywhere.
But money could get you everywhere.
He gave a little wave as he passed a sexy blonde. Everywhere.
How long would it be before they found the body? Hopefully not too long. Even in the cold, Adam would really start to reek.
If he’d timed things right—and he was so good at planning—the cops would be tearing apart those buildings looking for Adam just as the exchange was made for good old Quinlan.
Diversion. So simple. So perfect.
Damn, but this was easy.
CHAPTER Eight
We divide the team,” Luke said, hunching his shoulders against the biting cold and talking fast to Kim Daniels as the Warrant residence swarmed with activity around him. They’d pulled up a listing of every piece of property that Warrant owned. Turned out the guy owned nearly half the town. “Kim, we need to start with the most secluded properties first.” Because the kidnappers wouldn’t want an audience when they dumped their victim.
His finger tapped on the list of addresses. “These three businesses are closed down.” A fabric shop. A gym. An old garage.
“No eyes, no ears,” Kim murmured. “Sounds like prime dumping stops.”
Kim wasn’t sugar coating. She wasn’t the type. When she’d first heard about the news story, she’d turned to him and said two words: “He’s dead.”
Special Agent Kim Daniels wasn’t what most folks would call an optimistic kind of person. But then, with this case, it was hard for anyone to be.
“We need Monica,” she said quietly, her breath forming a small cloud before her face.
She was right. Of course she was. He and Monica couldn’t work as direct partners, but he could use her. “Take her to the properties with you.” He knew Monica was already on her way. Nothing would keep her away from a scene like this.
To keep working the profile, Monica would need to see the crime scene. When she saw the layout of the body and its placement by the killer, maybe something would click for her.