Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(13)
“Don’t say her name.” Max didn’t want Quinlan talking about his mom or about the tragedy that had happened to her.
“She said we were brothers,” Quinlan swallowed. “Th-that I could count on you.”
Max dropped his brother’s hands. “You can.” He was the one who’d tossed Quinlan’s ass into rehab. Not the old man. Quinlan’s father hadn’t seemed to care about getting him clean.
“Talk to him, Max. Get me the money. I need it.”
Try earning it. He bit the words back. They’d had that fight already. Quinlan didn’t know what it was like to fight your way up from nothing. To work eighteen-hour days over and over until you thought that you’d collapse.
No, Quinlan didn’t know anything but wealth.
And a prick of a father.
Max had worked until his entire body ached, worked night after night as he struggled to get his life on track. Yeah, he could be in an office now, running things from some plush suite, but…
My projects, my job.
“Please, man, I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”
Max gave a curt nod. Fine. He’d talk, for all the good it would do him—and that was none.
“Thanks, Max!” A broad grin split Quinlan’s face, making his dimples flash. “I knew you’d help me!”
Right.
Quinlan spun around and took a few fast steps away. “Oh!” He glanced over his shoulder. “Should have told you last night. That new girlfriend is hot.”
Max stared back at him. Girlfriend? Not quite.
“How’d you two meet?” Quinlan asked.
In a bar. She picked me up. Offered me no-strings sex.
But the strings had come from nowhere last night as he’d just held her and ignored the hard-on that had kept him up until dawn. “Around.” He tilted his head and studied his brother. Were the guy’s hands shaking? Yeah, they were.
Using.
Quinlan gulped. “R-right…. see you, man, okay?”
Yeah, he’d be seeing him again. Max’s lips tightened.
He’d promised his mother that he’d look after Quinlan. A brother, not by blood, but by a mother’s command. He’d promised….
And Max kept his promises. Even the ones he wanted to break.
“Every major newspaper in the area headlined with the Jeremy Briar kidnapping and murder.” Monica Davenport’s cool voice carried easily through the conference room.
Sam shifted in her chair. Yes, she’d seen the headlines. WHO KILLED THE PLAYBOY? Big, bold, in-your-face headlines. But playboy? No, he’d been—
“Some rag even managed to get a picture of Briar’s mutilated body. A shot that looked like one of our crime scene photos.” Monica’s lips tightened, the only change in her expression, but that small flicker was enough to tell Sam that the woman was pissed. Monica, or Ice as she’d been nicknamed back in her Academy days, wasn’t one for much emotion.
The team Luke had assembled for the serial kidnappings case had gathered in the conference room to hear Monica’s update and to find out just what they could expect in the coming days.
“The kidnappings are out in the open now. The families know exactly what will happen if they don’t pay for their sons’ release.”
Sons. So far, only men had been taken. Strong, fit men in their twenties. All had been abducted within a two-hundred-mile radius of D.C.
“Can we expect copycat crimes?” This came from Agent Jon Ramirez. Since he’d recently finished up a serial rapist case in Denver, Dante had pulled Jon onto the team. Jon lounged back in his seat, black eyes watchful, as he tapped a pen against the edge of the long conference table. “Rich boys vanishing… maybe it will tempt others.”
“It might.” Monica crossed her hands over her chest and gave a slow nod. “Expect them.”
Great. More drama to cloud the case.
“And expect the real kidnappers to strike soon. Very soon.”
Sam shook her head. “But there’s usually at least two weeks between—”
“The kidnappers didn’t get their paycheck for the last victim. They’ll make another snatch.”
Snatch. Such a cold way to talk about a person’s life.
“The last four victims all disappeared from bars near college campuses… those are the hunting grounds,” Monica said. “So far, the kidnappers haven’t visited the same place twice.”
That they knew of.
“We’ve canvassed the bars where our vics were,” Luke’s much warmer voice cut through. “We couldn’t find anyone who remembered seeing the men leave.”
Sam cleared her throat. “I tapped into the traffic camera that’s located right down the street from The Core. I was able to retrieve license plate numbers for over a hundred vehicles.”
Luke raised a brow.
“I cross-referenced those tags with the vehicles that we saw from the traffic cameras at the other scenes. There were no matches.” But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “I’ve got the names and addresses of the people who owned the cars. We can interview those folks; maybe someone remembers seeing Jeremy.”
Now Luke nodded. “Good work, Sam.” He pointed at Ramirez. “Why don’t you and Kim take the witness list? See if anyone was sober enough to remember our vic and the person who took him out of the bar.”