Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(22)

“They have to give you proof,” Samantha’s hands were on her hips. “If they can’t prove that he’s—”

“They were at The Core. They saw us, and they took Quinlan.” This wasn’t some bullshit scam. He knew it.

Samantha shook her head. “You don’t know what happened after they left the club.” She paused, then said, “Your brother could have tried to get away. They could have used too much force to subdue him….”

No, Jesus, no.

“Quin… lan?” Frank pushed up against the covers. “Wh-what’s h-hap… pening?”

Samantha never looked away from Max. “Before you give them the money, you have to get proof that Quinlan is still alive.”

Because she thought his brother was dead.

And he was afraid she might be right.


Forty minutes later, Luke received the next text from Sam. His phone beeped, and the screen lightened. Then…

K called. Unidentified number.

“Dammit.” He’d expected as much based on the other cases, but they’d still be contacting the phone company. Maybe, just maybe they’d find a link back to the killer.

“When we get the records, it’s gonna be like the others,” Ramirez warned. “Just a disposable, we’re not—”

Luke whistled as he read the last of the message.

Cops=dead.

He dragged a hand over his face. “I need a way in.” His gaze met Ramirez’s. “Find me a way in, Jon.” A hard trick because he’d bet a month’s salary that the kidnappers were watching the house. They’d be making sure no cops came. No new faces.

I have to get in.

“Get him a cover,” Monica said. She sat nearby, watching. “He has to be doing a job that won’t set off any alarms, but one that’ll give him access to the house.”

“Give me some time,” Ramirez promised, “and I’ll have you walking right through the front door without raising any suspicion.”

Luke knew Ramirez could do it. No doubt.

But…

What about Sam? What cover was she using in that house? And she had to be using a cover. Because if the kidnappers knew that she was an FBI agent, then the vic was already dead.

? ? ?

Quinlan Malone screamed when the knife sliced into his skin. Blood flowed over his hand, wet, warm.

“This’ll convince them.” Whispered. “A piece…”

Quinlan’s breath hissed out. The pain blasted him like the touch of fire, and bile rose in his throat.

“He’ll pay.” The words were gritted. “He’ll… f-f*cking… pay…”

Quinlan’s heart thundered in his ears, nearly drowning out the words. His hand throbbed and burned and, oh, shit…

Tears leaked down his cheeks.

“He’ll pay.” So quiet, then, “He’d better.”


“We’re not paying the kidnappers a dime.” Sam’s eyes widened at his words. The speaker’s voice wasn’t slurred any longer. No, now the voice was strong and fierce and very, very pissed.

Sunlight flickered through the windowpane in the study as dawn cut through the last of the night. Frank Malone stood by the window and stared out into the distance. Dressed now, completely aware, he was no longer the drugged man desperate to understand.

Max paced in the room, tension evident in the taut lines of his body. At Frank’s words, Max stilled. “You’re not serious.”

“I damn well am.” Frank spun toward him. “I’m not going to bow to pressure, boy. I’m not going to—”

“He’s your son,” Sam said, stunned. “If you don’t do something, he’ll die.” Didn’t the guy get it?

Steel gray eyes raked her. “I don’t know you, sweetheart, and I’d advise you to keep your nose out of family business.”

Right. Sam swallowed and lifted her chin. Once upon a time, she would have backed down at that, dropped her head and hunched her shoulders. But she wasn’t the same woman any longer, and staring into Frank’s gaze, she realized that this guy—with his power, his money, and his arrogance—didn’t scare her. When you’ve already faced the devil, a pompous jerk is nothing.

“Haven’t you read the papers? Didn’t you see what happened to Jeremy Briar when he was taken? This—this seems like the same kind of—”

Frank waved his fat fingers in the air. “It’s a copycat. Some *s read about the crime, and they thought they’d get rich off it, off me.”

Yes, the SSD had been worried about a copy, but…

“This could even be Quin’s doing.” Frank’s eyes, if possible, narrowed more. “Little bastard just hit me up for cash. Maybe he thinks this’ll be the way to—”

“What if it’s not Quinlan?” Max demanded, and Sam’s gaze flew to him. “Do we just sit with our thumbs up our asses and wait for Quinlan to die?”

“That Briar shit wasn’t even in D.C., Max!” Frank paced toward him. “Come on, you’re smarter than this. At least, I thought you were.”

Sam almost preferred the guy drugged.

“This isn’t the same bunch.” Frank was adamant. “They wouldn’t come to D.C. when they’re hunting in Maryland—”