Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(44)

And then the smell hit her, slapping her right in the face. It was a smell that Monica knew all too well. Her shoulders stiffened. “Pull the dog back.” There was no need for him to go inside that room in the back. Keep the scene clear. She understood exactly how to work the area, but…

But for a moment, she hesitated before that door. So much damn death. Sometimes, it felt like she was always surrounded by death. Except when I’m with Luke. Luke brought her back to life.

As she stood before the door the scent choked her, but she knew she had to keep her game face on. Keep the image up. Over the years, Monica had gotten plenty of practice at masking her emotions. Ice. Yes, she knew the nickname was still whispered about her, but the folks who whispered were wrong. She might look like nothing cracked her shell, but Luke had slipped right past and gotten to her.

Monica lifted her hand, motioned to the others to stay back, and pulled out her gun. Her gloved fingers curled around the butt and her left hand pushed against the door. One, two…

Monica went in low and fast, with Kim coming up behind her. The other woman’s gun was out and up, too. A quick sweep of the room and—

“Clear,” Monica whispered, and pity had her heart slowing.

Slayton Warrant would be getting his son back today.

Adam’s body lay on the floor, spreadeagled just like the last victim. Long, deep slices covered his face and arms, and his throat had been slit from ear to ear.

Beside him, a small, brown box sat, just waiting.

Kim clicked on the safety and shoved the gun back into her holster. “This is one sick, twisted bastard.”

Monica’s eyes raked the room as she secured her own weapon. There was no blood spatter anywhere. No marks in the dust on the floor. Just a perfectly dropped—and dead—body.

And a box. Monica knelt next to the box and carefully opened it with gloved fingers.

Kim crept forward and peered over Monica’s shoulder.

A finger.

She’d noticed that Adam was missing his left ring finger.

Kim exhaled on a heavy sigh. “Guess the * is showing off his new signature.”

Proof of life. That’s what it had been for Quinlan Malone. For Adam Warrant, it just looked like more proof of death.

“It appears that way.” Monica put the box back down, right in the exact spot. “He’s linking them all. Briar’s body position and wounds were nearly identical to this scene. It’s all so close.”

“From the looks of the wound,” Kim cut in, “it looks like the perp cut it off before Warrant died.”

Monica suspected most of the wounds had been administered before death. Their killer enjoyed the pain he caused his victims. “We know the leader is highly organized,” Monica murmured.

“Right.” Kim pushed out a hard breath. “So what’s the * got planned for his next trick?”

Monica knew Luke would be finding out very soon, and she couldn’t help the kick of fear that made her heart race. Luke was a good agent. No, better than good. He could handle himself. But…

She worried because she cared more about him than she’d ever cared about anyone or anything.

And if she were to lose him…

Be careful, Luke.


Wyham Park was full of people. Joggers. Mothers who pushed bundled babies in giant strollers. Couples snagging a quick lunch.

Max walked past them all. His gaze swept the park. Left to right, back again, over and over.

Frank kept perfect pace with him, not saying a word, just walking fast with his duffel bags. They’d make the drop in less than two minutes.

And they’d damn well better get Quinlan back right after that.

They rounded the corner, and the crowd began to thin. Max hadn’t seen any sign of the agents yet, and he hoped he didn’t.

Samantha’s face flashed in his mind. Wide eyes. Soft lips. The gun she’d given to Max pressed into his back.

“Th-there.” Frank’s shaking voice. No longer hard or arrogant. Max hadn’t heard the guy sound this way since he’d gotten the phone call from Frank almost a year ago. The call that had come in the middle of the night. The one that had told Max that his mother had died.

Max’s hold on the duffel bags tightened. Ten million dollars. A hell of a lot of cash. Two large bags for him, two for Frank.

“He said… behind the broken oak,” Frank murmured.

The broken oak tree waited, split straight in the middle by a blast of lightning long ago. Max glanced around. He couldn’t see any more joggers. No more women pushing their kids. Hell, they were just going to dump the money? Here? What if someone else came along? What if—

Two men came toward them from the woods. Had to be men. Tall, nearly his height, with thick shoulders. They had on black jogging suits, and ski masks covered their faces.

They also had guns equipped with silencers. The better for killing when others were around.

“Drop the bags and back away.” This came from the guy slightly in front. The one with his weapon pointed straight at Max. The other guy, about an inch shorter, had his gun trained on Frank.

Frank dropped the bags. So did Max. The bags thudded onto the ground. Max and Frank stepped back, their hands up. “We’re not armed,” Frank said, raising his voice.

Bullshit. Max knew Frank had a gun tucked under his jacket. Frank always kept a gun in the main house, locked in his bedroom safe. Frank had taken the weapon out before they left for the drop.