Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(47)

“Stay with him,” he ordered Sam. Then he inclined his head toward Ridgeway. “You’ll stay with the team for as long as we can let you.”

The two EMTs got to work on Ridgeway. His jaw was clenched tight, blood covering his shirt. His right hand was locked around Sam’s. Luke couldn’t tell if Sam was holding him, trying to give her lover support, or if Ridgeway was trying to chain her to him.

Maybe it was both.


The blue pickup swept into the parking garage, driving nice and slow, and circled down to rest on the second level, near the side entrance. The level without a security camera. The level half-concealed by darkness thanks to the lights he’d broken earlier.

The driver hopped out, now clad in a white t-shirt and blue jeans. “We’ve got it. Hot damn, we got it.” Sweat coated his black hair, making it stick hard to his head.

The guy hurried toward him as he waited near the old sedan. They wouldn’t have long for the transfer, maybe a minute. Less. “Throw the bags in the trunk,” he told the driver.

His trunk was already open. Ten seconds. The first two bags were tossed inside. Thirteen seconds. The other bags landed with a thud.

Sixteen seconds for the exchange. Perfect.

“Mike went back to finish them off, just like you said.” A wide grin split the truck driver’s face. “Bet it was like shooting ducks to take out those two bastards.”

But Mike hadn’t called in. Maybe it hadn’t been so easy.

No Mike meant… even less time. “You used gloves in the truck?” The stolen pickup that they’d had for three hours. They’d swapped plates and been good to go.

“The whole time.” The guy slammed the truck’s driver side door closed. “Now let’s get out of—”

The knife caught him right between the ribs. The blade dug in deep, then twisted. Blood bubbled up from the driver’s lips.

“The plans have changed.” Not really. This had been his plan all along. Why split the money? Splitting didn’t make sense. Not when it could all be his.

“Sorry, Jim, but I guess you won’t be getting out of here.” He pulled back the blade in a long, slow glide.

Jim fell to his knees. His head sagged back as he stared up with big, dumb, what-did-you-do eyes. Stupid sonofabitch. Had he really not seen this coming?

No time to waste.

He slashed Jim’s throat open from ear to ear. One down…

By the time Jim’s head smacked into the cement, he was already in the sedan.

Then he just backed out, adjusted his mirror, saw the dead man on the ground—and kept going.


Hyde stared down at the body, careful to keep his distance from the pool of blood already settling on the cement. Different clothes, same build, and the guy was positioned right behind the damn truck that Hyde had been following.

Hyde’s jaw clenched. He’d known the instant the truck turned into the garage that trouble was coming. He’d gotten in as fast as he could, but it had taken two minutes to get inside, thanks to a traffic slowdown on the street. Two minutes.

Plenty of time for someone to die.

His gaze rose and swept the perimeter. No security cameras. Figured. He pulled out his radio. “Seal the place up,” he ordered. Too late, though; he knew it. The kidnappers had been so smooth. “No cars in and no cars out.” Not until they’d checked every inch of the place.

“Sir?”

“Get Dante on the line. Tell him we’ve got another body.” He shook his head. And tell him to get ready for more.

Because he knew how criminals operated, and it sure looked like someone was tying up loose ends.





CHAPTER Nine


Max had never been in FBI headquarters before. He paced the small room, his hands knotted and his shoulder aching.

Samantha had herded him there after they’d left the park. They’d swept away from that chaotic scene right before the reporters swarmed. She hadn’t talked to him much, but he’d caught her glancing at him, eyes wide but shadowed.

The door squeaked open behind him. He didn’t turn around. It was about time someone came in, though he knew that he’d been watched every moment since he’d arrived. That long mirror to the left had to be a two-way.

“There’s been a new development.” Samantha’s quiet voice filled the small room, and he couldn’t help but tense. “Hyde trailed the second kidnapper to a parking garage near the train station.”

Max looked over his shoulder.

“By the time Hyde got inside—”

“Who the hell is Hyde?”

Her shoulders squared. “Keith Hyde created this unit. Hyde is the Serial Services Division.” She’d ditched the eye-hurting pink jogging suit and now wore a simple black blouse and pants. The black made her skin look paler. Her hair tumbled across her shoulders.

So they’d sent in their big dog on this case. “And?” Because there was more that he wasn’t going to like. But what had he liked so far? Christ, sitting there doing nothing was killing him. For almost two days now, he’d done nothing.

Not the kind of guy he was.

“By the time Hyde got inside the garage,” she said, “it was too late.”

His heart slowed, then immediately began racing too fast as he faced her.

She exhaled. “The perpetrator he’d followed was dead, and the money was gone.”