Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(49)

“So I heard your team screwed up again, and the other * is dead,” Max said, ready to cut right through the bullshit.

“I’m afraid the perpetrator was dead before our agents could arrive on scene,” Monica said cooly, not so much as a line appearing on her face. “But I assure you, we are doing everything possible—”

“Not good enough.” Max turned his stare to Dante. “I told you, I want to know everything. No more shutting me out. Good, bad, I want to know.”

Dante nodded. “We just need you to answer a few questions first.” The guy’s voice was so calm, almost friendly. “Then we’ll move ahead and share everything we have with you.”

Max laughed. “Really; what is this? Are you supposed to be the good one?” His gaze returned to the woman. Good cop, bad cop. Stupid game. “You don’t look bad,” he told her.

“You have no idea,” she murmured back, and the arctic in her gaze nearly froze him.

“Do you know,” Dante’s voice with its hint of a southern drawl cut through the room, “why your family was targeted?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Because my stepfather is rich. Pretty easy one to figure.”

“Your stepbrother fit the victim profile,” Samantha said. His gaze slanted toward her. She stepped forward with that chin up. “I told you, he was victim number five.”

“He didn’t fit the profile perfectly. Quinlan wasn’t attending college,” Monica pointed out.

“No.” Max shook his head, aware that Samantha was coming closer. “He dropped out of Georgetown last semester.” Just a year away from getting his degree. Quinlan had said that he’d go back. Now would he have the chance?

“Does your stepfather have any enemies?” Dante asked.

Max laughed. “Yeah, dozens. Every business owner he’s ever screwed.” And there’d been a lot of them. “But for names, you’re going to need to ask him.”

“We are.” Monica tucked a strand of dark hair behind her left ear. Her right shoulder moved in a small shrug. “Do you have enemies, Max?”

A hand came to rest on his uninjured shoulder. Soft and smooth, a light touch. Samantha stood by his side. Enemies? He straightened a bit. “No one who hates me enough to do this.”

Monica opened a folder and pushed a series of photos across the table toward him. “Do you know any of these men?”

His gaze scanned the color photographs. He touched the picture of the blond with the winking grin. He would have recognized the guy even if his picture hadn’t been splashed on the news. “Adam Warrant. He and Quinlan hung out a few years back.”

He felt the sudden tension in the room. “Anyone else?” Dante asked.

Max stared down at the photos. The redhead with the broken nose looked familiar. “I… might have seen him with Quinlan once, but I can’t be sure.”

“Do you know his name?” Dante’s voice was still easy.

“No, no, I’m not even sure I saw him but I think—” He frowned, remembering a rain-soaked day when he’d gone to Quinlan’s dorm room. “I think I saw him when Quinlan was at Georgetown.” His fingers tapped on the photo. “He another vic?” Another one who knew Quinlan? What were the odds…?

“No, he’s not a victim.” Monica pulled the photo away. “He’s the perp we found with his throat slashed in the parking garage.”

His gaze flew up to catch hers.

Monica’s head inclined toward him. “Sam ran his prints and turned up a hit in our system. That’s where we got the picture. His name’s James Hackley. He’s an ex-con, and as far as we can tell, he’s never been a student at Georgetown or any other college.”

Max’s eyes narrowed.

“And this is the other man.” A photo slid toward him, and this time, it was obvious that the guy was dead. Close-cropped black hair. Closed eyes. A bullet’s entrance wound in his forehead. “Do you know him?”

Had to be the guy who’d tried to kill him. “No. Never seen him.” At least, not without a black ski mask.

“He’s not in the system,” Samantha said, “but I’m running a facial recognition program right now. I’m comparing his image to the video we took from the traffic cameras outside the bars. If we can tag his image and link him to a car, I can trace the plate.” She exhaled slowly. “And the plate will give us a name.”

Monica pulled all the photos back. “We’re going to connect all these men, and we will find your brother.”

“Pieces of him?” The question burst out.

And Monica didn’t answer.

“We’ll find him,” Samantha’s soft voice reassured. “Don’t give up hope yet.”

He saw Dante’s gaze jump to her.

“You’ve given us a link,” Monica said. “Two victims knew each other. Maybe they all knew each other.”

“Or maybe they all knew the wrong person.” Samantha said.

James Hackley.

Monica straightened her files. “We start with Hackley and work our way out from there. He’s going to lead us to the others.”

Max’s hands flattened on the table. “You sure about that? My brother is out there, dying.”