Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(7)

Quinlan gulped and looked away. His left hand lifted to rub against his neck, and his golden horseshoe ring—his so-called lucky charm, a gift from Quinlan’s father—glinted.

His stepbrother always seemed to have trouble looking him in the eye. Since his mother’s death, so did their “father.”

Max headed for the door. He was done with this scene. He didn’t need to schmooze and party. What he needed—well, she’d driven away.

I’ll find you. She’d better.

Find me, or I’ll find you, baby.





CHAPTER Two


Sweat was slick on Sam’s palms as fear settled heavily in her belly. She slammed the car door, rubbed her hands on the black pants she’d changed into at her place, and stared up at the looming mansion.

Two police cruisers were parked near the gate. A crime scene investigation team fanned over the area.

She sucked in a deep breath, then shoved back her shoulders and marched forward as she pulled out her ID. “I’m with the FBI—where’s Agent Dante?” Dante, not Hyde. She didn’t want to see him just then.

A uniform pointed toward the big house. “With the body.”

Another kill didn’t make any sense. The Briars only had one son so no one else at the residence fit the kidnappers’ profile. The vics were rich males in their early twenties. Party boys who had parents with too much money and too little time for them.

The first kidnapping had occurred three months ago. The ransom demand had come twenty-four hours after the college student disappeared. The father paid, and the next day the son was back and able to provide absolutely no description of his abductors.

Next a man had been taken from Virginia, then one from D.C. Poor Jeremy Briar had been abducted from Maryland.

All of the men disappeared from college campuses, or rather, from bars located near the campuses.

Two men had come back alive.

Two hadn’t been so lucky.

The serial kidnappers were smart, very good at covering their tracks, and too good at picking targets.

When it came to knowing the identity of the abductors, the SSD had nothing. Nothing.

She hurried down an elaborate walkway and eased past a fountain that sprayed water high into the air. Voices rose and fell, drifting out of the house through the open doorway. She stepped off the path and found herself on a mosaic that reproduced a Rembrandt painting.

Too much money. Maybe too much time, too.

Sam eased past the uniforms stationed near the door, keeping her ID out. “I need to find Agent Dante.” She still didn’t know why he’d called her in, but she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“He’s in the study,” the nearest cop told her.

Sam’s brows rose. That was supposed to tell her what, exactly?

The cop flushed a deep red—a red that matched his hair. “Down the hallway, second door. The room with the body.”

Right, the body. This family had sure been through hell.

Her shoes whispered against the tile. First they’d lost their only child and now—

Sam skidded to a halt just outside the study. The techs were bagging the victim, an older guy with gray-streaked hair, tanned skin, and half his skull missing.

“Morgan Briar,” Luke Dante murmured, looking up from his notes and giving her a cool nod. He stood near the large window to the right. “He’s been dead about five hours now.” Luke’s green eyes held hers.

Morgan Briar. The father. Oh, Jesus. “What happened? Why—”

“No, I don’t need a damn lawyer!” A woman’s shrill cry tore through the air. Sam glanced over her shoulder and saw a tall, icily beautiful blonde being led down the stairs. The woman wore slim black pants and what looked like a white cashmere sweater. The sweater was stained with blood.

“That’d be Mrs. Kathleen Briar,” Luke murmured.

Kathleen’s hair had come loose from one of those fancy twists that Sam had never been able to manage.

Cops flanked the woman on either side. One, an older guy with graying hair at his temples, was reading the woman her rights. “If you can’t afford—”

“I can afford a f*cking attorney. I just don’t want one right now!” Kathleen’s voice rose to a screech.

“She called it in about an hour ago,” Luke said quietly, and Sam heard the hint of a drawl beneath his words. He strode forward and came to her side.

Luke was still the newest agent in the SSD. He’d transferred up from Atlanta and had immediately paired up with the unit’s top profiler, Monica Davenport. “From the looks of things,” he continued, motioning toward the bar, “Mrs. Briar had a gin before making that call.”

“She killed him?” Sam shook her head. Okay, she hadn’t expected that.

The cop kept reading the Miranda rights to his perp. “Anything you say or do can be held…”

“She told the 9-1-1 operator that she shot her husband.” Luke crossed his arms and watched the procession. Kathleen and her guards were almost at the study door now. Almost…

Kathleen stopped to glare at Sam and Luke. “I’m not sorry.”

Luke lifted one shoulder. “Never said you were, ma’am.” His voice was cool. Odd, because of all the agents, he was the one who always seemed the most intense. The one who seemed to care too much.