Daring Deception

by Barbara Freethy

  "Okay," she said, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out. "We should get back to the car. I need to go into the office and check with my team."

  "I can get a ride back to my house. You don't need to drive me to Dillon Beach."

  "That would be easier." As they walked back to the parking lot, she added, "I am sorry you had to take some punches to get Hank to talk, but you were impressive."

  "Hank wasn't that good."

  "Oh, he was good. You were just better. Have you boxed in the last ten years?"

  "As a matter of fact, I have. It's still one of my favorite workouts."

  "So, you were hustling him." She gave him a small smile.

  He shrugged. "Hank wanted a fight; I gave him one."

  "He had a tell. You capitalized on it."

  His gaze widened. "You saw it, too?"

  "I've done some boxing myself since I became an agent. His defensive move was always to the left."

  "You box?" he asked in disbelief, coming to a stop.

  "Yes," she said with a proud smile. "It was part of my training. I found I liked it. It made me feel more powerful, more in control."

  "That's important to you, isn't it? The gun, the boxing, the training, the job…"

  "Yes. I'm very aware that my need for control is probably a result of what happened."

  He thought about that and had to ask her a question. "How do you do it, Caitlyn? How do you go to a bomb site and walk through the rubble and not fall apart?"

  "It's never easy, Quinn. Today, I felt like I was going to throw up. It was all I could do to hold it together. But I tell myself it's about finding the truth, and whatever that takes, I have to be willing to do."

  "Now I'm impressed even more. I should have let you take the ring against Hank."

  "I'm sure Hank would have liked to beat the crap out of me, too. Unfortunately, he had to pick one of us, and you were higher on the list. But he didn't beat you; you beat him. He wasn't expecting that. You earned his respect."

  "I don't want his respect. I still don't know that he didn't set that bomb, that he didn't help Donovan do it, or that he didn't know more about it than he wanted to tell us."

  "He might know more about the big plan than he told us, too. That's why we need to keep talking to people. Wyatt, Justin, Gary, Vinnie…we need to speak to all of them."

  "I noticed you left your brother off that list."

  She frowned. "I don't know what to think about that story, but I will speak to Spencer—maybe tonight. My mom is insisting that I come to dinner."

  "Do you see them a lot?"

  "Not really. It helps when I have distance, but they know I'm in town."

  "Sounds like we'll have to have those other conversations tomorrow."

  "Yes."

  "Unless the rest of your team comes up with a suspect before then."

  "That would be good, too. What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked, as they started walking again.

  "I'm diving in the morning. But I'm free in the afternoon." When they reached the parking lot, he pulled out his phone. "I'll get a ride."

  "All right." She licked her lips. "I'm glad we talked, Quinn."

  "Me, too. Even more glad that we kissed," he couldn't help saying.

  She flushed. "I don't think we should talk about that."

  "Like you said, it was inevitable."

  "Well, it's over now. I have to tell you one thing before we part ways."

  He didn't like the change in her expression. "What's that?"

  "I still think you're holding something back, Quinn. I don't know what it is, but there's a secret in your eyes. I wish you would open up to me."

  "There's no secret," he denied.

  "You have a tell, too. You avert your gaze when you don't want me to look too closely at you. You always did that, especially when I would bring up your family or your life in Ireland. But you never did it as much back then as you've done it today."

  He had to fight not to look away from her. "I don't know what you want me to say, Caitlyn. I'm doing everything I can to help you. Let's focus on finding the bomber and figuring out the plan. That's the most important thing. I want to get justice for you and for our baby. I want to make sure no one else gets hurt." He could see the lingering doubt in her eyes, so he added, "I know you don't completely trust me, and I've given you plenty of reasons not to, but I want to find the truth. Do you believe that?"

  She gave him a long look. "I do believe you want the truth, but I also believe you have a secret. However, you are helping me, so for now, I'll leave it alone."

  Relief ran through him. "I'll take that."

  "Hearing you open up about the loss of our baby also made me realize that there's something I need to tell you." Indecision played through her eyes, and then she lifted her chin. "I gave her a name."

  His heart stopped. That was the last thing he'd expected her to say. "You did?"

  "Isabella. That was her name. It was Isabella."

  He felt a rush of painful emotion. "That's the prettiest name I've ever heard."

  Caitlyn's bottom lip trembled as she blinked back tears once more. "I think so, too."

  Then she turned and walked away.

  Chapter Ten

  Isabella.

  The name rocketed around Quinn's head as he got a ride home. He couldn't believe Caitlyn had named their child, but it felt absolutely right.

  Isabella.

  He could picture her in his mind, a little girl with Caitlyn's warm smile and curious brown eyes. She'd have Caitlyn's soft laugh, and she'd probably wave her hand in the air while she talked. She'd also have a big heart, one that could easily be hurt.

  Was he describing Isabella or Caitlyn?

  They felt very much the same in his mind. Not that his daughter wouldn't have gotten some of his traits, too. She probably would have been stubborn; that would have come from both of them. She would have loved the sea, because he would have made sure of that. He would have taken her swimming and diving as soon as she was old enough. He would have shown her all the wonders of the ocean.

  And Caitlyn would have made their daughter watch old movies with a bowl of hot popcorn on her lap. He smiled to himself at that memory. Caitlyn had always found pleasure in the classics, especially when it came to Christmas movies, and she'd gotten him hooked on them, too. Although, he hadn't watched any in ten years because the memories had been too painful.

  Caitlyn's parents, Chuck and Rebecca Carlson, would have wanted their granddaughter to have the best of everything. There would have been lessons of every kind—from ballet to horseback riding, to piano and tennis. Caitlyn had told him how booked her days had been with activities when she was growing up. Not that she blamed her parents for exposing her to so many opportunities, but sometimes she'd just wanted to stay home and read.

  Books—their daughter would have had bookcases filled with stories of adventure, because books had been Caitlyn's passion even more than old movies. She'd always had at least one or two novels by her bed in college. He remembered waking up a few times to see her reading by the light on her phone. Another memory that made him smile.

  Although, thinking about her in bed also made him hard, especially with the taste of her mouth so fresh on his lips. Kissing her had felt like coming home. Her mouth under his, her body in his arms, had turned the world upright again. It had felt right, even though it was wrong.

  They weren't together anymore. She wasn't his woman to hold, to kiss, or to love. It had been a few moments of insanity, heated by their emotions, by memories, by fear that the past was repeating itself. It couldn't happen again. But it wouldn't be easy working with her and not touching her. The smartest thing to do would be to back off, let her go off on her own. But he'd already told her he was in. And now that she'd dragged him back into the life he'd left and made him realize that perhaps there were things he didn't know, he found himself wanting the truth as much as she did.

  He'd put his past behind him after Donovan died
. He'd believed that the danger to others had died with Donovan. Clearly, it had not. It was possible that there was no connection between the two explosions. Caitlyn could be seeing a link that wasn't there. But the Lauren/Allison connection was odd. The fact that the climate symposium had included a representative from a Carlson Industries company was disturbing. Even Hank's words about Donovan's grand plan and the falling-out between Kevin and Spencer made him wonder if the plan had found a home with a new group of activists.

  There was no way he could not help Caitlyn. He had to fight as hard as she was fighting. Not just for her or for himself, but for Isabella. He was glad she'd trusted him enough to tell him that she'd named their daughter. Now when he thought of their child, he had a name, and it made a huge difference. They might not have ever been a family, but love had created his daughter, and he would do whatever it took to get her the justice he'd thought he'd already gotten.

  An hour later, Quinn walked into his house with a wary step, hoping he wouldn't find any other unexpected visitors, but the house was empty.

  Everything was exactly the way he'd left it. At the same time, it felt completely different. He dropped his keys on the side table, his gaze catching on the photo of his parents once more. He picked up the frame and gave them a long look. "You had a granddaughter named Isabella," he murmured. "I hope her soul is with you now."

  Despite his words, he didn't believe that was true. He'd been born into faith, but he'd lost it long ago.

  He could almost see his mother, Erin, with her jet-black hair and blue eyes, shaking her finger at him now, telling him that was what faith was—it was what you believed in your heart, not what you could see with your eyes.

  His father, Colin, with his dirty-blond hair and full, scruffy beard would be telling him the opposite, that it didn't matter what you believed if you didn't act on it. Life was about action, not about thinking. His dad probably should have thought a lot more before he acted. If he had, he might be alive.

  His parents had been very different people when it came to personality and actions, but they'd had a passionate love story, starting in their teens and ending fifteen years later. Violence had stalked their marriage, but there had still been good times and a love that had never really died. Even after they'd moved to California, his mom had spoken fondly of his father, always telling him that his dad was a man who'd fought for what he believed in.

  He'd tried to be a fighter, too, especially after his mom passed away. He'd found his way to the Third Street Gym, where he'd met the manager Manny Lopez, who'd taught him how to box. That's where he'd met Donovan. Boxing had become his pain relief. Speaking of which—he put a hand to his face, feeling some swelling—he probably should get some ice. But he wasn't that concerned. It had been satisfying to take Hank down, especially since Hank had completely underestimated him.

  As he wandered into the kitchen, he thought once more about those early days getting to know Donovan. They'd bonded quickly because they both felt alone. Donovan's parents had gone through a bitter divorce after his mother had cheated on his father, and the family had split apart. Donovan had lived with his dad while his mom married her lover and had another child, leaving Donovan to feel completely divorced from his mother. It hadn't been much better with his dad, who traveled for work, sometimes leaving Donovan alone with a housekeeper for weeks at a time. The gym had been Donovan's second home, too.

  When college came around, they'd both decided to go to Bolton. Quinn had been lucky enough to get scholarships and financial aid. While he hadn't had money, he had had his big brain. School had always been a cakewalk. Getting good grades had been easy. Even though the last few years of high school had been spent couch surfing or living on the streets, he'd still managed to get straight A's. School had been his ticket to a better life.

  Donovan had not had good grades, but he did have a wealthy father, willing to donate to the school, and suddenly he was in. They'd lived together their freshman year, and their friendship had only grown stronger. Donovan wasn't much of a student, but he had a charisma and a personality that made him a big man on campus. He took his time getting through his classes. While Quinn had been finishing his master's after six years at Bolton, Donovan was finally finishing his bachelor's degree.

  They were six years into their friendship when Caitlyn had come on the scene. He'd known Donovan wasn't thrilled with Caitlyn, but he hadn't cared. He was too much in love with her to care what anyone else thought. That might have been a fatal mistake.

  He opened the fridge and grabbed a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer, pressing it against his face. He held it there for a few moments, wondering about all the clues he might have missed ten years ago. Had Donovan left one of those clues behind?

  He tossed the bag of peas back into the freezer and opened the door to the basement. He hit the light and then jogged down the stairs. In the far corner of the room was a small black duffel bag. He squatted down next to it. As he opened the bag, his stomach turned over. It had been ten years since he'd looked in the duffel.

  Would the items make more sense now with the new information he'd gotten?

  He pulled out a spiral notebook. The first three pages contained notes from a geology class. Donovan's sprawling, messy handwriting put another knot in his stomach. After the notes were several drawings of decapitated snakes. Donovan and Wyatt had gotten tattoos with one of those snakes a few weeks before the bombing. Donovan had told him at the time that it was meant to be a reminder that there were always snakes and the only way to survive was to cut off their heads.

  Thinking about it now made it seem more foreboding and gruesome. At the time, he'd thought they were both high or drunk and had gotten the tattoos in a moment of stupidity. But had the snakes been a sign of a more deranged Donovan?

  Turning the page, he could see evidence of several pages being ripped out of the notebook. He'd noticed that before but didn't know what it meant. Maybe the missing pages were part of the grand plan Donovan and Hank had written up.

  Where were those pages now? Had they survived Donovan's death? Did someone else have them?

  He set the notebook aside and pulled out four loose photos. One was of Donovan and Wyatt showing off their matching snake tattoos. There were also two group photos taken at an LNF meeting. In one, Donovan was sitting at a table with Justin, Vinnie, and Hank. In the other, Lauren and Wyatt were by his side. They all looked so young in the pictures, so full of themselves and their dreams.

  The final photo was of himself and Donovan. It had been taken after a climb to the summit of Squaw Valley in Lake Tahoe. They looked like they were on top of the world. He turned the photo over, and Donovan's words made his gut clench once more: My brother from another mother.

  It was something Donovan had said often about their relationship. He'd felt the same way for a long time. But that bond had broken somewhere along the way, probably when Caitlyn had come into his life. He hadn't consciously picked her over anyone. He'd just selfishly wanted to be with her. He'd thought his friends understood.

  He shoved the photos and notebook into the duffel, which also held some of Donovan's clothes. He should throw the bag away, but instead he shoved it back into the corner and left the basement. He locked the door behind him as he went into the kitchen, but that lock wouldn't keep the memories away.

  They were running free and wild now, the past colliding with the present, and Caitlyn was in the middle of it all once again. He didn't know what he was going to do about her. Because she was right; he did have a secret, and if they spent more time together, there was a good chance it would come out.

  As Caitlyn sat through the end of a meeting that had gone on for two hours, she was reminded of how much she hated the bureaucracy of the bigger field offices. Her team worked so much faster and more efficiently. But the one thing this office had was manpower, and they needed that now. Various teams had reported on their parts of the investigation from the explosive device, which was determined to be a pi
pe bomb enhanced with nails, to witness statements, symposium details, the activist group, the companies who could have been the targets, and security footage in and around Bolton.

  She'd only been asked one question about Kevin Reilly and hadn't been thrilled to report that she hadn't yet reached Kevin. Rob had given her a look that suggested he might not need her on the case if she couldn't complete that simple task. She couldn't blame him. She also couldn't tell him that she'd been chasing down Quinn and other people from the past. He'd send her back to LA in a hot minute for going against his orders to stay focused on the present. But she didn't feel guilty about it. There were a lot of agents working on the present. Focusing on the connection to the past made sense, and she was the one to do it.

  After the briefing, she returned to the bullpen with Emi, who told her she could work at the desk next to hers. As she logged in to the computer, she thought about everything they knew so far, which wasn't a lot. She had hoped there would be more definitive clues from today's explosion, but this case was beginning to feel very much like the last one.

  Emi pulled her chair over to her desk and gave her an inquisitive look. "What have you been working on, Caitlyn? I'm asking for myself, not for Rob."

  "I appreciate that. I'm not hiding information; I just don't have anything to report yet."

  "But…"

  "I got in touch with a couple of people from the past, Lauren Sullivan and Hank Merchant." She deliberately left out Quinn. "Lauren suggested that a copycat might be involved, someone who knew the history of the LNF at Bolton and had radicalized the Green Citizens, even though to date, they've done next to nothing in terms of protesting and definitely have no history of violence or even violent rhetoric."

  "I've been looking into the group, and she's right; they have a clean slate. The group only started two years ago. The woman in charge, Taylor Perkins, is a straight-A student majoring in environmental studies. The hundred or so members seem more like a social group than anything else. It will take a while to go through everyone's history, but nothing immediately jumps out. Plus, the only injuries were suffered by members of the group."