Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2)

by Toni Anderson

  They struck right, through a barely discernible goat path down the mountain toward the beach, keeping to the trees and trying not to make any noise. She wore her blanket as a sarong over the gym shorts Quentin had given her. Her stolen boots still rubbed her heel, but her skin was toughening up. Her pedicure looked surprisingly good under the circumstances.

  When they got out of earshot of Darby she asked, “Do you really think this is a rescue bid?”

  He turned and shot her a grin. God, the man was gorgeous, even all scruffy and bearded. “I figure it’s fifty-fifty at this point.” He kept the volume down. Sound traveled this close to the water.

  She was getting fed up of the need to be quiet. She was going to spend an hour screaming her head off as soon as they got out of this mess. Hopefully Quentin Savage would be inside her the whole time.

  They moved quietly and cautiously down the path. Birds flitted from branch to branch. Lizards basked in the sun before dashing away. The thick green coils of a snake had Quentin taking an abrupt detour.

  He didn’t like snakes. It was kind of endearing for a man who’d gone up against so many black-hearted thugs and won.

  A minute later, he held up his hand, and she froze. They both sank to the ground beneath the height of the bushes. Through the gaps in the leaves, they could just make out the beach below and two figures were moving around near where they’d previously hidden the boat.

  Men in combat uniforms. Heavily armed. Haley’s breath seemed to lodge in her lungs, and she couldn’t exhale. Quentin put a hand on the back of her nape and massaged the rock-hard tension trapped there. Slowly, her chest unlocked, and she began to breathe normally.

  They watched silently. Then a black man in tactical gear stepped out from the shadows and walked across the beach toward the other men. He had F-B-I stenciled on his back in bright yellow letters.

  She felt Quentin tense. “You know him?”

  Quentin climbed to his feet. “I sure do. His name is Max Hawthorne. I’m his boss.” He held his hands over his head and yelled down to the men on the beach. “Up here!” The men swung around to face him, and the guy called Hawthorne whooped loudly.

  “Come on, let’s go down to meet them, and then we’ll go fetch Darby.” Quentin took her hand, and they hurried through the brush, Quentin swatting the overhanging branches out of the way.

  His fingers felt good around hers. She had the horrible feeling that once they were rescued, they’d go their separate ways, and she’d never see him again, and the idea terrified her. “I’d like to try that thing you mentioned, once we get back to civilization.”

  “What thing?” Quentin was barely listening. Her timing was terrible.

  “The date thing.”

  He stopped so abruptly, she crashed into him. He caught her in his arms. “Seriously?”

  She stared into those dark chocolate eyes. “I probably won’t be very good at it, but hopefully I’ll get a few meals that aren’t fried crickets before we crash and burn.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “And, if we’re lucky, some great sex. Let’s not forget the great sex.”

  She chuckled. He slid his fingers into the hair at her nape and raised her chin to kiss her chapped lips. She looked a wreck, but he didn’t seem to care. His beard was soft against her skin, and the emotion he put into that kiss was so profound, she felt bereft when he pulled away.

  “Come on.” He was eager and she was dragging her feet a little. What they’d been through had been horrible, but it had changed her. Made her stronger in ways she hadn’t expected. Made her softer in other ways. Made her want to hold on to some of the good things she’d discovered—like Quentin, even if she didn’t have the first clue how to make a relationship work.

  They burst into the open, striding across the sandy beach, for the first time uncaring if they left footprints.

  Quentin dropped her hand and embraced his coworker who grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off his feet in a bear hug.

  “We thought you were dead, for fuck’s sake.” The man’s accent surprised her. A Brit.

  “Ma’am.” A dark-haired man in fatigues held out his hand to shake hers. “Do you need any medical attention?”

  Another Brit.

  “I’m okay. Nothing worse than a sunburn and some shattered nerves.” She smiled, and everyone looked relieved and quickly introduced themselves.

  “Are there any hostiles in the area that you know about?”

  She shook her head. “We had some unfriendly visitors this morning, which is where we got these.” She touched the butt of the assault rifle she carried. She’d gotten quite attached to the reassuring weight of it on her shoulder.

  “Was it you who fired at us?” the man asked, not with censure but not exactly happy either.

  Quentin answered, “No. Sorry. It was Darby O’Roarke. She’s still a little jumpy after her ordeal.”

  “She’s alive?” Hawthorne asked.

  “Yes,” Haley said, “but she was badly…treated.” How the hell were they ever going to keep that secret? “We need to go back and tell her it’s safe—”

  “We have a team headed to the SOS site,” the man assured her.

  “Radio them and tell them to wait for us to get up there. She’s not likely to trust a stranger,” Quentin instructed quickly.

  The men seemed to understand all the things they weren’t saying, and the rise of their anger was palpable. One of the men radioed the other team, but a few seconds later the sound of gunfire lit up the quiet of the afternoon.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Eban and the military contractors fanned out as they approached the area where the massive SOS had been spelled out with rocks. Whoever had shot at them was hiding or long gone.

  “What are these things?” one of the ex-soldiers asked, pointing to the yellow tripods attached to solar panels.

  Eban shook his head and then remembered Alex had mentioned the USGS talking about picking up some unusual readings from the equipment on the island. “I think they might be instruments that measure volcanic activity.”

  “You think that girl is still alive? The volcanologist?” One guy easily made the connection.

  Eban didn’t know. He was ashamed at the feeling of disappointment that wanted to creep in at the thought it was Darby O’Roarke and not Quentin Savage signaling for help. He walked to the edge of the clearing and stared into the thick green brush. He’d swear he could feel someone watching him, but he couldn’t see anyone. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar environment getting to him. Tropical jungle and active volcanoes were not his usual turf.

  But someone had shot at them. Someone had constructed this brilliant cry for help. Darby or Quentin?

  Sweat had his t-shirt sticking to his skin under his body armor, and there was an itch under his shoulder blade he didn’t have a cat’s chance in hell of reaching to scratch. His mouth was parched, and he could only imagine what a hostage must have to deal with on a daily basis. Never knowing if rescue was coming or if they were going to die a slow, anonymous death, or worse, a quick one, televised for all the sick haters.

  He walked right up to where the dense forest started. Was he deluding himself with the idea that Quentin might still be alive? What state would he be in if he was? Would he understand they were here to help him?

  “Quentin? You out there? It’s me, Eban.” He wanted whoever was out there to know he was an American. If it was Quentin, he’d have come out by now if he were able. Hope at finding the man alive once again plummeted. Eban felt sick to his stomach.

  The operators surveyed their surroundings, assault rifles held in deceptively relaxed grips. One member of the group stayed out of sight.

  Eban turned and headed back to the group.

  “You’re FBI?” A thin, quavering voice called out behind him. An American female. He scanned the area but wherever she was, she was well concealed.

  “That’s right. My name is Eban Winters. Who am I talking t
o?” Eban stared towards where he thought the voice originated. He kept his hands off his rifle but felt more than saw the rest of the team edge toward the margins of the clearing.

  “Doesn’t matter who I am. Prove to me you’re who you say you are.” The words were harsh and no nonsense.

  “I have ID.” He pulled his creds from his pocket and held them up. “I’m a negotiator for the FBI.”

  “Tell them to stop moving or I’m going to shoot!” The woman’s voice was high-pitched and panicky. He held up his hands in warning, although no one wanted to stand in the crosshairs of an unknown entity.

  “We aren’t going to hurt you, but if you shoot, we will return fire. I don’t know who you are, but I suspect you’re one of three American women missing in this area. Women I’m here, along with these men, trying to rescue. Alice Alexander, Haley Cramer or Darby O’Roarke.”

  “Anyone could know those names—especially the kidnappers.”

  Whoever this was still had their wits, but had clearly been traumatized. They needed to go easy.

  “It seems like you’re going to need time to trust us. It seems like we make you nervous and scared which is understandable, but none of us are here to hurt you. Let me know what we can do to prove that to you.”

  “How do I know you aren’t working with the men who kidnapped me?”

  She sounded too young for Alice Alexander.

  He held up his hands, palms up. “It’s hard to prove a negative, but we have no intention of hurting you. We came in response to the SOS signal that a man named Alex Parker spotted on satellite imagery.”

  There was no reaction to Alex’s name. Eban was ninety-nine percent sure he was dealing with Darby O’Roarke. He tried not to be disappointed. He wanted them all safe, but especially his boss.

  Shots rang out, shattering the tranquility of this fake paradise. Bullets spat into the grass to his right. Sonofabitch. The woman yelled, “I told them not to move!”

  One of the men shouted, “Darby O’Roarke! Quentin Savage is on the radio. He said he is on his way to get you. Please put the weapon down before someone gets hurt.”

  Eban swung to face the guy. “Quentin’s alive?”

  The man grinned and nodded. “Him and a blonde female.”

  Eban’s knees sagged, and he held his head in his hands as relief crashed over him. Thank god. He drew in a deep breath. “Darby, I can appreciate why you’re so scared, but I swear we are the good guys. I work with Quentin back in Quantico. Alex Parker, the guy who spotted the SOS, hired these men to find Haley Cramer. He’s her business partner and friend. We have been going crazy thinking they were dead while waiting for your kidnappers to make contact. I’ve been talking to your father, and he’s worried sick about you.”

  A shrill scream tore through the air and then the sound of a scuffle, then fists hitting flesh before something large crashed through the bush towards them. Eban had known one of the men would be working his way around to her position. He appeared suddenly, carrying an unarmed redhead at arm’s length in front of him. The young woman’s arms and legs were swinging and punching, but she was too small to do any real damage, and it was obvious the former soldier was trying not to hurt her.

  But no one wanted a loaded weapon pointed in their direction, especially by someone who was emotionally fragile.

  Eban handed his weapon off to the man next to him and went over to where the big man was trying to contain a furious hellcat without hurting her. There was something feral in her actions. Something so desperate, he knew without being told she’d been attacked and probably raped.

  “Darby,” he spoke calmly. “We are not going to hurt you. In fact, we would all lay down our lives to protect you.”

  The operator placed her on her feet and quickly backed away. She lunged at him and then pulled back.

  She stood there, fists up, trembling, fear and rage battling in her eyes.

  She was beautiful. Which took him by surprise. Bright red hair. The greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Freckles and pale skin.

  The harm that had been inflicted on her raced across her features. Her expression was so fierce it broke his damn heart.

  “We’re not going to hurt you. I promise,” he said softly.

  She looked frantically around at all the men who were watching her with their guns pointed at the ground and their expressions understanding and sympathetic. She blinked and swallowed.

  “You’re really here to rescue us?”

  “We’re trying.” Eban nodded and stood there, wanting to be there for her if she needed him.

  “You really spoke to my dad?” Her voice cracked, and she looked over her shoulder as if ready to run.

  He nodded. Jesus, what had they done to her?

  “Dad’s okay?” She turned back, waiting for reassurance.

  “He’s pretty upset, but we can call him shortly and let him know you’re all right. You can talk to him if you want, but you don’t have to, not yet,” he added quickly when her eyes widened anxiously. “Whatever you decide is perfectly normal.” Sometimes people who’d been held captive needed a little time to figure out their world again.

  “Normal.” She huffed out a bitter sound, then rubbed her hands over her bare arms.

  He registered marks there, and on her legs, but didn’t let his eyes waver from her face. “We’re here to rescue you, Darby. You’re safe now.” He opened his arms wide, feeling like a fool, but what the hell. If she wanted a hug, she could take one. If she didn’t, then he could deal with looking like an idiot.

  She glanced around at them all and bit her lip. “I shot at your helicopter.”

  “Yeah, better blame that on Quentin as I don’t think the pilot was too thrilled.”

  “I’m sorry.” She swallowed repeatedly, blinking at the tears that shimmered in her eyes, tears she refused to let fall. Then she launched herself into his arms and held on so tight he thought she might strangle him, but he didn’t care. He closed his arms until he held her very gently, trying not to scare her.

  Darby O’Roarke was safe in his arms and, though she was thin and bedraggled, she was more or less whole. She started sobbing, and he held the gazes of each of the operators one at a time, and they all wore identical expressions of misery and anger.

  “It’s okay, Darby. We’ve got you. You’re safe now. We will keep you safe.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Quentin made his way to a hospital room onboard the warship anchored north of Darby’s island. It was full dark now, so they had a magnificent view of the lava flowing straight into the sea, but he’d never forget standing beside Darby and Haley in the moonlight looking down at that living fire.

  Darby had insisted they put her yellow tripods back in the correct position before leaving the island. It had given them all something to do while waiting for the Navy to catch up.

  He’d just got off the phone defending his right to be involved in the case at all, and also defending Haley. The head of the task force investigating the attack was suspicious of her, which pissed Quentin off. He’d explained that he’d requested the background check on Haley because of the incident with that slimy bastard Wenck who, it turned out, had survived the terrorist attack. The guy had left not long after the conversation they’d shared on the balcony.

  Quentin hadn’t confessed to the red-hot sex with Haley—the Bureau already knew too damn much about him. He had told them that he was now in a personal relationship with her and they, combined with Darby, were the best chance of finding and getting convictions against the terrorists. Against the task force commander’s wishes, the director had let them continue with what they were doing, just so long as Haley wasn’t allowed to access any confidential case material. Quentin had almost snorted. Like she hadn’t lived every moment of that frickin’ ordeal with him.

  He knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. Rather than being in bed, Haley was sitting on the side of the mattress, talking on the ship’s telephone. She looked up and waved him ins
ide.

  He’d hated being separated from her, but they’d all needed to be debriefed. A process that would probably continue once they got back to the States. A necessary evil, but irritating nonetheless.

  She’d cleaned up. Wore a plain white t-shirt and some black leggings someone had found for her. Her feet were bare except for the pink nail polish. Her hair gleamed like honey, sun streaks and a tan making her look like she’d spent the week on a beach vacation rather than fighting for her life. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail that emphasized the honed cheekbones and stubborn jaw.

  Her eyes sparkled, and she laughed at whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying. “I love you, Alex Parker. Don’t you ever forget that.” She hung up the phone and looked at Quentin.

  He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. “You should have told him I love him too.” Alex Parker was the man who’d spotted their SOS signal even though the dummies at USGS had missed it. He liked to think they’d have caught on eventually.

  “You can tell him yourself when we get back to the States. He has a house in Quantico and a condo in D.C.” She grasped her hands tightly together as if suddenly uncertain. “I’d like you to meet both Alex and Dermot, my business partners, who also happen to be my best friends.”

  So she’d been serious about giving this thing between them a try. This was difficult for her. It was difficult for him too.

  He sat next to her on the bed, took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the base of hers. “I’d like that.”

  She met his gaze then, and her beauty stunned him, every single time. The fact a woman like her was looking at him this way, like she wanted to kiss the hell out of him and, even more inexplicably, that she wanted to sit here holding his hand was a miracle.

  Was this his second chance? Even the thought scared the hell out of him. Losing Abbie had been catastrophic. Could he risk that sort of anguish again?