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

by Toni Anderson

  “Looking out for you?”

  “Yeah. After I finished talking to you, I went back to the room to call my missus like I said I was going to, remember?”

  “Uh huh.” Minimal encouragers. Non-judgmental tone. It wasn’t easy when he knew what Cecil had done to Haley before their conversation.

  “She beat me to it. Glenda. Bawling. So I knew something was crook. Said she’d been involved in a car accident. Some guy had driven straight into her when she drove home from the yacht club. Wrecked the fucking Mercedes—excuse my language.”

  “Was she hurt?” Quentin frowned.

  “You’d have thought she’d lost a limb from the way she was carrying on, but thankfully she only had a few cuts and bruises. Those cars are built like tanks so he came off worse, but I rushed back to make sure she was okay.”

  “Huh.” Quentin gave a soft laugh. “Her car accident saved your life? What are the chances of that happening?”

  Slim to none.

  Was Wenck telling the truth? If he was, could the accident have been orchestrated to get Wenck on a plane out of there?

  “I’m still curious as to why you didn’t want to talk to FBI? I mean, obviously you didn’t have anything to do with the shooting, but why not tell them everything you knew? Nothing makes them suspicious like someone avoiding their questions.”

  Wenck grunted. “I don’t owe the FBI any answers.” He looked irritated. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Is this off the record?”

  Quentin nodded. He wasn’t a reporter, though. He was a federal agent. Nothing was ever off the record during a federal investigation. “The wife had had a few drinks and shouldn’t have been driving. I mean, I pay a chauffeur to be on staff, but she likes to drive herself.” His mouth tightened. “Police got involved, but I called the commissioner on the way to the airstrip and managed to get it squared away. I paid for all the damage,” he assured Quentin as if that made it okay.

  His wife had been driving under the influence and crashed into another car, and he’d used his connections to ensure she wasn’t arrested?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Wenck said.

  Quentin highly doubted it.

  “Should’ve made her learn her lesson and take her punishment, but as it saved my life, I couldn’t bring myself to be too hard on her. She won’t do it again—I’ll make sure of that.” Wenck leaned back in his chair as if he got to make all the laws around here. Perhaps he did.

  Quentin definitely needed to find out more details about that crash. He also intended to forward a copy of this conversation to a pal in the Australian Federal Police.

  The sound of female laughter drifted through the hallways.

  “That’s the missus now. Don’t tell her I told you. She’d be embarrassed.”

  What she should be was arrested, but he doubted the States was any less corrupt. All it took was a rich donor, a call to a politician, an angry governor coming down hard on a police chief. Yeah. As much as he wanted to believe they were better than this, he didn’t. But he did believe in accountability.

  A pretty brunette, five-four, a hundred-thirty pounds, around forty years old wearing a flowery sundress walked in with her arm hooked through Haley’s.

  Quentin thought Wenck was going to have a coronary. The man opened his mouth but didn’t seem able to draw in a breath. His face went puce, and the vein in his temple started to throb.

  Quentin stood. “This must be Mrs. Wenck.”

  “I can’t believe you left this poor girl in the car on a hot day without the air con on,” the woman scolded.

  “She said she wanted to take a nap.” Quentin smiled, meeting Haley’s keen gaze.

  “Passed out more like.” The lady of the house waved at the male staff member. “Grab us some water and a nice bottle of white would you, love?”

  Haley towered over the other woman and patted her arm like they were old friends. Haley wore skintight jeans that showed off every inch of her long legs and a hot-pink, strappy top that cupped her breasts in a way that made Quentin’s mouth water. He had to smile at her footwear. She’d bought a pair of stiletto sandals but was still wearing those black combat boots. Her hair was shiny and bounced around her shoulders like some shampoo commercial, and she’d applied eye shadow and lipstick, giving anyone a run for their money in the kissability department.

  “I didn’t want to interfere with all the business talk.” Haley’s smirk was directed at Wenck, and he shifted his feet beneath his chair as if he was about to flee.

  Wenck’s wife held out her hand to Quentin and shook enthusiastically. “Glenda, Cecil’s wife. Haley was telling me all about your recent escapades. I can’t believe what the two of you went through.” Her free hand clutched her throat.

  Wenck swallowed repeatedly and kept looking nervously between Quentin and Haley, obviously expecting them to reveal his abhorrent behavior. His expression started to turn belligerent.

  “I’d never have gotten out of there in one piece without Quentin,” Haley said. “He saved me numerous times. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him.” Her blue eyes shone with sincerity, and she gripped his wrist as she sat beside him.

  “I don’t need ‘repaying’.” The words came out sharp. But the last thing he wanted was her thinking she owed him anything. That’s not how relationships worked, not even fledgling ones. “Haley is one of the brightest, toughest, and most determined people I’ve ever met. We worked together and got out alive.”

  “Aw,” Glenda reached for Cecil’s hand and squeezed. The man turned and looked at her with so much love and pain in his eyes it was hard to watch. He clearly expected them to tell Glenda about how he’d tried to force himself on Haley. And the man no longer wanted to pay the price of that attempted rape—he’d never expected to pay the price. He was a coward and a bastard, hiding behind his wealth and privilege.

  Quentin turned to Haley. It was up to her how they approached this.

  “It’s your decision,” he murmured so only she could hear. He wanted to keep the guy on side because he wanted to see what Wenck did after they left. Alex was monitoring Wenck’s phone and computer lines, and the FBI had an agent ready to tail the billionaire in an unofficial capacity. Quentin was determined Wenck wouldn’t get away with his crimes, but it could take time and patience to build a case. If Haley wanted to strike back at the man today, face-to-face, Quentin had no right, nor desire, to stop her.

  She blinked rapidly a few times, clearly surprised that he was letting her be the one to choose. She took a glass of water and drank the whole thing down in one go.

  Glenda laughed. “See, I told you she was thirsty.”

  Quentin smiled. Glenda seemed nice enough. But the fact she’d had too much to drink and then driven home was reckless, thoughtless, and criminal. He would be delving further into the “accident” that had brought Wenck home at exactly the right moment, and Quentin was sure the recording of this conversation would have consequences for local cops and politicians. Not to mention Glenda and Cecil.

  The bigger questions were whether Wenck had something to do with that terrorist attack on the hotel, or the massacre on the island afterward? If he had, the FBI and Alex Parker would figure it out.

  A squeal was followed by giggles, and then a girl erupted out of the entry way and cannonballed into the pool.

  The splash washed over him and Wenck. Quentin welcomed the coolness, and the others laughed.

  “That’s our pride and joy, Katie. Everything I do is for her,” Wenck said, clearly trying to build empathy.

  “I doubt that very much,” Haley said quietly.

  Cecil’s jaw hardened.

  “You don’t play golf for your daughter. You don’t drink beer for her.” Haley was staring at the little girl who was splashing in the pool.

  Glenda laughed. “She’s got you there, love. I keep telling Cecil he needs to start taking it easy. Hand over the reins to a manager or sell the company. It’s not like there’s anything we need. You c
ould be like Bill Gates and give away half your fortune.”

  Cecil’s eyes widened. “She’s trying to kill me.” He laughed, but he looked terrified by the idea.

  Because his wealth and success defined him, Quentin grasped. Was that what drove Haley? Was she defined by wealth and success? He realized he had no idea what she liked to do outside work—then again, he did nothing except work. Maybe they could figure out this stuff together if they lasted long enough.

  Haley swallowed repeatedly, and Quentin could see she was distressed. He pushed to his feet. “It was nice to meet you, Glenda.” He gave Cecil’s hand a firm shake, searching his eyes for any inkling of deceit, but still finding nothing. “I know you have connections in the region, Cecil. Perhaps if you hear anything about who might have been involved in the attack on the hotel, you’d do me the courtesy of letting me know?”

  Cecil smirked, seeming to realize Quentin and Haley were not going to reveal his despicable actions in front of his wife and child—although the wife deserved to know the truth about the sort of animal she was married to. Wenck probably thought he’d gotten away with it and, to some degree, he had. It would be almost impossible for the Department of Justice to press charges without more evidence. But Quentin had no doubt there’d be other women and other incidents. He wasn’t giving the guy a free pass. He was being patient and building a case.

  Wenck stood and nodded, visibly relieved. “Always happy to help the FBI. I had my site managers put out a few feelers when this happened so if I hear anything back, I’ll let you know.”

  Asshole.

  Haley gripped Quentin’s hand as if she sensed how close he was to letting go of pretense and smacking the guy. She entwined his fingers with hers, reminding him this wasn’t about him.

  “Time to go home.”

  He nodded. He was looking forward to getting his life back.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Thirty hours later, Quentin parked his SUV and jogged up the stairs to Chris Baylor’s apartment near Dupont Circle, Washington, D.C. It was an expensive bachelor pad the guy rarely spent any time in. He was usually traveling abroad with work.

  Quentin and Haley had flown home first-class at her insistence. Figuring out how to deal with their wealth disparity was something they’d have to confront eventually. But whatever issues might lie between them, he couldn’t wait to see her again. Despite their exhaustion, they were going on their first date tonight in Quantico.

  He’d visited Georgetown University Hospital where Tricia Rooks was being treated. She was intubated and fighting an infection. The doctors were worried she might struggle to breathe on her own. They’d also told him that even if she woke up, it was possible she’d never remember the attack itself. Those memories might have been wiped by the trauma before they’d had time to form.

  Aside from Tricia, himself and Haley—who the world still didn’t know had survived the attack—Chris was the only other Westerner who’d lived through the nightmare at the hotel.

  Grant Gunn supposedly hadn’t been at the hotel when the terrorists arrived and couldn’t ID any of the attackers. That’s what he’d claimed in his statement anyway and had been backed by the local taxi driver ferrying him around. Gunn lived in Arizona and had already been questioned by FBI agents on several occasions. The guy was not being particularly cooperative and had appeared on various news shows, plugging his survival instincts—which were basically to go get drunk—and using the event as a media stunt to promote his firm.

  It was only a matter of time before the world discovered the link between the hotel attack and the massacre of a small community on what was supposed to be an uninhabited island in Indonesia. Then would come the news of the rescue of two female hostages, the death of Erik Alexander, and Quentin and Haley’s ordeal. After that the media storm would swirl into a full-blown hurricane. He wanted as many answers as possible before the stories broke.

  His priority was supporting the victims, protecting their privacy, keeping them safe. That included Chris although the guy wouldn’t appreciate the suggestion he couldn’t look after himself.

  Quentin also wanted to see if he remembered anything that wasn’t in the statement he’d given to Eban in Jakarta last Sunday. Quentin couldn’t discuss what he’d found on the island, or the ongoing investigation, but there were things Chris might say to him that he wouldn’t want in an official report.

  Raised voices inside Chris’s apartment made Quentin hesitate, but he knocked on the door, not wanting to eavesdrop. The door was flung open and there stood Nick Karlovac, obviously on his way out. The man’s face was red, his chest heaving.

  Nick’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You bastard.” He grabbed Quentin in a bear hug. “I just bought a new suit for your fucking funeral.” The man spoke into his neck, clinging so hard Quentin could barely breathe.

  He felt his friend’s distress and was sorry he hadn’t set the record straight as soon as he’d been rescued. He’d had his reasons. He’d called his family from the ship in Indonesia but told them to act as though they still thought he was missing and presumed dead.

  “I can’t believe it.” Chris came to the door and when Nick stepped back, he grabbed Quentin for a hug of his own. “I thought you were dead, buddy. I thought you were dead for sure.” He pulled back, wiped his eyes. “What happened? How the hell did you survive?”

  “Me and Haley Cramer jumped through a window a split second before the ceiling crashed. Then the terrorists found us and abducted us both.”

  “You and Haley Cramer both survived?” Chris shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “That is unbelievable,” Nick told him. “Shit, I need to call Michelle. She’s been devastated since we heard the news.”

  “I would have contacted you sooner, but I was incapacitated by a few dozen hostage takers.”

  “How the hell did you escape?” Chris asked.

  “Long story. How did you escape?” Quentin asked.

  Chris frowned. “You dumped me in the grass, otherwise I’d have been a crispy critter along with all the others. Don’t you remember?”

  They closed the door and headed inside Chris’s apartment. Chris handed out beers, and they all chinked bottles. Quentin swallowed, appreciating the cool flavor that flooded his dry throat.

  “I’m surprised the gunmen didn’t find you on the lawn.” And shoot him like all the others.

  Chris scratched his brow. “Honestly? I have no idea what happened. I woke up in the bushes, and the hotel was still a raging inferno. Maybe I crawled there? Instinct telling me to find shelter. I do know you saved my life, you crazy bastard.” His eyes shone with emotion. “Without you, I’d have burned to death in that godforsaken hotel.”

  Quentin sobered. So many people had perished. They were still in the process of identifying the dead and notifying the relatives. He hoped his survival didn’t bring false hope to those who’d lost loved ones. The idea of causing more pain didn’t sit well.

  “We should have gone to that bar with that asshole Gunn like I suggested,” Chris joked.

  And Haley would likely have died in the raid. That reality smashed into Quentin like a sledgehammer. As despicable as Wenck’s actions were, without them, Quentin doubted Haley would have come to his room or made a pass at him. She’d be dead. The realization that he’d probably have lost her without even knowing her made his stomach twist in knots.

  “Want to go out and grab that beer now? Celebrate our survival?” Chris was already lifting his wallet from the kitchen counter.

  Quentin shook his head and held up his hands, palms facing out. “I can’t. I just got off the red-eye.”

  “Never stopped you before.” Chris narrowed his gaze and swore. “I recognize that glint in your eyes. You’re hoping to get lucky tonight.”

  Quentin kept his mouth shut.

  “Anyone we know?” Nick asked curiously.

  “You didn’t mention you were seeing anyone when we were in Indonesia.” The silence stretche
d between them until realization struck. “It’s Haley Cramer, isn’t it?”

  Quentin said nothing.

  “The competition.” Nick rolled his eyes at them both. “She must be something in the sack.”

  Rage filled Quentin, and he clenched his fists. He held onto his temper, barely. Needling each other had always been part of their dynamic, but his late wife and new relationship were off-limits.

  “I never thought you’d get over Abbie,” Chris said with a shake of his head. “And I’d have thought Haley was too much of a ball-buster for you.”

  Quentin reminded himself he was a negotiator, but all he wanted to do was lash out. The sort of connection he shared with Haley wasn’t the sum of moving parts, but he wasn’t about to share his feelings with anyone until he understood them better himself. Exhaustion swept over him, and he reined in the anger. He was an FBI Unit Chief now, not a hot-headed squaddie.

  “I have to go. Let me know if you hear or remember anything else about the attack. I also wanted to warn you that you might want to stay in a hotel or at your Virginia compound for a few days.” The compound was about thirty minutes north of Quantico. “The media is about to be informed of the fact there were actually survivors from the attack, and you probably don’t want your face all over the news.” He turned to Nick. “Give my love to Michelle.”

  “You’re really leaving already?” Chris asked, incredulous. “Oh, my god, you’re serious about her.” He started laughing. “I give it two weeks before she gets tired of you and kicks you to the curb. When she does, come over and we can drown our sorrows and compare blowjobs.”

  Quentin decked Chris with an uppercut, then stood there shaking out his fist.

  Nick laughed and hoisted Chris to his feet. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Chris. You’ve obviously forgotten how possessive and overprotective he gets.”

  Chris mumbled something incoherent and tipped his head back to stop his nose bleed.

  “I’ll see myself out. Glad you got home safe.”