Winter's Secret

by Mary Stone

  Flicking on her turn signal, Winter nodded. “That makes a little more sense, then. He was desperate to maintain his social standing.”

  Noah propped an elbow on the doorframe and dropped his head to rest in his hand. “That man is something else,” he muttered. “Honestly, I’m glad he bailed when he did. I’m glad my mom and Chris raised Lucy and me. If they hadn’t, if Eric had stuck around, we’d be a couple uptight little shits like Natalie and Ethan.”

  At the thought of Noah Dalton as an “uptight little shit,” a series of images flashed through her imagination. Noah in tennis whites. Or wearing an ascot while pouring top label bourbon from a crystal decanter. She couldn’t suppress her snort of laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, you said that, and I pictured you playing tennis at a country club, and it was hilarious.”

  With a groan, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oh, god help me if that day ever comes. If it does, I want you to take that tennis racket and hit me in the head with it, all right?”

  Winter laughed at the newest visual. “Absolutely, and I’ll get Autumn to set up an intervention too.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Perfect. You guys are the best.”

  They lapsed into silence for the rest of the car ride, though Noah reached down to change the radio station when a familiar ‘80s power ballad started. The swift action brought a smile to her face as she pulled the Civic into a parking spot.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turned off the ignition and offered him a curious look. “Why?”

  Heaving a sigh, he sagged against the passenger side seat. “All this bitching about Eric. Even calling him Eric instead of ‘dad’ makes me feel like I’m some snotty emo kid from the early 2000s. I’ve been so worked up about what an asshole he is that it slipped my mind that you’re dealing with your own plate of bullshit right now too.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Oh. You’re worried that you’re hogging all the conversation?”

  “Something like that, yeah. Hogging it with all my high school emo nonsense.”

  She settled back into her seat, smiling at a memory.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You remember a few months ago when we were walking back to the office? The day we yelled at one another in the elevator? That’s what I said to you. I said I felt guilty for hogging the conversation. It’s all right, Noah. That’s what I’m here for. I’m feeling a little better, anyway. Autumn said some stuff yesterday that made a lot of sense to me, and it helped.”

  Rather than wistful or strained, his smile in response was warm, almost content. She didn’t think she would ever get sick of seeing that smile.

  The flutter in her stomach was back in full force, and before she could pause to reconsider the action, she turned in her seat and leaned into him. Even though she was nervous, there were no doubts in her mind. She worried he might recoil, might stop her in place and ask what in the hell had gotten into her, or that he might fling open the door and run off into the night, but she didn’t doubt that she wanted this.

  Didn’t doubt that she wanted to try.

  When he closed the remaining distance, she thought her heart might have stopped. Sure, she had kissed guys before, she had even kissed Noah before, but this was different. This was the type of kiss that musicians wrote songs about, the type of feeling that inspired romance novels. In that moment, everything was good.

  The kiss was tentative at first, almost like they each wanted to make sure the moment was real and not another regrettable accident. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his hand on the back of her neck was just short of intoxicating. As the kissed deepened, she reached to brush her fingers along his cheek.

  Even when the stubble on his face scratched her skin, it was like it served as a reminder of who he was and why she was here. As she parted her lips, she could taste the faint trace of mint on his tongue. She tightened her grip on the taut muscle of his upper arm and scooted as close to him as she could manage.

  Just like that, she was swept away. In that moment, she was far from the real world and all its problems, and all that mattered was the overwhelming desire to be as close to this man as she could. Why in the hell had she waited so long to do this? If she had known it would make her feel like this, she would have done it months earlier.

  But when the thud of a nearby car door sounded out, the spell was broken. At half-past eight in the evening, they were in the front seat of her car in the middle of an apartment complex parking lot. None of the windows were tinted, and any passersby would have been granted a front row seat to each and every movement they made.

  Part of the thought was thrilling, but she suspected the rush of anticipation that coursed through her body was responsible for the excitement.

  As they separated, the movements belied none of the split-second of anxiety that had been brought on by the sound of another person. The motions were slow, almost reluctant. She didn’t want this to stop, but neither did she want one of their neighbors to see them making out in her car like a couple teenagers on prom night.

  She could feel his increased heart rate beneath her fingertips as their eyes met, and she suspected she had gotten her point across.

  She wanted him, and no one else.

  “That was…” he paused to look pensive as he flexed his fingers against her neck, “unexpected.”

  A slight smirk played across her lips. “Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”

  He chuckled quietly. “Definitely good.”

  Though she spotted a hint of trepidation in his green eyes, she bit her tongue to keep the slew of questions to herself. Why would he be nervous? Did he think she would confess her regret to him the next day? Had he come to realize he didn’t want that with her?

  “Good,” she said instead. With one more quick smile, she pulled the key from the ignition and shoved open the driver’s side door. A temperate breeze carried the first trace of fall past them as they made their way to the apartment building.

  Though she was sure she could ask him if she could accompany him home, she swallowed down the question before she could blurt it out.

  She remembered the abject sense of embarrassment she felt the last time she had posed such an idea when they returned home late at night. If it hadn’t been for the flicker of anxiety she’d spotted when they separated, she would have gone through with the proposition.

  “Okay, well.” She shoved her hands into the pocket of her leather jacket.

  “I guess I’ve got a lot of Supernatural to watch, so I’m going to go do that.”

  He grinned in response. “Good plan.”

  It might have been a figment of her imagination, but she thought he stood closer to her than usual. Before she could blurt out any one of the hundreds of questions that flitted through her head, she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  He smelled so good as he pulled her into the embrace.

  “Goodnight, darlin’,” he murmured.

  His breath was warm on the side of her face, and she was half-tempted to drag him right along with her when she went to her apartment.

  “Night, Noah,” she managed as she stepped out to arms’ length. “See you in the morning.”

  When he flashed her one of his trademarked grins, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground or throw her arms up in celebration, so she did neither.

  God, she hoped she was right about this.

  10

  “Special Agent Stafford.”

  Bree stopped mid-step to turn around to face the owner of the familiar voice, a friend she hadn’t seen since close to the beginning of the year, and a long-time investigator of Baltimore’s organized crime.

  “Drew,” she said, genuinely pleased to see him. “Wow, it feels like it’s been forever. You look good.”

  He chuckled. “You’re always too nice to me. I’ve got a two-year-old, so I know I always lo
ok like I just woke up from being dead for half a century. It’s okay, you can say it.”

  “Whatever.” She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “If you did just wake up from being dead for half a century, then you’re definitely rocking it. You make undead look good, my friend.”

  Drew’s pale blue eyes glittered with amusement as he spread his hands and shrugged. “If you say so, Stafford. You’re the one who’s going to marry a model, so I’ll take your discriminating taste into account.”

  The thought of Shelby made her smile. “You know, I’ve never thought of it, but I bet I’d make the guys I went to high school with pretty jealous. They all wanted to marry models, but here I am engaged to one. How’s Amelia, anyway? And little Emma? I haven’t seen her since she was a teeny tiny baby.” With a wide smile, Bree held up her arms like she held an invisible baby.

  “Wow, it has been that long, hasn’t it?” Drew tapped a pensive finger against his chin. “Time flies when you’ve got a tiny human running around wreaking havoc, I guess. She’s good, though. So is Amelia. She got her degree about a year ago, and now she’s a children’s counselor. I’ll have to show you some pictures of Emma with Amelia’s cat. Sometimes, I think the cat thinks that Emma is her kitten. Honestly, it’s pretty great. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d pay Bob to babysit her.”

  “Bob?”

  Drew chuckled. “Bob is the cat’s name. Amelia’s had him for five years now, since he was a kitten. He’s surprisingly maternal. We have to leave Emma’s door open at night so Bob can go sleep curled around her head. I’ve got pictures, but I know that’s not why you’re here.”

  “I want to see all of them.” Bree laughed. “But you’re not entirely wrong. I’m here working a case.”

  “Well, you caught me at a good time. I’m in a lull right now. Come on.” He beckoned for her to follow him down the row of cubicles. “Let’s grab some coffee. I don’t know about you, but I need it at seven in the morning.”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  “So, what’s this case you’re working on?” He lifted an eyebrow as they stepped into the breakroom. The white light overhead caught the faint tinge of red in his dark blond hair.

  “One of the guys in our office, Special Agent Noah Dalton, his, well…” She paused as she accepted a ceramic mug from Drew’s outstretched hand. “His biological father. They aren’t close. From what I’ve gathered, the guy hasn’t even really been around since Noah was a little kid, and Noah doesn’t seem real keen on his company. He’s from here, or at least, he lives in Baltimore currently. He’s from Texas originally, but he’s been here for the last twenty-plus years.”

  Drew glanced to the counter as he filled his mug. “The case is about him, then? About the jackass father?”

  “Right.” Bree couldn’t help her amused smile. “He called Noah in the middle of the night a couple days ago, and he said that he was in trouble with some bad people.”

  “Bad people in Baltimore?”

  Bree nodded and poured the suspiciously dark coffee into her own mug. She hoped the brew wasn’t as stomach dissolving as the muck that came out of the breakroom in the Richmond field office.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Do you still work on the Russians, by chance? I know you were one of the first few here who investigated them when they started showing up in town.”

  He flashed her a quick smile. “Sure do. They’ve been pretty quiet lately. There’s a big RICO case pending against a bunch of them, and if we can get it to stick, it’ll make a pretty big dent in their operation.”

  “RICO?” The Racketeer Influence and Corrupt Organizations Act had given the FBI the authority to link together a pattern of crime to form one comprehensive case against a criminal organization. “Wow, that’s impressive. RICO against the Russians? How’d you manage that?”

  Drew shrugged. “Got one of them to roll over. I don’t even know if our snitch knew the full extent of what they gave us, honestly. Dates, locations, you name it.”

  “Well, I guess I’m late to the party, but congratulations.” She held out her mug for a toast. “Nice work, Agent Hansford.”

  He tapped the ceramic edge against hers with a light clink. “Thank you, Agent Stafford.”

  “That’s good, then. I think you’re just the person I’m looking for right now.” She took a tentative sip of the coffee. As she suspected, it was no better than the battery acid in Richmond. “Our guy, Eric Dalton, he’s in debt to the Russians. I’ll spare you his life story, but he wound up with a metric ton of medical bills after his wife got in a nasty car accident. Something to the tune of eight hundred grand.”

  Whistling through his teeth, Drew shook his head. “And let me guess. He went to the mob for money?”

  “He did.” Bree took another drink. The breakroom coffee was like liquor. The first drink always stung, but each subsequent pull hurt a little less. “But there’s something about it that doesn’t seem quite right to me. I don’t know a lot about the Russians, so I want you to tell me how feasible this all sounds.”

  “All right.”

  “This guy went to them to ask for a half a million dollars. I know they rake in money hand over fist, but even so, that’s a little more than a drop in the bucket for them, right?”

  Drew nodded. “Right.”

  “And this guy’s from rural Texas, so there’s definitely no hidden connection to the Russians there. We ran background checks on his wife and all her extended family is Polish or German. Not even a smidge of Russian. She’s been a goody-two-shoes her whole life. Graduated high school with honors, cheerleader, prom queen. Got a scholarship to play volleyball here in Baltimore, not that she needed it.”

  Shrugging, Drew sipped his coffee. “Rich people need help sometimes too.”

  Bree rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. “Her parents live in Upstate New York, so there’re no ties to the Russians there, either. So, that rules out the possibility that they might’ve been doing a favor for an extended family member or an associate. That makes this guy a perfect stranger to them, so he’d have to offer collateral, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Serious collateral, no doubt about it.”

  “From the way he tells it, he offered them his life insurance payout as collateral. So, I guess if he didn’t pay them back, he made an agreement with them that they’d kill him and collect the payout for themselves. It’s a one-million-dollar policy, so they’d walk away with a profit, but it just seems, I don’t know. It seems off. Like I said, I didn’t deal with the Russians while I was here, but I know none of the Italians worked that way.”

  Drew’s face turned thoughtful as he tapped an index finger against his coffee mug. “No, the Italians don’t work that way, and neither do the Russians. They might be a bunch of criminals, but they aren’t stupid. They don’t take unnecessary risks when it comes to their bottom line. They wouldn’t run the risk of handing this guy all that money.”

  Bree didn’t always like being right. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Yeah. The risk is high. He could’ve run, could’ve gone to the cops, could’ve changed the policy, could’ve done all kinds of shit to get out of them cashing in on their collateral. No way. They wouldn’t make that deal, I can almost promise you that.”

  “So, what do you think, then? He had to give them collateral, so what the hell would it be?”

  “The Russians, they’re something else. They’re almost like the Mexican drug cartels. They make money from all sorts of nasty stuff, kidnapping for ransom, human trafficking, that kind of shit. If someone owes them and they want to collect, then they’ll absolutely collect. If they can’t get to him directly, then they’ll get to him by proxy. They’ll go for his family.”

  Bree leaned back in her chair. “Shit.”

  “Now, I know some of the other crime families around here resort to that too, but the Russians are notorious for it. Just like the Mexican cartels. If someone crosses them, they’ll kill that person’s entire family and leave th
em alive just to send a message. They operate on a whole different level.”

  Bree nodded her understanding. The Russians might have been new to Baltimore, but they weren’t new to organized crime.

  Drew scratched the side of his face. “My question is this. How exactly did he say he was going to pay them back? Because there’s no way in hell they’d lend him money if they didn’t know they’d get it back with interest. What does he do for a living? If he’s a hedge fund manager, then that makes perfect sense. But if he’s just about anything else, then, well.” He left the sentiment unfinished and shrugged as he took another sip from the white mug.

  “He’s a commercial airline pilot. I’ve seen his W-2 forms from the last decade. He makes about two-hundred grand a year, and his wife pulls in about a hundred. She owns a yoga studio here in Baltimore, but it’s valued at about a quarter of a million. Not even close.”

  Drew shook his head. “No, not even close. He’s lying about something. He had to agree to repay them somehow, but I’m not really sure what types of favors a local business owner or an airline pilot could manage.”

  “Wait.” Bree snapped her gaze back to Drew, her eyes wide. “His wife’s a business owner. What if he agreed to start working for them, to start laundering money for them?”

  As he extended an appreciative finger in her direction, he nodded. “That, Agent Stafford, is a distinct possibility. And it’d explain why he doesn’t want to tell you guys about it. Tell you what. I’ve still got an in with the Russians. I’ve been undercover with them a few times over the past few years. Just for little shit, nothing big-time or super risky. But my cover’s never been blown, so maybe if you give me a day or two, I can do some poking around for you and see if anyone’s gotten word of a new business partner they’ve invested in.”

  “I’d owe you.” She offered him a wide grin for emphasis. “You know, just in case you ever need a serial killer tracked down or something. That seems to be a lot of what we deal with down in Virginia.”