Winter's Secret

by Mary Stone

  Though he knew logically that he would keep himself in touch with Winter through the coming days, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach as he turned to take his place in the bustling line.

  Even if he knew he would see her again, he wasn’t so sure he would see her again like this. With the warm familiarity of a lover, or the comforting lull of hope.

  He trusted Winter, and he trusted that she knew what she wanted.

  But that didn’t mean that she would feel the same after she’d been given a few days of contemplation.

  As he prepared himself for the series of security measures up ahead, he was struck with a sudden reality. Last night, they’d crossed the point of no return. If one of them backed away now, he wasn’t so sure their friendship would survive.

  At this point, all he could do was hope. And god, he hoped the risk had been worth it.

  23

  Winter had no way to know if her nervousness about the uncertainty of her and Noah’s future was a mutual worry, but despite the lingering pang of anxiety, she felt as if a leaden weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She’d received a text message from Aiden to advise her that he’d made no headway into Justin’s case, and for the first time, Winter wasn’t assailed by guilt when she read the message.

  Though the sensation wasn’t as noticeable as it had been earlier in the day, Winter had to put forth an effort to keep her walk at an even gait. Otherwise, she was sure she would have hobbled around like a cowboy or an old woman.

  To be sure, the soreness between her thighs wasn’t obnoxious or frustrating, though the sensation had distracted her a handful of times. Even then, the thoughts and images that came to mind—the recollection of the dirty things Noah had whispered in her ear, for instance—brought the faint traces of a smile to her lips.

  Whoever had coined the saying about everything being bigger in Texas hadn’t lied.

  She only hoped that the first time they had sex wouldn’t be the last. The whole experience had been far too blissful to mark down as a one-off.

  Males—some of them, at least—had a reputation for focusing strictly on their own needs in bed, but Noah was as far from the stereotype as a man could get. Just the thought was enough to make her insides tighten up with need.

  Though the thought struck her as odd, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been that way with all the women he’d slept with. Just because Winter didn’t have much experience in the romantic relationship department didn’t mean she was naïve. A good-looking guy with a charming smile like Noah had probably been fighting off women for all his adult life.

  As Winter mulled over the possibility, she was surprised by a pang of jealousy. Not an angry sense of envy, but a twinge of jealousy that she’d been dumb enough to wait this long when other women hadn’t hesitated at the opportunity.

  Better late than never.

  For the first chunk of the afternoon, Winter’s mind kept wandering. But when Bobby Weyrick strolled into the Baltimore field office, she finally managed to reign in her drifting thoughts.

  To her surprise, Bobby wasn’t alone. At Bobby’s side, his tailored suit and his caramel brown hair as immaculate as ever, was Aiden Parrish. Winter double-checked her text message history, but nowhere had Aiden mentioned his intent to travel to Maryland. So far, the BAU hadn’t been all that involved in the Eric Dalton case, but after the death of one of their own, the bureau had decided to pull out all the stops. And, apparently, that included the Richmond BAU Supervisory Special Agent himself.

  By the time Bobby and Aiden landed at the Baltimore airport, the audio forensics team had cleaned up the first chunk of Drew Hansford’s 911 call. So far, they’d only uncovered the identity of one speaker, but the man—a Russian mafia foot soldier—had been on the Baltimore PD’s shit list for years.

  They knew his address, and by the time a pair of uniformed officers dragged the man into the office for questioning, Bobby and Aiden had settled in and made their introductions.

  Now, Winter stood with Bobby, Aiden, and Marie Judd behind a pane of one-way glass. Since they had arrived, the man seated at the chipped table in the interview room hadn’t moved. If Winter didn’t know any better, she would have thought he hadn’t even blinked.

  “Sergei Kolesov,” Marie Judd announced. “Even just getting his information was like talking to a brick wall. Forensics took his clothes, though. It’s too early to be one-hundred-percent sure, but Naomi said it looks like he had the same metal particles on his jacket.”

  Bobby’s amber eyes flitted back to the glass as he crossed his arms. “Sounds like we’ll have him dead to rights, then. Any lead on who the other two voices with him might’ve been?”

  Marie shook her head. “Not yet. They’re still cleaning up the rest of the audio file. Even then, it’s going to be tricky to make an identification with just a voice recording.”

  Winter glanced from Marie to Bobby. “Sergei knows who the two people were, though.”

  “He does.” Marie shrugged. “But, like I said, it’s been like talking to a literal block of concrete so far.”

  Pale eyes fixed on the glass, Aiden stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “That’s not surprising. These guys, the Russians especially, they hold loyalty in high regard. To them, it’s better to go to prison than it is to be seen as disloyal. More often than not, they even think it’s better to die than become a rat. It’s a lot of cognitive dissonance and conformity.”

  Winter nodded her understanding. She knew someone who could pry answers from the man, but Autumn was back in Richmond.

  Not long after Autumn had confided in Winter about her sixth sense—her ability to size someone up with little more than a touch—Winter had asked her about the potential to conduct interrogations with suspects in custody. Not only did Autumn have the ability to sense a person’s motives, but she also had a Juris Doctorate.

  It had been surprising, then, when Autumn’d shook her head and dismissed the idea. Not only did she lack the training necessary for suspect interviews, but her knack wouldn’t hold up under the scrutiny of a court of law. At best, using the ability in a criminal investigation was ill-advised, and at worst, it was unconstitutional.

  Still, with the death of one federal agent and the potential risk to another—the man she’d just slept with—Winter would have been willing to roll the figurative dice.

  “You know.” Bobby’s voice jerked Winter back to the dim room. The first hint of a smirk played along his face as his amber eyes shifted from Aiden to Marie Judd and then to Winter. “I was in the Special Forces for six years, and I learned a couple things from all those black ops guys I was around in the Middle East. There’s still a lot of hubbub about it for some reason, but the military’s known for a long time that torture isn’t effective. People are just as willing to lie about what they did or didn’t do to make the pain stop as they are to tell the truth.”

  Winter turned to face him, one eyebrow arched. “I’ve heard that. There are scientific studies about it too, aren’t there?” Thanks to Autumn, she knew the answer to her own question, but she was still compelled to ask.

  Bobby offered her an appreciative nod. “There are. But you know what is effective?”

  Winter and Marie remained quiet as they waited for Bobby to elaborate.

  “Leverage,” Aiden finished for him.

  Glancing back to the glass, Bobby nodded. “Leverage.”

  “Leverage?” Winter echoed.

  Bobby gazed back at the man sitting on the other side of the glass. “Let’s take a look at Mr. Kolesov and see if we can’t find us some leverage.”

  Though Winter could hardly imagine what type of leverage would be necessary to get answers from a battle-hardened Russian mobster, she kept the thought to herself.

  Right now, Sergei was their best and only lead to figuring out what in the hell Eric Dalton was actually after.

  No one knew Jon Falkner was dead. Ever since he’d received the news from Alek, Eric h
ad kept the knowledge to himself.

  As far as everyone else was concerned, Eric hadn’t heard from the Russians since they told him they’d kidnapped Natalie.

  Of course, that had been a lie.

  Less than an hour ago, Eric had received a text from one of the Russians—he couldn’t be sure if the sender was Alek or one of the man’s goons. The message was clear. Eric had little more than thirty hours to deliver his promise, or Natalie would die. They’d even attached a picture of Jon. Eric had deleted the image immediately, unable to look into his son-in-law’s dead eyes.

  Until he received the text, he hadn’t stopped to consider what else would happen if he failed to uphold his end of the arrangement. He knew without a doubt that the Russians would kill Natalie.

  But what of the witness they so desperately wanted to find?

  Based on Alek’s hurried tone and clear agitation the last time they’d spoken on the phone, the witness was critical to their organization’s wellbeing. They wouldn’t give up their search for the man just because Eric had been unable to deliver.

  If Eric couldn’t convince Noah to give the location of the witness to Alek and his people, then they would go after Noah themselves.

  At the thought, a pit formed in Eric’s stomach. He and Noah weren’t close, but he didn’t want his estranged son to become a target for the Russian mob. Risking Noah’s job was one thing, but risking his life?

  Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Eric stuffed the anxious thoughts into the back of his mind. For the first time, the bureau had facilitated a secure phone connection to allow Eric to speak with his wife. He didn’t want his voice to sound panicked or frightened. He wanted to reassure Kelly that they would be okay, even if he wasn’t sure of the statement himself.

  Eric cast one last nervous glance to Special Agent Stafford before he raised the smartphone to his ear. Ever since the start of his debacle with the FBI, he hadn’t exchanged so much as a text message with his wife or his son, Ethan. He had the hidden prepaid phone to communicate with Alek and his people, but his own smartphone had been abandoned when he was shuttled off to the safe house.

  He dreaded the conversation that was about to unfold.

  In the interest of their safety, he hadn’t mentioned word one about his agreement with the Russians to Kelly, Ethan, or Natalie. Now, Natalie had been kidnapped, her husband was dead, and Kelly and Ethan had been locked away only God knew where.

  Secrets had gotten him nowhere.

  Swallowing in a vain effort to alleviate the dryness in his mouth, Eric willed himself to speak. “Hey, honey.”

  Even to his own ears, the greeting sounded asinine. Hey, honey? Their daughter had been kidnapped, and he had the audacity to greet his wife like he was just returning home from a day of work.

  He’d been so sure he could handle the agreement with Alek. He’d been so sure that his and Kelly’s and Natalie’s and Jon’s lives would go back to normal once he’d upheld his end of the arrangement. He’d been so sure he could convince Noah to see the situation from his perspective. He’d been sure of everything, and now it was all crumbling around him.

  In less than a day and a half, the Russians would execute his daughter, unless he came through for them.

  No, they wouldn’t just execute her, they’d shoot her in the stomach and let her die an agonizing death.

  Just like his son-in-law.

  “Eric?” Kelly’s hurried tone jerked him back to reality.

  “Yeah, honey, it’s me. I’m…I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, and he had to stop because of the tightness in his throat.

  “You’re sorry?” Kelly let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t think that quite covers all this, does it? Our daughter has been kidnapped, and you didn’t think you needed to tell me? No, no, wait. Our daughter was kidnapped because you made a deal with the fucking mob, and you didn’t feel the need to tell me? Honestly, Eric, I can’t even begin to try to piece this shit together. What the hell did you do?”

  He propped an elbow atop the dining room table and dropped his face into his hand. “I tried to fix it. The medical bills, everything that piled up after the accident, I tried to fix it, but I just made it worse.”

  “Medical bills?” she echoed. “What the hell are you talking about? You told me they were manageable!”

  At her strained tone, he winced. He hadn’t wanted her to find out about the gap in their insurance. She’d blame herself—that’s just how Kelly Dalton was. She tended to shoulder the responsibility for far more than she should.

  Clearing his throat, he straightened in his seat and raked a hand through his hair. “They weren’t. The physical therapy, the visits to the specialist, none of it was covered.”

  “What?” She guffawed, a loud, bitter sound. “Three-hundred grand, that’s how much you said we owed. What, are you saying that you just hid all those statements from me and let that debt pile up while I kept going to those appointments? What in the hell is wrong with you?”

  “The three hundred was after.”

  “After what?” The sharpness had left her voice. Now, she sounded nervous. Frightened.

  “After the money they gave me.” He had to grate the words out from between clenched teeth. Every instinct told him to keep the truth to himself, but he had come far past the point of no return.

  “They? The mob?”

  “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else he could say. No matter how he thought to rationalize his decision to himself, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words aloud.

  “We’re way past that now.” Her voice was quiet, the words little more than a whisper. “You should have told me. We could have figured something out. You didn’t have to…to do this. You put our whole family, our entire lives at risk, and...” Her voice broke, and he could hear a muffled cry he knew she was desperate to hide.

  He wanted to say something to assure her they would be okay, but if he couldn’t even convince himself, then how in the hell was he supposed to convince her?

  Kelly took in a shaky breath. “I’m not even mad right now, I’m just…just disappointed. I don’t know if I can forgive you for this.”

  The statement was calm and matter of fact.

  He dropped his face in his hands.

  He’d been so sure he could handle this.

  24

  Noah half-expected Autumn to ignore his text message altogether, but her response was almost immediate. He’d asked her about her plans for the evening, and whether or not she’d be interested in a nostalgic trip to her old place of employment—a ski-lodge-themed bar called The Lift. The bar was owned and operated by a long-time family friend of Autumn’s adopted parents, a woman Autumn referred to as her aunt. Autumn had since moved on to a far more lucrative career than part-time bartender, and ever since, their trips to The Lift had tapered off.

  Sure. Just leave the interrogation bullshit at home.

  He almost groaned aloud at the message. I deserved that. Meet you there at 7:30?

  Her reply lit up the screen before he even had a chance to set the phone back on the coffee table. See you then.

  Though the sentiment might have been premature, he blew out a sigh of relief. Maybe she didn’t hate him completely after all.

  Ever since he’d departed Winter’s company at the Baltimore airport earlier, his thoughts had been scattered to the four corners of the earth. Unless it was related to the case, he couldn’t focus on any one line of thought for what felt like more than thirty seconds.

  By now, he’d lost count of the number of times he’d patted the scratch marks on his back to reassure himself his night with Winter had been real. If she hadn’t dug her nails into his shoulders, he likely would have convinced himself that the whole thing was a vivid dream.

  Shaking himself out of the recollection, he forced his attention back to the television. He had an hour before he had to leave to meet with Autumn, and he spent the entire sixty minutes trying in vain to focus on Anthony Bourdain. Even the
n, all he could do was lament the tragic circumstances of Bourdain’s death.

  Though he wasn’t likely to admit as much to anyone he didn’t know, Noah had moped around his apartment for a solid two days after he learned of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide. He’d been a follower of Bourdain for years, and he’d always hoped to meet the renowned chef and travel enthusiast.

  If his thoughts weren’t fixated on Winter or Anthony Bourdain, then they drifted to Eric Dalton. Specifically, Bree’s ominous warning from that morning.

  As soon as the digital clock of the cable box switched to seven o’clock, he all but leapt from his seat to turn off the television and leave for The Lift. With any luck, apologizing to Autumn would alleviate a portion of the stress that plagued him.

  He didn’t think much of the black sedan that pulled out of the parking lot after him until he realized that the car had followed him past a second turn. Narrowing his eyes at the rearview mirror, he made a mental note of the make and model. A Mazda sedan with lightly tinted windows, a man behind the wheel, and a license plate he couldn’t quite discern. Though his first thought was to write the sighting off as paranoia, his pulse picked up as he neared the bar.

  Glancing from the mirror to the road, he flicked on his turn signal as he prepared to turn into the parking lot. The driver slowed behind him, but no blinker flashed to life.

  People neglected to use their blinkers all the time.

  As he rounded the sharp turn into the worn lot, the Mazda sped off down the street. Until the car was out of his vision, Noah hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

  Good lord, he was starting to lose it. If it hadn’t been for the early workday tomorrow, he would have ordered himself a couple shots as soon as he walked through the familiar double doors.

  Despite his early departure, Autumn had still beat him there. From where she was seated in the same booth they’d always used during their frequent visits in the past, she raised a hand and waved. With as much of a smile as he could muster, Noah returned the gesture as he approached the bar.