by Cynthia Eden
Which meant the guy wasn’t going to let him walk out of that building anytime soon.
Unless…
“Coincidences,” Ethan murmured. Then he said one name. “Zoe.”
Victor’s eyelids flickered. “Excuse me?”
Ethan glanced around the little room. “Where is the surveillance equipment in this place? I’m sure it’s turned on. I’d hate for there to be some kind of malfunction.” Then he glanced back at the FBI agent and just waited.
He was gambling here, but his recent investigation on Victor Monroe had turned up a few interesting facts.
And a very useful link that led from Victor right back to…me. Coincidence? Hell, no.
A muscle jerked in Victor’s jaw, then he pushed away from the table. He left the room without another word. Ethan leaned back a bit in his chair, lifting up the front two legs as he waited, waited…
A few moments later, Victor was back. Only the guy looked seriously pissed. Ethan pushed his chair forward, bringing the legs back down.
Victor grabbed his chair and leaned over him. “You fucking sonofabitch…” Victor snapped at him. “What the hell do you know about Zoe?”
Bingo.
“I’m guessing you turned off the cameras and the sound recording equipment, huh?” Ethan murmured.
“I will destroy you.”
Promises, promises. He tried to look shocked. “Is that any way for an FBI agent to talk?”
Victor growled.
“Zoe Peters,” Ethan said. “A beautiful woman. Incredible dancer. She actually used to work at one of my places in Vegas. Not as a stripper,” he hurried to say when Victor’s eyes went feral, “but as a showgirl. She’s got some moves you wouldn’t believe.”
“I could kill you right now and say you tried to escape.”
Maybe. “That’s not who you are.” He might actually have just found an agent he could trust.
“You don’t know anything about—”
“I got this cop friend in D.C.” Since there were no cameras going, he felt safe in revealing this. “You would not believe the connections that woman has.” Faith Chestang could always manage to surprise him. And to think, when they’d first met, she’d been so ready to lock him away. Oh, but how times could change. “She tapped into your FBI file, pulling some strings that came in mighty handy.”
Victor’s face was a mask of hate.
“I know you worked the Luther Bates case.” Talk about a twisted freak. Luther Bates had given new meaning to the word sadistic. The guy put out hits on everyone who got in his way. Luckily for the rest of the world, Luther was currently rotting in a maximum security prison. The FBI was chomping at the bit to get Luther to talk to them, but so far, he seemed to be staying quiet.
The FBI kept trying, though. And the FBI agent who’d gone to visit dear twisted Luther the most over the last few weeks?
Special Agent Victor Monroe.
Only Victor had taken that intense interest in the guy after Zoe Peters had vanished. Ah, Zoe. A woman with a past she wanted dead and buried.
Since Zoe had vanished a few weeks ago, most folks thought she was dead.
Ethan wasn’t most folks. “I also know,” he said softly, “that you helped Zoe to disappear.”
Victor straightened immediately. “Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Really?” He’d put the pieces together himself. With intel from Faith…and Zoe. “That’s not the impression Zoe gave me. She actually thought she could trust you.”
And, just like that, all emotion vanished from Victor’s face.
“Didn’t I mention that she called me recently? She needed money, and I was someone she thought she could count on.”
Victor shook his head.
“I sent her the cash, and now, I know exactly where she is.”
Victor’s hand slammed down on the table. “You’re threatening this woman? This Zoe?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like there isn’t a personal involvement between you two. You’re the rule following agent, but you broke every rule…” His head cocked to the right as he studied his prey. “In order to protect the daughter of a sadistic piece of shit like Bates.”
Victor’s eyes widened, just for a moment.
That’s right. I know who her daddy is.
Victor sucked in a sharp breath. “You think you’re blackmailing me?”
Blackmail was such an ugly word. “We both have people that we want to keep safe. You want Zoe to stay off the radar, and I—I want to make sure that no threats come close to Carly.”
“You’d risk a woman’s life…”
“Actually, you’re the one putting Zoe at risk. The FBI has trouble in its ranks, and that trouble…it’s going to raise its head again soon. You’re being watched, Agent Monroe. Other people either know of your connection to Zoe or they damn well suspect it. And if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up killing the one woman you want to protect.”
Victor shook his head. “You—”
“I can help you,” Ethan offered.
Victor’s eyes turned to slits. His cheeks had flushed an angry red.
“I can get some of the heat taken off Zoe. I can put out the word that I know where her body is. All the enemies that Bates has—they’d back off. A dead woman isn’t worth their time.”
Silence.
“But I can’t do that shit while I’m locked up in here,” Ethan continued. He gave the agent a grim smile. “So maybe go pull some strings…and get my ass out of this place!”
***
He was watching her. She could feel the weight of his stare on her and it freaked her the hell out.
Carly lifted her head and her gaze cut to the right. Sure enough, Curtis Thatch was there. His expression seemed concerned. His gaze all dark and intense. And he even took a step toward her.
“Don’t!” The word snapped out from her immediately. He froze and several nearby FBI officers tensed.
She should have felt safe. After all, she was in the FBI office. What place was safer? But Curtis was too close, and safe was the last thing she felt.
Curtis held up his hands. “I won’t hurt you, I swear.”
Was she supposed to buy that line?
She hunched her shoulders and sank deeper into the chair. A chair in Victor’s office—well, what he’d said was his temporary office, anyway. And what was Curtis doing being so close? Skulking around?
Just like his brother…
“If you give me five minutes,” he said as he crept closer, “I won’t press charges against Ethan.”
Her heart nearly stopped.
Slowly, her gaze went back to him.
“Five minutes,” Curtis said, nodding. “That’s all I ask for. Surely Ethan’s freedom is worth that small amount of time to you?”
It was.
“But I don’t want to talk here,” Curtis continued, glancing over his shoulder at the nearby FBI agents. “Everyone and their mother could be listening. Neither of us wants that.”
She wasn’t sure what she wanted. No, she knew. Ethan’s freedom.
“I’ll tell the agents—right now—that I’m not pressing charges. That it was all a mistake. Then I want you to walk out of this place with me. We’ll go to a diner down the road, and you’ll give me my five minutes.”
He must think she was insane. “I’m supposed to just walk away with you?”
His lips tightened. “I am not Quincy.”
No, if he was…he’d have a knife in his chest.
“We’ll stay in public the whole time,” Curtis promised. “I won’t even touch you. I just want to talk. Your lover’s freedom for a five minute conversation. That is more than fair.”
Her gaze slid around the small room. Victor had been in there before, right before he’d rushed off to interrogate Ethan. Only before he’d left for that interrogation, Victor had secured his weapon in the top desk drawer. She’d watched him lock that weapon up.
And then h
ead in to interrogate Ethan, determination apparent in every hard line of his body.
Ethan can’t be locked up.
“Five minutes,” she agreed. “Go tell the agents, right now, that you aren’t pressing charges.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, then he whirled and hurried away. Carly leapt to her feet and headed for the drawer. Ethan had taught her so many useful skills when she’d been younger. It took her ten seconds and one bent paperclip to open that drawer…
And then she was rushing out of that office. She came up behind Curtis just as she heard him tell an FBI agent, “No, no there was a mistake at the scene. The man was obviously confused because of the explosion. I don’t believe he ever intended to attack me. I won’t be pressing charges…”
The young FBI agent stared at him in shock.
“Agent Monroe knows how to reach me. I-I answered all of his questions before, and if he needs me, he can find me easily at my hotel.” Curtis gave a quick nod. “But I have to go. Excuse me…”
The FBI agent called out after him. Curtis didn’t stop. He went right down the stairs.
While others scrambled to go find Agent Monroe and let him know about Curtis’s sudden one-eighty, Carly slipped away, too.
The weight of the gun at the base of her back was incredibly reassuring.
How long would it be before Victor realized she’d swiped it?
***
Sonofabitch. Victor Monroe knew he was between a rock—and a fucking deranged asshole named Ethan Barclay. He stomped out of the interrogation room. Ethan Barclay had been on the FBI’s radar for years—a slick piece of work who never left enough evidence behind to actually get charged with anything, though there were sure plenty of suspicions surrounding the guy.
And now, well, the FBI had him for two cases of assault. He’d attacked Curtis Thatch in front of a crowd. Though, to be honest, Victor didn’t exactly trust Thatch, not for a second.
But Ethan had made a double screw-up by coming at an FBI agent. There was no way the guy would be walking after that stunt. Victor’s superiors at the FBI were about to piss themselves, they were so happy. Only…
Zoe.
Her image flashed before his eyes. Zoe—with her long, dark hair, her green eyes, her sensual features…He’d made a deal with Zoe, and, even more importantly, with Zoe’s father, criminal kingpin Luther Bates. Luther would keep cooperating with the FBI under one condition—Zoe had to stay alive.
Fuck. Okay, so he could drop the charges against Ethan Barclay. No assaulting an officer charge. His superiors would freak, but they could still keep Ethan on the attack against Curtis Thatch. They could—
“Agent Monroe?”
He spun around. One of the younger FBI agents stared nervously at him.
“Problem, sir,” he said.
“I am not in the mood for any more problems.”
The guy swallowed. “Dr. Thatch just said he wasn’t pressing charges. That it was all some big mistake. He told me Barclay got confused after the bombing, and Thatch said he didn’t think the man meant to hurt him.”
Hell, yes, Barclay had meant to hurt him. If the FBI hadn’t arrived. Barclay would have pulverized the guy.
Victor tried to breathe deeply. Very deeply. “I want to talk with Carly Shay.”
“Yes, sir.” The red-haired agent almost saluted before he ran away. Victor rolled his eyes. New recruits were so freaking eager.
Carly could help to shed light on Ethan and just what the guy might do if he got out of that interrogation room. Victor suspected that Carly had been raped by Quincy Atkins. Her attack would sure explain Barclay’s rage toward the man—and toward Curtis. From the way Ethan watched Carly, Victor understood that the guy was in deep with Carly. Did he love her? Hell, Victor wasn’t even sure Ethan could love. But there was some kind of connection there. Maybe it was lust. Maybe it was obsession. Maybe it was some other twisted shit that he didn’t understand, but one thing was certain—Carly was Ethan’s link to sanity. Victor got that and if she could help them—
The agent ran back. His face was flushed. “She’s gone, sir.”
“No.” An immediate denial.
“She-she must have slipped out when we were dealing with Dr. Thatch.”
Victor rushed into his office. He’d left her in there so she would feel safe. He’d wanted to reassure her. But there was nothing reassuring about that empty office. He stalked around his desk. “Dammit!” Barclay wouldn’t cooperate at all when he learned she was gone. And with Curtis Thatch not pressing charges…
I am screwed.
Then he glanced down and saw that his top desk drawer was open, just a bit. His thundering heartbeat filled his ears as he slowly curled his fingers around that drawer and opened it fully.
His weapon was missing.
My weapon’s gone. Carly Shay is gone, and she knew where my weapon was stored. Fuck. And Curtis Thatch just walked out the door. Maybe Carly wasn’t the one keeping Ethan sane.
Maybe he was the one watching out for her. “Release Ethan Barclay,” he ordered. “Right the hell now.”
Chapter Seven
Ethan sauntered out of the interrogation room. Victor stood just a few feet away, glowering. “So glad to hear that this misunderstanding was cleared up,” Ethan said smoothly. “And I—”
“Curtis Thatch dropped the charges against you.” Victor’s eyes glinted as he delivered his news. “He left about twenty minutes ago, right around the same time that Carly Shay disappeared from the building.”
Oh, hell, no. Ethan steeled his expression. “If you’ll excuse me, I have pressing business to attend to…” He didn’t wait for a response but hurried toward the elevator. Carly was gone? And Thatch had just dropped the charges?
The elevator doors began to close on him, but, before they could seal completely, Victor surged inside the elevator.
Then the doors closed.
“I didn’t get to talk with Thatch. He dropped the charges while I was inside with your sorry ass,” Victor fired at him.
That means someone else got him to make a deal—Carly? What had she done to get Curtis to drop the charges? And where had she gone?
“Something else you should know,” Victor said. “I think Carly took my gun with her when she left.”
Fuck.
“Security checks when you come in this building and when you go out, but I’m guessing Carly is a woman with hidden talents, right? Getting a gun past security probably wouldn’t be too hard for her.”
No, it probably wouldn’t be. When she’d been a teen, he’d taught her far too many illegal tricks. Tricks that she would no doubt remember now.
The elevator dinged when it reached the floor. The doors slid open. Ethan advanced, but then Victor threw up an arm, stopping him. “Just so we’re clear,” Victor rasped. “If anything at all happens to Zoe Peters, I will destroy you.”
Ethan turned his head and met Victor’s stare. “I’m trying to help her.” He liked Zoe. She’d been dealt a terrible hand in life, a fate he understood all too well. They’d both grown up hard, and when he’d met Zoe, he’d recognized a fellow survivor. He’d learned later that Zoe had been running from her past. From the shadow of her deadly father.
Some shadows always followed you. No matter what you did to shake them.
“Now get the hell out of my way,” Ethan ordered. Because he had to find Carly. She was his priority.
And if she was out there, armed with a gun…
Curtis Thatch needed to be very afraid.
***
The diner was deserted. The lunch crowd had already come in and gone, so when Carly walked inside, it was easy to spot Curtis Thatch in the back booth.
He waved her over. Waved, as if they were having a perfectly normal meeting. She was still covered in ash and she smelled like fire. Carly was pretty sure she had plenty of scrapes lining her body and the guy was cheerily waving to her.
And she went to him. She slid into the booth and a waitress app
eared. The woman didn’t give Carly’s bedraggled appearance even a second glance. She took Carly’s coffee order and walked away.
I don’t have money to pay her. That thought froze Carly as she sat there and shame burned through her.
“It’s okay,” Curtis said, giving her a wan smile as if he’d just read her mind. “I’ve got this.”
She stared across that table at him. He was a lot smaller than his brother. An athletic build, not the hulking shape that Quincy had been. The eyes were the same, but the face was different, too. Softer. Handsome, in one of those non-threatening, easy ways.
Goosebumps rose onto her arms as she stared at him.
“I used to hate you,” Curtis said. Then he shook his head. “Wait, that’s not right. When I realized my brother had to be dead, I hated the person who had killed him.”
You’re looking at her.
His gaze swept over her face. “What did my brother do to you?”
She didn’t want to tell the story again. The wound just kept opening. But this man…maybe he should hear about the truth. “Quincy Atkins was a sadistic freak. I danced at his club. I was seventeen. Seventeen. I was desperate and I needed money to survive.”
She should have gone to Ethan. He would have helped her, but back then, he’d been struggling too. When Ethan found out what she’d been doing, he’d put a stop to it.
But it had been too late.
“Quincy got obsessed.”
Curtis glanced down at the table. “He…he did that. Found women that he wanted. Couldn’t let go.”
Women… “I was seventeen,” she whispered again. She couldn’t take her gaze off him right then.
Curtis slowly looked back up at her. “He attacked you.”
“I was going home. A car pulled up behind me—a van.” Just like that freaking van in the parking garage. “Men grabbed me. They tied me up. They took me to him.” She swallowed, battling those memories. “When he got obsessed with the others, did he do that to them, too?”
Curtis had paled. “I’m afraid now, that he did.” His voice had gone hoarse. “I’ve found out…other women were missing back then.”
Her chest iced. She’d always wondered…no, she’d always known, if she and Ethan hadn’t gotten away, they would have been dead.
