The decoy apartment was cold for some reason. Anya sat on the bed with papers in front of her. Heath hadn’t been to bed yet, and she couldn’t sleep. He was scouting the neighborhood under the cover of night, hoping to find what his subconscious was trying to tell him.
The apartment had three bedrooms, a sprawling great room, and an updated kitchen. The walls were brick, the floors wood, and the fixtures antiques. Ryker and Zara had retired to the farthest bedroom from the front door, while Denver was still downstairs working on the computers. He seemed to rarely sleep.
She’d spread papers across the bed. Copies of the FBI file along with her profile. Notes from her past. Anyone she’d dated, been friends with, or just had met. Dossiers on all of them.
“You’re in here,” she muttered, looking through the lists again. The killer was there.
Her eyes blurred. She yawned and looked around. The bedroom held the bed, covered with a deep green comforter, two nightstands, and an antique dresser. They had to make it look authentic for the killer, just in case he got in somehow when they weren’t there. She shook her head as her stomach cramped. The plan was a good one, and there were cameras and guns all around. Yet she couldn’t help but feel like she was playing a game of chicken with somebody making up new rules.
Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it, startled to see Carl’s number come up. What in the world? She shook her head and read the phone again. It rang insistently. She stopped breathing.
Wait a minute. That couldn’t be right. Her vision blurred. She ground her palm into her right eye and then blinked until she could see clearly. It still showed Carl’s name.
A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her heart rate sped up. Adrenaline. She could taste it. Her breath panted out, and her head swam. She gulped down air. God. The thing kept ringing. She had to answer it. Her hand trembled, but she answered the call. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Who is this?” She scrambled out of bed and hurried from the room, glad she was wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her ears rang. Who was calling? Did the killer have Carl’s phone?
Nothing. Maybe breathing.
She ran out of the apartment and hustled down the stairs to find Denver at his desk with a soft light glowing. He looked up, his eyes quizzical. She handed over the phone. “Carl’s phone,” she whispered.
Heath moved in from the kitchen area, and she jumped. He’d been in the building but hadn’t joined her in bed? He grabbed the phone and turned it over to press the speaker. “Who the fuck is this?” he growled, his body one lean line of sizzling anger.
An audible click echoed over the line.
Anya leaned against the nearest desk, her heart clamoring. “That had to be the killer, right?”
“Can you trace it?” Heath asked.
Denver looked at the phone, pushed a couple of buttons, and read the screen. “No. The phone is now off, and any location-tracking elements are disabled.”
Anya swallowed. “The only reason Carl’s killer would call is to mess with me. To scare me.” Chills swept her, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
Heath reached for her and drew her into his body. She wanted to protest, but he felt too good around her. Solid and safe. “The killer might’ve been going through Carl’s contacts, or he might be somebody you know from your time working with Carl,” Heath said, his voice a reassuring rumble.
Good. Heath was calm. Somehow that calmed Anya. She looked up at his face and nearly stopped breathing. Furious. His eyes glittered with a dangerous rage, and his jaw looked like it was made from pure rock. “Or?” she asked.
“Or the Copper Killer is messing with us,” Heath said in a gravelly voice.
Denver placed his hands flat on the desk. “How does that make sense? The killer doesn’t mess around. He kidnaps, tortures, and kills. Why would he be messing with us?”
“With Anya,” Heath said. “She challenged him, and he’s having way too much fun playing.”
She thought through all her research. “Killing Carl doesn’t make sense for a serial killer. He has a type and a routine.” She shook her head. “But . . . this has been about me since the beginning. You’re right. He’s playing a game, and he’s having fun.”
Heath placed a kiss on the top of her head, his movement controlled and gentle. “I can have you out of here within an hour. Please.” The please was said in a low rumble, one with contained emotion.
She could nearly feel the fight going on inside him to even give her a choice.
For the first time, she actually considered running. She’d received a phone call from a dead man’s phone. Her body trembled. She’d honestly considered Heath and his brothers almost invincible, and how foolish was that? Nobody was invincible. “I’m not sure.”
“We can sleep on it,” Heath said, turning her toward the stairwell.
Her phone buzzed again.
Heath’s entire body tightened next to her, and he looked down. “What the hell?” He pressed the speaker button so they could all hear. “Reese?”
“Anya? You sound, um, funny,” Agent Reese said, his words slurred. “You been takin’ testosterone?”
Anya’s mouth dropped open. “Are you drunk?”
“Yeppers.” Reese snorted. “I loved her, you know. Loved Loretta. Pretty Loretta. She’s gone.”
Anya coughed. The man had definitely loved her sister, and Loretta had felt the same way. Her heart ached for them both. For what they might have had . . . for what they could’ve created together. It was all lost. Tears filled her eyes. “Where are you?”
Reese sighed. “I don’t know. In my car outside the Red Bonnet Bar. I guess I do know. Loretta and I used to drink here sometimes and hash out cases.” He belched, his tone low. Angry and beyond sad. Maybe desolate. “You know. We worked together.”
Heath shook his head, glaring at the phone still in his hand. “Did you just call from a different phone?”
Anya gasped. That had not been Reese. She’d bet her life on it.
Reese snorted. “Called who?”
Heath drew in air, obviously trying to hold on to his patience. “Did you just call Anya from a different phone?”
“Nope. Only have one phone. How many phones you got, Heath?” Reese went into a coughing fit.
Heath pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t drive like that.”
“Who cares? You know? At this point, who really cares?” Reese sighed, his tone hollow. “She’s, uh, she’s gone. All gone.” His slurred voice broke. “She loved you, Anya. So much. Was so proud of her baby sister.”
Tears welled in Anya’s eyes. “We’ll come and get you, Reese. Just stay warm in your car, and we’ll be right there.” She ignored Heath’s harsh look.
“Hold tight,” Heath said into the phone. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Reese sounded drowsy this time. “I’ll hold tight. Nothin’ else to do anyway.” He clicked off.
Heath slipped the phone into his jeans pocket. “Anya, go back to bed. Denver, stay on guard. I’ll be back after I take care of the agent.”
“No.” Anya grabbed his arm, her mind spinning. “I want to go with you.”
Heath looked down at her. “No way. You stay here and stay safe.”
“No.” She wanted to stomp her foot . . . right on the flat of his damn boot. “I told Reese I’d come, and he needs help. I can help him.” Anya tugged on Heath’s muscled arm.
Heath frowned. “You are not going.”
Denver sighed. “I’ll go.”
The phone rang again. With a snarl, Heath jerked it free of his pants, looked at the screen, and pressed the speaker button again. “What is it, Reese?” he barked.
“Um, hi. This is Special Agent Dingman. I have his phone.” Her voice was quiet through the speaker.
Heath’s shoulders settled. “I take it you found Reese?”
“Yeah. He called earlier waxing poetic about love. I tracked him to the bar,” Dingman said. “Thought I’d let you know he’s safe. I
’m sorry he bothered Anya. He was very much in love with her sister.”
“Make sure he gets home,” Heath ordered.
“No kidding, buddy. Anya, I’ll call you tomorrow,” Dingman said, clicking off.
Heath shoved the phone back into his pocket, his movements smooth and a little too controlled. “We need to return to the chain of command here, Anya. Get in line, or I promise I’ll lock you down thousands of miles from here.”
Her head snapped up. Awareness lit her skin. Anger and an odd intrigue rushed through her to steal her breath. “Knock it off, Heath. I’m not in the mood.”
With no warming, he moved against her, his shoulder to her stomach. She flopped over and instantly kicked out. Her body jolted, and blood rushed through her head. She kicked again, heat washing through her. Hard. He manacled her legs and all but jogged through the office and up the stairs to the apartment.
She couldn’t move. He was so freakin’ strong. “Heath. Let me go.” She could barely struggle, and her anger rose.
Several steps later, he tossed her onto the bed. Her files and notes scattered in every direction.
She scrambled back, her hands clenching with a new need to punch him in the face. Just who did he think he was?
He stared down, anger burning in his eyes. “You understand that we are dealing with killers, right? One, maybe two?”
“Yes,” she snapped.
“Good. Keep your ass in this room and get some sleep. Baby, you definitely do not want to cross me on this.” Without waiting for a response, he left the room and shut the door none too gently.
She stared at the closed door, her mouth gaping. With her own version of a snarl, she yanked off the emerald ring and threw it at the wall. It hit the brick and dropped, bouncing twice on the floor. She winced. Her hands shaking, she pushed off the bed and bent down to retrieve the ring, studying it.
Her mind instantly battled with her emotions, digging into Heath’s psyche and motivations. Oh. She knew enough about Heath already to understand he was coming from a place of worry and concern. Seriously deep and justified concern.
But he could’ve handled his emotions much better. She sighed. Whatever was in his past seemed to have created those rough edges. He really needed to learn a better way to communicate.
The ring glittered, stunning and vibrant, in her hand. Both the band and the gems were perfectly fine.
God, it was beautiful.
She placed it carefully on one of the nightstands. Her limbs felt heavy, and her body was chilled. The pretty bauble didn’t belong to her. Not really.
Dr. Isobel Madison leaned over her keyboard, typing furiously. Code flashed across her screen, and she squinted to read in the dim light. It was well after midnight, and her neck ached. She’d skipped her exercise session earlier, and she could feel it.
Yet . . . she was close and getting even closer. Finally.
She sat back and stretched her arms while her computer went to work. “Ah, Detective Malloy,” she murmured. “I knew you’d come in handy someday.” A short time ago the Snowville cop had worked with some of the other boys she’d created before they’d gone underground again.
A snowstorm rattled against her windows, and she turned to stare into the darkness. Night had masked the training field, which would be littered with ice and snow in the morning.
Elton Cobb strode into the room, sweat across his brow and workout shirt.
She hummed softly to herself. Since they’d started living together full time, he’d made an impressive effort to get in shape. Oh, part of his effort was for her, she knew. The other part was in preparation for finally finding the Lost boys . . . if he got to them first. “How was training?” she asked, letting her gaze linger on his broad chest.
He dropped into a guest chair, his electric blue eyes focused. “Boxing matches went well. There’s a definite difference between your soldiers and the new recruits.”
“Of course,” she said as she stretched her left trapezius muscle, keeping the pride she’d earned out of her voice. “Mine have been trained since birth.” By her beloved commander, may he rest in peace. She winked at the man now occupying her bed most nights. “The rest of the soldiers will be trained well enough, Sheriff Cobb.”
He grinned like a wolf. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Yes.” All men liked their titles used. He was on leave from his job and needed to be reminded of his status more than most would. “I feel like things are finally coming together here.” In mere weeks her lab would be fully functional, and she could start a new reproductive trial. She still had genetic samples from her other lab to use, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking they were still viable. The sperm was old and had been moved around. She needed new samples.
The Lost boys would provide those first, she decided. If they refused to jack off for her, then she’d just knock them out and take sperm the old fashioned way—with syringes.
Elton twisted his neck. “What are you working on?”
A little truth would appease him. “I’ve had somebody watching a Detective Malloy in Snowville ever since Shane lived there. I’m fairly certain the cop helped Shane get out of town.” Shane had been one of her supersoldiers—one of the Gray brothers—and he’d deserted her. How could he not understand the importance contained in his very genes? She sighed.
Elton cracked his knuckles, his gaze narrowing. “And?”
She lifted a shoulder. “The cop has been doing some odd Internet searches into the Lost Bastards detective agency, and he has been attending local meetings and get-togethers that he has never attended before. I’m trying to hack into his phone, but it’s surprisingly secure for a cop from eastern Washington.”
“You think he’s in contact with Shane?” Elton asked.
“I do not know.” Which was why she was trying to hack into his phone. “I keep an eye on Detective Malloy, and whenever he does something out of his normally very boring routine, I figure out why. So far the only interesting thing about the guy is that he’s dating a veterinarian who likes to buy him flashy ties.”
Elton eyed the storm outside. “It seems like a lot is going on in Snowville. Has our soldier reported back?”
Now Daniel was their soldier? Interesting. She hadn’t decided to share him. “Yes. He’s searching new rentals in Snowville as we speak but so far hasn’t found Heath, Ryker, or Denver. I still think Snowville is a red herring, and they’re somewhere else here in the Pacific Northwest. Seattle would be my bet,” she said. “It’s a big enough city, they can get lost but still have access to mass transit to flee if necessary. I believe the Gray brothers are somewhere in the West, too, and now that they’ve all connected, I surmise they’ll stay close to one another.” Which was nicely convenient for her.
“Makes sense.” Elton plucked a framed picture off the desk. The silver frame looked delicate in his beefy hand. “This is new.”
“I finished unpacking and found it in some boxes. She’s beautiful, right?” Isobel glanced at the photograph of her daughter, Audrey. It had been taken during Audrey’s graduation from high school, where she’d earned straight A’s in advanced classes.
“She looks just like you. Blue eyes, black hair, flawless skin,” Elton said, turning the photo around in his hands. “Different expression in those eyes, though.”
“Really?” Isobel watched his movements, curiosity rising. “How so?”
“She looks a little lost, whereas you always look determined.” He gently set the picture down on the desk again. “She has to be about seven months along now, right?”
“Yes.” What Isobel wouldn’t give to test that baby. A cross between Audrey and one of Isobel’s genetically enhanced soldiers might be something new. Something incredible, really. The hair on her arms stood up. “Audrey and one of my creations are giving me my first grandchild.”
He cleared his throat, scrutinizing her. “Do you feel love like other people?”
She tilted her head to the side. Interesti
ng question. “I don’t know how other people feel, but I do feel love. It’s probably more cerebral than most.” Of course, most women would probably be hurt that their only daughter had fled with a man who hated her mother, but not Isobel. It was what it was, and she’d get what she wanted in the end. “I do love you, Elton.” He provided her with a service, and that was love as far as she was concerned.
He steepled his fingers at his chin. “I love you, too.”
She smiled and double-checked the code on her computer. It seemed important for him to be able to say those words, so she lingered in the moment. “I’m glad we’re finally together. We’re almost family.” His chest swelled at the words. Yes. They had been the right words. She allowed her smile to widen.
“Speaking of family. About your daughter—you’d be sad if she died, right?” He frowned as if trying to read her mind.
Why was he questioning her? “I’d be devastated.” For goodness’ sake. Audrey was carrying the first baby born of Isobel’s creations. If that baby died before she could examine him or her, it’d be a scientific loss of epic proportions. “I can’t even imagine something so terrible.” She caught herself and slumped her shoulders a little. “Not to mention the loss of my sweet Audrey. It’s hard to explain a mother’s love for her daughter.”
Elton relaxed. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
Isobel nodded solemnly.
“I was wondering. When you get the lab up and running, what if you and I had a kid?”
She blinked. “What?”
“A kid. You and me and a surrogate. It could happen, right?”
She sat back, her mind spinning. She hadn’t hit menopause as of yet, so she might have viable eggs. Elton was strong and smart . . . and slightly sociopathic. Her breath burst out, surprising her. “You want a child?”
He shrugged, his skin flushing. “Yeah. I think I’d like a son to name after my dead brother. The one Heath and his brothers killed.” Defiance crossed his broad face, and a softer light than usual glimmered in his eyes. Vulnerability?
“You want this,” she mused, calculating the possibilities.
“Yes.” His chin lowered, and he met her gaze directly.
Lethal Lies Page 24
