Cold Light of Day

by Anderson, Toni

  Matt nodded and wondered if the guy could tell he’d had mind-blowing sex just from looking at his face. Probably.

  “Bad news. Richard Stone was attacked in prison this morning during his latest round of chemo.”

  Shit.

  “Maidstone died on the table. Cops IDed the print on the phone. Locals issued a BOLO. You’re now a person of interest in a murder investigation.”

  * * *

  Andrei Dorokhov strode along the top floor of his residence and entered the last room on the right. His wife was wrapping Christmas gifts with her assistant and wouldn’t miss him for an hour or so. The anger that had been growing over the last twenty-four hours was poised to burst out of his skin.

  Raminski stood beside the bed. An unconscious female was passed out on top of the covers.

  “I wanted her awake,” Dorokhov snapped.

  “She struggled.” Raminski shrugged. “I didn’t want her kicking out the taillights while sitting in traffic. I may have misjudged the dose. Apologies, Your Excellency.”

  Although his expression was contrite, there was something in the man’s tone that suggested he disapproved.

  Dorokhov narrowed his eyes. There was more than enough anger to go around. “Strip her.” His smile was evil. Between the LeMays and the Stones they’d managed to stir up more shit than a Moscow sewer. A little payback was a good reminder of why they shouldn’t cross him. He was particularly skilled at revenge.

  He undid his tie and poured him and his assistant a large whiskey. When Raminski finished removing the woman’s clothes he stood back for a moment, lips pinched tight. Ugly bruises mottled her skin like spray paint. Mishka had always been enthusiastic in his work.

  Raminski had left the girl’s panties in place. Andrei hooked a finger through the silk and dragged them down her legs. He looked at his protégé and smiled knowingly. “There. All done.”

  He handed the man his drink. He wasn’t feeling the slightest interest in what he needed to do. “Would you like to go first? I saw the way you looked at her at the Christmas reception, my friend.”

  “She’s a beautiful woman, Your Eminence, and I bow to your wishes in all things. But…” The man’s jaw clenched and his eyes glittered. “I prefer my women willing.”

  “This isn’t about sex, Sergio. Surely you understand that?” Dorokhov laughed, but not with amusement. “It’s about power and control and punishment.”

  Raminski’s lips tightened.

  Dorokhov raised his brows. “You don’t agree?”

  “If you have to rape a defenseless woman to prove your ‘power’ then…” Raminski stood with his head bowed. “I’m sorry. Not everything has to be about fear.”

  Did the young man really believe that? He’d had high hopes for Raminski, but apparently he was soft.

  Dorokhov poured himself another drink. Tossed it back. The angry fire seeped out of him and he felt tired. Very tired. “Get out.”

  Raminski hesitated long enough to look at the woman on the bed.

  “Out!” Dorokhov locked the door behind the man and poured himself another drink. Truth was he didn’t have the inclination to fuck this woman. Not when he had a wife who was willing and able to make love to him like she actually meant it. That was a miracle. Not one he intended to squander.

  But he couldn’t afford to make it look as if he’d gone soft either. He didn’t lie to himself. He’d wanted Raminski to rape her so he didn’t have to. Watching the deed would have been revenge enough on those who’d messed with him, and would have forged a bond between the two men that would have lasted for years.

  Dorokhov sat on the bed, wishing he was more limber, less old and fat and lazy. Even the sight of the woman’s naked body did nothing for him. She was too young. Too unconscious. There was no fight in her. No fun. The bed squeaked as he moved. It gave him an idea. The only person who knew what happened in this room was going to be him. He started bouncing gently in case Raminski was listening. Gave a few grunts and moans in between shots of whiskey.

  The girl’s head flopped listlessly to the side, her tits wobbled, the delicate nipples like elegant raspberries perched on top.

  She was beautifully made, but it would be like screwing a doll. He bounced harder, wishing he wanted her. Had Raminski knocked her out because he’d known it would take away his fun? Had he done it to protect the girl and make it so she didn’t remember anything?

  There was little solace in having gaping holes in your memory. The reminder had him taking out his cell phone and photographing her from all angles.

  He crawled back on the bed and straddled her body, crushing her hips with his weight. Still she lay there as if dead. He snagged the bottle off the side table and tipped his head back and swallowed thirstily. Then he poured the rest of the liquid over the girl’s body and slung the empty bottle at the wall with a fierce cry.

  The glass shattered and the silence that followed was heavy and cloying. He climbed off the bed, springs groaning with his weight. He pushed her knees wider apart and rubbed some of the liquor between her legs so she glistened all over. It looked and smelled as if he’d fucked her with a bottle in hand.

  He swiped his hands on the sheets, then took more photographs. He gathered his tie in one hand, unlocked the door and found a glowering Raminski standing there talking rapidly on his cell.

  “You’re sure?” Raminski said as his eyes went over Andrei’s shoulders to see Angel LeMay displayed to the world. The spark of anger was quickly masked. He closed the phone with a snap. “The FBI agent and the girl. They’re both alive. Do you want me to go after them?”

  Anger fused his teeth together. He managed to grind out. “I’ll call in a professional this time.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Take her back to the warehouse. I’m not finished with the little bitch yet. And Raminski…” He let his voice get low and threatening, “Refuse an order again, and I’ll send you home in a body bag, vy ponimayete meniya?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Scarlett, wake up.”

  The bed tipped to the side, and she woke with a start. Matt sat looking at her, concern darkening his eyes. Was he regretting what they’d done, or had something else happened?

  “What is it?” Her voice came out all scratchy. She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even midnight. “Didn’t I just go to sleep?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  She’d drifted off feeling sated and satisfied. Now the weight of their situation settled on her chest, crushing her lungs, and any peace she’d felt earlier fled. The reminder there were bad people out there actively trying to kill anyone who got in their way had her suddenly wide awake. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself fall into the fantasyland that they were safe. “What is it?”

  “You need to get dressed.” From the expression on Matt’s face, something awful had happened.

  She threw off the covers, not caring she was naked. She pulled on the yoga pants Mallory Rooney had lent her and wished she could pick up some of her things. She hadn’t realized how comforting it was to slip into her own well-worn jeans until now. She pulled on her bra, t-shirt, and sweater. Matt went into the other room. It probably would be best if she didn’t act like a love-sick ninny in front of his colleagues. Not that she was—love sick, that was. She couldn’t allow herself to fall for him, not until this whole mess was sorted out and her dad was exonerated. Sex was allowable—good exercise, a great stress reliever—but letting it turn into anything else right now would be a huge mistake.

  Not like me to make a massive error in judgment.

  She shook her head at herself. Who was she kidding? She’d fallen in love with the guy the moment she’d seen him. Who did that? What sort of moron took that sort of emotional flying leap just from looking at someone?

  There was a science to attraction—humans found symmetrical features more attractive than asymmetrical features. And she could vouch for every last inch of Matt’s face and body being outstanding in the symmetry department—she go
t hot just thinking about him naked. Maybe humans had an imprinted blueprint for their perfect match that they didn’t even know existed until it whacked them over the head with lust.

  But there was so much more to Matt than looks. Everything he’d done since she’d met him had been heroic and worthy. She ground her teeth. Obviously the rose-colored glasses obscured the arrest and handcuffs. She did not want to make a fool of herself again.

  Trying not to think about whatever crisis had hit, she used the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth. The only thing Rooney hadn’t provided her with was a hairbrush so she ran her fingers through the gnarly mess, pulling out the major knots and then gave up and went to find Matt.

  Both Parker and Rooney were in the small sitting room too. Rooney pacing, Parker leaning against the wall watching. Scarlett’s eyes went to Matt but she couldn’t read him. A little unnerving, considering what they’d just done together.

  “Frazer went to see your father in prison today.” Rooney took point.

  Her throat parched. “How is he?”

  “Alive.” Rooney’s amber eyes turned compassionate. “He was stabbed by a fellow inmate during his chemotherapy treatment and is in intensive care after undergoing an emergency operation to save his life. Your mom is with him.”

  A chill of shock shot straight through her. Her knees gave way, but Matt grabbed her before she fell flat on her face. He tugged her over to the couch and thrust her head between her knees.

  “He’s out of surgery and in the ICU—stable for the time being.” Rooney continued, “We believe this attack is connected to your activities last night—”

  Furious, Scarlett pushed Matt’s hand away. “If everyone had done their jobs properly fourteen years ago, I wouldn’t have needed to try to bug Dorokhov’s office.”

  “I wasn’t blaming you, Scarlett. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, but frankly I am angry. For you, for your father, and for me. The idea that someone in the FBI got away with feeding the Russians information that killed six US agents and got a good man framed for it makes me livid.” Rooney’s face was pale. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but there was no censure there. No judgment. She should be resting. She should be enjoying her Christmas break.

  Tears burned, but Scarlett blinked them away. “I’m sorry.” She shouldn’t have snapped at the few people in the world who were actually trying to help her. “I want to go to him,” she said quickly. “I need to see my mother.” She tried to climb to her feet but when she swayed Matt dragged her back down.

  “Your mom doesn’t want you there,” Rooney stated baldly.

  A feeling of cold calm swept over her. “I have to be there for them. What if he dies without me? What if he thinks I don’t care?”

  Matt hauled her against his chest and rocked her. He didn’t seem to mind about his colleagues, or that she was crying all over his shirt again.

  “Putting yourself in danger will not help this situation,” said Rooney.

  “What if we’re on the verge of cracking this thing wide open? Proving him innocent? Wouldn’t that be more worth your while compared to a bedside vigil of a man who might never wake up?” said Matt. “Christ, if anyone can vouch for that truth, it’s me.” The pain in his voice yanked her out of her self-absorption.

  Other people went through terrible things. She needed to get a grip. Her stomach churned. “Is she okay? My mom? She’ll be worried.”

  “Frazer apprised her of your situation. She’s working with him—”

  “My mother is helping the FBI?” Everything in Scarlett’s life had gone Twilight Zone. Maybe she was dreaming all this?

  “He can be very persuasive.” Rooney seemed to speak from experience. She held out a piece of paper. “They decoded a list of six names of people your father suspected of being the real spy.”

  Scarlett took the list from Rooney’s hands and dropped back to the couch. Her hands shook so violently Matt took the paper from her, covering both her hands with one of his and giving her fingers a quick squeeze. They’d gone way beyond handcuffs and Miranda rights.

  “White, MacGyver, Clarkson, Regan, Weber, and Branson,” Matt reeled off the list. “Shit.”

  “According to the evidence logs neither Weber nor Clarkson were part of the team who searched the Stones’ house.”

  “Richard Stone had a lot of time and a hell of an incentive to do a thorough job figuring out that list,” Rooney pointed out. “If he thinks they’re suspects they should be suspects.”

  All Scarlett could really think about was someone had tried to kill her father, a man already dying of cancer.

  “Regan. Is that Jon Regan? The unit chief from TacOps?” asked Matt.

  Rooney nodded. “Back then he was a junior agent, now they are all high-ranking FBI agents. All six are still active.”

  “Regan’s the one who called me in to see the video of Scarlett pulling the double-oh shit at the embassy.” Matt’s gaze was focused on the list. “Why would the guy do that if he had a big-ass secret like this to hide?”

  “Did everyone in the entire FBI see that video?” Scarlett felt numb.

  Parker cleared his throat. Matt looked away.

  “At least you weren’t wearing granny panties.” Rooney went with humor.

  Scarlett didn’t laugh.

  Parker shrugged. “Regan contacted you before they’d identified Scarlett. Maybe he didn’t realize the implications then. Or maybe he was given the information from higher up and not acting on it would make him look suspect. Maybe he wanted to look you in the eye and see if you were onto him.”

  “I don’t buy it. I always liked the guy.” Matt brushed his hand through his short hair. “We need to know who set up that initial surveillance and why.”

  Parker nodded. “Frazer is on it.”

  Matt started pacing.

  Scarlett watched him, wishing she could unfreeze whatever was going on inside her. If her father died, none of this really mattered. She wanted him free. To be released, to find justice. To live.

  Matt pointed his finger at her and she jumped. “Your original plan. To bug Dorokhov and then see what he said and who he called? Can we backtrack to see who he did call?”

  Parker shook his head. “I tried. Russians encrypt the data out of any of their places of business. Top grade military encryption that would take months to break.”

  “Can you locate all the places the Russians scramble data?”

  Parker’s eyes widened then he nodded. “It might take a few hours, but yes. Good idea. I’ll get one of my people on it.”

  Scarlett didn’t understand why it mattered.

  Rooney interrupted them. “What’s the most important thing here?”

  “What do you mean?” Scarlett couldn’t keep up and she was a super-nerd. No sleep and the terror of someone wanting to kill her whole family had scrambled her circuits.

  “I mean, do we want Dorokhov, or do we want the real spy?”

  “What do we want?” Scarlett held the other woman’s gaze for a long time. “We want the real spy. We want the truth.”

  Matt stopped pacing.

  “So Scarlett calls Dorokhov. Tells him Maidstone told her something before he died. Something important. Arranges a meet. Says she’ll tell him in exchange for letting her live.”

  “Maidstone died?” A wave of guilt and pity for the man rushed through Scarlett. Then she remembered what he’d helped do to her family.

  “Scarlett is not meeting Dorokhov.” Matt stuck his jaw out and stared down at Rooney.

  “She doesn’t have to go, she just has to say she will. Someone with his ego and his sense of superiority means he’ll definitely turn up. Also he’ll want to know what Maidstone said and who it damages.” Rooney shrugged. “Without solid evidence of a crime, we can’t touch him anyway and he knows it. But the reason we do this is not for Dorokhov. It’s to scare the spy into action. We’ll need a surveillance team—and Frazer is going to ask Jon Regan for a personal favor in providing that
surveillance team. Our job is watching what our suspects—the men on Richard Stone’s list—do, where they go and who they contact after Scarlett makes that call. Thankfully MacGyver is in Alaska and White is overseas on assignment, which leaves four.”

  “Clarkson, Regan, Weber, and Branson. You already talked this through with the boss?” asked Matt.

  Rooney nodded. “He’s figuring out the fastest way back from Colorado. US Marshals are guarding both your parents, Scarlett. He wanted to stay but knew we needed him here.”

  “What about the BOLO on me?” asked Matt.

  “Frazer spoke to the local police chief up in Thornton and managed to get it revoked, but keep your head down in case someone doesn’t get the memo,” said Rooney.

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Great. Fuck.”

  Rooney pursed her lips. “We need you in DC.”

  Matt’s gaze hardened. “So this is it? This is all the manpower we can spare in the hunt for the most dangerous spy in US history? We’re not even field agents.”

  Rooney looked from Scarlett, to him, to Parker and nodded. “Yup. This is who we know for sure we can trust, and Frazer, assuming he arrives on time. Basically the plan is to plant the seed that Scarlett knows who the real spy is and see who takes the bait.”

  “So Christmas is cancelled?” Parker kept his expression bland, but Scarlett noticed a gleam in his eye.

  Rooney narrowed her gaze. “Call one of your choppers, Mr. Parker. Maybe we’ll be home in time for turkey.”

  He didn’t reply, but one side of his mouth curled into a small smile.

  * * *

  Speeding through the air in the dead of night created an adrenaline rush all of its own. Flying blind was both exhilarating and terrifying. The noise was intense. Vibrations ran through his bones. Memories of old friends and missions he still couldn’t talk about filtered through his brain. Flashes of the past colliding with the present and what could be his future, if things worked out the way he wanted them to.

  Scarlett sat opposite him in the near darkness, just the faint outline of her silhouette visible.