She’d sensed a tiny thaw in her relations with a couple of members on the BAU team—the secretary and the janitor. Yesterday, on Thanksgiving, she’d managed to search Barton and Singh’s desks and found exactly nothing. Hanrahan hadn’t been blown away by her results so far but he’d stressed patience and stealth. People this smart wouldn’t leave incriminating evidence in plain sight.
Moira Henderson had restrained herself from letting down any more tires or being quite so openly hostile. So far Mallory hadn’t seen anything to make her doubt the integrity of her colleagues. They worked their asses off hunting monsters.
The scary thing was deep down she understood the vigilante. Over the years she’d often fantasized about what would happen if she ever found the man who took her sister. In her mind she put a gun to his head and demanded he tell her where Payton’s remains were. But after he told her it became a blur. Would she pull the trigger? Or would she read him his rights and arrest him?
She didn’t know, and hated herself for the weakness.
Lindsey Keeble’s case haunted her. Her father’s grief was so raw, so negative, and her family had added to his burden. She remembered the devil-may-care young man who’d carted them around the swimming pool on his dirt bike, and the infectious grin he’d once sported. The grin was gone now. She didn’t think he’d ever get it back.
He could have taken Payton... Or he could be yet another victim of the whole sad episode. He’d obviously loved his daughter.
Traffic was heavy. She inched her little sedan through a busy intersection. Another Friday night with DC all dressed up in its pretty festive dazzle. She pushed thoughts of Alex Parker out of her mind. Tonight she planned to stay in and do nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Definitely not call the guy for a repeat performance no matter how tempting it was just to hear his voice.
She’d volunteered to go to Lindsey Keeble’s funeral next week even though she hated funerals—probably because her sister had never had one. There was no headstone to place flowers. No grave to tend. But she owed Bryce Keeble, both because of her family’s treatment of him, and as a law enforcement officer investigating his daughter’s death.
Frazer had leapt on the suggestion and by the end of the conversation he seemed to have persuaded himself it was his idea. Men. She rolled her eyes as she turned into her parking garage. She pulled into her space, switched off the engine and relaxed.
She closed her eyes and sagged in her seat.
Silence. Blessed silence.
This time two weeks ago, all she’d wanted to do was forget. Now, it seemed imperative that she try to remember. There were so many things she didn’t recall from that period of her life. Going to Greenville, meeting Bryce Keeble and that deputy, Sean Kennedy, had made her realize she needed to dig deeper into the past because maybe, just maybe, the answers were still there waiting for her.
She thought of Alex, and how she’d blown him off and how desperately she wished she hadn’t. “Damn you, Pay. Why’d you have to go and leave me?”
The headache ratcheted up a notch, relentlessly grinding her temples as she climbed out of her little silver sedan and hauled her laptop out of the passenger seat to the elevator. It weighed a thousand tons. Maybe she’d take the night off. Reboot her brain. Visit her poor neglected mother like she kept promising. She stopped to check for mail and found a slightly battered looking parcel from Amazon. Her mother and father often ordered her things off the web, maybe compensating for their general lack of family togetherness. She put it under her arm and headed up to her father’s apartment. In the elevator she kept flashing back to that Friday night and the man who’d rocked her world. Her toes curled remembering the feel of his hands on her skin. Her pulse sped up.
But there was a limit to how many times you could push someone away without them actually going. Tears wanted to form in her eyes but she refused to let them. She wasn’t that weak. She didn’t need a man in her life right now, it was too complicated.
She managed to unlock the door and stumble inside the apartment. It was cold and quiet. She boosted the heat and dumped all her possessions by the front door. She kicked off her boots, hung her jacket in the closet. Put her Glock and its holster in the drawer beside the door. She put the parcel on the coffee table and poured herself a large glass of water and found headache tablets in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She wandered aimlessly through the kitchen. She was going to have to go grocery shopping soon or face starvation.
Back in the living room, she turned the package, squeezed it. Whatever was inside was light, and soft. A T-shirt maybe? Her father had a wicked sense of humor and often sent her shirts he couldn’t wear himself. She slowly peeled back the flap, enjoying the element of surprise. She pulled out the contents and frowned down at them, not understanding for a whole three seconds. Then her heart pounded like a pile-driver and she dropped the plastic wrapped clothing as if it had stung her. She groped for her cell, hit redial. Shock made her brain stop working.
“Mallory?”
She blinked, confused. She thought she’d dialed work, but as soon as Alex answered she needed him. “Something happened. Will you come? I’m at the apartment.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
No questions. No drama.
She covered her mouth with her hand as she stared down at the children’s pajamas someone had sent her. She leaned over the package, knowing she mustn’t touch the wrapper again with her bare hands, but searching for clues as to its authenticity. The garments had purple horses on a white background, solid purple cuffs. They were exactly the right type of clothing they’d both been wearing the night of the abduction, but were they Payton’s? She examined them inch by inch and finally found the answer in the hand-stitched repair job on the left cuff. Her mother had used blue cotton because she couldn’t find purple. Mallory fell back on the floor, away from the clothing, away from the evidence that they’d been searching for all these years. Evidence that someone somewhere knew exactly what had happened to her sister.
There was a pounding on her door. She scrambled to her feet and ran to the entrance, checking the peephole before unlocking it and throwing herself into Alex’s arms. They closed around her like a vise. He radiated strength, safety, security. He’d obviously been out running when she’d called him. He was damp from sweat and his heart beat strongly against her ear and calmed her racing pulse. He maneuvered her inside, closed the door with his heel and herded her to the couch where he pulled her onto his lap and rocked her. She held on, so shaken, so torn between despair and hope she couldn’t speak. She gripped his T-shirt tight in her fist. She could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric and the effect curled through her and offered such comfort that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He smelled wonderful. Strong clean male sweat with that hint of sandalwood that seemed to be an integral part of his being.
Eventually he spoke into her hair. “What happened?”
She released a deep breath. She wasn’t usually this emotional but events lately had been turning her inside out. “I received a present in the mail.”
He shifted her so he could lean forward. She tried to escape his arms because she was a federal agent, not a weakling girl, but he wouldn’t let her go and he was a damn sight stronger than she’d realized.
“Hush.” He held her tighter. “You scared the crap out of me on the phone. Just give me a minute.”
She closed her eyes and squeezed her arms around him.
He peered at the envelope and plastic wrapped clothes. “What is this?”
She told him quickly about her sister’s abduction. “They were Payton’s.” Then she let him go. And pushed away. This time he let her.
He looked at her sharply. “Are you saying these are the actual clothes your sister was wearing when she was taken?”
She nodded, her throat too raw to speak.
“And they sent it to you? Here? To your home?”
She nodded.
His face hardened. “
You can’t stay here alone, Mallory.”
She just looked at him. She hadn’t even thought of those implications.
“What if he comes after you?”
She couldn’t stop the tear that rolled down her cheek. “Then I finally get to find out what happened to my sister.”
“Even if it costs you your life?” His voice was soft.
“I have to know, Alex. Not knowing is killing me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Anyway, I’m not a little girl. I’m ready for the bastard if he tries anything.”
He nodded slowly like he’d made some sort of decision. “Okay. Find something to package this up in and I’ll drive you to Quantico with it right now.”
That made sense.
“And then we’ll swing by my apartment and I’ll pick up some stuff—”
“Wait. What?”
His jaw firmed. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not until I know you’re safe. Not until this sick sonofabitch is either locked up, or dead.”
“That could take months, years even...”
“We’ll figure something out, but in the meantime if you’re staying here, you’re stuck with me.”
She couldn’t believe he was doing this for her, but he was a security consultant. Maybe she’d known exactly how he’d handle the situation. That made her a coward because she wanted him here and hadn’t had the courage to follow through by simply asking him. Her hands clasped one another. She felt small and petty and confused. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts.”
He laughed and climbed to his feet. He was dressed in black running shorts and a blue/black work-out T-shirt that make his eyes look smoky and dark. He caught her hand and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “I don’t care whether or not you texted me. I’m not a teenager. You told me from the start you didn’t want a relationship, but you called when you needed me. Thank you.” He brushed her bangs aside. “Whatever happens in the future, no matter what happens between us...you need to know I’ll always be there for you if you need me. Always.”
A shiver rippled over her. The last time she’d felt this sort of connection with anyone, they’d shared the exact same DNA. What she and Alex felt for one another was more intense than it should be, and she knew he felt it too. “I don’t want to drag you down to my level of crazy.”
The smile on his face was beautiful. “I am way beyond your level of crazy, sweetheart. Truth is, you might be the most normal thing there is about me.”
***
It was close to midnight when they got back to Mallory’s apartment. He’d run by his place and grabbed more stuff and his weapon. Not the one he used for missions, this one he legally owned and was allowed to carry concealed.
He’d waited outside at Quantico. It was easier all around rather than trying to sort out a visitor pass this late at night, and he figured she’d be safe enough on base. She’d handed the evidence to her boss, who’d met her there. SSA Frazer had sent the clothes and envelope straight to the crime lab and taken her statement.
Now, standing in her apartment, Mallory was so pale Alex was scared she was going to pass out. She hadn’t eaten anything. He touched her cheek. “Go to bed. You’re safe. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She shook her head and pulled him with her to the darkened bedroom. “Sleep with me.” She let go of his hand and stripped without a measure of seduction or self-consciousness. Pulled on a nightshirt. He watched her, making sure none of the thoughts he was thinking leaked through.
He wanted her.
Even though she was tired and upset. He wanted her. And he wasn’t about to let her know what sort of a guy he really was.
She slipped under the covers. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair. She caught his hand as her eyes drifted shut, already asleep. The trust factor was immense and it floored him.
She was a federal agent who lived to uphold the law.
He was a killer who’d die to keep her safe.
He blew out a sigh. Hell, his hands were shaking. It had been his idea to stay but he hadn’t slept with another person in the same room for a long time—except prison where the cell had been packed ten deep with innocent and guilty alike.
He didn’t know if he could sleep with anyone. But he couldn’t leave her vulnerable with this asshole on the loose, taunting her about her sister. She needed some measure of comfort and he needed reassurance that she was indeed safe. Shit. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it on a chair. There was no way he was going to get out of this situation unscathed, but after weeks obsessing about the woman maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe her safety was the only thing that truly mattered.
And maybe he was viewing this situation all wrong. What better way to keep his eye on what the FBI might know than by sticking close to this woman as he kept her safe? The idea felt like a betrayal, but it was justification enough. He needed to protect her, he needed to fulfill his commitment to The Gateway Project. So being here was a win-win situation. Get over it.
They didn’t even have to have sex. She might not want sex. She just wanted comfort and the feeling of security you got when someone you trusted watched your back. And she could trust him. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
He kicked off his shoes and socks and removed his pants, but kept his boxers on. Then he lay on top of the bed staring at the ceiling. He was royally fucked.
Twice, he got up to leave and found himself unable to go further than the bedroom door. He didn’t want her waking up thinking she was alone. Or that he could only be with her for sex.
Mallory shivered in her sleep and he adjusted the duvet higher over her shoulders, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her upper arm. He’d made an error in judgment being with her before because now she was in his system like liquid heroin and he was hooked.
He was a professional liar, but he didn’t bullshit himself. He was actually glad the bastard had mailed her those clothes, because now he had an excuse to stick close.
Fuck.
That was sick.
He really should leave before she woke. Go sleep on the couch and pretend to be a decent human being. That’s what he told himself, but his limbs were welded to the bed and his body stubbornly refused to budge. It felt like his head had been cracked open and his conscience was being laid bare and he didn’t know how to handle it.
Something inside him was shifting.
Years of telling lies and keeping secrets from the people who mattered had eroded the man he used to be. The stint in the Moroccan jail had finished him off—or so he’d believed. The beatings, the abandonment by his country, his own pathetic failure had made him wish he was dead. By the time The Gateway Project had intervened he’d thought himself past saving, but the human spirit was an incredible thing. The will to survive overrode all other considerations. So he’d agreed to their offer. Agreed to once again work for the people who’d left him in that hellhole to rot.
Somehow, something about Mallory affected him in a way no one else ever had. She made him want to find out if there was anything left of the old Alex Parker. Anything left of the boy who’d held his grandfather’s hand at that cold Veteran’s Day ceremony all those years ago. Anything left of the soldier who’d been recruited by the CIA after his friends had been killed when betrayed by someone who was supposed to be on their side. And for years he’d made a difference. He had to believe that. He hadn’t just been killing in cold blood. He’d been neutralizing threats to US concerns around the world.
So why did he feel like nothing but a cold-blooded killer? And if he was just following orders why hadn’t he killed the arms dealer? Or Gerry Rodman? And if he wasn’t following orders what the hell was he doing? Picking and choosing who deserved to live and die the same way a serial killer might? The idea made him sweat.
Mallory turned over and draped her arm across his chest. It should have made him feel hemmed in or claustrophobic. It didn’t. It calmed him. He wrapped his fingers around hers.
He must have drifted off beca
use he awoke with a start. It was dark but he instantly recognized Mallory’s scent, warm and intoxicating. Gentle lips traced a scar on his right side—courtesy of a knife and that fucker whose neck he should have snapped.
He let her play, watching her kiss him as his eyes grew accustomed to the shadows. Teeth scraped feverishly hot skin, nerves short-circuited by lust. She had no idea that no one else had touched him since his incarceration.
Christ.
She had the power to destroy him. And if she ever found out who and what he was, she would have no hesitation in doing just that. Somehow, Mallory Rooney had complete and utter control over him. All because her sister had been stolen and she’d looked at him with those big amber eyes and had seen him. Not the assassin, not the businessman, but the essence of a man no one else seemed to see anymore.
Tender kisses teased his body and stirred his flesh. He felt like he was being burned alive from the inside out and liberated all at the same time. The feelings she evoked terrified him and he was actually shaking.
He wasn’t in love. He wasn’t the sort of man who could afford to love. Too many secrets. Too much death.
City lights shone beyond the drapes, coating the room with soft light. A tongue licked the ugly line from his hipbone to halfway down his thigh. He groaned at the sensual slide of wet flesh against taut skin. Then she wrapped her fingers around him and he squeezed his eyes shut as her mouth closed over him.
“Mallory,” he groaned, desperate for something he couldn’t even name. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Maybe I want to.” Her smile had fiery lust snaking through him. Watching her go down on him was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. Every muscle clenched against the pleasure she wrought on him. He felt helpless. Her fingers gripped him tighter around the base and her lips milked him.
01 A Cold Dark Place Page 14
