Take the Key and Lock Her Up

by LENA DIAZ,

  She checked his pockets. No wallet. Nothing to identity him. She took a picture of his face. If a fingerprint scan didn’t yield results, maybe she could get the local FBI office to run his picture through their fancy facial-recognition software.

  When Emily emerged from the trees by the road, Tuck and Mrs. Hawley were sitting on the hood of Tuck’s car. He was speaking to her in low, soothing tones. She seemed much calmer now. Then again, Tuck hadn’t pointed a gun at her like Emily had.

  Devlin leaned against the tailgate of his truck a few feet away, looking deadly and dangerous. The image was certainly accurate. He truly was dangerous. Lethal. His unreadable gaze briefly met hers before shifting to the other woman.

  Emily halted beside the car. “Mrs. Hawley, the suspect is . . . he’s dead, ma’am. It’s over.”

  Tuck gave her a questioning look. She shook her head. She’d tell him the details later, when the victim wasn’t around.

  The young woman’s brows drew down. Maybe she was still in shock. She didn’t look relieved. Instead, she looked . . . confused, and scared.

  “What do you mean it’s over? Are you saying you found him?”

  “The man who was driving the truck? Yes, we . . . found him. He’s dead.”

  Hawley waved her hand, as if what Emily had said was irrelevant. “Yes, yes, I heard you. What about the other one?”

  Devlin straightened, suddenly on alert. “Other one?”

  Hawley shrank away from him. He sighed and leaned back against his truck, as if he was used to eliciting that kind of reaction.

  “I don’t understand,” Emily said. “Was there a second man in the truck with you?”

  “No, no. The truck driver was the one who abducted me and drove me back and forth between the different locations.”

  “Different locations?” Emily breathed.

  “From that house where you saw me to the cabin to that other place. But the driver, he’s not the one who . . .” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “He’s not the one who . . . hurt me,” she whispered miserably. “He was the assistant.” She shuddered.

  Emily stared at her in horror. Tuck looked just as stunned as she felt. Devlin looked . . . intent, like a predator waiting for his prey.

  “‘Cabin’? ‘Other place’? What are you saying?” Emily asked. “He drove you to different places to . . . hurt you?”

  Hawley wiped at her tears. “You don’t understand.” Frustration warred with grief on her face. “They were a team, two men. One of them moved us around. The other one, he’s the one who . . .” She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist.

  Tuck and Emily stared at each other in shock.

  Emily put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Hawley, please. What did you mean by . . . us?”

  Hawley opened her eyes, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks now. “I’m not the only woman they were holding captive. There are three more women out there.”

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  A MAZE OF police cars and the coroner’s van blocked Devlin’s pickup truck on the side of the road. O’Malley, her boss, and her sidekicks—Tuck and Jones—spoke in a huddle thirty feet away, probably trying to decide what to do about Devlin.

  While he didn’t regret killing one of the scumbags who’d abducted and tortured those women, he did regret killing him in front of a witness—especially when that witness was a police officer. A detective was bound to notice the quick, practiced efficiency of his movements, and wonder why he seemed so comfortable doing what he’d done. Why was a dangerous word in the mind of a cop.

  Two uniformed officers strode past the driver’s side window and headed into the woods where the CSI team was collecting evidence. Devlin curled his fingers around the steering wheel. But what he really wanted to do was curl them around the gun hidden in the door panel. Cops made him nervous as hell, but that wasn’t the only reason he was agitated.

  In less than forty-eight hours, he was due to report back to his employer, Extreme International Tours, Incorporated. There was no reason anyone from EXIT should be monitoring him right now, or know that he’d foolishly managed to get involved in police activity. But he, better than anyone, knew EXIT didn’t always need a reason. He’d done his share of random monitoring over the years, watching assets without them knowing it, to ensure they were still loyal, following instructions, not doing anything to jeopardize the company’s true mission. If one of his peers was watching him, and reported back to his boss on today’s events, what would Cyprian think?

  Damn it, he didn’t need these complications. He should have made O’Malley get out of his truck back at the house and just gone to Alex’s by himself. Then he wouldn’t be watching the deep shadows between the trees, every muscle in his body tensing in warning. He needed to get out of here and call his employer, see if he’d heard anything.

  Cyprian was a reasonable boss, and Devlin had never given him cause to doubt him in the past. But if this situation in any way compromised EXIT, if the cops dug into the company, searching any deeper than the tour front, potentially forcing EXIT to temporarily shut down sensitive operations, things could quickly spiral out of control. And if Cyprian believed Devlin had disclosed confidential information to the police, it could spell disaster for anyone involved—including the sexy detective.

  Of course, not answering O’Malley’s questions was just as dangerous as answering them. A guide who spent his days escorting wealthy, eccentric people on extreme, dangerous jaunts around the world had no reason to avoid questions—unless he had something to hide. Devlin definitely had something to hide, so he’d have to walk a thin line between satisfying O’Malley’s curiosity so that she wouldn’t dig too deeply into EXIT and whetting her appetite for more.

  He thumped the seat beside him and studied the trees again, searching for an elusive shadow that would tell him he was already on Cyprian’s radar. Hopefully, after conferring with her boss and cohorts, O’Malley would decide he had nothing to contribute to their investigation—which he didn’t—and follow other leads. Then he could head to Alex’s house and gently break the news about Carolyn. After that, Devlin would spend a few precious hours with his family before heading out of town on his next assignment.

  He forced his gaze away from the trees. Too late, he realized O’Malley was watching him. Her gaze shifted to the woods. Devlin cursed again. He’d just made her even more curious than she already was.

  Sloppy. Sloppy and stupid.

  Her hand drifted to her side, where her firearm was holstered. She nodded in answer to something her boss said. Then she motioned to a uniformed officer and took a pair of handcuffs from him.

  Damn.

  She started toward Devlin, the silver circles of metal dangling from her left hand, her ever-present buddies—Tuck and Jones—at her side.

  Devlin sighed deeply. It looked like he was going to have to answer her questions at the police station. Still, he figured as long as she was the one interviewing him, things would go fairly easily. That zing of instant attraction that had swept through both of them back at the house gave him an advantage. A few well-timed smiles and some sexy innuendos would throw her off her game and convince her he was just a flirt with nothing to offer her investigation.

  But what would happen to Alex while Devlin was on his way to the police station? Would simpering Drier end up callously breaking the news about Carolyn? Alex deserved far better than that. There was only one way of ensuring that Devlin would be the one to break the news.

  He needed to lawyer up.

  By calling Alex, he could ask his lawyer father not to talk to any cops before speaking to him. By the time Alex got to the station, Devlin would have convinced O’Malley that her questions were pointless and she’d have already decided to release him. Then Devlin could take Alex aside, break the news, and drive him back home. Simple. Easy.

  He grabbed his cell phone and punched in the familiar number.

  O’Malley reached the tru
ck and tried the door handle. Locked. She frowned and motioned for him to open the door.

  He pointed to the phone and pretended not to understand her request.

  “Hello?” Alex’s polite but formal voice told Devlin he didn’t recognize the number calling him. Since Devlin had never called him from this particular phone number before, that made sense.

  All of the people Devlin worked with used burn phones—cheap, throwaway phones without a contract that couldn’t be tracked back to an owner—when on missions. But Devlin used one even when he was on a break between assignments, which had led to some teasing from others at EXIT, like Gage and Kelly. But Devlin preferred to be overprepared and overcautious. His prepaid burn phones were difficult to trace to an owner, which was exactly what he wanted.

  “It’s Devlin,” he said into the phone. “I need you to meet me at the police station. And promise me you won’t discuss any details with the police about anything that happened today until after you talk to me.”

  She motioned again for him to open the door.

  He gave her a smile meant to charm and distract, while he held up his hand, signaling he needed another minute.

  The smile was a wasted effort. She moved back, drawing her gun. She’d been awkward and hesitant the first time she’d held that gun today, but it was quickly becoming a smooth, practiced habit. He couldn’t help but think that was a damn shame.

  “Open the door and step out of the vehicle,” she yelled through the glass.

  The phone crackled. “Why do you want me to meet you at the station, son? What’s going on?”

  Tuck and Jones pulled their guns too, flanking her like a pair of bobblehead dolls.

  Devlin gritted his teeth. “I’m about to be arrested.”

  EMILY STUBBORNLY MET Devlin’s irritated gaze across the interrogation room table. For the first ten or fifteen minutes of the interview, he’d been all smiles and flirty, inappropriate comments. At first, she’d been flushing hot like a teenager with her first crush. But she’d finally realized he was manipulating her, using her obvious attraction to him against her. And that had sent an entirely new kind of heat flooding through her.

  She’d stay here all evening if that’s what it took for him to start giving her more than the light, fluffy answers he’d been feeding her so far. But unfortunately, as soon as she’d stopped responding to his practiced charm, he’d obviously realized he couldn’t manipulate her anymore. His smiles had faded, and he’d turned into the stoic man in front of her right now.

  At least he was still talking, as if he felt compelled to try to answer her questions. But he wasn’t giving her much. And as time dragged on, his frustration level was becoming evident in every tense line of his body.

  The only good thing about the interview so far was that Lieutenant Drier had insisted on keeping Devlin handcuffed. The chains between the cuffs looped through a hook bolted to the top of the table that was in turn bolted to the floor. Without the restraints on him, she might have been too intimidated by his steadily darkening disposition to keep going.

  In response to his request, again, for her to remove the handcuffs, she said, “Sorry, I can’t. Lieutenant’s orders.”

  He leaned toward her as far as the cuffs would allow. “I saved your ass today and took out the guy who locked you up. Instead of harassing me, maybe you should spend your time looking for those missing women.”

  She stiffened at his reference to the search. That’s where she wanted to be. Half the department was searching the miles of woods and farmland around the house where the bodies had been found. Drier was performing damage control with the media. And Emily was stuck here at the police station. Her boss’s official reason was because of her reputation for reading people and figuring out what buttons to push in an interview. But Emily was more inclined to believe he was punishing her because of her mistakes in that basement.

  “As it turns out, I would have been perfectly fine if you hadn’t shown up,” she said, trying not to let him know he’d struck a nerve.

  “What about Hawley? Would she have been fine if I hadn’t seen the suspect’s truck and took off after him?”

  She flushed. He was right. Hawley would likely still be a prisoner of the man who’d taken her, suffering God only knew what kind of torture. But that only brought her back to one of the many questions for which she still had no answers.

  “Why do you think the suspect was still in the area when you and I drove past?” she asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you do agree that’s kind of strange, right? The suspect should have taken off and been long gone by the time we saw him.”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. The perp could have gotten lost on the back roads. Once you issued a BOLO, he might not have known how to get out of the area without being seen.”

  She watched him closely. “BOLO. Perp. You speak like a cop.”

  His lips quirked in a wry grin. “I watch a lot of cop shows on TV.”

  His flippant tone had her clenching her left hand in her lap. “Why do you have a police scanner in your truck?”

  “Entertainment.”

  She tossed her pen on the pad of paper. “Sarcasm isn’t going to get you out of here anytime soon. How were you able to kill the suspect so easily?” When he didn’t answer, she picked up her pen again. “Are you an undercover police officer, from another jurisdiction, and you’re worried about blowing your cover if you answer my questions?”

  He laughed without humor. “Not hardly.”

  “Why did you kill the suspect?”

  He cocked a brow. “Self-defense. I tried to stop him from running away and he attacked me.”

  Since she hadn’t seen the beginning of the fight between him and the man he’d killed, she didn’t know if the suspect had attacked him, or whether Devlin was the one who’d struck first. And she still wasn’t sure if the vicious twist of the suspect’s neck had been warranted.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  He sat back and tried to cross his arms, but the length of chain jerked him up short. His jaw tightened and he lowered his hands to the table. “As I already told you, I’m an outdoor guide for an extreme adventure travel company.”

  “Right. A guide.” She consulted the notes on her legal pad. “Extreme International Tours—EXIT for short. Headquartered in Colorado. Can’t say that I’ve ever heard of them.” She waited, but he didn’t say anything, which might mean he was telling the truth. Most people caught in a lie would rush to come up with an excuse to cover their mistake. She wrote a note to herself to surf the Net later for a company named EXIT Incorporated.

  “What do you do as a ‘guide’? Ferry people up and down the Savannah River while they snap pictures of seagulls and paddle wheelers?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched, as if what she’d said amused him. “Not exactly.”

  Devlin’s face was devoid of expression, a little too composed, as if he’d purposely wiped it blank to avoid giving away any clues to his thoughts. Other than a few tattoos, he was covered in a golden tan, like someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. And judging by the way his black T-shirt hugged his body, and the way he’d felt pressed against her in the basement, he was solid muscle. That again seemed to support his guide profession. But she’d yet to meet a tour guide adept at rescuing cops and snapping bad guys’ necks.

  In spite of the hyped-up police shows on TV that showed villains breaking people’s necks with a quick, easy twist, the reality was far different. The victim in those situations was more likely to get a stiff, sore neck than a broken one. It took a great deal of power and skill to twist with the right angle, speed, and torque to get the job done.

  “Why were you driving down the highway in front of that house this afternoon?”

  “I already told you. I was going to my father’s place for dinner.”

  “Where were you driving from?”

  “My house.”

  “And before
that?” she pressed.

  “If you’re asking for my alibi for when Carolyn was murdered, you’ll need to be more specific about when she was killed.”

  “There was more than one body in that basement.”

  He glanced at the solid glass door behind her as if expecting someone. “Without knowing when those women were killed, it would be difficult for me to provide alibis.”

  “Just give me this past week for starters.”

  “Montana.”

  She blinked. “Montana?”

  “For the past four months, I’ve been escorting a wealthy European couple through Montana. I flew into Hilton Head International Airport earlier today and went straight home. You already have my address. After that, I drove to my father’s house. Or at least I was trying to when your call for help went out on the radio. Does that satisfy the alibi question?”

  “I won’t know until the coroner performs the autopsies and nails down when the vics were killed. And until I speak to that couple. I don’t suppose you have their names and contact information handy?”

  “Stacy and Everest Rand. I’m sure my employer can provide their numbers and addresses, along with any business receipts you need.”

  His quick, easy answer told her his alibi would probably check out, but she noted the names on her pad anyway.

  She considered his mannerisms, his body language. He didn’t fidget like most people when grilled with questions. Instead, he sat almost deathly still. He was obviously annoyed to still be there, but other than when he’d expressed his displeasure over the cuffs, he’d remained in control—watching, waiting, as aware of her every movement as she was of his, even when he wasn’t looking directly at her.

  “Are you military, or former military?” she asked. “Special forces?” That could explain his fighting skills, and his ability to kill so easily.

  He affected a bored look and didn’t bother to answer.

  The lieutenant had posed the idea that Devlin might be in on the kidnappings and torture, that they might be dealing with a group of killers instead of the two-man tag-team Virginia Hawley had described when she gave her full statement. If that theory were true, it could explain why Devlin had been so quick to kill the suspect. He’d wanted to keep the suspect from telling anyone about Devlin’s involvement. It would even explain why Devlin had chased the suspect’s vehicle instead of leading Emily somewhere else. Devlin wouldn’t want the suspect to get away to be caught in the net of the BOLO that had been issued. Again, that would allow the suspect to talk and tell the police about Devlin’s role in the kidnappings and murders. But if he were involved, why didn’t Hawley recognize him? That one fact seemed to blow that theory apart.