“What kink?” he asked fearfully.
In answer, she lifted her shirt and pulled down the edge of her pants, revealing her hip. At first, he didn’t see anything, then Storm noted a slight discoloration on her skin. The scar was pink, so it had healed, but it was clear what happened—the prick had taken a bite out of her.
“He bit you?”
She studied the wall behind him. “Yeah, he liked, uh, to nibble on me.”.
“Are there other scars?”
“Dozens of them.”
“Christ.”
Storm didn’t know what else to say. Not only was Hussam a married terrorist, he got off on being sadistic. The man was one of the worst. He had connections to several terrorist organizations—ISIS, Hezbollah, and Al-Qaeda. While Hussam might not be murdering the innocents himself, he was indirectly responsible for every one of those deaths.
Lucy stood taller, squared her shoulders. “Don’t worry about me. I made it out alive and I’m much stronger than I was. Nothing scares me anymore.”
“But at what cost?”
He could tell, she was still piecing herself back together. When he’d left the agency, he’d also been disillusioned. Storm couldn’t stomach the things he’d been asked to do.
“You’re right. I lost parts of myself, but I discovered new ones. Darker aspects and they’ve served me well.” Her face was impassive.
“Yes, but you shouldn’t have to be so—”
“Self-sufficient?” She lifted her chin, daring him to contradict her. “At least I know it wasn’t all for nothing. I saved lives.”
Storm spoke up before he lost his nerve. “Let me make it up to you in some small way.”
“What could you possibly do to make this even?”
“I could throw them off your trail, and forge some documents for you, get you a whole new life. It doesn’t make up for the one I took from you, but it would help. You wouldn’t need to run anymore or take as many security precautions.”
Her lower lip trembled, and he could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
It absolutely gutted him.
Then she notched her chin. “No, I don’t want any favors, especially from you.”
“Please…”
“No. The last time you helped me out, I ended up an indentured servant to a powerful government agency. No thanks. Consider this a hard pass. I don’t need anything from you.”
And then Lucy walked away.
***
An hour later, they were in the tech center, side by side at the computers. The space had all the latest toys, including a 3D printer.
Lucy didn’t know what to do with herself. They’d spoken very little since the two of them had been writhing on the gym floor.
Storm was busy, typing away on the keyboard, while she tried to concentrate. He’d asked her to check the women’s social media presence, but Lucy hadn’t found anything useful.
His apology kept floating through her head. He’d seemed so sincere. What if he really did regret his actions?’
Stop it. Don’t get sucked in again. How stupid are you?
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“We’re gonna find this guy.” Storm never took his eyes from the screen. “Any second now, his ass is mine.”
Lucy hoped he was right. She was itching to solve this case, and then move on.
Are you really? Or was she running from Storm?
His kiss was even better than she remembered. That was the understatement of the freaking century. She’d been mindless, melting for him.
Part of her regretted not sleeping with him.
Since he’d given her pain, Lucy wished she’d had some pleasure too, and yet she’d been grateful at the same time. Storm might’ve bamboozled her, but he’d never been intimate with her. There was one last layer of her privacy he’d never touched.
“I found the bastard!” Storm crowed.
Lucy was so startled, she almost jumped out of her chair.
“What?”
“I found him. Of course, he used a fake name at Edge, but I hacked into the club’s cameras and payment system.”
“You did what?”
“Your boyfriend wasn’t cooperative.”
“Finn isn’t my boyfriend.” Not even close.
“Anyway, I found three guys matching the description Finn gave us, I used facial recognition software, and then I followed the trail of breadcrumbs.”
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from returning his gamine grin. Dear God, the man loved to show off his skills. Storm might be arrogant, but he had the goods to back it up.
“He used his own credit card?” Tom didn’t sound like a criminal mastermind to her.
“No, he took a prepaid card with him each time he went to the club, but you have to register those.”
“And he used his real name?”
“Yup, and it’s Milton Thomas, not the other way around.”
“Kind of a shitty alias.” He’d just transposed the names.
“Yeah, I thought so too. Anyway, he’s a doctor and lives in an upscale apartment building in Lexington.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s get him.” Lucy jumped out of her chair and headed for the door, eager to get started. It was about damn time they had a break in this case.
“Slow your roll. He’s not a felon or a terrorist. We can’t snatch him up and interrogate him.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Lucy placed a hand on her hip. She’d gotten used to ambushing bail jumpers. The law was surprisingly lax when it came to their capture. Playing by the rules sucked.
“We should do the bad cop, good cop routine.”
“There’s only one problem.”
“Neither one of us is a cop?” Storm grinned.
She nodded. “Bingo.”
“Leave it to me. I have a fantastic idea.”
Lucy already didn’t like the sound of it.
Chapter 8
“I have a request,” Storm said, as he pulled into a parking space.
They were down the street from a swanky apartment building uptown. The complex had six floors and there was a doorman at the entrance. It was early in the evening, and people hurried down the sidewalk, eager to get to one place or another.
“What?” Lucy asked, distractedly. She was scanning the street and making sure no one had noticed them. So far, so good.
“Let’s get dinner tonight after we finish up with Milton.”
She frowned. “Why?”
Obviously, their encounter this morning had been a huge mistake.
“Don’t be so guarded, Lucy, it’s only a meal. I thought we could try out a new Middle Eastern restaurant, which just opened up.”
Lucy sighed. She hadn’t had Middle Eastern food in ages. Over the years, she’d developed a taste for the art, culture, and especially the cuisine like hummus, falafel, and kebabs. Maybe it was in her blood. She’d been raised on it, too.
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, Lucky. They’ve got manakish on the menu. I checked it out online this afternoon.”
Evidently, he’d been planning this. Her mouth watered at the thought. How could she say “no” to Middle Eastern-style pizza?
Or maybe I’m looking for an excuse to be alone with Storm. Yeah, you gotta shut this down.
Lucy closed her eyes. “Can’t you just save me the hassle and tell me what you’re really up to?”
“That wouldn’t be much fun, now would it?” he teased.
“I beg to differ.”
“Come on. What do you say?”
“No.”
She’d had a close call with him this morning. Dinner would lead to flirting, which might lead to sex. Lucy already knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to resist him, not after she’d gotten a small taste of Storm again.
I need a freaking chastity belt around the man.
And some body armor. Yeah, and weapons would be he
lpful too.
“It’s only dinner,” he cajoled. “I promise. I have no expectations about anything else happening.”
Lucy sighed. “You aren’t going to give up until I agree, are you?”
He appeared to consider it. “Survey says…? Nope, not a chance.”
Storm had a real stubborn streak. He’d bug the crap out of her until she gave in. And honestly, Lucy was too exhausted to put up much of a protest. The past couple of days had been rough. She could use a nice meal and the chance to unwind.
Hmph. What do you know? You found a way to justify your surrender.
“You know what? Fine, I’ll go but you’re paying.”
He chuckled. “Of course, I’m a gentleman, after all.”
“Again, I beg to differ.” Lucy had said the words teasingly, without any heat.
And his eyes flashed with recognition.
Dear Lord, I’m already flirting.
“Lucy, you don’t have to beg when it comes to me. I’d do anything for you.”
And that was kind of the problem.
Lucy was afraid he’d fulfill her every request and then some. It would be far too easy to let her guard down with Storm. He’d nearly destroyed her last time. Why would she give him the opportunity to do it again?
“Come on,” Lucy said, gripping the door handle. “Let’s head upstairs and get some answers. It’s time we ended this thing.”
“Hold up, don’t forget your badge.” He tossed one to her and she caught it.
Inside the leather wallet was a legit-looking FBI badge, complete with her picture. He’d used her driver’s license photo.
Storm had made them in a matter of minutes. He’d all the materials ready. The CIA made excellent forgeries. When she’d been introduced to Hussam, they’d created an entire paper trail for her, including a college degree, a birth certificate, a social security card, the works.
Once again, Lucy was uneasy. “I don’t know about this. Impersonating an FBI agent is a felony.”
“I’m aware.” And yet, Storm was unflappable, completely at ease.
She’d borrowed a business suit from Mack, and Storm had put on a jacket and tie as well. She’d never seen him in anything so formal. Even in the field, he’d worn khakis and polos. On base, he’d pretended to be an IT guy and his outfit had sold the image he’d wanted to project.
“If we get caught, we could go to jail.”
“Well then, we probably shouldn’t get caught.” He raised a brow. “Ready?”
This was a terrible solution, but she didn’t see any other way to get the information.
“Why not? Let’s do this.”
When they reached the entrance, the doorman stepped in their path. He was young, maybe in his early twenties with light brown hair and blue eyes.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Storm said. “We’re here to see Mr. Thomas.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.” And then Storm flashed his fake FBI badge. “But we’re here about an urgent matter.”
Lucy lifted hers up as well.
The doorman blinked. “Oh, um, go on up then.” He waved them over to the elevators in the lobby. “Should I inform him over the intercom?”
“We’d rather you didn’t,” Storm said.
The element of surprise would catch him off guard. Who knows? Old Tom might even make a run for it if he thought the feds were closing in on him.
“It’s standard procedure.”
Lucy straightened her spine. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s nothing standard about this visit.”
The doorman backed down. Once they got to the fourth floor, they headed for room 436 at the end of the hall. She sucked in a breath, steeling herself.
The show’s about to begin…
Storm knocked on the door. “FBI, open up, Mr. Thomas.”
“Who?” a voice called, from the other side of the door. Lucy could hear muffled speech from the other side of the door. From a television set?
“FBI,” Lucy said. “We need to question you. Now.” She used her big, bad bounty hunter tone and followed up by pounding on the door hard.
It swung open almost immediately.
“Are you Milton Thomas?” Storm asked. They flashed their badges once more, like Mulder and Scully. Or those two guys from Supernatural with the fake badges. Storm had given them fictional last names, but he’d used their real first names.
“Yes, what’s this about?” he asked, backing up.
Tom was an inch or two under six feet with blue eyes and sandy blond hair. He had a muscular build and wore a blue pinstriped suit. He must’ve just gotten off work. Lucy decided to go with “Tom” instead of Milton. It’s what Christy had called him.
Storm glanced left and then right. “You want us to discuss this within earshot of your neighbors?”
His eyes widened. “Uh, no. Come in.”
After they got inside, she surveyed their surroundings, looking for anything unusual, while Storm explained what they wanted.
Unfortunately, nothing stood out. Not a damn thing.
In her experience, serial killers lived spartan lifestyles. They only cared about killing, so they didn’t take pride in their homes.
This man had pictures of friends and family on his walls. There were knickknacks, too like candles and throw pillows. According to Storm, he didn’t have a wife, but maybe Tom had a girlfriend because there were little domestic touches all over his place.
It was messy, too. A pile of dishes littered the sink, the garbage was overflowing.
The man they were looking for was a control freak. The women’s bodies had been immaculate. Whoever had killed them had a major case of obsessive compulsive disorder.
“Three women have been murdered?”
“Is there an echo in here?” Storm scowled. “Yes, and we think you’re involved.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” His eyes were wide, frightened. Tom pulled out his cell phone.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Calling my lawyer.”
Storm leaned against the wall. “Why? Do you have something to hide?”
Lucy hadn’t been suspicious until Tom called an attorney. In her experience, innocent people believed the truth would somehow protect them from the government.
At one time, she’d believed it, too.
The government had truly frightening powers. She’d seen what they could do firsthand.
“No!” Tom swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bounced. “Just to be clear, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I have an attorney on retainer, so I’m going to get my money’s worth.”
When someone answered, he headed into the dining room, presumably to speak with the lawyer privately while they lingered by the kitchen table.
“Should we bounce?” Lucy whispered. “He might’ve bought our act, but an attorney’s gonna question us.”
“No, we can fake it for a few minutes. I don’t think this guy did it, do you?”
“No.”
“But I wanna be damn sure, don’t you?”
Lucy nodded. “Yeah, let’s clear him, before we move onto another suspect.” The only problem was, they didn’t have any other leads if this was a dead end.
Ten minutes later, a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed older man walked in Tom’s front door. Like Tom, he was also dressed in a suit, but his was a bit more expensive, and tailor-made, if she wasn’t mistaken. He wore black leather loafers which were so polished, they shone.
Judging by the streaks of white on his temples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, he was probably in his late fifties. The added years gave him a mature, distinguished look. His features were classic, timeless—a long straight nose, a full-lipped mouth and he’d always be attractive.
“Ah,” he said, stepping over to the table. “You must be the FBI agents. I’m Beckett Walker, Mr. Thomas’s attorney, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He had i
mmaculate grooming too—clean-cut, perfectly pressed clothing, and his aftershave had a faint citrus scent.
“Likewise, Mr. Walker,” Storm said smoothly, squeezing the other man’s hand.
They had a brief pissing contest, neither one of them pulling back, gripping each other’s hands, until their knuckles were white.
“Please call me Beckett,” the attorney said. “And may I see some ID?”
“Of course,” Lucy said. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Beckett sat at the table. Once again, they pulled out the counterfeit badges, only Beckett scrutinized them closely. Lucy thought if he had a magnifying glass with him, he’d be going all Sherlock on the damn things.
She slanted a glance at Storm who gave the smallest shrug. He didn’t look perturbed, so she tried to appear calm as well. Lucy hadn’t been trained at The Farm, and she didn’t lie as easily. Every day with Hussam had been a struggle, trying to remember all the details of her fake persona.
“Which field office do you work out of?”
“We’ll be asking the questions here, Beckett.” Lucy notched her chin. If he ran down their credentials, this whole thing would fall off the rails.
His jaw clenched, and a thin white line developed around his mouth. Clearly, he was infuriated by her attempt to take charge, but Lucy didn’t really care. She’d made her point.
Strong women throughout the centuries had experienced the same reaction from men in leadership positions. Lucy supposed there was something threatening about a commanding woman, but she made it a point to always use her strength wisely.
“You’re outspoken, aren’t you?”
Lucy smiled, but it had a nasty edge. “You’ve no idea…”
They stared at one another. Unlike Storm’s forceful handshake with the man, this encounter held an element of sexual tension, instead of brinkmanship.
“I didn’t—” Tom spoke up, interrupting the awkward encounter.
Beckett cut him off. “I’m sorry, Mill, but I’m going to advise you not to speak, at least for the moment.”
“How did you get here so quickly?” Lucy asked. She figured an attorney would take an hour or two to show up.
He grinned, all teeth. “I live in the penthouse upstairs and I happened to be home, fortunately for my client.” Beckett pulled out a legal pad from his leather briefcase. “According to Mill, you are investigating a series of murders.”
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