by Nina Croft
She checked the name against her databases but found no record of him. Which didn’t surprise her. “Well, Mr. Sutherland?” she prompted.
“Call me Quinn and I’ll call you…Mel and no, I don’t plan to kill you. You might not believe it, but we’re not the bad guys here.”
She quirked her brow. “So, what do you plan on doing with me?”
“We just want to understand what your involvement is in this, and then we’ll let you go.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, maybe not just like that, but providing your ID checks out, this time tomorrow you should be free.”
The ID would be fine. But this time tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough.
“Why were you interviewing Martin Rayleigh?” he asked.
She decided to go with the cover story she’d been plotting in the hours since they’d brought her here. It wasn’t perfect, but without further intel, and knowledge of who and what she was dealing with, she couldn’t come up with anything better.
She licked her lips and noticed his attention follow the movement. “I’m investigating the suspicious death of a Senator Gilpin.”
Something flickered in his eyes. He’d definitely heard of the senator. Was she onto something significant at last? But what?
“And how does that tie to Martin?”
They were on first name terms, so he wasn’t some outside mercenary brought in to free the other man. They had a close relationship.
“I’m not sure yet.” She gave a small smile. “That’s why I was interviewing him.” She watched him for a minute. “Why did you want to free Rayleigh? What is he to you?”
“A friend.” She suspected there was more. “How did you tie Martin to the senator’s death?”
“I haven’t, as yet.” The link was tenuous, but it was all she had. “But I found a connection between Rayleigh and the job the senator was working on prior to his death.”
His eyes narrowed at that. “Maybe the senator’s death was an accident.”
“Not likely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Gilpin was head of an oversight committee of eight other people. All of them met with ‘accidents’ shortly after the committee was disbanded just under a year ago.” Nine accidents. For a woman who didn’t believe in coincidences, that had been a big red flag.
Quinn’s expression had gone curiously blank. Why did she get the idea she was telling this man something he already knew?
“What was this oversight committee working on?” he asked.
“Well, that’s where it gets interesting. The records were all destroyed, and I hit a dead end every time I ask the question. It seems nobody wants to talk. But someone with a lot of power has made certain that whatever mess Gilpin was involved in has all been cleaned up.”
“But you made a connection?”
“I’m good at my job.” She was, actually. She used a combination of insight and intelligence. When she’d been at the academy, her intuitive skills had been off the charts. She had a knack of homing in on seemingly insignificant happenings and slotting them into the bigger picture.
“Tell me Martin’s connection.”
She thought for a moment but couldn’t see what harm it would do, and she might even get some information that would help her case. And Christ, she needed all the help she could get.
“Just over four years ago, Martin Rayleigh approached Gilpin’s predecessor. He asked for an independent review to be done on a group under the control of the British government. The request was turned down. At that time, there had been little U.S. involvement in the group.”
Quinn got up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He paced the length of the room, then came back to stand over her. “Go on.”
“There’s not a lot more. Shortly afterward, Rayleigh disappeared. There was no record of him in our systems. Or in the UK government systems.”
His eyes narrowed again, and he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, as though to ease the tension. “You’re working with the UK government on this?”
“It’s a joint effort. Gilpin died on British soil. Anyway, it seemed like Rayleigh had vanished. I was beginning to believe he was dead or hidden too deep to ever be found. Then, all of a sudden, up he pops as a transfer to the prison here. I got an interview as soon as I could.”
She’d almost left it until tomorrow, at which point Martin Rayleigh would have vanished once again. But at least then she wouldn’t have been captured. She had to try and move this around, find an advantage. These people were totally involved in her investigation. She just wasn’t sure how.
“Tell me something,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “How did you know we were being followed on the way from the prison this afternoon?”
Good question. And one she was going to have to make up an answer for quickly, because the truth wasn’t an option.
“I was followed to the prison. I was aware of someone behind me. A blue van. They pulled up at the prison and I was going to get someone to pick them up when I left.” She shrugged. “It made sense that they would be following you. If they were watching for me coming out, they would have seen us.”
“Hmmm.”
He didn’t sound convinced, but then she hadn’t sounded terribly convincing.
“Martin is a good man,” he said. “He had nothing to do with the murder of Senator Gilpin.”
“And how would you know that? Do you know anything about the senator’s murder?”
…
Hell, he’d been there, though Gilpin had been alive when they’d parted. Quinn had seen him being loaded into an ambulance. A little shaken—but having your house explode around you would have that effect on most people. Gilpin had never made it to the hospital. Somewhere along the way, he’d succumbed to smoke inhalation. Which was a load of bollocks. He’d been murdered. Along with the other eight members of the oversight committee.
That had been on Kane’s orders. Gilpin had been an innocent man, a good man. He hadn’t deserved to die. But Kane had believed the oversight committee knew too much and were a threat to his precious mission. So, he’d killed them.
But her story made sense. It was impressive how she had managed to connect the deaths, considering the facts had been hidden. Kane had been using the Conclave to do his dirty work, and the Conclave had the resources to bury anything as deep as they wanted.
She cleared her throat, waiting for an answer, no doubt. Her full lips were pursed, the fingers of one hand tapping against her chair.
He’d loved watching her eat. Such a normal mundane pastime. A small break from his completely abnormal life. He liked the lines and hollows of her face, the arched brows, the high cheekbones, her straight nose with its smattering of freckles.
“Well?” she prompted.
What was her question? “No, I know nothing about Gilpin and neither does Martin. Hell, he’s been incarcerated for more than four years, so he could hardly have participated in a murder that happened less than a year ago.”
“I know he didn’t murder the senator. But he’s tied to all this, somehow. And he’s my only lead.” Her lips curled in a small smile. “Was my only lead. Now I have you.”
Ha.
“And I have a couple of questions of my own,” she said.
“You do? Go ahead.” Of course, that didn’t mean he would answer them. He sank down onto his chair and waited. She stared over his left shoulder, and he could almost see her mind working. He probed gently but was unsurprised when she remained closed to him.
“How did you knock the guards out at the prison?” she asked.
The question took him by surprise and he had to scramble for an answer. He certainly wasn’t telling the truth. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Taser.”
“No, you didn’t. So why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying. How else would we have done it?”
“Is Martin Rayleigh safe with you?”
“Hell, yes. I
told you he’s a friend.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me finish my interview.”
He felt a smile tug his lips. “I don’t suppose I would. Martin is sleeping right now, and we leave first thing in the morning.”
“And besides, you don’t want me to find the connection.”
“There is none.”
“Oh yes, there is. I think he made enemies when he asked for the review of that group all those years ago. Someone had him taken out of play. So why did he do it? What did he hope to achieve?”
The safety of the group, Quinn presumed. Martin had wanted to bring things out in the open, maybe give them a measure of security. With the world watching, there would be limits to what could be done with the group. Unfortunately for his sister and the others who had died, that hadn’t happened. It had been financial considerations that had eventually resulted in the oversight committee being set up. Someone had noticed a lot of money being sent their way and wanted to know why. It always came down to money in the end. Money or power.
She snorted. “I think you know the answer to that, but I guess you’re not going to share.” She rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold. “I need to report in. There will be people looking for me. Why don’t you let me go now, and I promise not to tell?”
He chuckled. “Of course you won’t.” Standing up, he stretched, feeling her eyes on him. While he couldn’t get inside her head, he reckoned she liked the look of him. He stretched again. He hadn’t had any sleep last night; he’d spent the time with Rose, going over the plan—or lack of plan. Now it was catching up on him. While he didn’t want to go, he had no reason to stay. He wasn’t going to get anything else out of her. “In the morning, as soon as we’re away from here, we’ll let your people know where to find you.”
“But—” She broke off, maybe seeing the futility of saying anything else. An intelligent woman.
“I think we’re both lying about something,” he said. “And I suspect we both think our reasons are good ones. That will have to be enough for now.”
Maybe he’d come back when this was over—would it ever be over? And they could go on a date…do some normal shit. He almost smiled as he pulled the cuffs out of his pocket. Yeah, normal.
“Do you have to?” she asked.
He nodded, and she scowled but held out her wrists. He snapped the cuffs in place but couldn’t resist stroking his thumb over the silky skin of her palm.
“Nice meeting you, Special Agent Lyons.”
Without giving himself time to think it was a stupid idea, he lowered his head and kissed her on the lips. The touch was brief, and he was left with a sense of softness, sweetness.
Time to get out of there.
Chapter Six
Mel stared at the closed door for a long time after he’d left.
He’d kissed her.
It had been quick, but it had definitely been a kiss.
Why?
She licked her lips as though she could get a sense of the man from the taste of him. But it was gone.
Sighing, she checked her control panel. Six hours to her scheduled check-in.
To stay or to go?
But really there was nothing to achieve by staying. No doubt her disappearance would raise questions, but it was hardly likely they would reach the correct conclusion. They’d presume she’d escaped somehow.
And she had to get back. There was something weird going on here. And there had definitely been someone following them from the prison. Someone who had no right to be here, in this time. So, she’d go back, file a report, and put in a request for another trip.
Everything centered around this group Martin Rayleigh had wanted investigated. She wished she knew more than that, but someone had done an excellent job of wiping out the records. Who were they? How was Quinn tied in? He had that similarity to the Tel-group that kept nagging at her.
Maybe the answers were back at the department.
She’d go. And she’d hope that the Bureau would send her back. Because she wanted to come back. She wanted answers and she wanted to see Quinn again. Just from curiosity. He was so different from the men she worked with. They were closed off emotionally. Hell, so was she. But most of the time, she could see the emotions reflected on Quinn’s face.
And he’d kissed her.
Once the decision was made, she relaxed.
She was dozing when the control panel buzzed with the thirty-second warning. She kept her muscles relaxed. It was easier that way.
And then she was gone.
…
Quinn jolted upright in the bed, instantly awake. It was pitch black in the room—he’d drawn the heavy curtains, hoping the darkness might help him sleep. It hadn’t. He felt like he’d fallen asleep only moments ago.
What had woken him?
“Rose?” He called out in his mind and found her immediately.
“We’re under attack. Dave’s been shot.”
“Shit, is he okay?”
“I don’t know. I can’t get to him. I’m pinned down.”
“Where are you?”
“In the front garden. There are snipers on the walls.”
Quinn could sense the panic rising in her. He took a deep breath. “Relax. Just slow down and breathe.”
She was silent for a moment, then said, “Sorry. They took me by surprise.”
“Just a minute.” He was out of bed in seconds. He hadn’t taken his clothes off—some instinct had warned him to be ready. He crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. Down the road, he could just make out some sort of blockade—a black van parked crosswise across the road. And a couple of vehicles filled the gaps on either side. He reached out with his mind, counted the people close by. At this time of night, he could probably assume that anyone awake was up to no good. He came up with twenty-two. Too many for Rose to take out.
He reached out for her again. “I count twenty-two.” Downstairs, the sound of glass shattering broke the silence. “What was that?”
“I tossed something toward the house. They shot it and broke the goddamn window.”
“There’s too many for you to take out but try and get the snipers between you and Dave. Can you pinpoint them?” Rose was great at knocking people out, not so good at sensing where they were. They all had their strengths and weaknesses.
“I think so.”
“Then pull back into the kitchen. The rear of the house is our best way out. I’m going to get Martin and we’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed his shoulder holster from the chair by the bed and checked the pistol, slipping off the safety as he moved toward the door. He opened it quietly and peered out into the dimly lit hallway. Nothing moved, and he stepped out of his room. Martin was sleeping next door. He pushed open the door, saw the hunched figure in the bed.
“Martin?” No response. “Martin!”
This time the older man moved, sitting up and pushing down the covers. “What is it?”
“We have trouble. Get dressed. Be ready to go.”
He waited at the door as Martin pulled on his clothes, then led him down the stairs. The doors off the hallway were all closed, and they made it to the kitchen without encountering anyone.
He did a quick check. There was no one in the house yet, but they were close. “Wait here,” he said to Martin.
He went back to the hallway. “Rose?”
“Almost there. He’s bloody heavy.”
“I’m on my way.”
He opened the front door an inch and peered outside. Rose was dragging an unconscious Dave across the lawn, her hands grasping his wrists. Quinn did a quick sweep of the area and ran out. He picked Dave up, tossed him over his shoulder, and ran for the house, Rose close behind him.
Once inside, she slammed and bolted the door. Quinn headed back to the kitchen. Rose ran ahead of him, knocking everything off the table and onto the floor with one swipe of her arm so Quinn could lay the unconscious man down. Blood stained the l
eft side of his T-shirt. He’d been hit in the side, but it was the blood oozing from his forehead that worried Quinn. He swallowed. Had he taken a bullet in the head?
“He’s alive,” Rose snarled.
Quinn pressed his fingers to the other man’s throat and found the pulse strong and steady.
Martin arrived at his side with a bowl of water and a pile of towels. Quinn soaked one and wiped the blood from Dave’s face. He hadn’t been hit by a bullet, but it was an angry gash. He must have hit his head when he fell. It needed stitches, but the wound wasn’t life threatening.
Rose hovered at his shoulder as he tore the T-shirt to reveal the bullet wound.
Her indrawn breath hissed in his ear.
The wound was still seeping blood. Quinn rolled him onto his side, but there was no exit wound. “Damn.”
“Will he be all right?” Rose didn’t have as much field experience as some of the group. Quinn had enough to know this shouldn’t be life threatening, but the bullet needed to come out. That wasn’t happening here.
“We need to get him to a hospital.” Obviously, first they needed to get out of the house and past that blockade. “Who do you think it is?” he asked Rose.
“I have no clue. But whoever they are, they want us dead.”
“My guess is they’re rogue Conclave. But how the hell did they find us?”
“Could your little FBI agent have some sort of tracking device?”
It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. But these guys were here to take them out. And he hated to think that she’d set them up to do that. She was FBI—the good guys. They wouldn’t sanction cold-blooded murder.
And thinking about Melody, he realized he’d have to take her with them. No way was he leaving her in the basement for the Conclave to find. They were ruthless bastards, and would no doubt put a bullet in her brain, providing she wasn’t actually working for them.
A door off the kitchen led to the staircase down to the cellar. He took the steps two at a time. At the bottom, he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door, then pushed it open. He’d left one of the lamps on, so she wouldn’t be in darkness. And in the dim light, he could see immediately that the room was empty.
