Lucy - 05 - Stalked

by Allison Brennan

“Accidents are traumatic. But you’ve faced far worse than a non-fatal car crash. Which means, Patrick doesn’t know everything.”

  “I was five. It left a lasting impression on me.”

  She rolled away from Sean, but he pulled her back toward him, spooning his body around hers.

  He was trying to make her comfortable, trying to make her relax and share. But it wasn’t working. He always wanted to know everything, and he usually just guessed. Most of the time he was right.

  “What do you think happened?” she snapped. “You usually know what I’m thinking.”

  He refused to take the bait. “Not this time. I only know that Patrick has no idea what happened during the crash, and that’s what I don’t understand.”

  “I barely remember the accident.”

  She’d been in the back between Patrick and Carina, who were bickering about something, but in the good-natured way they always had. They were only eleven months apart, and as Lucy grew up she’d been jealous that her older brothers and sisters were all friends and she was the mistake, the seventh child who came a decade late.

  She didn’t remember much about the accident, only flashes. Like she knew it had been raining, rare for San Diego. Her father had muttered something about drivers being stupid in the rain. Her mother had a rosary in her hands. They may have been coming home from church, or that memory might be because her dad told her later. Patrick had taken something from Carina and had given it to Lucy to hide behind her back. Their dad told them to settle down, and Lucy was giggling. She loved when her big brother included her in his jokes.

  Then suddenly everything was moving fast. Loud sounds, Carina screamed, and they were upside down.

  Lucy went to sleep, or so she thought at the time. She awakened fast, to a loud noise as their van was hit again. She looked around and no one was moving.

  She thought her family was dead.

  An involuntary moan escaped her throat.

  “Hey, Lucy?” Sean sat up, pulling her up with him and holding her close. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t do that. Tell me, princess. What happened?”

  “My family thinks I’m scared of driving because I was in the car accident. I don’t remember anything about it, really, just the noise. And everyone was fine, though Carina had a broken rib, I think. Or maybe it was Patrick.” She glanced away. “Maybe there was more to it, but I really don’t remember. That shouldn’t stop me from driving. It’s silly.”

  “Early childhood trauma impacts us far greater than anything else,” Sean said.

  “Now you sound like a shrink.”

  “We’ll get you through it, okay? Let me help you.”

  Sean needed to help people. Especially her. He wanted to be the one to fix everyone’s problem, and that was endearing and noble, even when he was frustrating.

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “Look me in the eye and say that.”

  “Stop.”

  “Why don’t you trust me?”

  “You know I trust you.” She trusted Sean more than anyone, but that didn’t mean she could just talk about this.

  Sean didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move, either. He was waiting.

  Lucy closed her eyes. Sean wasn’t going to budge. He wanted to know. She considered making something up, but he would know. She wished she was a better liar.

  “I don’t know how to put it in words,” she finally said.

  “Patrick said you didn’t want to get your license when you were sixteen.”

  “But I did.”

  “Of course you did; you’ve never let fear hold you back.”

  “And it’s not now. I’ll get through this, Sean.”

  “What happened?”

  “I thought everyone was dead, okay?” Tears clouded her vision. “Damn you, I don’t want to cry.”

  He kissed her lightly. “When I found my plane upside down in the field last May, I thought you and Noah were still in it.”

  Maybe he did know. “It’s not logical,” she said. “I was a little kid. But every time I drive, I get tense. Just a flash of memory, me wedged between Carina and Patrick, the blood, the rain hitting our car, and they weren’t moving. No one was moving. It seemed like hours that I was there, crying, staring at my dad, who was so big and strong, but blood covered his head.

  “It wasn’t hours, of course. I learned later less than five minutes passed before someone, an off-duty policeman, came over to our van. Everyone woke up after that, but those minutes were forever to me.”

  Lucy was grateful that Sean didn’t probe her for more details or offer his sympathy. His even breathing, his chin on her head, was all she wanted—or needed. Comfort.

  “Every time I drive, especially on the freeway, I get a flash of my family. When I interned with the Sheriff’s department, I never went to traffic fatalities. I found excuses not to go. Not consciously, but I see it now.”

  “And when you and Detective Reid were run off the road last month, you were thinking about it.”

  She nodded.

  “I knew you were keeping something from me that day.”

  She looked up at him. “Thank you for not pushing.”

  “I knew you’d tell me eventually.” He kissed her, and her muscles began to relax.

  “I promised you a romantic night,” Lucy said. “And all we’ve talked about was work.”

  “And you.” He kissed her again. “Lay down. On your stomach. You’re still tense.”

  Lucy complied and Sean pressed his fingers and thumb on her sore shoulder muscles.

  “Umm,” she said.

  “You’re really tense. Take off your shirt.”

  “This sounds like a ploy to get me into bed with you.”

  “How well you know me.” He kissed the back of her neck.

  Lucy smiled and took off her shirt. Sean rummaged through her overnight bag and found her favorite lotion. He poured some into his hands and rubbed them together, then straddled her without putting any weight on her. Slowly, he spread the lotion over her back, kneading her muscles from her neck to her hips.

  “You’re going to smell like roses,” Lucy mumbled.

  “I’ll be reminded of you.”

  Sean’s strong, talented hands smoothed out her stress. He didn’t rush. With each passing minute, Lucy’s mind slowed down, pushing aside the case, her grief, her childhood trauma. The world disappeared and all that was left was her and Sean.

  Sean reached around and unbuttoned Lucy’s jeans and pulled them down her well-formed legs. He rubbed more lotion between his hands and took the massage from her lower back to her thighs and down to her calves.

  “Oh, God, Sean,” she whispered, and he smiled.

  “I wish I could do this for you every night,” he said, and began rubbing the balls of her feet.

  “I could fall asleep so easily.”

  “Don’t you dare.” He wished she didn’t get this tense. Tomorrow, she’d be back working on the case, focused on everyone except herself. He would do this for her nightly, and enjoy it.

  Lucy rolled over and smiled at him. “Take off your clothes.”

  “Aren’t you bossy.”

  “I don’t like to be naked alone.”

  Sean stripped, then ran his hands up her legs, across her stomach, kissing her body as he went. He kissed the faded scars across her breasts, then entwined his hands with hers. He stared at her, her dark eyes craving him as much as he craved her. Her lips parted and she tilted her face up to meet his.

  “I love you, Luce.”

  She smiled and kissed him. “Make love to me.”

  “I’ve missed you so much.” He kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck. He loved her neck, so smooth and soft and sensitive. His tongue explored the sweet trail under her jaw up to her ear and she gasped, clutching his shoulders, when he lightly bit her earlobe.

  She breathed his name, a whisper of desire, then wrapped her legs around him.

 
; His penis reached for her as if it had a mind of its own. He thrust into her quickly and she gasped, meeting him halfway. He held himself still, wanting to savor this moment, his hands still clasped in hers, sweat coating their bodies. In tacit agreement they tried to hold off the urgency. Sean moved slowly, needing to relish this moment, to remember every sweet spot of Lucy’s body. The way she moved. The way she moaned. The way she whispered, I love you.

  Lucy shifted beneath him and the friction made him groan. It was always like this with them, he wanted slow and prolonged, but the sexual combustibility always burned hot when they were alone and naked. Lucy had learned that her touch, her scent, her body, her voice, just made him crave her even more; she enjoyed his needs, she enjoyed him. They’d built up trust and love over these months, and Sean would never forget this moment, like he never forgot any of the moments they were together.

  He’d never get enough of her, never wanted to get enough. “Lucy,” he breathed into her neck; then he leaned up and stared at her glowing face, and her eyes opened. She smiled and surprised him. She flipped him onto his back and sank deeper onto him. Her back arched and her eyes partly closed. Droplets of sweat ran between her breasts, glistening in the faint light, and he grabbed her hips, his orgasm hitting him with a power he didn’t want to control. He held her body down on his and she froze, then let out a quiet cry as every one of her muscles tightened then relaxed simultaneously. She collapsed on top of him.

  Lucy smiled into Sean’s chest, her skin slick with sweat and lotion. She listened to his rapidly beating heart, loved the way his arms tightened around her, holding her close.

  “I need a shower,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  “We should conserve water.”

  “Yes, we should.”

  Lucy rose from the bed, took Sean’s hand, and pulled him up.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Never thank me for loving you.”

  “I meant, thank you for doing all this. Flying me here, searching for answers when we don’t even know all the questions.”

  “Huge hardship. Traveling to my favorite city with my favorite woman and making love in the same hotel where I first told the woman I love that I loved her. Yeah, I’m suffering big-time.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  He kissed her. “I do. What’s important to you is important to me. I thought you knew that by now.”

  She touched his face with her fingertips. “I’m very lucky.”

  He smiled. “Yes, you are.”

  She laughed and pulled him toward the bathroom. She turned on the shower.

  “I’m the lucky one,” Sean whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  FBI Academy

  For the duration of the investigation, Hans Vigo was staying at a small house on the perimeter of the FBI Academy. It was late when he returned to campus after talking to Kate and Dillon, but he was in no mood to retire.

  Something had been bothering him all day. Ever since Lucy told him her notes had disappeared.

  What was in the McMahon file that someone didn’t want Hans to see? Was it connected to Tony’s death or completely unrelated? A crime of opportunity?

  The halls were quiet at midnight. Two guards patrolled the grounds, the security desk was manned, but everyone else was asleep. The campus wasn’t even half-full—many of the new agents took advantage of Saturday night to get out, visit family, go see a movie. And since it was the first weekend Class 12-14 was allowed recreation, most of them were gone.

  Staff was minimal, and only a handful lived on campus—no instructors, only the class supervisor and field counselors. Because of budget cutbacks, only one class supervisor was here now. In the past, there were up to four supervisors supervising up to eight new-agent classes. Now, there were only three new-agent classes working their way through, and one supervisor.

  Times were changing. They could train to cover attrition, not to add to their ranks. There was more crime, smarter crimes, but they couldn’t bring on enough people to handle the current workload. Around the country, every law enforcement agency was cutting back, and while the different agencies worked better together than when Hans first started, they were all understaffed.

  No sign of that changing in the near future.

  Hans turned on the lights. He was the only one down in the basement this late, but he liked working in solitude.

  He had already boxed up the new-agent class files for whoever would replace Tony. Hans wished he’d remained close to his old friend. Death was permanent.

  Tony had been emotionally tortured, but Hans didn’t believe he had been tortured enough to kill himself. Not deliberately. But he’d always had a problem with drinking, and the fact that he was keeping a bottle in his desk had upset Hans. Alcohol was a serious problem in law enforcement, particularly with someone who dealt with the darkest of human beings. Hans had had his fair share of battling personal demons and frustrations, but he hadn’t turned to the bottle or drugs.

  Hans remembered all too well the Rachel McMahon murder investigation. The jurisdictional fights. The media circus. The lies that the parents told, the friends, the family—until Rachel was found dead and the truth washed ashore from a sea of guilt.

  Tony had known from the beginning that the McMahons were lying, but he’d been tossed from the case after he and the chief of police nearly came to blows over the father’s interrogation. That was one of many missteps that impacted Tony’s career—why he’d never risen through the ranks the way he should have. It didn’t matter that Tony had been right on every count; he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. He broke rules under the philosophy it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.

  Unfortunately, he rarely sought forgiveness.

  It didn’t surprise Hans that Tony had bonded with Lucy Kincaid. Lucy had outstanding raw instincts that couldn’t be taught but could be honed. Field experience would turn her into one of the best agents they could train.

  Except she also had the same weaknesses as Tony. She tried to be a rule follower; she tried to be who she thought she needed to be to reach her goals. But in her heart she was just like Tony Presidio: gut driven, tenacious, stubborn, empathetic. She would break every rule if she thought she was doing the right thing, and that would leave her where Tony had been: unfulfilled in his career and marginalized because he was unpredictable.

  Maybe leaving the Academy was the best thing for her. She could get a job in almost any law enforcement agency in the country. Her skills would be in high demand. And if her past proved a barrier, RCK would bring her on board without hesitation, and not just because Sean and Patrick were partners. The organization had been slowly growing more powerful and in demand over the last few years, and while that worried some people in power, it didn’t worry Hans.

  Every new agent was thoroughly vetted. Each one went through extensive psychological and background screenings. It was this vetting process that had affected Lucy’s placement, because while she passed all the psychological tests, the panels felt she was too calculated in her responses and that her master’s in criminal psychology may have given her the leverage to cheat the tests. She had been cold in her interviews, didn’t have any outside interests, and they feared she had a vendetta.

  But ultimately, Hans was selfish and he wanted to train Lucy to be the agent he knew she could be. He’d been watching her these last four weeks through the one person he trusted to keep his interest confidential. She’d been doing fine, and she’d passed the tests he’d set up for her, confirming that he’d been right to ask Rick Stockton to overrule the hiring panel.

  Tony had been drinking prior to going into cardiac arrest. He had his heart pills on his desk, telling Hans that he’d been experiencing chest pains but chose self-medication over the doctor.

  A murder at Quantico would be bold, brazen, and extremely difficult. Poison to induce cardiac arrest would take medical knowledge and opportunity.

/>   Why would someone kill Tony? He wasn’t involved in the politics of the Bureau, had never aspired to be anything but a field agent. He could be grumpy and he rode his students hard, but he was always fair.

  It all came back to the Rachel McMahon investigation and the missing file. Tony had figured something out about the case, and either the file was stolen after he died as a crime of opportunity or he was murdered because of his knowledge of the file.

  Hans had read over all the official records this afternoon, but there was nothing that jumped out at him. Nothing that would warrant anyone wanting Tony, Stokes, Theissen, and the reporter all dead.

  But while Hans had been involved in the original investigation, he hadn’t been as involved as Tony.

  Hans pulled the security log from Thursday afternoon to see which card keys accessed the basement. There were no unauthorized accesses, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t. Yet circumstantial evidence indicated that if Tony had been murdered, someone he worked with had killed him.

  If Tony was murdered.

  Hans called his friend from the lab, Trisha Morrison.

  “Hans, it’s nearly midnight,” Trisha said.

  “I’m sorry. And you’re not going to like what I’m calling about.”

  “You want results.”

  “Yes. I know it’s early, but—”

  “They’re being run, Hans. That’s the best I can do. I’ll be at the lab tomorrow and will check on the tests personally. But it’s going to take at least another day, and if we don’t find anything, I’ll need to run a broader test.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Hans hung up. There was nothing more he could do tonight. He locked up, checked out at the desk, and walked the quarter mile to the small bungalow he was living in for the duration.

  The cool, fresh air cleared his head, and he realized how exhausted he was. It had been a long forty-eight hours.

  He followed the trail around a fenced construction area, where the new hostage rescue facility was being built. The security lighting was weak and flickered. A scaffolding to his right seemed out of place. He sidestepped it, then tripped over a toolbox and fell hard on his knees.