Dangerous Games
Page 1
Dedication
For my man in blue.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Acknowledgments
About the Author
By Tess Diamond
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
“We have to be quiet.”
Her sister’s voice trembled, but her bound hands were steady, pressed against Maggie’s shoulder. In the darkness, Erica’s touch anchored and soothed her. But it couldn’t drive away the fear, thick in the back of her throat. The ropes looped around her wrists, pulled punishingly tight, rubbed her skin raw with every movement. She tried to hold back a sob, but the noise bubbled to her lips. She pressed them tight. Quiet. They had to stay quiet.
“Be calm, okay? Just stay calm, Maggie.”
The girls huddled together, knees pulled up tight to their chests, as if making themselves smaller would help. The room was barely bigger than a closet, stuffy and stale as she breathed in, desperate for fresh air, for light. Anything but the endless darkness and rising heat.
“What does he want?” Maggie whispered to Erica.
“I don’t know,” Erica said. “We just have to wait and see.”
“I want to go home.” Hot tears trickled down Maggie’s face when she blinked. She couldn’t stop them. “What are Mom and Dad going to do without us?”
“We’ll find a way out,” Erica promised, cradling her as close as their bonds allowed. “It’ll be okay, Mags. But we have to stay calm.”
Maggie closed her eyes tightly, her heart drumming in her chest, almost drowning out the sound of footsteps. A soft, once-harmless sound that now made her stomach twist.
He was coming.
The doorknob rattled.
Maggie whimpered, drawing closer to Erica.
He was here.
Maggie’s feet pounded the pavement, her breath coming fast as she pushed into her fifth mile. Sweat trickled down the back of her oversized tank top as her feet struck the trail with hard-won precision. Slowing down wasn’t an option, even as her lungs ached and her calves burned. In fact, the pain helped—it drove away the memories. Just for a little while, sure . . . but it was something. And she’d take a brief reprieve over nothing any day.
It was late spring, and she’d gotten up early to run, escaping the afternoon mugginess that began to set in at this time of year. The fruit trees that lined the park’s running trail were in the final stages of bloom. Splashes of pink and white blossoms blurred as she sped past them.
She ran without music, alone with her thoughts. Sometimes it was a great combination.
Other times . . .
Well, everyone was running from something, she figured.
She felt a buzz against her arm and slowed to a stop, pulling the phone out of her armband. Panting, she wiped sweat off her face before looking at the screen. She’d been so wrapped up in her run that she hadn’t noticed Paul had called. With more than a bit of dread and a lot of guilt, she keyed in her passcode and listened to her ex-fiancé’s voice mail.
“Maggie, it’s Paul. I’m just calling again about the things your left at my place before you went to Africa. I’ve boxed them all for you. Let me know when you want to pick them up. Or I could leave them with the doorman. Just let me know what you prefer. I . . .” He paused. “Take care,” he finally said.
Maggie’s stomach twisted, a spark of long-buried hurt and dread coming back to life at his hesitant, careful tone.
She shoved the phone back into her armband with a little too much force. She couldn’t deal with him right now. He’d want to talk about why they broke up again, slog through the whole sorry mess. Paul was a good man and a great FBI agent, even if his by-the-book attitude sometimes frustrated her. When it came to playing by the rules, Maggie would abide by them best she could, but in a choice between rule breaking or saving a life, she’d choose the life every time—to hell with everything else.
It hadn’t been right between her and Paul. She had loved him—she still loved him—but she hadn’t been in love with him. It had taken her much too long to realize that, and she regretted that more than anything. But she wasn’t sure he’d reached the same realization yet. She could hear a trace of hope in his voice.
He’d emailed when she’d been in Chad, working with the Clean Water Initiative to dig wells and provide better access to clean water for the people in the area. She’d emailed back a few times, but when she returned home he’d given her space, like the gentleman he was. She’d been back for almost six months now, and this was the first time he’d called.
She checked her watch. Time to head home. Turning toward the park exit, Maggie broke into a slow jog down the running trail. The scent of apple and cherry blossoms was thick in the air after last night’s spring storm as she rounded the curve toward the iron gates leading out of the park. As she approached them, she saw an older man standing at the park exit waiting for her and came to an abrupt halt, her sneakers skidding on the pavement and dread coiling in her stomach like a rattlesnake. He waved in greeting, walking up to her. The dim morning sunlight shone off the bald spot on his head, and his gray suit blended with the cloudy day.
“Hey, kid,” he said, smiling affectionately.
“What are you doing here, Frank?” Maggie demanded, hands on her hips. There was a time she’d never have dared speak to her mentor in that tone. But things were different now. He was no longer her boss, and her FBI days were well behind her—she’d quit more than two years ago. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen Frank since she quit the Bureau—she had. Before she left for Chad and after she came back, every month or so, he’d call her up for lunch. She’d go, and they’d talk about everything but work. It was an unspoken agreement: He wouldn’t push, and she’d keep showing up for lunch.
This felt different, though. All her instincts—the ones she’d buried, the ones she ignored, the ones that had failed her—roared to life.
“Maggie, I need you to come in,” he said in
his gravelly voice. “A freshman girl from the Carmichael Academy’s missing, and I’m putting together a team. I want the best—and you’re the best, kid.”
A jolt of fear surged like an electric current through her limbs. Maggie backed up, as if putting distance between them would lessen her panic. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not after . . .
Just stay calm, Maggie. Her sister’s voice echoed in her head.
“I meant it when I said I was out for good, Frank,” she said harshly. “I’m done with negotiating, and I’m not coming back to the Bureau. Not after Sherwood Hills. Never again.”
Frank’s face—which had always reminded her of a bulldog—softened. “I know how hard Sherwood Hills was for you. We can’t win ’em all. But this girl? We can get her back safe and sound. If we have your help.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo, pressing it into her hand. Maggie told herself not to look. Not to see the girl’s face and imagine her lost or afraid. Not to worry that she was hurt—or worse. She couldn’t invest in another case like this. Not again. But the photo in her hand tugged at her like a moon with its own gravitational pull. She pressed her lips together and looked down. A beaming girl clutching a lacrosse stick stared up at her, blond hair cut in thick bangs across her forehead making her look younger than fourteen.
Once upon a time, Erica had been a baby-faced fourteen. To Maggie, she was forever fourteen: ageless, frozen in time.
Would this girl become forever fourteen to her loved ones?
Maggie winced at the thought. Her fingers tightened on the edges of the photo, and she had to catch herself before she crumpled it.
You could help, a traitorous voice inside her whispered. She tried to block it out. Unfortunately, Frank was harder to ignore.
“Why don’t you come in, just to listen?” Frank pleaded as Maggie continued to stare at the girl’s face. “You can throw the team some advice if anything jumps out at you. If you want to bail, I’ll have someone take you home. Favor paid. Promise.”
Maggie traced the corner of the photo. “I can’t,” she said. What if it happened again? What if she lost control of the situation? What if this girl died too?
“Come on, kid. You owe me,” Frank said softly. “I cleaned up the mess at Sherwood Hills. I didn’t make a fuss when you quit on me. I’ve given you space, I’ve given you time. But now I’m calling in my favor. I need you on this. You’re better than the guys they have me working with since you left.”
“I’m sure whoever you chose is very good,” Maggie said.
“Kid, you’ve got a once-in-a-lifetime kind of talent,” Frank said. “They can’t compare.”
“But I failed,” Maggie said, unable to block out the memories of Sherwood Hills. She could still hear that gunshot. It echoed in her dreams. She’d never be free of it, just like she’d never be free of that empty room that haunted her.
“You think I’ve never messed up?” Frank demanded with an edge to his voice. “You think I’ve never failed? You think all my cases ended with the victim safe and the criminal behind bars? Come on, kid,” he scoffed. “I taught you better than that. But when I failed, I picked myself up and went back to my damn job because I knew it was bigger than me. This is bigger than both of us—a girl’s life is at stake. Again. And I trust you—I need you—to guide us through. We need that special Maggie magic.”
Maggie looked up at him. When she’d been a green negotiator with no field experience, he’d taken her under his wing. He’d handpicked her at Quantico. He’d seen her potential and nurtured it. He’d trained and mentored her. He’d helped make her great at her job. It wasn’t his fault that she’d screwed up so badly. And it wasn’t this girl’s fault either.
Dammit. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She owed him. Not just for cleaning up the mess she left behind, but because he’d played a huge part in making her her.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. After all, she could leave at any time. The second it got too hard, she was out. “But just to observe. I’m not taking the lead, and I’m not coming back to the Bureau. This is an unofficial favor.”
“As long as I can use your expertise, you’re as unofficial as you like,” Frank said, his craggy face breaking into a big, warm grin. He gestured toward the iron gates. “Let’s get going.”
Maggie took a deep breath and followed Frank through the gates and out of the park, trying to ignore the faint sensation of rope tightening around her wrists.
Chapter 2
Four hours earlier . . .
Jake jerked awake, staring up at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to explode into action. He counted two heartbeats, his breath coming slow and steady as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He didn’t reach for the Glock in its holster on his bedside table—he wasn’t the kind of man who pulled his gun unless he meant to shoot.
Instead, he rolled out of bed, his fingers curling into fists. Not as deadly as a gun—most of the time. It depended on how pissed—or how desperate—he was.
Something had yanked him out of sleep. A sound? He craned his neck, listening for the noise. Then he heard it: the crunch of footsteps on gravel.
Someone was there.
He checked his watch. It was two a.m. That meant bad news.
Clearly, his vacation was over.
Jake grabbed a pair of pants, fastening the Glock in its holster onto his hip. Pulling on a t-shirt, he was halfway down the stairs before the knocking started.
He opened the door to find General Hoffman, his military handler. The tall man had salt-and-pepper hair and deceptively kind eyes. Looks aside, he was a hard son of a bitch whose recruits were unfailingly loyal to him. Just because he was tough didn’t mean he wasn’t fair.
The general had been more than fair to Jake, even though, three years ago, their partnership had started off a little rocky. The last thing Jake had wanted was to be taken out of the action and corralled into some desk job or, worse, be trotted out for events in his dress uniform, medals on full display for everyone to see.
Instead, he’d been handed a unique opportunity. The Rangers had prepared him for almost anything, and his work in the Middle East had given him valuable knowledge of the players there and in DC. So the Army took him out of the war zone and put him to work on DC’s more . . . sensitive problems. From money laundering to blackmail to kinks he didn’t even know existed, his last three years in DC had been interesting, to say the least. But in his heart, he was still a soldier—and with one foot in civilian life and the other in the military, life was a balancing act he was still trying to figure out.
Serving your country comes in many forms, the general had told him when he’d handed him his first assignment. You’re good at this, O’Connor.
And that was true. Jake was good—in fact, he was the best. Discreet and efficient, he had gained a reputation for getting difficult things done right the first time around with little fuss.
If he wanted them to send him back to the desert, he probably should have done a crappier job, he thought with a bitter smile as he squared his shoulders and snapped a salute.
“General,” Jake said. “Good morning, sir.”
General Hoffman nodded, stepping farther out on the porch. Jake followed, arms at his sides, waiting.
“We’ve got a situation,” the general said. “I’ve just received word that Senator Thebes’ daughter is missing.”
Jake frowned. “How long has she been gone?”
“They’re not quite sure,” Hoffman replied. “There seems to be some confusion as to where she was supposed to be after school. The parents thought she was staying overnight with a student who boards there. Her friend thought she’d gone home. All we know is she left school, but she never made it to lacrosse practice.”
“Shit, that’s almost twelve hours already,” Jake said.
“Which is why I’d like you to step in to assist the senator,” General Hoffman said. “His security is decent, but they’re not equipped to hand
le what’s to come.”
Jake rubbed at his chin, his fingers catching against his stubble. “So what are we thinking? Ransom demand within the next six hours?”
“That’s my take,” the general said grimly. “The FBI’s been alerted, of course.”
“Just what I need—a bunch of suits messing things up,” Jake said, shaking his head.
Hoffman’s stern face broke into a ghost of a smile. “You’ll play nice, O’Connor. That’s an order.”
“They’re a pain in the ass, and you know it,” Jake said. “But I’ll play nice. Give me ten minutes.”
The general nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
Jake hurried back into his house, getting dressed quickly. Gone were the days of weather-worn fatigues and pounds of sand in his combat boots. Nowadays, he wore Armani and Hugo Boss. It helped to fit in with the security details surrounding the men he worked with these days, but most of the time, he’d be happy to trade the monkey suit for seventy pounds of gear on his back.
After straightening his tie, he tucked a knife into one boot—he refused to wear those shiny, slick dress shoes with no tread; screw fashion—and slipped a .380 Beretta, so small it looked like a toy, into the holster on his left ankle. His Glock stayed on his hip, with two extra clips in his inner jacket pocket.
No matter where he was, how he was dressed, or who he was looking for, he was a soldier first and foremost. And that meant being prepared for anything.
Hoffman was waiting on the curb with two SUVs. Jake got into the first one, and the general handed him a file.
“Read it over, and tell me what you think,” he said as they made their way through the night. This time of night, there was less traffic—but the city never really slept.
Jake flipped through the file, landing on a paper listing the senator’s possible enemies. “You sure this is about him?” he asked. “The mom—his wife—she’s old money. She’s a Rockwell—practically American royalty.”
“We can’t know for sure until a ransom for Kayla is issued,” Hoffman explained. “From what Peggy could pull on Mrs. Thebes, though, she seems harmless. No known enemies. She’s well liked in her circles . . . on the Children’s Cancer Society’s board, and she instituted an award-winning equine therapy program for at-risk youth.”