by Tess Diamond
“You really want to be the one to go question the kids at the school?” Frank asked her in an undertone. “I can send someone else so you can stay here to field the calls.”
Maggie shook her head. There were a lot of negotiators who preferred to stick to home base, glued to the phone and the techs who monitored every call. They sent agents out to do the legwork of the case while they focused on waiting for the next call. While she appreciated this school of thought, it had never been her style. Especially when technology allowed her to negotiate from anywhere if need be.
She liked to get her hands in the muck of the case, in the minutiae of the victim’s—and the unsub’s—life and mind. The only way to do that when time was limited was by putting shoes on the ground.
“If he abducted her from the school, I need to get a feel for the space. And if it was someone she knew, there is no one who’d know more about a teenaged girl’s life than her friends. I’m pretty sure I can make it back before he calls again. This guy’s on his schedule, not ours. He won’t call back until he’s good and ready.”
“He’ll probably make us wait for it,” Frank growled. “Show he’s in charge.”
“He seems the type,” Maggie said. “I’ll be right back,” she told Frank. Before he could protest, she’d hurried away through the door, which she closed behind her.
The foyer was empty and blessedly quiet. The only sound was her breath, and she hated how quick it came. How fast her heart was beating.
She looked down, realizing she was rubbing her wrists, the phantom feeling of tightening rope building with each breath. When the sound of a floorboard creaking spiked her childhood fear, she froze. She couldn’t stop her knee-jerk reaction to reach for her weapon—but one no longer sat holstered to her hip.
“You’re making a big mistake,” a voice said behind her.
Chapter 5
Maggie turned around, a glare already twisting her face.
There he was again. The senator’s security expert. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Irritation flared through her. She’d made it clear she was in charge, but here he was, already questioning her.
Typical.
His beautifully cut suit did nothing to hide the bulk of his muscles. His brilliant green eyes and dark hair gleamed in a stunning contrast that caught a woman’s eye. This close, with no distractions, she saw that his nose was just a little crooked, like it’d been broken and badly reset. Instead of marring his looks, it added to them . . . just the suggestion of danger, of roughness. Coupled with the smooth, low voice that carried that hint of twang, and most women would be weak in the knees. A rugged type. If she was a betting woman, she’d put her money on him having a pair of well-worn cowboy boots in his closet. The thought shouldn’t be so appealing—or so sexy—but it was.
Maggie barely resisted the urge to pull on her jacket to hide her running clothes and run a hand through her hair. Her blond curls were French-braided into pigtails, of all things. It was the best way to keep her hair tidy during a run, but she couldn’t deny that it looked ridiculous in this context. She should have made Frank stop at her house to change—but then she would have missed Uncle Sam’s first call.
Her chin tilted up. Ignoring the tightening in her stomach that had nothing to do with the stress of the case and everything to do with how well he filled out that suit, she looked him up and down. “And what mistake would that be?” she demanded, trying to muster an icy tone to mask her embarrassment—and her attraction.
“Every hour that goes by, there’s a greater chance of something going wrong,” he said. “Especially with Kayla’s diabetes. The kidnapper could panic and react. Badly. You don’t need to play power games with this guy or go interview her teenybopper friends about boy bands and lipstick. What you need to do is arrange a ransom drop as soon as you can, and then send me in solo to handle it. This ain’t a tea party, Goldilocks.”
Well, there went that burst of attraction. Maggie drew herself up to her full five foot three and stared him dead in the eye. “I know this ain’t a tea party,” she said, emphasizing the grammatical error. “But it also isn’t a poker game, as you seem to think. This is life. Kayla’s life.”
“I am well aware of the risks here.”
There was something in his voice, some hint of deep, dark sadness that made her straighten. That made her pause for a moment.
That made her soften, just a little.
“I’m here to do a job, just like you are,” she said. “You’re here to advise the senator. I’m here to negotiate with the kidnapper. And negotiation is about staying patient and in control. Waiting for the moment the kidnapper makes a mistake, and then using it to our advantage to get the hostage out with the least possible risk.”
“What if he doesn’t make a mistake soon enough?” he demanded. “Sometimes great risks mean great reward. Sometimes it’s a choice between a live kid and a dead one. Which one do you prefer, Goldilocks?”
Maggie flinched. She told herself he didn’t know. That he couldn’t. But it didn’t lessen the hurt. The memory of Sherwood Hills, of the blood on the mall floor, flashed through her mind.
She couldn’t think about it. She had a job to do.
“I’m not going to let anyone go off all half-cocked, guns ablaze, into a contentious situation, cowboy,” she snapped. “I don’t gamble with human life. And neither will you or anyone else as long as I’m in charge. Is that clear?”
He stared at her for a beat and then shrugged.
The thin thread of patience inside Maggie frayed. “Is that clear?” she repeated, her voice low and threatening.
The man smirked, his upper lip curving in a way that would devastate some women. Well, not her. She wasn’t going to be swayed by a pretty face—no matter how sinful the grin. He stared at her with those gleaming, cocky eyes as if he was sure he’d get her to cave. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, the twang in his voice deepening with sarcasm.
That thin, patient thread, the one that she tried so hard to maintain, broke. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
He rocked back on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his well-cut suit. “Jake O’Connor,” he said, holding out his hand.
Maggie almost ignored him, but then she decided she was going to take the upper hand—literally. She reached out, stepping closer, getting into his space as her hand clasped around his.
The second she touched him, she knew it was a mistake. His skin against hers sent a crackling spark through her, like flashes of lightning before a storm. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
His hand squeezed hers before dropping it, and she felt it down to her toes, a jolt that seemed to wake her whole body.
“Who do you work for, exactly, Mr. O’Connor?” she asked, half-worried that her voice would crack as she pulled her hand away. She shouldn’t have gotten so close. She could feel the heat coming off his body. It made her want to lean forward, to let him envelop her. She shook her head. What was she thinking about? She was on a case . . . not on the prowl.
“That’s classified,” he replied smoothly. “But feel free to ask any of your contacts. I have an excellent reputation. I’m sure they’ll sing my praises.”
“Confident, aren’t you?” she asked.
Now that she wasn’t touching him, it was easier to ignore the attraction that flared every time their eyes met, and instead to focus on her anger about his defiance.
“What gave you the idea you could speak to me the way you did, especially with my people in the next room?” she asked.
“As I understand it, Ms. Kincaid, you don’t work for the FBI anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter who I work for,” Maggie said, bristling. “I’m in charge. You will follow my orders. In fact, I don’t need a Neanderthal like you anywhere on my team,” Maggie said. “You’re dismissed. I don’t need your assistance on this. Go guard Mrs. Thebes. Make her some sweet tea. That sounds like a perfect job for you.”
“Nice try, Goldilocks,” he said
, unperturbed. “You’re not my boss—and I have my orders. So you’re stuck with me unless you want to go argue with the senator instead of spending our time searching for his kid.”
Maggie frowned. He was right, dammit. She didn’t have the time to extricate this jerk herself—and she wasn’t sure she could convince the senator to send him away. More likely she’d just piss Thebes off, and he’d put O’Connor in charge—or worse, Jackson Dutton. She was stuck with both of them.
“Just stay out of my way,” she warned him. “I’m sure you’re very good at your job, but I’m trained specifically for this type of situation. You aren’t.”
“I’ve dealt with hostage situations before,” O’Connor said.
“Have you done it outside of a war zone?” Maggie asked.
He looked down. His silence was her answer to a few questions, including the crew he worked for. Some branch of the military, clearly.
“In a situation like this, we need one person in charge,” she said. “One touchstone. I am the touchstone, not you. You get me, O’Connor?”
He looked her up and down, like he was thinking about touching her. He flashed her another one of those my-way-or-the-highway smiles that made all those sparks she’d tamped down fly free. “Got it, Goldilocks.”
Maggie pulled on her coat, heading toward the front door and calling over her shoulder, “And O’Connor? If you call me Goldilocks again, you’re going to find out just how well I scored on tactical training at Quantico.”
She marched out before he could reply, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught the wry smile on his face as he watched her leave.
Chapter 6
Jake watched Maggie stalk out of the foyer, and shook his head slowly, trying but failing to suppress a grin of reluctant admiration.
That was one hell of a woman. Stubborn as a mule and cute as hell.
He couldn’t stop himself from watching her leave, his eyes lingering on her curves. She had the kind of body that could break a man. Those twin braids of hers gave him the irresistible urge to tug on the ends. He wanted to unravel them, letting the curls spring free and wild around her heart-shaped face.
She was everything he liked in a woman, with so much fire in her blue eyes that it made his blood go hot at the challenge she embodied. She carried her strength like she’d earned it, and he wondered what she’d gone through to gain that kind of power.
“It’s O’Connor, isn’t it?” asked a voice behind him.
Jake turned. Special Agent Edenhurst was standing there, looking at him so closely that Jake had to wonder if he’d overheard their conversation.
“Yes, sir,” Jake said, holding out his hand.
Agent Edenhurst took it, his eyes narrowing. “You trying to steamroll my agent?”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Ms. Kincaid isn’t an agent anymore.”
“Technicalities don’t change who a person is,” Edenhurst said. “You of all people know that.”
A chill went down Jake’s spine at the knowing expression on the old man’s face. Was he imagining it—or did Edenhurst know the truth?
His last covert operation had been completely off the books. A one-man mission into hell. He still woke up nights covered in sweat, the smell of blood-drenched sand fresh in his mind.
He shook off his paranoia. He had a job, and he certainly wasn’t going to let his past get in the way—even if Edenhurst did know more than he should.
“She seems to think she can just talk this guy into giving up,” Jake said. It seemed ridiculous to him, no matter how strong she’d come off when she’d engaged with the unsub. In his eyes, this was a cut-and-dried scenario. There was no need to draw it out. They just had to get the ransom ask, agree to a drop point, and make the exchange.
“And you doubt her?” Edenhurst asked.
“In my experience, talk’s cheap,” Jake said. “It’s action that gets the job done.”
“Let me give you some advice when it comes to Maggie,” Edenhurst said. “For your benefit—and hers. Don’t underestimate her. She’ll prove you wrong every time.”
“I’d like to see that,” Jake said, and he was surprised to find that he was telling the truth.
Maggie Kincaid interested him. She was steely and strong, and she obviously had a take-no-prisoners attitude that was a little unusual for a woman. But much like his fellow female soldiers, the women of the FBI were a different breed. It took a special kind of woman to not only work in a male-dominated field, but succeed in it.
She’d obviously earned Edenhurst’s respect. Which, if Jake’s sources were right, wasn’t exactly easy.
Maybe he’d let her play it her way while he set things in motion to take over if the situation went bad.
“I hope we’ll be able to work together amicably,” Edenhurst said, smiling mildly at him.
“Of course,” Jake said, smiling back just as passive-aggressively. He could play polite—for now. He just had to make sure he had the senator’s ear. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m certain the senator is wondering where I am.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Edenhurst said.
Jake walked back into the library. The senator was still there, but his wife was nowhere to be seen.
“Did Mrs. Thebes go upstairs?” Jake asked.
The senator nodded. His skin looked as gray as his hair, and the deep grooves around his mouth betrayed his anxiety.
“Let’s go somewhere private and talk,” Jake suggested.
The senator nodded, following him like a child lost in a crowd. He felt a twinge of pity for the man—this was every parent’s worst nightmare.
Thebes’ office was across the hall from the library, and Jake closed the door behind them, sitting down in one of the chairs facing the desk.
“What do you know of this Maggie Kincaid?” the senator asked as soon as he sat down.
“Our paths have never crossed,” Jake said. “She left the FBI two years ago—right around the time I got back to DC.”
“I want to know everything,” the senator said. “Who she is. Where she went to school. Why she left the FBI. Why she’s back now. Why Edenhurst brought her in.”
“He seems to think she’s an asset,” Jake said.
“And what do you think?” the senator asked.
Jake hesitated. Maggie had taken control of the negotiation with the confidence of a seasoned veteran. She’d taken a risk in forcing the unsub’s hand to give her proof of life—but it was clearly a calculated risk, even if he didn’t agree with it. “I’ll need to do some recon before I can give you an informed opinion,” he said, finally. “Give me a couple of hours.”
“Thank you, O’Connor,” the senator said, a tremulous smile on his haggard face. “I’m very grateful the general saw fit to send you to me.”
“I’ll get to work,” Jake said. “And get you the info you need.”
The senator had given him a small office on the second floor. It was quiet and out of the way of the FBI, which is what Jake wanted at the moment. The agents would do their thing—follow the rules and methodology—and he would do his.
He settled himself behind the small desk set under the room’s one window. It overlooked the back lawns, where a lush rose garden was in bloom.
Jake dialed a number, put his phone on speaker, and leaned back in his chair as the phone rang.
“Hey, boss, what’s up?” chirped a bright voice. “Heard you got sent over to the senator’s. You find the kid yet?”
“Not yet, Peggy,” he said. “I need you to do a basic rundown on someone for me.”
“Who are we digging the dirt on?” she asked. He could hear a rolling sound, and knew from experience she was pushing her office chair back and forth between the two lab tables she used instead of a desk. His assistant wasn’t exactly the normal kind of office aide. Peggy could file papers and organize a schedule with the best of them. But she could also hack into the Pentagon, put together an M15 blindfolded, and had patented several new poisons and their
antidotes during those six weeks she decided to dabble in chemistry.
Übernerd is how she liked to put it, with a wide smile.
She also happened to be General Hoffman’s only daughter, which was the main reason she was working with his team of problem solvers instead of heading up her own think tank or designing defense systems.
“Her name is Maggie Kincaid,” Jake said. “Until two years ago, she was a hostage negotiator with the FBI.”
“Okay, good, good,” Peggy muttered as he heard her begin to type. “Okay . . . Margaret Elizabeth Kincaid. Thirty years old. Father deceased. Mother living. Looks like she was recruited right out of college—she went straight from Harvard to Quantico.”
“Tell me about her cases,” Jake said.
“Hmm, let’s see . . .” More clicking and tapping. “There it is!” Peggy crowed triumphantly. “So, she did a year in the New York field office and then was transferred to DC at the request of Frank Edenhurst.”
“Pretty sure that’s her mentor,” Jake said.
“That’d make sense. He recommended her for the New York assignment. His letter’s glowing. She was also the first agent he chose for his DC team when he was given leave to form it.”
“Any red flags?” Jake asked. “What’s her success-to-failure ratio?”
“She spent five years with the Bureau,” Peggy said. “Pulling up her cases without casualties now . . . oh, wow!” She let out a low whistle. “Damn, this woman’s good. She’s had only five casualties in all the cases she’s headed up. And just one of them was a victim.”
Jake straightened in his chair. “When was the victim killed?”
“Almost two years ago,” Peggy said, confirming his suspicion.
“That was the last case she worked, wasn’t it?”
“How’d you know?” Peggy asked.
“Just a hunch,” Jake said. “All right. So she’s good at her job.”
“Looks like she’s the best,” Peggy said cheerfully.
“But her last case . . . she had a loss,” Jake said, mostly thinking out loud. Peggy was a good sounding board. “Maybe it broke her?”
