“We’re not all dicks, you know.” Cole opened up his email browser and let her finish what she needed to do. Her fingers moved fast and furious over the tabs, but the file with the photograph of the dead judge was gone.
Where the hell was it?
She re-examined all the folders and checked it hadn’t gotten tucked inside another one. It wasn’t there. What did that mean?
A flash of purple caught her eye at the bottom of the drawer. The data stick. Some unknown force made her reach down and palm the device. She sat back on her heels. “I think that’s everything I need. Let’s go into the kitchen and pull the final figures and I promise to leave you alone for another year.”
Cole griped. “How long is it gonna take?”
“A couple of hours tops. You have a hot date?”
He grunted. “None of your business.”
Her fingers tightened around the data stick.
Cole checked his watch and growled. “I hate taxes!”
She winced. “No one likes taxes, Cole.”
“Except accountants like you. And the IRS.” His good humor returned. She got to her feet, grateful he was joking. When Cole moved to walk in front of her she slipped the data stick into her pants pocket. When she looked up Dave was watching her through suspicious eyes.
She picked up the armful of papers and followed her brother through the living room.
“Does this mean the rent is going up?” Dave eyed the pile of paperwork dubiously.
Zane laughed but didn’t look away from the screen. “Cole’s designing a new app that’s gonna make him a freaking billionaire.”
“What kind of app?” Tess observed her brother with interest.
“Nothing.” Cole glared at his buddy. Obviously being secretive was becoming a thing. Then he went into the kitchen and started noisily clearing away dishes.
“Well, when he’s a billionaire he’ll still have to pay taxes,” Tess said evenly.
“The only thing certain in life are death and taxes, am I right?” Joseph smiled, but there was a hard edge to his handsome face.
“Considering how many people try to cheat the IRS, I’d say the only certain thing in life is death and I’m hoping to avoid that for the next few decades at least.”
“Make sure you enjoy the moment, Tess,” Joseph advised. “You never know how long you’ve got.” That little bit of wisdom coming from such a consummate player should have sounded flippant, but for once Joseph sounded remarkably somber.
She gave him a slight smile. “I’ll enjoy the moment as soon as tax season is over.”
His eyes moved back to the video game, but then he leered at her with his habitual smirk. “I’m available to help you out with that if you ever require a naked shoulder rub.”
“I’m more than ten years older than you,” she bit out with exasperation.
He grinned. “A woman approaching her prime.”
She rolled her eyes.
He stood suddenly, looming over her. “You seriously have an issue with the age difference?”
She had an issue with a whole lot of things regarding this young man. “I simply think the idea of a thirty-year-old having a relationship with a college student is a little gross.”
“You wouldn’t even blink if it was the guy who was older.”
She did blink, unable to believe she was being lectured on gender equality by Mr. One-night stand, but she would still find it a bit distasteful for a thirty-year-old guy to be dating a freshman. Shaking her head, she entered the kitchen, just in time to see her brother’s angry scowl, a split second before he slammed out of the house.
Dammit.
She put the folders on the kitchen table and raised her eyes skywards. How could she be so insensitive? Now he’d never open up to her about his new girlfriend.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Joseph standing with his shoulder braced against the doorway. He gave her a “what can you do?” shrug, then went back to the TV when she glared at him.
Torn between going after her brother and just getting this over with, Tess sat down and put in her earbuds. The sooner she was done with Cole’s taxes the sooner she’d be out of here and dealing with her fee-paying clients who didn’t make it their life’s mission to screw with her.
She didn’t want to think about the photo of the dead judge or the thumb drive burning a hole in her pocket. Maybe she’d imagined the file? Maybe she was losing her mind? It happened to accountants around tax time.
She turned on her radio app to listen to the local news in the hopes they’d caught the killer of Judge Thomas and his wife. Instead, the presenter started talking about the murder of a prominent DJ that morning. There was speculation it was carried out by the same person who’d shot the judge.
Despite the fact another person was dead a huge wave of relief crashed over her. She’d been following Cole on the metro when the DJ had been shot. Not that she really believed her brother had been involved. Not really. But hoping and knowing were two different things.
She bit her lip as a fresh wave of guilt assaulted her. It was time to tell her brother the truth about so many things but maybe she’d wait until he was less pissed with her. Everything she’d done she’d done for him, but now the secrets and lies were piling up and, if she wasn’t careful, they’d bury the love they’d always had for one another.
* * *
Mac breathed out slow and steady and squeezed the trigger like he was stroking a woman’s G-spot, with just enough pressure to make her go bang. He hit the target dead center and then again, another fifteen times at twenty-five yards, firing until the magazine was empty.
He checked the target in satisfaction.
He’d gotten into the habit of coming to the shooting range on a daily basis when he’d first joined the Bureau. Not only did it keep his skills sharp—agents were required to qualify with their Bureau-issued firearm at least four times a year and needed over eighty percent to qualify—it was also a time when his thoughts slowed and his mind cleared. Ironically, it was where he had most mental breakthroughs on cases.
Meditation via hot lead.
This time he reloaded his service weapon with frangible bullets that the firearms instructor wanted to use up as the Bureau was transitioning from the Glock-22 .40 caliber across to the 9mm. He forced himself to relax and not to think about investigations that weren’t even his. The murders bothered him. They showed no mercy or compassion for the victims, and he’d seen this kind of blind hatred before. It took a special breed of sociopath to pull off that kind of calculated outrage.
The investigators had little to go on. No CCTV footage. No mode of transport or tire tracks. No eyewitnesses. No trace. No DNA.
Mac blanked his mind of everything except the target. He began firing rapidly, putting the bullet dead center in the target. Twelve rounds. Thirteen. And his mind suddenly flipped to a vision of a dark-haired young girl, blowing the barrel of her revolver seconds after wiping the floor with her brothers on their makeshift gun range.
His shot went wild. Shit. It had been a long time since he’d thought about that kid.
The instructor closest to him hitched a brow in surprise. Mac never missed the target. He put the last shot where it was supposed to be.
“What happened?” the guy asked as they removed their ear protectors.
Mac grimaced. “Sneezed.”
The instructor jerked his chin in acknowledgement, but Mac felt like an idiot. He wasn’t about to admit to his mind wandering while firing his weapon.
He bent down to clear the range. Other agents were doing the same thing, picking up their brass. He nodded to a couple of agents he’d seen around SIOC. One was a nice-looking brunette with blue eyes who sent him a smile that suggested she was single.
Even as he smiled back that little girl’s impish grin flashed through his mind again. God, she’d been cute. Unspoiled despite her family’s best efforts to take her with them on the crazy train. He wondered where she was now.
/> David Hines’s ideology wasn’t startling or unique. It was shared by thousands of others who feared they were diminished in some way by people they didn’t understand. But the manifesto itself had been fairly specific, ending with an attack on the White House. The details of the manifesto had never been released to the public although it hadn’t been a secret amongst the Pioneers’ members. Law enforcement had never recovered Hines’s original handwritten version. Some white supremacist was probably out there somewhere jacking off to it like porn.
These latest killings in DC didn’t religiously follow Hines’s outline. Instead they’d combined target groups and accelerated the process. Or maybe it was a coincidence.
These weren’t his cases. He’d been told to keep out of it. But he understood more about the Pioneers than anyone outside the group. May as well do a little digging—at least find out where the main players were currently hanging out. And, yes, the idea of breaking this case wide open appealed to his ego. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t.
A vision of young Ellie Hines’s dead body flashed through his mind as it had so often through the years. Her “husband” had shot her in the back as she’d tried to run away from his cabin during the raid. Autopsy revealed she’d been sixteen weeks pregnant.
At least Theresa Jane and her baby brother had survived.
Hell, she’d be thirty now. Probably married with kids of her own. That made him feel old. And while the men had been evil personified, it had been the women who’d made his flesh crawl with more extreme beliefs and seemingly endless commitment to the cause. Francis Hines had reminded him of a serpent, with less warmth. She’d never fully trusted him and he was pretty sure part of the reason David Hines kept him around was to deflect some of her ire.
Had Theresa Jane grown up like her mother with hate in her heart, nurturing the desire for revenge? Had the baby, Bobby, grown up believing his family had been unlawfully gunned down by the big bad Feds?
It was possible.
He’d lost track of the kids once they’d gone into foster care. Rather than going home he’d go back to the office and start digging around. There were plenty of survivors. The only fatalities had been those in the main cabin who’d started a gunfight, and poor innocent Ellie. Harlan Trimble had set fire to his cabin in an effort to disguise her murder, but the State Police had figured it out.
Harlan was doing life, but telling anyone who’d listen he’d been set up by the cops.
Asshole.
Mac dumped the spent shells into the bins provided, then reloaded his duty weapon with hollow points and headed to the elevator.
“Nice shooting.” The pretty brunette caught up with him and smiled when he held the elevator for her. Another woman got in beside them. She was blonde and stiff looking, like if she smiled her face might crack. He held the door for two more agents and wished he could find the enthusiasm to return the brunette’s interest.
“U can’t touch this” by MC Hammer rang out through the elevator and one of the guys grinned. Mac took out his cell and turned off the ringer without answering. Dammit.
“I recognize that sentiment,” the man said. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Mac grimaced. “Ex-wife.” He didn’t want his personal life to become a talking point.
“You new to HQ? I haven’t seen you around.” The man held out his hand in greeting. “I’m ASC Reece Jackson. Counterintelligence.”
Mac introduced himself to the other agents in the elevator. The pretty brunette, Paula Rice, had smooth, warm skin and held his hand a fraction too long.
The blonde’s eyes flickered over him nervously. Her name was Fiona Green and she was from Records Management Division. And looks were deceptive because he’d seen her shoot the balls off a fruit fly at twenty-five paces.
Jackson handed Mac his card. “If you wanna grab a beer sometime, give me a call.” The guy exited on the third floor as did everyone except SA Paula Rice.
He felt her eyeing him as they continued up to five.
“I’m on the dayshift at SIOC so I’ve seen you around.” Her eyes were a dark navy. “I mainly supervise computer techs.” Just before the elevator doors opened Paula handed him her card. “Ditto to what ASC Jackson said—if you ever need a coffee break with a friendly face give me a call.” The way she held his gaze suggested she could be very friendly.
“Thanks.” He slipped the card into his pocket and gave her his in return but had no intention of calling.
Getting involved with someone from work was a bad idea and, where women were concerned, he was no longer open to bad ideas. Nothing but good times and smooth sailing ahead.
Sure.
Chapter Eight
A few hours later, Tess was naked and wet when the insistent, repeated ringing of her doorbell had her stumbling out of the shower. She’d planned to put on her pajamas and spend the evening plowing through tax forms. The doorbell rang again and she hurriedly grabbed her robe and wrapped the soft material around her damp body, tying the belt firmly at the waist. She wasn’t expecting anyone and people rarely knocked on the door without calling first. Her mind immediately shifted to an emergency.
Cole.
She ran down the stairs and yanked open the front door without checking the side window. Every drop of blood drained from her head when she saw a tall stranger lounging against the wall outside.
“Remember me?” he asked.
Hearing his voice clicked the memory into place. Twenty years ago, she’d barely reached his waist. Now her eyes were level with his chin. She gripped the door to stop herself swaying.
Kenny Travers.
Her hand went to her mouth and her knees sagged as she backed up a step. “Oh, God.”
He was still lean, although there was a width to his shoulders that she hadn’t been aware of all those years ago, a solidness to his jaw that spoke of stubbornness. Her eyes hooked on a dent in his chin she didn’t remember, but then the last time she’d seen him she’d only been ten years old.
She met his gaze. She’d forgotten a lot of things, but not those green-blue irises, bright and changeable as the ocean.
“I thought you were dead,” she managed.
He looked over his shoulder onto the quiet street, then back at her, taking in her damp hair and terry robe. “You alone?”
The question surprised her. “Yes.”
“Mind if I come in?”
She hesitated and pulled her robe tighter. What did she actually know about this guy? He could be a rapist or a murderer for all she knew. Her intuition told her he was none of those things and she’d learned to trust her instincts a long time ago.
A car door slammed across the quiet street. It was a few minutes after seven p.m. and dark out. The houses in this quiet bay belonged mainly to people with young families. The last thing she wanted was anyone finding out who her parents had been.
He pulled back one side of his suit jacket and revealed a shiny gold shield attached to his belt and a sidearm in a shoulder holster. And all of a sudden things started to make sense.
He was a cop.
“We can do this down at FBI headquarters if you’d rather, Theresa Jane.” His voice held a softness rather than a threat, but she flinched.
FBI headquarters? The hairs on her nape rose. Why was he here? What did he want? Was this about Cole?
“No one’s called me that name in a very long time.” She stood back. He took that as an invitation and brushed past her to step into the hallway. A wave of awareness jolted through her from the slight touch of his elbow. She crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture that was as revealing as it was ineffectual. Thankfully he wasn’t looking at her.
He walked through into her kitchen and stood peering over the papers spread out on her table. She had an office upstairs, but the kitchen table was her favorite place to work.
“You’re what—an accountant?” He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.
“Why?” All those childhood putdowns were sudde
nly fresh in her mind. “You didn’t think I could count?”
One side of his mouth tipped up and dimples she hadn’t known existed appeared. “Oh, I always thought you were smart, sweetheart, but we both know how your daddy felt about taxes.” He scrubbed his fingers through his short hair. “Can’t say I blame him on that one.”
Was this a test? Did he suspect her of sympathizing with her daddy’s twisted philosophy? There could only be one reason why this man had turned up on her doorstep after twenty years of silence and it wasn’t to talk about her job skills.
Was she a suspect?
“I’m not my daddy. I want no part of that world.” She rubbed her upper arm, something she always did when she was nervous. His eyes followed the motion and something sparked in their depths. Damn. She dropped her hand. “And I’m a big believer in people paying their taxes. No matter how rich or poor they are.”
He grinned like she amused him, which really pissed her off.
“You work from home?” he asked.
She let out a big breath, realizing how tense she’d become—hardly surprising under the circumstances. He had the distinct advantage in this conversation, especially when she wasn’t even properly dressed. “I tried working for one of the big corporations, but being stuck in a cubicle sucked out my soul.”
“Something else we have in common. You have a lot of clients?” He pointed at all the neatly stacked paperwork.
“I just started my own business.” She shrugged uneasily, wondering what he was getting at. Wondering if he was going to use her past to blackmail her in some way.
“But this is your busiest time of year, right? Building up to the tax deadline?”
“Yes. Why? Do you need an accountant?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He tilted his head to one side like a cat toying with prey. “You said you thought I was dead, yet you don’t look that surprised to see me.”
She shrugged again and his eyes flicked down her body. She recognized the exact moment he realized she was a grown woman and not an ignorant little kid anymore. A surge of satisfaction moved through her though there was no way she’d ever get involved with a man like him. But they were both adults now, and that acknowledgment evened the playing field. Aside from the badge and the gun.
Cold Malice Page 6
