Cold Malice

by Toni Anderson

  She might deny it, but he knew she was attracted to him. He’d seen the way she watched him. He knew that even though she didn’t want to, she had a thing for him. She always had.

  And now she was all grown up, that attraction wasn’t one-sided.

  He could use that.

  Even as he considered it he pushed the idea away. If Tess was as innocent as he believed she was, she’d already been used enough. He would do his job but he would not hurt her. Still, no harm in pushing things a little. “You said earlier that sometimes it wasn’t possible. What did you mean?”

  The pounding was getting louder and louder. If he hadn’t been running on fumes he’d have been cheering them on.

  “Nothing,” Tess mumbled.

  “Did you mean orgasms?”

  She buried her head under the sheets. “Can we not talk about this?”

  “Are you saying your ex never gave you an orgasm?”

  She muttered incoherently.

  “You know that makes him an asshole, right?”

  “Sex is overrated.”

  The woman in the neighboring room started screaming.

  Whoa. “I don’t think she got the memo.” Heat poured off his skin. “I’ve had enough.” He sat up. “I’m gonna knock on the door, show them my badge, and scare the crap outta them.”

  She shoved the covers off from over her head. “Careful they don’t drag you in for a kinky foursome.”

  He blinked. “What?” Then he remembered the covers of the books she had on her kindle.

  “You know—a sexy cop comes to the door and they invite him in to play with his handcuffs?”

  “Sexy cop?”

  She slapped him on the stomach.

  He laughed. “Do you have group sex fantasies, Tess?”

  “What?” She gave a strangled cry. “No!”

  “I’m FBI.” He reminded her with mock seriousness. “I’ll find out if you’re lying to me…”

  She slapped him on the stomach again and he grabbed her hand just in case she accidentally made contact a little lower and got more than she bargained for.

  He lay back down and rolled onto his side. “BDSM? Emphasis on the ’S’ for slapping?”

  She growled. “I just like hitting you.” She pulled her hand away, and he let go before he did something really stupid like move it lower. He was playing with fire, but he didn’t intend to take this further than teasing.

  “I’m not into anything. The idea of some guy blindfolding me and smacking my ass makes me want to punch someone.”

  “But you like reading about it?” he guessed. He could feel the heat coming off her face in waves.

  “How on earth do you know that? Did you have my reading habits investigated? Is that gonna turn up in some case file somewhere? Tess Fallon likes to read Lexi Blake and Beth Kery—put her on a goddamn watch list?” She was getting angry and he caught her hand when she went to smack him again.

  He leaned up on his elbows, edged closer and smoothed the hair off her face. She was getting upset and no wonder. He wouldn’t want someone prying into his life in such detail. “It’s okay, Tess. It isn’t in any report. I’m joking with you. I snuck a look at your ereader earlier,” he admitted.

  “Because you thought I might be reading what? Some Neo Nazi crap?”

  “I was curious. That’s all,” he soothed. He held fast to fingers that fought him with all her strength, but he didn’t threaten. He didn’t want her to break his nose with a ninja trick.

  “I was just curious,” he whispered again. He lay back down, their shoulders touching, still holding her hand as the ménage-à-trois did the bump and grind close by.

  “When I was a little girl they tried to control everything about me. What I did, what I learned, what I thought, what I read.” Her words crashed down on him like a hammer.

  Ah, shit. He remained quiet. He hadn’t thought about that when he’d been prying into her life. They’d tried to control everyone with their authoritarian system. Mac had always admired how strong Tess had been to resist the ideology of hate when that was all she’d ever been shown.

  “No one is going to shame me into not reading whatever the hell I want.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I read all sorts of books from erotica to fantasy,” she said fiercely. “Now I’m pissed that I don’t even get to keep that kind of secret.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I shouldn’t have pried. I’m not gonna put it in any report.”

  Her shoulder shoved him but he gripped her hand tighter.

  “But it’s my business, Mac. Not the FBI’s.”

  “I won’t tell the FBI, sweetheart.”

  “You are the FBI,” she gritted out.

  “Not tonight.” For once he wished that were true. “Tonight, I’m plain old Steve McKenzie discovering new things about a woman he likes and is getting to know better.”

  Which unfortunately was true.

  And there was a weird silence that filled the space between them. After everything they’d been through together there was no denying they shared a bond, something that usually took years to establish. It made him a little sad that this attraction between them was so forbidden. Or maybe that’s why it was so compelling.

  “How long can they last?” She sounded anguished as the pounding started up again next-door.

  He laughed. “If it was one guy then maybe an hour if he paced himself.”

  “That’s a damned lie.”

  God, she was funny. And the idea of proving how long a guy could last was becoming mighty tempting.

  He squeezed her fingers.

  “If it’s two guys and one girl, which it sounds like, then this shitshow might go on all night.”

  “I’m so tired I might go sleep in the bathtub.” She pulled the pillow over her head.

  He remembered something he should have thought of ten minutes ago. He dug into his duffle, fingers searching in the darkness.

  “Here.” He had ear plugs he used for the gun range. She took them from him and put them in. They both stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before fatigue gripped him again and smothered him like a pillow. Just before he fell asleep her hand slipped into his again and she gave his fingers another gentle squeeze.

  His heart gave a jolt. For one terrifying moment, he considered tasting her lips again, letting his hands roam that body and play out a few of her favorite scenes. Then she let go of his hand and turned away.

  The sense of loneliness that engulfed him took him by surprise. FBI agent. SAC by forty, he reminded himself.

  He wrapped the words around him and tried to make them matter.

  His daddy’s bitter smile flashed through his mind, a reminder of what happened to people who didn’t follow some sort of moral compass. Tess was not for him, not even for a one night stand, assuming she’d be interested in something that shallow and brief. It wasn’t her fault. It was a matter of optics and didn’t that make him feel like a sonofabitch.

  But even if she was interested he couldn’t afford to be. Didn’t matter how tempted he was, the only thing that mattered was proving he knew how to do his job. Proving he was worthy of his vow and honorable enough to protect the American people, one unimpressed soul at a time.

  * * *

  Tess opened her eyes. Sound was muted as if she was underwater. A heavy weight pressed down on her, crushing her lungs. Thick darkness surrounded her. She couldn’t inhale enough oxygen and the air she did breathe was cloying and stale. She was hot, suffocating, buried alive. Fear drumrolled in her chest and she cried out, bucking, trying to get free.

  “It’s okay. Tess. Jesus, Tess!”

  Strong hands ripped away the blanket that covered her face and grabbed her shoulders.

  It was still dark, but there were shadows now, shades of gray. She could move. She could breathe. Sound was muted and she finally remembered she had ear plugs in. She pulled them out as she kicked off the remaining covers, her lungs pumping, sweat making her ski
n clammy.

  Steve McKenzie stared down at her, a dark silhouette of a man. Her heart beat sped up for a different reason.

  “I couldn’t breathe. I panicked.”

  “I gathered.” His voice was soft. Deep but not gruff.

  She had always loved his voice. It soothed her, made the fear lessen its grip on her body that was as tense as stone.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  He smiled.

  She reached up and stroked her hand over his jaw. Sandpaper roughness grazed her palm. She loved it.

  “Tess.”

  She put her finger against his full lips, feeling the heat of his mouth burn her skin. “When I was a little girl I was completely head over heels in love with you.”

  The quiet of the room pressed around them.

  “I know.”

  She inhaled the warm scent of him. Wondered what it would be like to wake up with him every morning. Emotions squeezed her throat. Pain. Bitterness. Acceptance. “But you left me anyway.”

  “Yes.”

  Something glittered in his eyes as he smoothed the hair off her forehead before he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  She let the silence stretch. Let their shared history settle.

  “I know.” She leaned up and returned his brief butterfly kiss. Tasted him. He stiffened against her and she thought he’d retreat from her now. He didn’t. His hands still gripped her shoulders and he shifted his weight until he was lying on top of her, settling between her legs as he eased her lips apart with his.

  She opened for him. Touched, tangled, explored his mouth with her lips, tongue, teeth as he did the same. Her hand slid over his shoulder and up into his short hair.

  “We can’t do this,” he told her, but at the same time his hand cupped her breast and found her nipple through the soft cotton.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the ridges of muscle that flanked his spine. Her fingers found the groove in his back as he pulled her pajama top up and exposed her breast. Then he dipped his head and took the sensitive tip into his mouth and pleasure shuddered through her body, making her toes curl.

  Impatiently, he dragged the top over her head and stared down at her nakedness.

  Heat expanded in her chest as the cold air licked her skin. And then he was kissing her again, her nipples abrading against the cotton of his shirt, hot sparks of desire shooting right through her. She kissed him back, gripping his hair as his fingers slid down her body, pressing against her clitoris, gently stroking her. Lazily. Steadily. Like there was no need to rush. No need for haste.

  Her hips rose, her body yearning for a release that was just out of reach. And still he drove her gently, refusing to change his pace until she was frantic with want and need. She held her breath as he slipped those clever fingers under the material of her pajama bottoms, but didn’t dive inside. He teased the sensitive flesh of her labia, stimulating her leisurely, keeping up a gentle motion when part of her wanted hard and fast. But hard and fast with a man had never given her an orgasm.

  How did he know how to drive her crazy? How did he comprehend her body needed this when her mind wanted something else entirely?

  She’d climaxed on her own but never with a partner. She could feel him hot and hard against her thigh and wanted him inside her, but what he was doing… What he was doing made every cell in her body unwind and rewind, over and over again until she couldn’t take it anymore. But she never wanted this feeling to stop.

  Her body started to shake and she lost the ability to think, to process. Every sense focused on the coaxing touch between her legs.

  She parted her thighs, silently begging him for what she thought she needed, but he kept on stroking her, slowly, lightly, inexorably pushing her toward that pinnacle, until she wavered on a shallow ledge.

  He pressed one fingertip barely inside her as he pressed his palm against her mound and pinched her nipple harder than she expected at the exact same moment. She crashed over that edge, going into freefall as she shuddered and shook all the way to the bottom of the cliff, smashing onto the rocks in an avalanche of pleasure that made every particle of her being shatter.

  As she lay there gasping he withdrew his hand and leaned down to kiss her tenderly on the lips.

  He eased up into a sitting position and went to climb off the bed.

  She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t you want to…”

  His lips turned into a frustrated smile. “I can’t.”

  Then he stood, gathering his duffle bag and heading into the bathroom, leaving her to the cold, stale air and the quiet anger of not being quite good enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Her burner phone dinged with an incoming message as she headed along Whitehaven Trail in Dumbarton Oaks Park. It was still dark. She hadn’t gotten much sleep lately and the strain of living a double life was beginning to tell.

  She couldn’t wait for the subterfuge to be over, to deliver her final message and openly begin the fight. She couldn’t wait to reveal who she was and revel in her achievements with the thousands of people who thought the way she did. This was a call to action that her people would recognize. The federal government had stolen the republic from the people. The people were stealing it back.

  She slowed to read the text message in case it was relevant to this morning’s mission.

  A weblink appeared. An image slowly downloaded. She stumbled to a halt, panting in the cold air as a photograph of a burned-out farmhouse revealed itself. Her heartbeat reverberated in her ears like an echo chamber. Nothing remained of the building except two unstable-looking chimney stacks, the embers still smoking under bright klieg lights. The snow was blackened with soot and torn up dirt.

  But she recognized it.

  She quickly read the article. “One man, Henry Jessop, believed dead. Arson suspected. Feds investigating.”

  She squatted, resting one hand on the ground. No! He couldn’t be dead.

  She covered her mouth with her hand. Why was his death being investigated by the Feds? Had they connected him to the DC killings? Had they connected him to her? She stared around, looking for signs that this was a setup and that agents were hidden in the bushes ready to pounce. But it was too dark to make out much.

  Rage filled her.

  She needed to destroy the phone and figure out what the Feds might have found out. The old man wouldn’t have given them away. That’s no doubt why he was dead and the house destroyed. He’d sacrificed himself rather than give away the cause. He was a martyr. Another hero who’d dedicated his life to the revolution. She wouldn’t let him down.

  The faint sound of footsteps approached from around a bend in the path, masked by the noise of the nearby creek rushing toward downtown at full spate. She was in a secluded section of the trail, along a narrow gorge, hidden from the road by the heavy shadows and a thick stand of trees. Even though the branches were bare of leaves she couldn’t see anybody hiding. If Feds were there she wouldn’t go down without taking a few of them with her. She pulled her ball cap lower, then reached up to grip the weapon that nestled in a holster in the small of her back. She didn’t have a suppressor this time. It wouldn’t fit.

  She started jogging, slowly, as if she was in this for the long haul—which she was.

  Congressman Adam Trettorri came into view in keeping with his winter pre-dawn routine. He was one of the youngest politicians in DC. Handsome. An Army vet. Openly gay.

  He was an abomination. The worst kind of monster because the outer package was so perfect.

  She waited for him to pass before she drew the pistol. She turned and aimed for center mass. The noise was deafening and reverberated off the ravine walls.

  He stumbled and crashed to his knees.

  She approached, moving fast. She needed to get out of here ASAP. The Naval Observatory wasn’t far away, and the home of the new Vice President, along with all the Secret Service that entailed.


  Trettorri lay on his front now, not moving. Blood bloomed on his right side. She used her foot to try to roll him over onto his back, but he was a heavy sonofabitch.

  She leaned down to wrestle him over, surprised when he grabbed her foot and yanked. She fell on her ass and scrambled backwards, Nikes slipping in the wet leaves. He reared over her despite the gunshot wound and tried to snatch the weapon out of her hand.

  Even wounded he was stronger than she was. She twisted and fought within his grasp. She looked into his determined blue eyes and felt a spurt of fear.

  “The Taliban didn’t get the better of me.” His voice was hoarse, but he kept right on talking. “I’ll be damned if some hate-filled little bitch back home will.”

  “This isn’t your home,” she spat. “Your filth should be drowned at birth.”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you.” He laughed despite the fact he was bathed in sweat and blood and in obvious pain.

  She dug her fingers into the wound on his back and he reared away in agony. She jumped to her feet. She was covered in his blood and it wouldn’t be long before the cops came to investigate the gunshot. She had to get out of here.

  Without another word, she pointed the gun at where the freak lay panting in the dirt and pulled the trigger.

  Blood spurted and she nodded in satisfaction and smiled. Seemed this hate-filled little bitch had gotten the better of him after all.

  She ran down to the creek and washed the blood off her hands and face. Her clothes were black so bloodstains wouldn’t show. She sloshed her sneakers in the icy shallows and decided to cross the stream then cut through the woods into the nearby Rock Creek Park Trails system. She needed to scrub every centimeter of her skin to eliminate that bastard’s vile residue from her body. His scent was acrid in her nostrils.

  Another message sent.

  Shivers wracked her body and her teeth hammered against each other until she started running again. After a few hundred feet, her blood heated as her muscles burned. Half a kilometer south of where she’d shot the congressman she removed the SIM card and tossed it in the creek. The cell followed ten seconds later.