Cold Malice

by Toni Anderson

  “Tess?” The kid moved through the assembled agents and took his sister in his arms. Everyone watched like hungry vultures, wondering what he knew.

  “What’s going on? I got your message. I called back but you didn’t answer your phone.”

  Her fingers curled around her little brother’s upper arms and she drew him in tight as if she realized the moment of reckoning was finally here.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “There was an intruder.” After a few beats of silence, she let him go and took a step back. “Cole, these people are from the FBI.” She bit her lip. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  * * *

  Angry tears streamed down Cole’s cheeks as he slammed out of Tess’s house. He was so furious he could barely see where he was going. He stood for a moment trying to get his breathing under control.

  “I take it that was unexpected news?” The comment came from a slender brunette who was leaning against the wall of Tess’s house. She looked as if she was sneaking a smoke except he didn’t see a cigarette, just skintight leather pants, a black tee and a biker jacket that failed to conceal her sidearm.

  “The fact my sister has been lying to me my whole life? Yeah, you could say it was unexpected.”

  She huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re seriously telling me you didn’t know?”

  He looked her up and down. A sneer touched his lips. “Who the hell are you? Lara Croft?”

  The tolerant smile she gave him spoke of sheathed claws. “Careful kid, I’m one of the people you need on your side.”

  Kid? “You mean now that I’m being accused of murder?”

  “No one accused you of murder.”

  But he’d seen the insinuation in their eyes when he’d been questioned about his movements this week. “My sister tells me our family were Idaho’s answer to the Klan, and the prick standing guard over her asks where I was on certain dates this week that I happen to know coincide with a rash of hate crimes happening in DC. But I’m not being accused of murder?”

  “Tell us your alibi and end this thing.”

  He set his teeth. Why the hell should he? “Let me consult with my attorney—”

  “Innocent people don’t need attorneys,” she touted.

  “Bullshit.” Cole called her on it.

  Her eyes hardened. “If you have nothing to hide tell us the truth.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “When the DJ was shot I was with Tess.”

  Her finely plucked brows quirked. “It might be nice if you guys could provide a third-party witness to verify, preferably one who isn’t related by blood.”

  The side of his mouth tugged. “Bite me.”

  She raked his body with her gaze and a small smile curved her lips. She walked toward him and put her finger in the middle of his chest. “Tempting, but you’re a little young for me.”

  He raised his chin. Little did she know. But he needed to be careful about what he said. He wasn’t about to draw Carolyn into a scandal. Her reputation was everything to her. She was skittish enough about the age difference. If he brought trouble to her doorstep he’d be history.

  “I’ll check my calendar and get back to you with my movements, Officer…?”

  Black eyes twinkled at him but he wasn’t fooled. She wasn’t amused. She was hungry to nail someone for these murders.

  “Detective. Detective Dunbar.” She brushed past him to walk back into the house and he was aware she was playing with him, using her blatant sexuality to get him to lower his guard. Wasn’t gonna happen. He was more mature than that. Another Fed spied on them from the living room window. Cole shook his head and walked away, climbing into his Prius and wishing he could rewind the entire night.

  Tess had been obviously upset when he’d walked out. He was so angry with her he wasn’t sure they’d ever get back to where they used to be. He loved her, but he’d never forgive her for this. When the hell was she going to realize he wasn’t a little kid anymore? He was old enough to make his own choices.

  What would people do when they found out he was related to the Pioneers from Kodiak Compound? His mouth went dry. What would his girlfriend do?

  He wasn’t sure. He needed to get his shit together before he saw her again.

  His hands trembled as he turned the key in the ignition. As much as he wanted to be honest in their relationship he wouldn’t risk Carolyn turning away from him. He needed more time to figure out how to make the FBI look somewhere else for their killer.

  He looked up. Tess was watching him from the living room window. The worry on her face pissed him off all over again. He backed out of the driveway and drove off, wishing like hell he’d never listened to her message.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tess shivered as the last evidence tech stomped out the front door in his heavy boots. “Thanks,” she called out, but he was already gone.

  She stood in the middle of her living room absorbing the silence of her empty house.

  Earlier, when it had become apparent the FBI wasn’t going anywhere for a while, she’d grabbed a hoodie to wear over her pajamas so she didn’t give a cold nipple display to every person on the DC law enforcement graveyard shift. Even now she couldn’t shake the chills that engulfed her in the aftermath of confronting that intruder and, worse, the look on Cole’s face when she’d told him she’d lied about their parents.

  He’d been horrified and betrayed, and had turned that shock and anger on her. She deserved it, but she’d had solid reasons to shield him from the truth. Theirs was not a bloodline to brag about.

  Now her emotions were stripped raw and bleeding and she wanted to run away and hide. But it turned out you couldn’t run from your past. It always found a way to track you down.

  So what did she do now?

  Dark smudges of fingerprint powder decorated her house like patches of black mold. The cable box by the TV said 1:15 AM and she should be exhausted, but the few hours of sleep she’d snatched had revived her and she felt wired rather than sleepy. Mac had left with his posse of avengers ten minutes ago, and hadn’t said goodbye. She’d overheard him tell them to head back to get some rest before the team meeting at eight.

  It didn’t sound like they’d made much progress in finding Eddie or this killer.

  She tried not to let Mac’s lack of goodbye bother her. He had better things to do and she was a job—she got that. A job who’d made him compromise his principles once already. Not that she intended to reveal that to anyone. There was a limit as to how much humiliation she could take and having to recount details of her sex life to the FBI crossed it.

  But Mac didn’t know that.

  His aloof tone and the way he’d withdrawn once the others had turned up had upset her. He was ashamed of what they’d done in that darkened motel room. She didn’t blame him, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt.

  When her secrets exploded—and it wouldn’t be long until the media cottoned on to the links to the Pioneers and ferreted out hers and Cole’s new identities—she would be a public pariah. Mac wouldn’t come near her. Either her clients would stand by her as an innocent victim of circumstance, or they wouldn’t. She had no idea how high-minded principles and standing up for others against oppression translated when it came to the daughter of a white supremacist who’d promoted hate over love. Revolution over democracy.

  She swallowed her unease. She’d move. Start afresh somewhere no one cared what her second name had once been.

  Running away again.

  Or she’d write a book about her experiences. Get her version of the truth out there, regardless of whether or not anyone actually believed it.

  She might leave out her feelings for a certain federal official.

  Cole now knew the worst. She still needed to ask him about that file with the judge’s photo in it but no way would she do that in front of the Feds—she owed him that much trust and loyalty. She knew her brother. Even the sulky, angry version she’d seen tonight. And she loved
him.

  That wasn’t blind trust. That was years of personal experience. Cole wasn’t a killer, nor would he help anyone with that much evil in their hearts.

  She’d talk to him tomorrow, when he’d had time to calm down. If the Feds found some reason to search his house and they found that file—no matter the explanation—it would be game over for freedom until he could absolutely prove his innocence. That might take months.

  She locked the back door and flicked off the kitchen lights. At the same time Mac stepped through the front door and she jolted in surprise.

  “I thought you’d left already.” Her voice came out scratchy with suppressed emotion.

  “I stayed back to make sure the evidence guy got everything he needed.”

  She turned her head away, fighting tears, feeling ungrateful and immature and bitter. “Of course you did.”

  He took a step toward her. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Like what?” Anger sparked like magnesium in water. Explosive and hot. She snapped her spine straight and raised her chin. “Like I’m nothing more than a suspect to be interrogated and picked apart and detailed like a science experiment? Do you have enough information for your report yet or would you like to break out the polygraph machine?” She advanced on him and started pushing him in the direction of the door. Every nerve was a fuse that had just been lit.

  He let her back him all the way to the front door. God help her she wanted to lash out at someone, but he grabbed her arms, turned them both so she was the one pressed into the cold, hard wood. Her chest heaved as if she’d been running.

  Light from the living room lamp shone behind him and allowed her to see his eyes—blue now like the shirt he wore. Dark in the shadows. The intensity there captivated her.

  “I didn’t mean to make it sound as if what you needed didn’t matter,” he said patiently. “There will be an unmarked car out front by morning, and I’m talking to my boss about protective custody.”

  A sudden prick of tears had her blinking rapidly, then swallowing the sharp ache of want. The touch of his hands on her arms, the musky scent of his skin made her wish for things she couldn’t have. She knew it was crazy, she knew logically that desiring this man would bring her nothing but heartache, but she wanted him anyway. She had a horrible feeling she’d never outgrow this version of her childhood crush.

  “It’s fine. I’m sorry for snapping at you.” She tried to squirm out of his grip but he obviously didn’t trust her not to shove him again so he didn’t let go.

  “Thanks for coming over. I’m okay now. You can go.” Her hands were trembling.

  He lifted a finger and moved a tress of hair off her forehead. His expression changed, his eyes going warm. He pressed his lips together as if he didn’t quite know what to say to bridge all the things that stood between them.

  She didn’t want his apology. She didn’t want his pity.

  He took a half step closer and lowered his head toward hers. Her heart kicked against her ribs as she glanced up, startled. She held still, not daring to breathe.

  He paused with his lips about a millimeter from her mouth, restraint evident in the tense lines around his eyes. “You scared the shit out of me with that phone call earlier.”

  His breath brushed her lips. Her heart tried to escape the bars of its cage.

  His grip tightened. “I thought you were going to die.”

  She swallowed, never taking her eyes from his lips. Her blood fluttered in her veins like a thousand humming birds taking flight.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he told her. “You have a problem with that?”

  She gave the slightest shake of her head—permission or acknowledgement, she wasn’t sure which. Then waited as he took forever to close that tiny gap.

  For some strange reason, she’d imagined it would be a gentle kiss, a restrained, polite peck, like the one they’d shared outside the cabin when Henry Jessop had been watching. A light caress like the glancing stroke of a feather. But there was nothing tentative about this kiss.

  When his lips finally met hers, his tongue slipped along the seam of her mouth like he owned her. It was as if he was done thinking, done waiting. Her hands were trapped between their bodies as he stepped between her legs, pressing ever closer. Her mouth dropped open on a shocked gasp at the feel of his hardness pressing against her core. His tongue explored the texture and taste of her mouth, as if he was imprinting on her flavor.

  He tasted like coffee and strength and sin.

  The fire in her veins ignited and made her forget why she’d been so angry with him just moments earlier. He kept kissing her, urging her to kiss him back with such determined focus she finally let go and melted against him. He shifted her hands to either side of her body and moved closer so his large powerful body was flush against hers, his arousal rigid against her stomach.

  He angled her chin, taking the kiss deeper, tangling his tongue with hers. His fingers held her mouth still when she tried to move away, to pull back and breathe. Those strong fingers told her no way was he ready to break this kiss yet.

  Who needed air?

  His other hand worked its way under the layers of her clothes to find her hip, then he hesitated as if deciding which direction to explore next. He chose up, stroking his thumb over her stomach, fingers skimming her waist, then tracing the bumps of her ribs, until gently cradling the soft weight of her breast. Her toes curled and, after being so cold earlier, heat now poured off her skin.

  She rose to tiptoes, pressing against him in a way that revealed exactly how hungry she was for him. His touch gentled, calloused fingers reverently caressing her sensitive flesh.

  It reminded her that long before he’d been a rough, tough FBI agent, he’d been a cowboy who’d soothed a terrified colt with infinite patience and compassionate determination. No wonder all the girls in the compound had been in love with him.

  His thumb and forefinger found her nipple and rolled the tip, pinching just hard enough to bring her back to the moment and make her moan. Need filled her. Desire exploded as she moved against him, creating a delicious friction that reminded her he’d already demonstrated sex wouldn’t be all promise and no payoff.

  She wanted him. She didn’t care about the million reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. She was sick of always trying to stay in the background and not stand out, of being the nice girl, the pitied girl, the one who got ignored or screwed over and dumped for a best friend who declared herself a sex goddess.

  This time she wanted to be the goddamned sex goddess.

  She knew what this was. Physical. Temporary. There were no illusions about love or Happily Ever After with her Prince Charming. A small part of her heart had always belonged to Steve McKenzie and his alter ego who’d saved her all those years ago. She didn’t kid herself he’d ever love her back. She wasn’t that much of a masochist.

  But she didn’t want to regret not having the nerve to go after what she wanted while she had the chance. She wanted Steve McKenzie. All of him. And if he was going to bail on her halfway through she wanted to know now, before she was humiliated and shamed by the power of her desire for him.

  She reached for his belt and he went tense even as his fingers tortured her aching nipple and his mouth devoured hers. She ran her palm over the front of his pants and wrapped her hand around his thick length and moaned her approval. Then he let go of her jaw to ease down her pajama bottoms and she kicked them aside. Then she unzipped her hoodie, dragging it off and tugging the top over her head so she stood there completely naked except for the numerical tattoo that wrapped around her arm in a symbolic blue snake.

  “You’re beautiful.” His eyes went dark, a muscle bouncing in his jaw. He started to say something else but she leaned up and took his mouth with hers.

  She’d loved this man as a child. Now she desired him as a woman. For once his badge and gun didn’t matter. She wanted him, and he wanted her, too.

  He leaned back, dragging in a deep
breath, cupped her breast as he teased one pink peak with his thumb, watching it contract and bead as if begging for attention. He stared fascinated, his fingers dark against her pale skin. “Pretty.”

  Watching the desire on his face as he touched her was almost as arousing as the contact itself. He switched sides, playing with her as if he had all the time in the world to strum her body into a fine pitch of desire. The pleasure he evoked from her breasts tugged sharply between her legs.

  As if suddenly hot he shrugged out of his suit jacket, dropping it to the floor, and then flipping the deadbolt on the door behind her with a flick of his wrist. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot. They weren’t stopping. There was no going back.

  She eased down his zipper and his erection jutted out of his boxers. She caressed the long, thick length of him, wrapping her fingers around the velvet skin that covered steel beneath. He closed his eyes, bracing his hands on the door behind her.

  She undid his tie and slid the smooth silk out of his collar before letting it fall to the floor. She undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing broad shoulders and a thickly muscled chest, lightly sprinkled with brown hair. He took a moment to undo the shirt cuffs, his gaze never leaving hers as he tossed the garment aside. He kicked off his shoes and socks, and stepped out of his pants. He nudged her legs apart and skimmed the short hair nestled at the apex of her thighs. She tensed as he slowly ran a finger over her clit, and down, easing between folds to the wet slit at her center, before sliding inside her moist heat in a long, firm stroke.

  She went up on her toes as he curled a finger inside her. She clutched at his shoulders as he withdrew and followed the same route over and over again until her hips unconsciously followed his hand and she whimpered with need.

  Her skin was sensitized and her arousal growing and expanding until all she could think of was the need to have him inside her.