Cold Cruel Kiss: A heart-stopping and addictive romantic thriller

by Toni Anderson

  “I’ll have it ready. Then I’ll shoot these two full of single malt and Benadryl and see if I can get them to sleep for a few hours.”

  “Don’t let them out of your sight. And maybe hide the kitchen knives.” Max was only half joking.

  They hung up and he called Iain Bartlett to arrange the diplomatic vehicle and security for the cash. By the time he finally got back to the Legat’s office, Jen and Lucy were chatting again like old friends.

  Afternoon rays of sunlight shone on Lucy’s skin and made her complexion glow. She’d pushed her hair back behind her ears. Her suit was wrinkled. Hair was a mess. But she was pretty.

  He looked around, but the other agents who now filled the office seemed immune to her allure.

  “Hawthorne!” Brian Powell strode out of his office with his phone pressed to his ear.

  Max shut the door behind him. “What is it?”

  Powell said something into his cell and then muted the microphone. “Care to tell me how you know a woman name of Abigail Blanco in La Boca?”

  Shit. He exchanged a look with Lucy. Obviously, someone had made the connection. But Max had made a promise to the woman, so he played dumb. “No idea who you’re talking about.”

  Anger twisted Powell’s features. “Then you might want to get down there and explain why your business card was found stuffed between a dead woman’s teeth.”

  No. Max closed his eyes and inhaled. That poor old woman.

  Lucy had covered her mouth with her hand, eyes huge.

  “She’s the person who gave me the cell phone and told me about the orange VW Passat.” Max raised his face to the ornate ceiling. “Fuck!”

  “Cabral wants you down there pronto.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Cabral doesn’t give me orders.”

  Powell thrust out his chin. “They are the legal authority in this country.”

  “I’m not the one who failed to interview potential witnesses or missed collecting physical evidence in a public space, evidence which led to the one real suspect we now have in this case. That’s all on the locals.” Max was aware of other agents coming into the room. Shit. He knew better than to get into a public pissing match like this. He didn’t want to get sent home when they were close to a potential resolution. Where was his empathy? Where was his finesse? But the image of that old woman, the knowledge someone had killed her because he’d barged into her home was like a jagged wound across his chest. It had momentarily knocked him sideways.

  It wasn’t Powell’s fault.

  “Sorry, Brian. I know you’re only trying to do your job.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe someone killed her for talking to us.”

  Powell’s anger dissolved. “Looks like someone somewhere is sending a message that no one talks to the cops and gets away with it.”

  Max pressed his lips together. “I’ll go speak to Cabral.”

  Powell glanced at Lucy. “Aston too. He wants both of you.” He checked his watch. “And I think he meant right now.”

  Powell started talking on the phone in Spanish as he headed back to his office. Max glanced at Lucy. Her eyes were wide with horror.

  He walked over to her. “You don’t have to come.”

  She crossed her arms. “It’s easier if I get it over with. Men like Hector Cabral like to assert their power over people. If I don’t turn up, he’ll take it to the ambassador, and she won’t be happy.”

  “I’m not about to let anyone blame you. You drove me to the scene as instructed. I’m the one who knocked on that woman’s door. You wanted me to leave her alone.”

  Lucy shrugged, still hugging herself. “Cabral can’t hurt me, Max. But knowing our actions put that woman in mortal danger—that hurts me.”

  And that was all his fault. They both knew it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lucy didn’t bother parking near the harbor this time. She used her Sat Nav to guide them through the narrow streets of La Boca to the area where the van had been dumped.

  It was easy to find because of the multitudes of police vehicles blocking the road. Lucy parked a few streets away. She and Max got out and walked back to the police line where a crowd had gathered.

  Lucy had used the few minutes alone when rushing back to her apartment to grab the money for Kristen’s ransom to send a message to the Russians. She’d mentioned the arrival of more agents to help with the case—hopefully allaying any suspicions they might have about the extra personnel—and she’d also told them she was working on the negotiator. That was what they wanted to hear so she gave them it, even though it was a lie.

  In all her dealings with the SVR, she’d been careful never to even hint at a witness in La Boca, but what if she’d inadvertently given it away? The knowledge Abigail Blanco was dead because she’d spoken to them severed Lucy’s heart in two.

  A cop checked Max’s credentials, then Lucy’s ID. He spoke into his radio, warning of their arrival, and then lifted the tape for them to duck beneath as the crowd murmured around them.

  “Something tells me Cabral wants me publicly castigated.” Max’s tone was level, but Lucy knew he wasn’t unaffected.

  They turned down the narrow alleyway and her footsteps faltered when she saw the open doors of a Medical Examiner’s vehicle parked a little beyond Abigail Blanco’s gate. The vehicle was empty. The body must still be inside the apartment.

  A policeman waved them impatiently along as if they were late for an appointment. Emotion began to swell in her throat.

  “You don’t need to do this, Lucy,” Max said quietly. “This is not in your job description.”

  “You have no idea what’s in my job description.” She felt numb except for the growing sense of failure. If she’d done her job better, faster, if she’d kept a closer eye on Kristen. If she’d refused to translate between Max and this woman, maybe Abigail Blanco wouldn’t be dead.

  At the bottom of the stairs, an officer handed them paper booties and latex gloves which they both slipped on. Max squeezed her arm in silent support.

  She found herself following him up the stairs the way she had a couple of days ago except this time the eyes on them were openly hostile.

  “Watch that step,” Max warned her as he climbed over a broken plank.

  “That wasn’t broken when we were last here,” Lucy observed.

  Max nodded.

  As they walked toward the front door, Cabral stepped out.

  Lucy was once again reminded of a rooster as he puffed out his chest. He took a step back then raised his hand to indicate they should step inside.

  “I assume you know this woman, Hawthorne?”

  Max tried to block Lucy’s view, but she needed to see. Actions had consequences. Sometimes she felt like she was part of some intricate game of cat and mouse where nothing really mattered, but actions had real life and death consequences and she needed this visceral reminder.

  Her damaged pride did not compare to this brutal murder.

  Abigail Blanco lay on her back on her living room floor. Her right arm was bent at an unnatural angle. There was blood spatter on the coffee table and her nose had been broken, face battered. Blood pooled around her body, suggesting the old woman had lingered for some time before she’d succumbed to her injuries.

  Cabral held up an evidence bag with a piece of white card inside. “This is yours?”

  Max nodded.

  Cabral turned it around. There was another number handwritten on the back in blue ink. “And this?”

  “My personal cell. Do you know what time she was murdered?”

  Cabral tilted his head. “Maybe you can tell me?”

  Max stiffened. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with this woman’s death?”

  Cabral’s smile didn’t come close to his eyes. “As far as we know, you and Ms. Aston were the last people to see her alive.”

  “Except for her killer,” Max said evenly.

  The creases at the sides of Cabral’s eyes formed deep crow’s
-feet. “We’re supposed to be working together, Supervisory Special Agent Hawthorne.”

  “Did you find Alberto yet?” asked Max. A not-so subtle reminder that Max had given the PFA the evidence he’d picked up in the street below.

  Cabral’s expression flattened. “I’m asking the questions here. Why was your card in this victim’s mouth?”

  “I gave it to her after we spoke on Christmas Day.” Max seemed to realize it was too late to protect her now. “She’s the person who gave me the kidnapper’s cell.”

  Cabral shook his fist angrily. “Why did you not tell me her identity? I might have been able to protect her.”

  “She said no police.” Lucy dragged her eyes away from the woman’s corpse. She hadn’t died easy. She hadn’t died quick. Some sadistic bastard had enjoyed beating her. “She didn’t trust your organization.”

  Cabral’s eyes widened. Because she was talking back to him or because of her words? He hid his reaction with a sneer. “Instead, she trusted two foreigners and look where it got her.”

  Max bared his teeth. “We never mentioned her identity to anyone.”

  “Which is why you’re on the suspect list.” Cabral was enjoying this.

  “Inspector Cabral, I understand that you must be as saddened and frustrated by this brutal killing as I am, but I would be the stupidest murderer in history if I left my own business card on the victim. While I might not be a genius.” Max’s self-deprecating humor was designed to establish rapport. Lucy understood this but she resented it all the same. “I’m not an idiot. This is a message directed at other witnesses warning them not to talk to the police, don’t you agree?”

  Cabral looked irritated. He wasn’t getting the reaction he’d expected from either of them and, despite his words, he wasn’t about to have them arrested. The political fallout could backfire violently enough to cost him his job. The man was too sharp to fall into that trap.

  “Did you find DNA on the cell phone I gave you that the kidnappers left behind?” Max asked. “Chances are one of the kidnappers heard about the two tourists nosing around here on Christmas Day and being chased through the streets and came back and tortured her to find out what she told us.”

  “A gang came upon us when we were just outside her gate,” Lucy said woodenly. Despite her and Max’s promises they should have gone to the cops and offered Abigail protection. The result would not have been any worse.

  The Medical Examiner zipped up the body bag and two assistants placed the woman’s body on the stretcher. She was so light it looked as if it took no effort at all to lift her.

  Moisture gathered in Lucy’s eyes, and she couldn’t swallow.

  With grim deference, the men carried Abigail Blanco out of the apartment and awkwardly down the stairs on her final journey.

  “That outside step wasn’t broken on Christmas Day,” Max addressed the evidence technicians in the room. “You might get lucky and find fibers or DNA if the killer’s foot went through it.”

  The techs looked at Cabral who nodded reluctantly. “What else did she tell you?”

  “She only said that she saw the men get out of the van and into an orange Volkswagen. They left all the van doors open, and she found the phone on the ground, so she took it and put it in her freezer.”

  Cabral’s mouth curled. “Did she give you a description of any of the suspects?”

  Max shook his head. “She didn’t see anything. Or was too scared to say.”

  Cabral grunted, apparently unimpressed.

  “What’s the time of death?” asked Max.

  Cabral let out a long-suffering sigh. “The ME was not that forthcoming, but he said no longer than a few hours.”

  “Did you search the apartment?” Max asked. He was still thinking about the case. Lucy was remembering the look of trust on Abigail’s face when they’d left her on Christmas Day.

  And at the end, when that sweet old woman had faced the man who’d beaten her to death, she must have believed Lucy and Max had lied. That Lucy had betrayed her trust despite all her promises. She wanted to bend over in pain.

  God. She couldn’t breathe. She moved away to the balcony and looked out through the thick vines. A woman stared back from another apartment twenty feet away. Her eyes were wide with fear. She shook her head and quickly went inside her home and closed the door.

  “Did you question the neighbors?” asked Max.

  Cabral took a step closer to the negotiator but was at an immediate height disadvantage. He whirled away. “Do not tell me how to do my job, Max Hawthorne, FBI.” He said the last loudly enough that it rang out around the neighborhood. He waved Max’s business card at him, making a show of his anger and revealing Max’s name for anyone within hearing distance.

  Max’s jaw flexed with tension. “If your men had done their jobs properly in the first place then I wouldn’t have found two pieces of vital evidence after they’d left.” Max wasn’t shouting but he definitely wasn’t using his late-night DJ voice.

  “They have been reprimanded.” Cabral seemed to grow bored of the whole thing, probably because neither Lucy nor Max were cowed or begging for his forgiveness. The other man didn’t seem to care about the woman who’d died. She was nothing to him. A weapon to use against an opponent. And that’s how Cabral viewed Max, Lucy realized with sudden clarity. Cabral was battling with Max as to who was going to solve this case and get the glory. And the Argentine police officer did not like to lose.

  * * *

  Kristen had wept until there were no tears left after witnessing the men snip off Irene’s little finger. It had been hours ago now. They hadn’t fed her today, and she wasn’t sure she could have eaten anyway. She had one bottle of drugged water that she was sipping slowly in the hopes it might be less debilitating consumed that way, but she could barely lift the bottle to her lips.

  Images from earlier flashed through her mind in an endless reel. They’d yanked up her hood so she could talk into the phone—and then they’d forced her to watch as they’d mutilated Irene, pretending it was Kristen so her parents could also suffer.

  Why not cut off Kristen’s finger? Why switch Irene’s screams for her own? The only good reason Kristen could think of was they didn’t want to risk her health. And the only reason to be concerned about her health was if they didn’t plan to release her anytime soon. They wanted her in good health—like a piece of livestock.

  Who did they plan to sell her to? According to her mother, Hezbollah were active in the region. Kristen shuddered at the thought of being held by that group or any terrorist organization. These men were bad enough.

  Three of the four men who’d originally snatched them off the streets had been in the room earlier today. They’d worn their masks and Kristen had to wonder if they always wore them but kept her and Irene cowed and subdued by scaring them too much to even take off their damn hoods.

  The leader had held Kristen tight, clamping her jaw closed so tightly she had bruises, then holding up the phone with his other hand, while the other two had inflicted violence on Irene.

  Kristen tiredly wiped sweat from her forehead with her bound arms. The ropes were starting to rub her skin raw in places. She wanted to sob with rage and frustration, but it wouldn’t help her or Irene.

  Was she alone here? Was it night or day? She blinked at the faint sliver of light that snuck inside her prison. Still daylight then.

  Her stomach growled despite the nausea that seemed to be a constant companion nowadays, probably from the drugs in the water or the images that whirled through her brain.

  She wanted to scream and yell for help, but the threat to cut out her tongue was still paramount in her mind, now more than ever after seeing how easily they had maimed Irene.

  Sitting here like a turkey waiting for Thanksgiving seemed dumb but she had to plan carefully. Would they come and let her out to use the bathroom later? Maybe give her some food? They usually did, so she’d wait until afterward and then she’d do everything possible to get out o
f this fucking wooden prison.

  She put the water away from her even though her throat was gritty and dry. She knew that if she didn’t escape, she would be handed over to another group and they might make this wardrobe look like a palace. She’d rather risk an escape attempt than walk meekly to her fate.

  Even the thought of death had her shuddering. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t want her life to end here. She wanted to live a long life. Fall in love. Travel. She wasn’t ready to give up. And she wasn’t ready to give up on Irene either. Her friend needed her now more than ever.

  * * *

  Max took the car keys out of Lucy’s fingers. “I’ll drive.”

  He was worried about her. She had barely spoken since they’d arrived at the crime scene, and viewing dead bodies shouldn’t be forced on a Foreign Service employee simply because members of local law enforcement were feeling vindictive.

  She slid into the passenger seat without argument while he took the wheel of her beloved Mini. She took off her glasses and closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose before leaning back against the headrest.

  He programmed the Sat Nav to map the route to his hotel as it was almost five o’clock. He glanced at her again and didn’t like the paleness of her skin, or the fragility of her delicate features.

  “I’m sorry, Lucy. I should have handled Cabral. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

  “I’m responsible too.” She looked almost physically ill.

  Her vulnerability struck him deeply.

  “None of this was your fault. I made you keep pushing when we were outside Abigail’s door. I never imagined they’d send someone to kill her. It’s their fault, not yours.”

  “It’s done now.” Her voice was rough with emotion.

  Max needed to catch these bastards. It had to be the kidnappers. Who else had so much to lose that they’d beat a woman in her eighties to death for talking to law enforcement? Especially as the gang who’d chased them hadn’t known they were law enforcement…

  “Why kill her now?” he asked more to himself than Lucy.

  “What do you mean?”