Deadly Lies (Deadly 3)

His fingers curled around her chin. Max leaned close and whispered, “Who the f**k are you?”

The rage in his eyes was new, and dammit, a flicker of fear ignited inside her.

What else is new?

“Max?” Confusion came from his stepfather. “What’s—”

“Quinlan was taken from The Core.” Max’s hold tightened. “She was at The Core. She was at the Lenwoods’ party the night before… when Quinlan was there. She comes from nowhere, right before my brother vanishes, and I can’t tell you who she really is.”

Sam struck out with her left arm and shoved him back.

“And there’s that,” he said. “Baby, you’re a whole lot stronger than you should be.”

If only.

“It’s not what you think.” Sam’s eyes darted from Max to Frank. “I-I’m not working with the kidnappers. That’s not it!” She took a breath. “Look, I haven’t been completely honest with you, okay?”

But Max just waited and watched and she knew—he’s going to freak.

“What I tell you can’t leave this room, do you understand?” Her voice dropped, hardened. “You can’t tell Beth. You can’t tell Donnelley. You can’t tell anyone else.”

Max’s eyes had never seemed so cold. “Tell them what?”

She held his stare. “I’m with the FBI.”

CHAPTER Five

Bullshit,” Frank’s automatic response.

But Samantha just shook her head and her eyes—stark and sad—held Max’s. “I work with the SSD—”

“What the hell is that?” Frank demanded.

Samantha never looked Frank’s way. “It’s the Serial Services Division, a fairly new unit in the FBI that was formed specifically to track and apprehend serials.”

Rage churned in Max, and a film of red coated his vision. “You’ve killed him,” Max growled, the words rising up from his gut. I’ll get my brother back in pieces.

Samantha blinked, and for a second, it seemed like tears glittered in her eyes. But, no, nothing was there now. Just darkness.

“You’re too damn young.” Frank moved to Max’s side. “You’re not—”

“I’m twenty-four years old,” came her cool voice. “And I’ve been working for the Bureau since I completed my Ph.D. at MIT.”

What? No, wait, computers, she’d said she worked with—

“My specialty is information retrieval.” Still so cool and calm. “I also work on pattern detections through a careful analysis of—”

“They said no cops,” Max gritted. “I told you. You knew.”

“By then it was too late,” she whispered. And what, was that pain in her voice? No damn way. This woman had been playing him from the first minute they’d met.

An FBI agent. A genius from the sound of things. She’d come on to him for hot, dirty sex. Was that the way it worked for the Bureau folks? Did they—

“No!” She burst out, and Max realized he’d been barking his words at her the entire time.

Samantha caught his arms and held tight. “You don’t realize… the SSD has been working this case for so long.”

His heart raced in his chest.

“That bar… the night we met,” she wet her lips. “I was there because that place fit the kidnappers’ hunting profile. The kidnappers take men from bars near campuses. I wasn’t there because I was looking to hook up, I was canvassing the place. Then… then I saw you.”

The f**king FBI?

“When you got the call… your brother…” Her lips trembled. “Your brother, my case. I couldn’t walk away, not when this was my chance to—”

Max pulled free. Her chance. “This isn’t your chance for any damned thing. This is my brother’s life we’re talking about here! This isn’t time for you to get some media coverage ’cause you’re working a case. This is my brother.” Didn’t she get it?

Her lashes lowered, and she blinked. Once, twice. He could almost see her processing, like some kind of freaking robot.

Robot.

Where was the woman who’d gone molten in his arms? This—this wasn’t her.

Max rubbed his grainy eyes. Think. “They don’t know who you are.” Oh, Jesus, he hoped they didn’t. “You haven’t called in to your boss, so the—the—” What had she called it? “SD—”

“SSD. The Serial Services—”

He dropped his hand. “Do I look like I give a shit right now?”

Her lips tightened.

“They don’t know,” he fired on, aware that Frank was now watching Samantha with assessing eyes. Different eyes. “And you’re not going to tell them. We’re not going to so much as breathe a word to your FBI boss until this is over, and Quinlan is home.” We can do this. We can….

“She’s already contacted them,” Frank said, tilting his head as he studied her. “Haven’t you?”

What? No! Max had been with her nearly every moment—

Nearly.

Samantha nodded. “I’m sorry… but it’s my job.” A quiet admission.

Anger shot through Max’s body, heating his flesh, boiling him from the inside out, and he spun away from her.

And slammed his fist into the nearest wall.

Blood pooled on the floor. Dark, dark red. Not bright. Why did people always think blood was bright? It wasn’t. It was dark and really, after the first few moments, it was so cold and—

“We’ve got a problem.”

The kidnapper stared at the token in his hand. “No, we’ve got proof.” He held it up and heard the swift inhalation of air from behind him.

“What did you do? Are you f**kin’ crazy? What did you—”

Slowly, he turned to fully face his lover. Her beautiful face looked so pale, almost stark white, beside the golden rain of her hair. Not that the pallor hurt her looks any. No, the ivory skin just made her look softer. Like she was weak.

But she wasn’t.

He’d never made that mistake about her.

A smile curved his lips as he stared at her. She’d been such a good lure. It was so easy to take the victims when they were willing. “The ass**le wanted proof.” He shrugged. “I got him proof.”

Her gaze darted to his hand, then away. “Y-you could have just—”

“Let the guy talk to his brother on the phone?” He finished and shook his head. “No, we couldn’t risk that.” He smiled. “Besides, this way was so much more fun, love.”