Deadly Lies (Deadly 3)

A bed with a black bedspread. A chest of drawers. The desk—so neat and organized.

And the laptop. Just waiting.

Like a hotel room. Ready for any guest, not a particular person. Shaking her head, Sam eased into the chair and booted up the computer. Time to get to work. She’d start with Quinlan’s laptop and use a batch script to crack the network encryption. Once she had enabled remote access to the systems in the house, the computers would be hers. Then she’d access all the e-mail accounts and scan the drives to see just what sort of information the Malones and their staff might be hiding.

The computer beeped as the system came online. Then the password screen came up.

For the first time that day, Sam smiled. This was her favorite part of the job.

• • •

“Sir, are you sure you want to make a f-five million dollar cash withdrawal?” The banker’s voice quivered over the speaker phone.

Frank’s stare held Max’s. “Yes.”

“I’ll draw up the paperwork,” John Adams said, “but this is going to take some time, sir. I can’t have the money ready for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Now,” Max mouthed.

“I need the money now,” Frank ordered. “Cut the paperwork bullshit, John, and get my money ready, understand?”

“There’s no way I can get that amount ready before—”

“Get it ready. I’m taking it today.” No discussion, just a flat demand.

And that’s why he was called Fuck ’em Frank.

John’s sigh drifted over the line. “Sir, you don’t seem to realize just how—”

An ear-splitting scream ripped through the house.

Samantha.

Max leapt from the chair and ran for the door. Frank followed right on his heels. The banker’s voice droned behind them.

Max’s feet pounded over the tiles. “Samantha!”

The scream echoed again. Even louder now and then…

Retching.

He spun, sliding around the corner, and saw Beth curled on the floor, her long blond hair streaming around her face.

Not Samantha.

“Beth?” Frank demanded. “Woman, what the hell were you screaming—”

Her head lifted. She shoved back her hair, and her eyes fixed on them. “B-box…”

Footsteps thudded behind them. “Max!” Samantha’s voice now. Fierce.

He didn’t look back. He’d seen the box. Small and brown, lying on the floor with the top torn open.

Beth pushed back, crawling like a crab away from the box.

A fist squeezed Max’s heart. “Where did it come from?”

“I-it was on the steps. The guard put it there, I-I thought…” Beth sucked in a sharp breath. “I thought one… of the m-messengers had brought it from the office.”

Max bent down and reached for the box. Jesus.

Beth whimpered.

Samantha grabbed his hand. “Don’t.” Her soft skin pressed against his. Her mouth came close to his ear as she whispered, “Not bare skin… we have to check for fingerprints.”

His hand fisted.

“Use this.” She dug a pen out of her pocket.

He took it, his fingers rock steady. He shoved the top off the box with the tip of the pen. Fuck me.

A bloody finger lay nestled inside.

Beth started crying.

A ring finger, one still adorned with his brother’s lucky horseshoe ring.

Sonofabitch.

“Max?” Frank’s voice wasn’t so tough now. “What’s in the box?”

Proof. “They’ve got Quinlan.” And he’d just gotten a piece of his brother. His head turned, and he met Samantha’s worried stare. The first piece.

Max surged to his feet. Samantha rose right with him, her hand gripping his wrist. “He’s still alive, Max,” she said urgently.

Max tried to shake her off. Her grip just tightened. “He’s still alive. This is just to screw with you, to make you desperate.”

“It’s his f-finger!” Beth cried out.

Samantha didn’t look away from Max. “It’s a message. You wanted proof, so they gave you proof. Your brother is out there. He’s alive, and we’re going to get him back.”

Proof sent.

Luke scanned the text. Victim’s finger delivered in box. Fingerprint and DNA testing needed ASAP.

“Fuck.”

His head lifted, and he stared at the team assembled in the SSD’s conference room. “The kidnappers just made contact again.” The first time that they’d done this. Changing the MO.

Hyde straightened in his chair. “They called already?”

“No.” His gaze found Monica’s. She’d been working on the profile for the kidnappers. “They sent a finger to the Malone house in a damn box.”

No change of expression crossed her perfect face.

“Why change the plan, Monica?” Luke pressed because she would know. When it came to the killers, she always knew.

“Because the kills are changing him,” she said.

Yeah, that’s what he’d feared but he’d wanted her take on the situation.

“The leader was much more violent with Briar’s body than he was with Peter Hollings’,” Monica continued. “He kept Briar alive longer. He inflicted the wounds not to kill, but to hurt.”

Yeah, and that worried him.

Monica confirmed his fear when she said, “Seems to me that our perp might have found something he likes.”

“Or maybe we’re not dealing with the same kidnappers,” Jon Ramirez offered from his position on the far right of the table. “Maybe this is some wannabe who read about Briar in the paper, and he thinks he needs to slice and dice to make his point.”

Monica gave a slight negative shake of her head. “There are too many similarities that weren’t released to the press. No one knew the men disappeared from college bars, and no one knew the initial calls came within three hours of the disappearances. And no one knew a ten o’clock call was promised, but never delivered.” Her hands flattened on the table. “It’s the same leader. The same group.”

“And just how many folks are we talking in this group?” Hyde asked from the head of the table, his gaze sweeping all of their faces.

“Kidnappers are rarely solo workers,” Luke said. “You’re talking a unit here, one that follows an alpha…”

“Like a pack of dogs,” came the quiet rumble from Special Agent Kim Daniels. Her eyes glinted but her face was as blank as Monica’s.