Deadly Lies (Deadly 3)

“Pull up this address,” Kim said into the phone. “Two nine one seven Kyler Boulevard. In Fairfax, Virginia. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Now tell me who owns that property.” After a few moments, Kim’s eyes widened. “No shit.”

Sam’s heart thudded against her ribs. Hurry, hurry. Kim whistled softly. “Guess who owns an old warehouse in Fairfax?”

Sam wasn’t in the mood to guess.

“Frank Malone.”

What?

“Seems he bought some property over there about five years ago. Bought it, used it, then forgot it. The warehouse has been boarded up for the last six months.” A brief pause. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

Sam jumped out of the chair. “I think we need to get to that warehouse.” Because Jeremy Briar had been left in his father’s driveway. Because Adam Warrant’s body had been found in a garage owned by his father.

No, Christ, no.

Fairfax would be a perfect kill site.

Frank had taken Beth’s car and slipped away without the guards. Frank had his gun—he wasn’t stupid—but he was scared.

The warehouse waited at the end of the street. Darkened windows, tall walls. Abandoned.

He reached for his phone. Hesitated. Call Max. The whisper in his head. He should let Max know where he was. What was happening.

Would you trade your life for his? Is he worth that much?

His hands curled into fists, and Frank sucked in a sharp breath. No, he wouldn’t call Max. Time for me to do something right.

He shoved open the car door and climbed out slowly. “Hello!” His voice echoed back to him. There were no cars here, no lights. Nothing but the night and that damn warehouse.

Was this a trick? Another sick, twisted joke to pull him in and leave him with nothing?

But then a low moan filled the air and he froze. No, not a moan. The slow grind of a door scraping over old wood. The front entrance to the warehouse… the door had opened.

He couldn’t see anyone, but someone was there and inviting him in. “Who’s there? Dammit, come out here! Bring Quinlan out!”

“Come in…” Was the taunt he got in return.

His jaw clenched, and he loped forward. If he had to, he’d kill every sonofabitch in there, but he was getting his son.

His hand closed around the old door handle, and he wrenched it all the way open. As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the scent of blood and bleach burned his nose.

Quinlan?

Please, son, be alive.

“What’s going on?” Max demanded. They were in the back of a government SUV, racing behind two other units toward Fairfax. “What do you mean, we’re going to one of Malone’s properties? Why?”

Sam glanced at him, knowing that she had to be careful. “We found the address on Veronica James’s computer.”

“Malone’s warehouse?” He shook his dark head. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“By all accounts, it’s an abandoned building. No other businesses close by. It seems like…” She wet her lips. “Like it might be the perfect place to keep someone locked up.” Or to dump a body.

Max’s eyes narrowed, and she knew that he understood the unspoken words. “Faster,” Max barked at Luke. “Can’t you drive this damn thing faster?”

They were already flying past the speed limit.

“We’re going in silent,” Luke said, and she knew that he was talking into his phone, giving orders to the locals on scene. “We’re not giving these bastards any warning.”

“Samantha.” Max’s fingers brushed hers.

She held his gaze.

“Is he alive?”

Her breath came on a slow rush. “We’ll know soon.”

“That last guy… Adam… they found him on his father’s property, too, didn’t they? That was where they dumped the body.”

She curled her fingers around his. She wanted to give him hope. “Quinlan could be alive.”

He squeezed her hand, but didn’t speak again. And neither did she—Sam didn’t like lying to him.

“Quinlan? Are you here?” The scent of blood was so strong, filling Frank’s nose and making bile rise in his throat. He fumbled and drew out his gun. The Feds had confiscated the Glock that he’d had earlier. But lucky for him, there’d been plenty of other guns waiting at home for him.

His feet shuffled forward. The warehouse was too damn dark. He should have leveled the place months ago. “Are you here?”

Frank’s right foot kicked something. Something big and soft. His breath heaved out. “Quinlan?” He slipped and fell to his knees. “Quinlan!”

A flash of light hit him right in the face. The bright light blinded him. “Not your boy, old man,” a hard, male voice rumbled from behind the light.

Frank lurched forward but froze when a gun barrel pressed against his forehead. No mistaking that, not even in this black pit.

“Wanna see him one more time?”

Frank was on his knees before the bastard holding the gun. His body shook, but he wouldn’t back down. “Let him go.”

“Shouldn’t have brought the FBI in.” That voice rumbled.

“Dad!” Quinlan’s scream had his heart slamming into his chest.

Still alive. Quinlan’s still alive.

Frank’s right hand was behind him, his fingers curled around the gun. The bastard hadn’t seen it yet. He’d have to move fast. “I-I want to see him.”

The barrel eased back. “And he wants to see you. One more time.”

The flashlight beam bounced. Frank lurched up. He didn’t take time to aim, just fired. Again. Again. Two fast booms. A scream.

The flashlight hit the ground. So did the bastard. “Fuck you,” Frank snarled and followed the sound of his son’s screams.

“You have to stay here.” Sam stared up at Max’s tense face. They were about fifty feet away from the warehouse, in the safe perimeter that the agents had just set up. “Stay with the uniforms until we come back.”

His eyes were on the building as he strained to see. “It’s so damn dark.” Why weren’t there any streetlights?

“Stay here.” Sam squeezed his hand. “And don’t give up.” She wanted to say more, to do more, but too many eyes were on them.

Sam turned and fell into line behind Luke and Ramirez. They’d be the first team in. They’d tried to leave her out, but hell no. She wasn’t being left out anymore.