Deadly Lies (Deadly 3)

“The point of entry is deep on the lower left-hand side.” Dante pushed the photo toward her.

“I see it.” Her breath eased out. “We need to ask Quinlan exactly where the attacker was standing when he sliced him.” She glanced up. “And that’s not going to be easy because Quinlan isn’t in the mood to cooperate with the FBI anymore.”

“And I don’t blame him,” Max tossed back. “I thought we were here to tie up loose ends.” Self-inflicted, my ass.

“This is a loose end,” Dante said.

“Bull. This is you trying to pin some sick crap on my brother.” Max pointed at the agent. “Go talk to the other victims. Find out what the hell they know.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be so easy,” said a deep voice from the doorway.

Max glanced over his shoulder and found a tall, dark-skinned man waiting there. “We just received word,” the guy said, his voice hard and booming, “that the first kidnap victim, Scott Jacobson, won’t be making it in for his interview today.” This guy had to be the infamous Hyde that he’d read about in the papers.

“He’s not coming in?” Dante repeated. “Why the hell not?”

“Because somebody just killed him,” Hyde said. “Jacobson’s car exploded on his way to our office.”

CHAPTER Fourteen

Max rushed out of the FBI building, his phone pressed hard against his ear. He had to find Quinlan. Dammit, if anything happened to him…

“Wait! Max, stop!”

He whirled around and found Samantha running after him, her red hair blazing in the sun. Just then, his brother’s voicemail picked up. Shit. “Quinlan, call me. Stay with your guards and call me,” Max urged before ending the call. His Jeep sat just a few feet away. He’d parked a couple of blocks from the federal building, and he wanted to rush to his Jeep and chase after his brother.

Get to Quinlan. Because his brother wasn’t safe. Not yet. Not with Jacobson dead.

“They thought it was him,” Max gritted out. “Your friends, those agents—they thought it was him.” They’d thought his brother was a killer.

Samantha narrowed the distance between them until just a few feet remained. “You know every option has to be explored.”

“Screw that! He’s barely walking! He’s the victim!”

“I know.” Soft. If anyone knew what it was like to be the victim, it should be her.

Max sucked in a sharp breath. “Baby, I’ve got to go. I have to go and see about my brother. I—”

“I can’t let you go anywhere, Max.”

Those words were the last that he’d expected her to say. “What?”

“Members of the bomb squad are already on the scene of the Jacobson attack. Scott’s car was rigged to explode.” Her gaze darted to Max’s vehicle. “Now I want you to step away from your car and come with me.”

She wasn’t serious. Wait; yeah, she was. Max glanced back at his Jeep. “You think it was the kidnapper? That he rigged Jacobson’s car?”

“At this point, we can’t afford to think anything else.” She lifted her hand. “Come with me, Max.”

He stepped toward her. “But I wasn’t a victim.” No one should be coming after him. He should be safe.

The faint jingle of a cell phone seemed to echo in the sudden tense silence. He glanced down automatically. No, wait, that wasn’t him—

“Max!” Samantha screamed.

His head whipped back up, and he saw the terror on her face. She lunged forward and grabbed his hand. Then something slammed into his back, something big and strong and hot, and he flew forward.

Seconds later, when he crashed onto the pavement, he brought her down with him.

Max lay on the ground, unmoving, with that FBI bitch sprawled beneath him. The bitch had stopped Max from getting into the Jeep. Just a few more seconds…

It was really too easy to make bombs these days. A few keystrokes, and you could find a how-to guide online. Of course, she’d remembered the basics for the bomb. Not like a woman could forget that. Just a little matter of getting her parts together.

Simple.

But cleaning up someone else’s mess sure was f**king hard.

The motor revved as the BMW shot down the street, zipping right past the billowing clouds of black smoke and nearly plowing into an old lady who didn’t have the sense to stay on the sidewalk.

Dammit, now Max would be cautious, and that bitch agent would be guarding him.

But there’d been no choice. Couldn’t risk leaving evidence behind. The bomb had been set that morning. If the FBI had gone and found it on the car…

They might have linked it back to me. She couldn’t take that chance. So whether Max had been in the car or not, the Jeep had to go.

She took a fast turn to the left, and the trail of smoke vanished. Max was in the way, and he’d have to be taken out. After everything that had happened, it wasn’t going to end like this—not with Max holding the purse strings and everyone else screwed.

No way.

Killing Max and taking that Jacobson guy out on the same morning would have been so perfect. The FBI would’ve just thought one of the kidnappers had come after them. They would have directed their attention back to the cases.

“And not to me,” Beth whispered, adjusting her rearview mirror. Sirens wailed, and a fire truck flew past her. Since she was clear of the immediate scene, Beth pulled over to the side of the road and did her good citizen routine. She tried to make sure the fire truck and the two police cars swerving past her had enough room.

She waited a bit, giving them ample time to pass, then she pulled back onto the road. She was driving slowly now, carefully.

And planning. Always planning. She hadn’t been that old bastard’s f**k toy for nothing. No, she’d earned her money and her happiness—and she was getting both. Nothing would stop her. No one.

If she had to kill to get what she deserved, so be it. Not like it was the first time. She’d made sure her dick of a husband got what he deserved. He’d planned to leave her. Her.

Instead the cops had been picking pieces of his body off the interstate. Just like they’d be doing with Jacobson.

She just had to be careful… don’t get caught. Her only rule.

And she hadn’t been caught before. She’d used her connections, gotten the bomb, figured out how to place it on the car, and learned to make it go boom. Her brief stay in prison for that lame solicitation charge had introduced her to a very useful crowd of friends.