Deadly Lies (Deadly 3)

Her grin stretched as she drove through the green light. Maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe Max was dead. Maybe a chunk of metal had slammed into his head, into the bitch’s head, and taken them both out. Maybe.

She’d never been particularly lucky before. If she had been, then her mother wouldn’t have been a lying crack addict who’d overdosed at twenty-three, and her old man wouldn’t have been a freak who liked to touch little girls.

But she’d fixed that ass**le. He’d been in the car with her husband when she’d called to tell them both just how much she loved them.

“Samantha? Samantha?” Fear pounded through Max’s blood as he grabbed Samantha and rolled her over. Blood trickled into his eyes, and he swiped his hand over his face as he tried to clear his vision.

She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed. Scratches covered the right side of her face, and when he smoothed his hand down her cheek, she didn’t wake up.

No.

Smoke billowed around them. Voices rose, screaming. No, not voices—sirens.

Max glanced over his shoulder. His Jeep had been blown to hell and back. A damn tire was still rolling down the street. If Samantha hadn’t stopped him, it wouldn’t just be pieces of his vehicle on the road.

His hands shook as he cupped her head. “I need help!” he yelled into the smoke. He’d slammed into her when the blast erupted. Hit her hard and taken her down onto the concrete.

Her lashes began to flutter.

“Samantha?”

Her shoulders shifted a bit on the ground.

“What. The. Hell.” That furious voice belonged to the guy from before. Hyde. The head of the SSD.

“I need an EMT!” Max shouted as he held Sam.

“You’re hurt?” Hyde burst through the smoke. Ramirez, the agent who’d taken out the perp in the park, was right at the man’s heels.

“Not me.” The scratch on his head was nothing. “Samantha.” The fear and the rage boiling inside seemed to be shaking him apart. Shouldn’t have happened. This nightmare should have been over.

But some ass**le was still out there. An ass**le who couldn’t let the case go. And now Samantha was hurt. She’d damn well been hurt enough in her life.

Hyde tried to pull Max away from her. “No!” His hold tightened. He wouldn’t leave her.

“You want me to help her,” Hyde snapped out, “then move.”

“Max?” Sam whispered, and nothing would have moved him then. Her lashes lifted. Dark eyes stared up at him. “You… okay?”

Him? The first thing she asked was about him? His head bent, and he pressed a kiss to her lips. “You saved my ass, baby.” Then she’d scared ten years off his life.

“Ridgeway, get back.” Hyde’s bark.

Max’s gaze held Samantha’s. “Are you okay?”

“Hit my head…” A weak smile curved her lips. “Just left you for a minute.”

“How about you don’t ever leave me again?”

Her eyes widened.

A siren wailed, even louder now, and an ambulance braked to a hard stop about ten feet away.

“Scott Jacobson and Ridgeway,” Ramirez’s voice carried even over the siren’s scream. “Sir, I’d say we have a problem.”

“A big damn problem,” was Hyde’s instant response. “I already have officers en route to the Weatherly house. They’re taking Curtis into protective custody before his father ships him out again.”

“Or before he winds up dead,” Ramirez muttered.

Samantha sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes stayed on Max. “He came after you.”

Max couldn’t look away from her. Whoever the ass**le was, yeah, the guy had come after him, but he’d almost taken them both out.

“I want this scene canvassed!” Hyde ordered as the EMTs broke through, and Max forced himself to ease back from Samantha. Need to feel her against me.

“I want access to every surveillance camera within a ten-block radius. Get the footage and get it now!” Hyde demanded.

“On it, sir,” Ramirez said and backed away.

Hyde’s hand clamped down on Max’s shoulder. “We’re going to find him. This guy’s coming on to my turf, planting a bomb blocks away from the FBI. Damn bold.”

“Bold” was one word for it. “Crazy” was another. “Why?” Max just didn’t understand. An EMT grabbed his arm but he shook free and said, “I’m not getting on the damn stretcher! Take care of her. She could have a concussion.” Her eyes were so dark that it was hard to see her pupils.

If they’d both been a little closer to the Jeep…

A dull throbbing burned in his temples. “It’s him, isn’t it? The bastard who took Quinlan.” And they’d been questioning his stepbrother just moments before. Oh, Christ…

“Quinlan!” He turned on Hyde. “If the guy came after me and the other victim, he’ll go after Quinlan too.” Or he could have already gone after him. Two car bombings. Why not three? Just how well had that bastard planned? Ice froze his stomach.

“I’m already on it, son,” Hyde told him. “I’ve got two agents and the bomb squad en route to the Malone residence.”

“Puppet master,” Samantha muttered and winced when the EMT probed the back of her head.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“One got away from us.” Her breath hissed out. “The one… pulling the strings. Someone in the background who was watching… tying up the loose ends.”

Puppet master. Who? Who was he?

And where was the bastard?

Beth ran up the stairs, her heart racing. “Quinlan?” Dammit, he was back earlier than she’d expected. His car had been sitting out front when she pulled into the driveway.

This better not mess up her timeline. She’d targeted the attacks while he was supposed to be in the office with those FBI pricks. She’d given him the perfect alibi. No more suspicion, and no more jerkoff stepbrother standing between Quinlan and her money.

“Quinlan, where are you?” She shoved open his bedroom door. Empty. “Quinlan?” She hurried down the hallway. Where was everybody? Two maids were scheduled to work today but she hadn’t seen them.

A thud came from Frank’s room. The crash of breaking glass. Beth ran forward, grabbed the door handle, and shoved open the door. “What the—”

The room was a wreck. Furniture overturned. Mirrors shattered. Pictures broken on the floor. In the middle of the mess, Quinlan stood with his shoulders bowed.