CHAPTER Twelve
Sam wasn’t much for funerals. She stood away from the gravesite, hanging back beneath the yawning branches of an oak as she watched the graveside service.
Max was there, dressed in a dark suit, his face grim. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew that he wouldn’t be crying.
Quinlan stood beside him. Pale. Weak. No sunglasses for him, and she saw him swiping away tears with the back of his hand.
Beth hovered at Quinlan’s side. She’d wrapped her arm tightly around his waist. Beth wore a stylish black dress and a small black hat perched on her blond hair.
No tears from her either. Mascara stains probably wouldn’t go so well with that perfect image.
Sam eased back but kept watching.
At least two dozen mourners were gathered around the gleaming coffin. A giant stream of red roses covered the lid. Blood red.
They’d delayed the funeral until Quinlan could be there for the service. And there he was.
Frank Malone would be in the ground soon, and then the family would gather for the reading of the will. Sam would be there for that part, too—courtesy of orders from Hyde.
But for now she watched and waited.
Quinlan shuffled forward, with Beth close to offer help. Did he know about her secrets?
Quinlan bent down and placed a trembling hand on the casket. Sam saw his lips move as if he were talking to Frank. Maybe he was. He could be telling his father that he was sorry. Maybe whispering good-bye. After a moment, Quinlan straightened and walked away, his head down.
One by one, all the other mourners followed suit. Some approached the casket. Some just walked away. Soon they were all gone.
All but Max. His shoulders weren’t hunched—they were thrown back, strong, and he wasn’t looking at the coffin. No; he’d shifted his position. Even with the sunglasses on, she knew he was looking at her.
Sam just waited. Taking his time, Max came to her. A slow, deliberate stride brought him under those hanging limbs and close to her.
“I thought the SSD was giving us some space,” he said. His sunglasses reflected her image back at her.
The SSD had been staying back. Not anymore. Hyde wanted the gloves off, and he wanted the interrogations to begin.
“Can’t even give us time at the grave, can you?” Anger boiled beneath his carefully controlled surface.
“There have been some… developments,” she told him. Like the fact that the money is gone. Gone. The SSD had searched every location linked to the crimes and the perpetrators. They’d turned up nothing. “I wanted you and Quinlan to be aware that there is a very strong possibility another suspect was involved in the kidnapping.”
He took off his sunglasses. His blue stare locked on her face. “Any agent could have come and told me this.”
She knew what he meant. “I requested the assignment.” She’d needed to see him.
“I haven’t heard from you in six damn days.”
Her breath caught. Did that mean he’d wanted to hear from her? “You wanted space. You were grieving.” One shoulder lifted, fell. Staying away had ripped me apart. She kept her voice level, saying only, “Hyde gave orders that the family was to have privacy.” But she’d thought about him. No, she’d worried about him.
“Hyde.” Max’s lips twisted. “Yeah, from the sound of things, he gives a lot of orders.” His head inclined toward her. “Why’d you ask for this job?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” She couldn’t get more honest than that.
He looked away, glancing back over his shoulder at the grave. “When I close my eyes at night, I see you.” His gaze slowly came back to her. “What did you do to me?”
She shook her head. “No, Max, I—”
“Max!” Quinlan’s yell.
She took a quick breath. “The cars are leaving.” The black limo waited up at the front with the back door open. “You need to go.” She’d see him at the house. This wasn’t the end. Not even close. Hyde wanted to know what the will said.
So did she.
Max caught her hand. “We both know you’re going for the will reading.” The faint lines around his eyes deepened. “What is it? Your boss thinks maybe I had something to do with all this? That I tortured my brother with some sick idea that he’d attack my—”
“We believe the kidnappers planned to kill Frank.” She could reveal that. “Calling him, telling him the location—we think it was a setup. We found the phone records. We have proof that Frank received a call from a cell phone recovered at the scene, so we know they lured him there.”
His fingers tightened. “You think I set him up? For money?”
“No, I don’t.” Honest. But Hyde wanted more than her belief. Hyde wanted cold, hard evidence.
“I’m not getting a damn thing from that will.” His thumb brushed over her wrist.
“Max!” Not Quinlan’s cry this time. Beth’s. The SSD would be getting to her very soon. Kim had already dug deeper into her past. Now it was time for a trip to the SSD and a one-on-one interview.
“I believe you.” And Sam meant it. She’d started trusting someone again—him.
“Should have been different,” he said. “A different time…”
“Different place.” She forced a smile. So much lay between them. Half-truths. Blood. Death. Was there any going back from that? Could they even try?
His left hand lifted, and his knuckles brushed over her cheek. “I wanted you from the minute I saw you.”
Her heart jumped.
He dropped her hand and stepped back. “I still do. Probably always will.”
Sam and Jon waited outside the lawyer’s office. When the door opened and she saw Max’s face, Sam snapped to attention.
“Why are they here?” Beth’s fierce demand. Her grip on Quinlan was still deathly tight.
Max strolled toward them. The lawyer, Kris Jared, followed right behind him. Max shook his head, and his gaze drifted from her to the ever watchful Ramirez. “I got it all,” he said with a tiger’s smile.
Not what she’d been expecting.
“Only until Mr. Malone turns twenty-five,” Jared interjected, wiping a sweaty brow. “Then Frank Malone’s estate will revert back to his biological son, Quinlan.”
Holding it in trust. Sam gave a nod. Okay, right. The SSD agents had known this outcome was a possibility. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Quinlan. “I know this is a difficult day for you…”
He blinked at her. “You… you’re my brother’s girlfriend.”
She didn’t look at Max. Or Ramirez. “I’m Special Agent Samantha Kennedy, and I’ve been working your case.” She kept her voice low. Others were around, too eager to hear and run to the news. Every day, a new story appeared in the papers or on the news about Quinlan.
It was a good thing that Hyde had called Kenton Lake in from the Virginia office to help with the press. So far, the media had an insatiable appetite for the kidnapping case. The more lurid the details, the more they fed.
The fact that the other two surviving victims were back in town and broadcasting their story on every news channel wasn’t helping. Those two victims thought they were safe now. They just might be dead wrong.
“I already talked to the other woman.” Quinlan’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at Jared. “Daven—”
“Monica Davenport,” Sam inserted smoothly. Yes, Monica had wanted to talk to him right away. She’d only been able to talk with Quinlan briefly, though, before his lawyer had swooped in and closed them out. They’d had the options of forcing an immediate sit-down with Quinlan—and letting the press make them look like the big, FBI assholes who were attacking the injured victim—or waiting until he was out of the hospital. They’d waited.
Quinlan was out of the hospital now, and although she understood his situation was damn painful, she had to bring him in. The waiting game was over.
“This isn’t the time…” Jared began, huffing with indignation.
Max just watched them with inscrutable eyes.
“We’ve given you time,” Ramirez said as he kept his arms loosely at his sides. “Time’s up.”
Sam held Quinlan’s gaze. “Tomorrow morning, we need you to come into the FBI office and answer some questions for us.” Deliberately, she let her stare drift to Jared. “You and your lawyer should check in at nine a.m.”
“You actually suspect my client of—”
She raised her hand. “Save it, Jared. We have routine questions for him.” Questions that the lawyer had blocked in the hospital. And with the press raining down on them, the SSD had allowed the delay.
But they’d kept a constant eye on Quinlan.
An eye that told them that, despite his injuries, Quinlan had spent last night with his father’s mistress. Grieving? Hurting? Yes, undoubtedly.
And screwing.
“We need you in the office tomorrow,” Sam said again. Then she turned her attention to Beth. “And we’ll need you, too, Ms. Dunlap.”
Beth’s lips parted in an outraged gasp. “Me? Why would you need—”
“We have some background questions for you,” Ramirez said flatly, and Sam caught the woman’s slight flinch.
Yes, Beth, we know. A past can be an inconvenient thing.
Beth fired a fast, nervous glance Quinlan’s way.
And this was the hard part. Sam turned her attention to Max. She found him staring at her with too-watchful eyes. “And we’ll need you there, too,” she said.
He didn’t blink. Damn but it hurt to see his eyes so blank like that.
“I’ll be there.” He inclined his head.
“Thank you.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words to offer comfort to him. Sometimes, the job sucked. Ramirez took her elbow, and they both stepped back.
“I don’t—your girlfriend’s an agent?” Quinlan’s voice seemed too loud. “What the hell?”
She didn’t hear Max’s response and maybe that was a good thing. Because right then, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know what he had to say.
When someone pounded on her door just after midnight, Sam was awake. Awake, lying in bed, and staring up at the ceiling. Her heart lurched at the hard thumps, and she jumped to her feet. Her hand automatically dove into the nightstand drawer—going for her gun.
She hurried down the stairs of her townhouse. The pounding came again, harder now.
Sam peered through the peephole and saw Max. She wrenched open the door.
He froze with his hand still up. Raindrops glistened in his hair and clung to his wet coat. The chill air slipped inside, raising goose bumps on her arms.
“You think you need that?” he asked, and she followed his gaze to the barrel of her gun.
She kept her hold on the weapon. “What are you doing here, Max?”
“I traced your name. Traced you. Should have done it long ago.” The words were deeper and darker than she’d heard before.
Understanding hit. “You’re drunk.”
“I wish.”
Lightning streaked across the sky behind him.
“You’re a genius.” His hands slapped against the wood on either side of her door. “How many degrees did you get from MIT?”
She shook her head. “Why are you here?”
His gaze seemed to burn her.
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I needed to see you.” He leaned forward. Max ignored the gun as he caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head back. “I just needed you.” His lips crushed hers. His mouth was hard, hungry, wet from the rain, and she wanted him. Her lips parted, and Sam tasted whiskey on his tongue. Whiskey and… him.
Her mouth widened. She needed more of him. Her left hand pressed against his chest, right above his heart that raced so fast beneath her fingers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she moaned in her throat, a low rumble, even as her breasts tightened with hunger.
More.
His tongue swiped against hers. His head lifted. Slowly, so slowly. “I figured out something tonight.”
She fought to keep her breathing steady. Okay, he was playing it cool. She could do it too. “What’s that?”
“We’re not over.”
She knew her eyes widened.
“Work your case. Do whatever you have to do, but we’re not ending, not yet.” A pause, then his lips kicked up on one corner in a rough half-smile. “That is, unless you tell me to drag my ass out of here.”
She didn’t say anything. One hand stayed over his heart and one hand clamped around her gun.
His gaze searched her face. “We started… at the wrong place. Too fast. Too hot.”
But she shook her head. He didn’t understand. “No, we started just right.” He’d been what she needed. Sex. Pleasure. No past. No future. And now…
A blast of thunder broke the night. Sam inhaled sharply. “Come inside.” She turned away and headed toward the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. The snick of the lock seemed a bit too loud.
She opened the drawer and put her weapon inside.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked.
With her back to him, Sam hesitated.
The wood groaned beneath his feet as he walked toward her, then his hands caught her and wrapped around her shoulders. “You know what I’ve done.”
She stared at the closed drawer of the desk.
“They say everyone’s got the capacity to kill…”
If pushed far enough. Yes, she believed that.
“… but we both know I’ve crossed the line.” A stark pause. “And if I had to protect someone I loved, I’d do it again.”
The hands that held her had killed. Her gaze shifted to her own hands. Pale. Small. But they held her gun so well.
“I want you to know, though,” he said, and his breath blew lightly over her ear, “that I didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping. With any of them. I don’t need Malone’s money. I don’t want it. As soon as Quinlan turns twenty-five—just a year and a half to go—it’s his.”
Her breath hissed out, and she turned toward him. “Max…”
“I’ve always tried to protect the people in my life, but no matter what I do, they get hurt.” His gaze burned bright. “They get hurt, and I can never stop the pain.”
She swallowed. “Wh-where is Quinlan?” The FBI still had a team watching him. One phone call, and she’d know instantly where he was.
A muscle twitched in Max’s jaw. “He’s back at Frank’s, with Beth. I hired bodyguards for him. They’ll stay with him, 24–7, until we’re damn sure he’s safe.” His hair was slick from the rain. “I just… I had to see you.”
Sam leaned toward him. She wouldn’t ever forget his eyes in the hospital. All that rage had been directed right at her. “Max, I’m sorry about the way this went down.” Because, yes, she felt guilty as damn hell.
“You busted ass to find him.” He shook his head. “What those bastards did—that was them, not you.”
Her eyes watered—stupid contacts, had to be them—and she blinked.
“I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.”
Oh, damn. Sam admitted, “I didn’t even try.” Because he’d been all she could think about.
“Fuck.” He pulled her even closer. His clothes were wet, but she didn’t care. “I need you,” he growled.
When they kissed this time, she was desperate for him.
A thin cotton t-shirt covered her breasts. A pair of old jogging shorts skimmed her thighs, and she wanted them off. Wanted her clothes gone. Wanted his on the floor.
Wanted him on the floor.
No, the bed. Do this right. This was different. Not just sex.
Not. Just. Sex.
“You’re wet,” she whispered against his lips. “G-get out of those clothes.” She licked his lower lip. Nipped him.
A shudder worked over his body.
Her gaze bored into his. “Come to bed with me.” Her hands caught the bottom edge of her t-shirt, and she pulled it over her head. She tossed the shirt to the floor, let him look, then walked away—slowly, carefully, knowing that he watched her every move.
Sam climbed the stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her. He’s coming.
At the top of the stairs, she pushed down her shorts and ditched the panties that would only get in the way. Look back. Sam glanced over her shoulder. Max was halfway up the steps. His shirt was gone. That chest—oh, how she loved those sexy muscles.
His stare was like a hot touch on her skin. And he would be touching her soon. Touching every inch of her. Just as she’d touch him.
She went into her bedroom. Dark, so dark. She liked the dark. Always had. Things were softer in the dark. It was easier to hide in the dark.
Sam went to the bed and slid beneath the covers.
His footsteps were muffled by the carpet upstairs, but she could all but feel him. Sam knew the instant he walked into her room.
Closer, closer…
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see his silhouette looming near the edge of the bed. Her hand lifted and touched the flat planes of his stomach. Hot flesh. Her fingers slipped down. His pants were gone. His cock was up. Straining, thick, and more than ready. Her hand curled around him. She pumped that hard flesh. Once. Twice.
Max caught her hand and locked his fingers around her wrist. He climbed into the bed and surrounded her with his strength and his scent. His mouth took her breast, closing over the nipple as he sucked.
Her back arched off the bed. Sam bit her lower lip. Yes.
“Don’t hold back.” His breath blew over her tight nipple. “I want to hear you.” His hand eased its grip on her wrist. He stretched over her, reaching for the nightstand. The lamp light flickered on, too bright, and she blinked. “And I want to see you,” he said. “Every bit of you.”
No hiding in the dark. No pretending to be someone else. No pretending at all.
He’d risen over her. His gaze weighed her, and Sam realized he knew. Her secrets. Her fears. He could see everything. Maybe he’d always seen.
“Not just sex between strangers.” His whisper had her tensing. His palm slid down her stomach and curled around her hip. “I want more.”
She’d give more. This time, to him. Her legs parted and eased open for him. He could thrust inside, could take her and—
“No.”
An ache lodged in her heart, like she’d been punched, right there. “Max?”
Another swipe of his tongue over her nipple. The light score of his teeth against her flesh. “I’m going to watch you. I’m going to see everything.”
He already did. But his hands were on her—lifting her, turning her, and the covers rustled beneath her body.
Max stretched out on the bed. His eyes glittered, and he waited. His cock glistened, and he waited.
Sam rose above him. She put her knees on either side of his hips, and her sex brushed over his cock, a long, slow, slick glide because she was ready, too. Had been, since that first kiss downstairs.
The light seemed too harsh as it shone on them, but she knew it was just a small glow that barely drifted past the bed. Too bright. There was no hiding now, not from him or from herself.
His fingers were warm and strong on her hips, and when she arched up, the broad head of his shaft pushed just inside her sex.
Flesh to flesh. So tempting…
Swallowing, she eased back up. Fumbled. “I-I don’t…” She didn’t have protection near the bed. She did have a box of condoms in the bathroom, shoved in the back of her linen closet.
“Nightstand.” His breath blew over her skin. “I put one down before I got into bed.”
Her gaze shot to the left, and she found the foil packet. Her hands trembled when she grabbed it, and Sam knew he saw. She ripped open the packet, pulled out the condom, and eased it down his shaft as quickly as she could.
His body stiffened beneath hers. His muscles were so taut and hard.
Her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, and she guided his shaft into her, positioning him just right—then she pushed down in one fast glide, taking him deep.
“Samantha!”
He filled her completely, stretching her, and for a moment, she hesitated. Not sexy and sure now. Instead, she was lost, floundering—
And he could see. Her eyes squeezed shut.
His fingers eased down, caressing her abdomen, then pushing between her legs. His thumb pressed against her clit and a shiver worked over her. “Easy.” His whisper.
But she didn’t want easy. Fast, hard, wild.
“Easy,” he said again, and her eyes opened so she could meet his stare. Not just sex. “Kiss me, Samantha.”
She bent toward him. The movement pushed her clit against his stroking fingers, just the right touch. His cock shifted and slid along her sensitive flesh. Her mouth touched his. Lips. Tongue. Her sex squeezed him, and there wasn’t any more pain. Only pleasure. Her mouth broke away on a moan.
“Better.” His growl. “Slow, just… slow.”
Her hands flattened on his chest. Her knees dug into the bed, and she pushed up, the head of his cock still inside her. Then she pushed down, so slowly this time, taking his cock one inch at a time.
Oh, damn.
“Again.” His order, hard, gritted.
She rose again. Slid down.
“Again.”
A little faster now. His fingers worked her clit. Tugged, pressed. His thick length slid easily now, driving into the cream between her legs.
She drove down—just as he thrust his hips up to meet her. “Max!”
His hand left her aching flesh, and she could have screamed. More! Too close, she wanted—
Max’s palms slammed onto the bed, and he rose up, facing her, chest to chest. His mouth took hers in a deep kiss even as he thrust against her, rocking his hips hard, and she loved it, loved it. Sam didn’t care about the light. She didn’t care what he saw. Everything was finally right. He was right.
Sam’s nails dug into his chest as she clung to him. The climax was so close that her sex quivered.
His mouth was against her neck now. Licking. Sucking. His hands buried in her hair and held her tight.
“You’re so damn beautiful.”
He made her feel that way.
His head lifted. His eyes blazed at her. “Beautiful.”
Sam trembled and seemed to break apart. The white-hot stream of her climax swept over her, and heat spiraled through her as she came.
And Max watched her.
Her sex contracted around him. Max kissed her, driving his tongue past her lips, and she shuddered against him. Sam rose higher onto her knees, drove down once more, and he came. No, he seemed to erupt in her. His cock jerked, his body went bow tight, and the pleasure rocked between them. So strong. So hard.
Her heart drummed in her ears. She tightened her inner muscles around him, wanting to steal every drop of pleasure from him.
She wanted to freeze time. To stay with him.
To be safe in his arms.
Even if it was just an illusion.
“My brother’s gone.” Quinlan’s gaze wasn’t on the full moon that hung just outside his window. His head was bent, and Beth could see him gazing at his left hand. That hand was still wrapped in white bandages, like most of his body.
Not that the bandages had slowed him down any in bed. They’d just been… careful. She knew the difference between sexual pleasure and pain. Beth had learned that lesson a long time ago.
And those damn agents knew about her past.
After taking a slow, deep breath, Beth crossed to him and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. “You know where he is.” With her. Unspoken, but it hung between them.
His body tightened. “She’s an FBI agent?”
That had been news to her. Dammit. All her plans… “I just thought she was his latest screw.” Max liked variety in his women, and she’d even thought about making a play for him once or twice.
Quinlan turned toward her. “She is the latest. His lover and an agent.” The moonlight slid over his face. “They told Max no cops. They told him, and he broke the rules.”
“And your father died,” she said softly. Beth figured she should probably feel badly about that. She didn’t. No more screwing the old bastard and wearing that stupid smile, the lying smile that said she loved having his small dick inside her.
Quinlan flinched. His uninjured hand balled into a fist. “When I go to sleep, I see my dad. The agents shined their flashlights on us, and I was over him, and his blood was everywhere.”
Beth swallowed. Okay. She didn’t want to hear this. “Don’t think about it.” Her hand curled around his arm. “Come back to bed.” The rumpled bed sheets waited for them. If he gave her the chance, she could make him forget almost anything.
His gaze held hers, and for an instant, anger flashed across his handsome features. Anger and… disgust? “You were in his bed just nights ago,” Quinlan muttered. “He’s not even cold in his grave, and you’re back with me.”
If he expected her to blush or feel some kind of shame, he had the wrong woman. “I was with you while he was still breathing.” So easy to do—all it took was a quick walk down the hallway. But Quinlan had been able to give her what she needed when Frank hadn’t even been able to come close. “Now things are just easier for me.”
He shook his head. “I can never tell for certain.” A brief pause, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you really as cold a bitch as you pretend to be?”
A smile curled Beth’s lips. “Maybe.” Her heart pounded too fast. Maybe not. “And are you really the lost little rich boy that you pretend to be?”
His lips took hers. Softly at first, then harder, harder. Because he knew what she liked. “Maybe,” he whispered against her mouth. He moved to face her fully, and his cock, aroused, thick, so ready, pushed against her legs.
Maybe not.