Cold Light of Day (18 page)

“FBI Agent Richard Stone. This is bullshit, Ken. You know it.”

She felt like she’d been flattened by a truck. The Examiner didn’t reply to her father’s angry comment. To hear his voice so strong and indignant sent a wave of pure grief right through her. Matt didn’t notice. He was trying to follow the questioning and match up the scanned images of the polygraphs.

Oh
,
Dad
.

She pushed the sorrow away. There was no time for this. She couldn’t afford to wallow in grief, not when there was a faint hope she could still clear his name. But the cancer was taking him from her even more permanently than the so-called justice system. It wouldn’t be long before none of this made any difference. She didn’t want him to die in disgrace. She didn’t want him to die, period.

“Are the lights on in the room?” the Examiner asked.

“Yeah.” Her father answered. “It’s lit up like Gestapo HQ.”

There was a long pause, as if the Examiner was giving her dad a silent reprimand. “Is today Wednesday?”

“Yeah, Ken, today is Wednesday, unless you’re in Australia in which case it’s already Thursday. These questions need to be more cut and dried, you know? Otherwise you could end up making a big mistake.”

Scarlett wanted to smile, but she knew his bravado hadn’t lasted. At some point, not long after he failed this polygraph, he’d crumpled and capitulated.

Matt carried on working through the audio and the images, comparing them in excruciating detail and rewinding certain sections and replaying them. Timing segments, making notes on a pad of paper.

He repeated the process over and over. Scarlett went to make them both a coffee. She hadn’t gotten a Ph.D. at twenty-two by knowing how to relax or how to sleep or how to not ask questions. When she returned, Matt was leaning back in his chair and tapping his pen on the table. She could tell from his expression he’d noticed something squirrelly.

“What is it?” She tried to suppress her excitement.

His expression shut down. As a SEAL and federal agent, it was probably a necessary requirement to hold back secrets, but as a partner in an investigation, it was frustrating as hell.

He’s not your partner.

“I did a psych degree prior to becoming a frogman.”

“Impressive.”

His eyes narrowed. “We can’t all be child prodigies.”

“Hey, that’s
your
prejudice showing through, not mine. I thought it
was
impressive. A guy who looks like you could have done many things with his life that didn’t involve getting an education.” She winced. Jesus. He reduced her to a social idiot. “NFL player, cop, mayor of a small Texas town, male model, super hero, professional belly dancer.” If she just kept babbling maybe he’d miss the fact she’d just told him she thought he was good looking. Like she needed more nails for her own coffin.

He released a heavy sigh. “The point being…we did polygraphs on one another and then played truth or dare,” his sudden grin was wicked, “so I have some experience with this stuff. These traces don’t seem to jive with the interview or the answers your father gave.”

Truth or dare with a polygraph machine?
Maybe she wasn’t the only nerd in the room.

“So what are you saying? This isn’t dad’s polygraph chart? Why would someone substitute it?” Scarlett contained her excitement. There were probably all sorts of reasonable explanations, though she didn’t believe any of them.

“It’s likely he took more than one exam and this audio tape is for a different polygraph trace.” He was frowning at the images. “Or they mixed up the traces accidentally.” He pointed to the screen. “Does that number there look different from the rest?”

She peered closer, aware of Matt’s face so close to hers that if she turned her head just slightly her lips would brush his cheek. “It’s a little darker than the other numbers, and looks a little offset.”

“Almost as if someone used Letraset on it afterwards.”

“Letra-what?”

He grimaced. “Never mind. You just reminded me how young you are.”

She turned her head and held his gaze. “I’m not that young, Matt, and you’re not that old.”

He held her stare, the gold flecks in his eyes starting to glow.

She forced herself to turn away. This situation wasn’t about her obvious attraction to Matt; it was about her father. “I thought the FBI had proper procedures for this sort of thing.”

She pushed down her sense of elation. She knew better than to get her hopes up. But someone was actually questioning the evidence rather than just gung-ho following the hysteria of mass hate.

“They do, but after a case is closed it’s possible someone took out the evidence and somehow mixed it up. Or maybe someone spilled something on the paper copy and wanted to hide the fact they’d screwed up.” He checked the file again. “Pre 9/11 the systems weren’t fully computerized. The FBI was probably the most technologically poor law enforcement agency in the world at that time, thanks to a director who didn’t believe in technology.”

Her father had often bemoaned the computer systems at work where he hadn’t even been able to send attachments with his email.

“Maybe when this was digitized, someone mixed things up and tried to cover their tracks rather than risk getting fired.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. It seemed everyone got a free pass on their mistakes except her dad.

Matt went over to the couch and picked up one of the burner cells Parker had provided and called the guy. “Can you give me a location on a guy named Ken Maidstone, who worked as a Polygraph Examiner for the Bureau back in two-thousand?” He wrote something down on his little pad of paper. She checked over his shoulder. The address was about an hour’s drive away from where they were holed up. “Any updates?” He was quiet as he listened but it didn’t look like good news. “He lives close enough I’m going to pay this guy a visit. Charts in the case file don’t match the audio recording of the session. I want to ask him a few questions. See if he remembers the case.”

As if he’d forget one of the most notorious spy scandals in history?

He hung up. Scarlett shrugged into her sweater, then grabbed her jacket.

“You’re not coming,” Matt said firmly, checking his weapon, not looking at her.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“My head will explode if I stay here.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The idea of him leaving her behind hurt, and that was too stupid for words.

He stood motionless, for a big guy he had stealth and stillness down to a fine art. “Look”—the patronizing tone made her want to smack him, which beat the whole lust thing hands down—“I don’t think this guy is going to talk to the daughter of a man he helped put away for espionage.”

“I’ll stay in the car.”

He looked unconvinced.

“I
promise
I’ll stay in the car.”

He narrowed his eyes, but his jaw relaxed a fraction.

“Come on, Special Agent Lazlo. I’ll be good. I always keep my promises.” She wasn’t above begging. “It doesn’t make sense to leave me here with the Russians after me. Anything could happen.” Now she was playing on his sense of chivalry. It worked.

“Fine, Dr. Stone. But if you disobey my instructions in any way, I’m going to spank your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

Her spine stiffened. “I didn’t know you were into abusive relationships—”

“Hey, some people enjoy it.” He opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together as if clamping down on the next words, eyes going molten before he masked it.

A wave of sexual awareness rushed through her and made her mouth parch. It wasn’t as if she’d never had sex. She’d had sex—passionless, boring
are-we-done-yet?
sex.

He was older than she was and had seen things in the military and as an FBI agent she couldn’t begin to comprehend. She got that. And he was trying to warn her that despite the spark that shimmered between them, they were incompatible.

Duh.

What he didn’t understand was, incompatible was her norm. She didn’t fit with anyone. Anywhere. Being a misfit, a reject, was standard operating procedure in her world. If not because of her father, then because of her place in the education system, her age. She didn’t fit in. Period. She was used to it.

It was the heat that passed between them, the weird electric sizzle that didn’t seem to care he’d arrested her last night, that was extraordinary. So a few sexual innuendos were not off-putting. They were thrilling, because no one had ever gone there with her before and certainly not a guy she was attracted to as much as she was attracted to Matt Lazlo.

Telling him that would humiliate her and scare the crap out of him, so she kept her mouth shut. Emotional masochism was not her thing. So even though the man tempted her on a physical level, she wasn’t going to go there. He was putting up the same barriers as she was and that was a good thing. She was too smart to fall for him. And, apparently, he was way too professional to fall for her.

He grabbed the laptop and cash and cells Parker had organized for them. “Fine. Bring everything. We may as well get a motel closer to where Maidstone lives. Should help throw anyone on our tail off the scent.”

She jammed on her sneakers. She had nothing with her except the clothes she was wearing. Just before he opened the door, she touched his arm. “Thank you. Thank you for trying to help my dad.”

Eyes as cold as sea glass pinned her in place. “I’m not doing this to help your father, Scarlett. I’m trying to figure out why the Russians are so pissed they don’t give a shit if they take out others with you. I’m trying to keep you alive to see Christmas Day because that’s my job. I still believe your father is a traitor to the United States and the antithesis of everything I believe in and fought for.”

The words hit with a meaty punch to the stomach. Thankfully, she was well practiced at hiding pain beneath a calm exterior and a nod of understanding. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

She dropped her hand. “Of course. Let’s go.”

M
att glanced at
Scarlett. She sat in the passenger seat of the SUV Parker had arranged for them, an indifferent expression on her face. Matt wasn’t fooled. He’d hurt her feelings. Couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to pretend he was doing this for a man who’d admitted his crimes. Matt was detail-oriented, tying up loose ends was one of the reasons he was so good at his job. Trying to find out why the Russians were so damn pissed with Scarlett for trying to bug Dorokhov would be the key to ending this thing. A certain amount of anger and posturing was expected. Snipers and bombs were taking things to the next level, which meant someone had secrets to hide or a giant ego—or both.

He sipped a can of Red Bull—another habit he’d picked up in the teams and never quite quit—and checked the route finder as they headed north.

Ken Maidstone lived in a small town just north of Leesburg in northern Virginia, situated at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was a historic area set in wine country, with the Potomac winding its way lazily along its eastern flank.

According to the information Alex Parker had dug up, Maidstone’s wife had died of lung cancer about five years ago, and he’d retired from the Bureau one year ago. Now the guy did some freelance consulting.

Being Christmas Eve, traffic was nose-to-tail, fist on the horn. Matt had never gotten the polar opposites between theory and practice of the goodwill toward all men. He hadn’t been one of those kids surrounded by a million relatives and a huge sit-down turkey dinner. When he’d been in country, it had been just him and his mother.

He suspected he had that in common with Scarlett.

He didn’t want to miss this Christmas with his mom. Guilt ate at him, but part of him knew the most important part of her was already gone. It didn’t mean he could just abandon her though.

He glanced again at Scarlett. Maybe he
should
transfer her to protective custody with the US Marshal Service? He was veering over the line toward personal and that would bring nothing but trouble. The idea of getting to know her better, of pursuing some sort of relationship once they’d cleared up the mess she currently found herself in, was tempting. He avoided making those kinds of mistakes whenever possible, but the idea of a relationship with Scarlett had slipped past his guard from the very beginning.

Relationship
?

He didn’t even know her. She looked innocent, but she was trouble with a capital T.

She was also courageous, smart, and loyal. Even as he considered the option of handing her off to someone else, he dismissed it. He was a part of this mess now—they’d already proven his death meant less than nothing to them, so fuck them.

It was good to know where he stood so he could return the favor if it came down to the wire.

And the idea they would hurt a woman… He didn’t understand men like that. Who knew what the hell they were doing to Angel LeMay? And when Scarlett found out he’d lied about her best friend, she was going to go through the roof. Frazer hadn’t gotten back to him on whether or not there was any progress there. The idea Dorokhov felt powerful enough to take the daughter of a United States Congressman without retaliation seemed nuts, and yet even though they were looking, there was no proof the ambassador had been involved.