Deadly Lies (6 page)

The team Luke had assembled for the serial kidnappings case had gathered in the conference room to hear Monica’s update and
to find out just what they could expect in the coming days.

“The kidnappings are out in the open now. The families know exactly what will happen if they don’t pay for their sons’ release.”

Sons.
So far, only men had been taken. Strong, fit men in their twenties. All had been abducted within a two-hundred-mile radius
of D.C.

“Can we expect copycat crimes?” This came from Agent Jon Ramirez. Since he’d recently finished up a serial rapist case in
Denver, Dante had pulled Jon onto the team. Jon lounged back in his seat, black eyes watchful, as he tapped a pen against
the edge of the long conference table. “Rich boys vanishing… maybe it will tempt others.”

“It might.” Monica crossed her hands over her chest and gave a slow nod. “Expect them.”

Great. More drama to cloud the case.

“And expect the real kidnappers to strike soon.
Very
soon.”

Sam shook her head. “But there’s usually at least two weeks between—”

“The kidnappers didn’t get their paycheck for the last victim. They’ll make another snatch.”

Snatch. Such a cold way to talk about a person’s life.

“The last four victims all disappeared from bars near college campuses… those are the hunting grounds,” Monica said. “So far,
the kidnappers haven’t visited the same place twice.”

That they knew of.

“We’ve canvassed the bars where our vics were,” Luke’s much warmer voice cut through. “We couldn’t find anyone who remembered
seeing the men leave.”

Sam cleared her throat. “I tapped into the traffic camera that’s located right down the street from The Core. I was able to
retrieve license plate numbers for over a hundred vehicles.”

Luke raised a brow.

“I cross-referenced those tags with the vehicles that we saw from the traffic cameras at the other scenes. There were no matches.”
But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “I’ve got the names and addresses of the people who owned the cars. We can interview
those folks; maybe someone remembers seeing Jeremy.”

Now Luke nodded. “Good work, Sam.” He pointed at Ramirez. “Why don’t you and Kim take the witness list? See if anyone was
sober enough to remember our vic and the person who took him out of the bar.”

“The perps are smart,” Monica murmured. “I counted at least three exits at The Core. A bouncer is usually stationed at the
front, but the other doors would have been clear. If they went out the back way—”

“Then they could have taken the East Benedict Road and not gotten caught on the traffic camera,” Sam finished quietly. Yeah,
she knew about the alternate route, and if the killers were as organized as they thought they were, they knew, too.

But everyone made mistakes, and just maybe their killers had screwed up.

“We grill every potential witness.” Luke’s gaze swept the room. “And we focus on finding the perps’ next hunting ground.”
His stare rested on Sam.

And she knew what he wanted. Sam licked dry lips and said, “I’ve been working on generating a statistical pattern trajectory
for possible bars that the perpetrators might hit.”
Patterns.
She knew them and had always been able to see them where others couldn’t. “Our kidnappers like to hit the most crowded bars,
those within a ten-mile radius of college campuses, and they like the bars that stay open until at least 4 a.m.”

“How many bars have you found?”

“Within the kill zone?” Sam asked. The kill zone—that two-hundred-mile stretch that the perpetrators used for hunting. “Twenty-three.”
College kids liked their bars.

Ramirez swore. “We can’t cover that much territory.”

“We can,” Luke said. “We just have to get our asses moving. We’ll call in the local police for backup, and we’ll make sure
the staff at these clubs are alerted.”

Sam’s shoulders hunched.
Field work.
Okay, she could do this.

Luke’s attention was still zeroed in on her. “Sam, I want you to keep searching the family’s financials. Dig deeper into their
computer systems and see what you can discover.”

Sam forced a curt nod. “Consider it done.” They hadn’t been given access to the other victims’ computers. The families had
closed ranks with their lawyers as fast as possible. This time, things were different.

That morning, Sam had already started a scan on the laptop—too easy. The password had taken five seconds to bypass. She had
a download program retrieving all of Jeremy’s deleted e-mails and encrypted files now.

The family’s financial records were coming up clean. No major debts. No missing money that couldn’t be accounted for.

Luke rattled off several target areas, bars situated around college campuses. They were focusing on the bigger schools, those
with students connected to powerful, wealthy families.

Luke assigned search areas to the other agents, leaving Sam grounded.

“Let’s move, people,” Luke said. “Talk to the bartenders and waitresses, tell them to keep their eyes open—and let’s find
these bastards before anyone else gets taken.”

Or killed.

The music was loud. No, ear-splitting. But this dive on the edge of the Georgetown campus was where Sam needed to be.

She stood just inside the doorway of The Core, letting her gaze sweep across the packed bar. The bouncer at the door, a tall,
muscled guy with an ear full of piercings, had waved her inside when she’d flashed her badge. She knew other agents had already
talked to the guy. Kevin Milano had been working the door the night Jeremy vanished, but he hadn’t remembered seeing the vic
leave.

According to the e-mails that she’d read, Jeremy Briar had met his friends here every other Friday night.

And the third victim, Curtis Weatherly, the guy who’d managed to come back home and then get shipped right out to Mexico,
had also visited this bar. Sure, a visit to The Core had meant a long drive from his home in Virginia, but he’d come… a week
before he’d vanished. Curtis hadn’t answered the agents’ questions, so she hadn’t gotten that detail directly from him.

Luckily, he’d posted it on his Facebook page, and she’d logged his activities.

Two victims, one bar.

Another pattern. And maybe, just maybe, if she dug deep enough into the lives of the other victims, she’d find that they were
linked to The Core, too.

It was edging close to midnight. She hadn’t told Luke about the link yet, but she’d tell him first thing tomorrow.

And she was there because—

Someone bumped into her, and Sam spun around, her arms coming up.

“S-sorry…” A drunken slur as the man weaved past her.

She exhaled slowly.
Get a grip.
Her weapon was in her bag. She was surrounded by drunken frat boys. Not killers.

But, no, maybe one of them was a killer.

And
that
was why she was here. Why she’d forced herself to come inside the bar after staying in the car for twenty minutes. She was
an FBI agent, for Christ’s sake! Her job was to follow leads. She
could
do this.

If she’d called someone else to check the bar, Hyde
would’ve wondered about her. Even more than he already did. A quick sweep, sure, she should be able to handle that.

Right?

Pulling her jacket close, Sam eased her way through the crowd.
Not her scene.
But then, she’d graduated college when she was seventeen, so it hadn’t exactly been legal for her to be in a joint like this.

After an eternity, she made it to the bar and slapped her palm down on the gleaming surface. The bartender glanced up, one
eyebrow raised. “Whattaya need?”

Sam took a breath. “I’m looking for a man.” The profile pointed to a man as the leader of the kidnapping ring.

“Sweetheart…” He motioned to the crowd, “take your pick.” The guy looked to be around thirty with a gleaming bald head and
tattoos on his hands.

Her back teeth ground together and her spine snapped up. “No, a young guy, probably in his twenties, attractive, smart—”

“Yeah, look, your to-do list is fuckin’ fascinating, but—”

“He would have been alone,” she continued doggedly, aware that her cheeks were heating and her words coming too fast. “And
he would have spent his time staring at the other customers. Maybe focusing on the ones who liked to spend too much money…”

“
Samantha?
” The gravel-rough voice came from behind her. Sam spun around—

And came face-to-face with Max.
What?

He shook his head. “What are you doing here?”

Oh, crap. She wet her lips. “I—”

“She’s looking for a man, bud, same thing as all the others.” The bartender’s bored drawl rose behind her.

Max’s eyes slit. “The hell you are.”

Oh, damn. This was not good. “Um, no, I was—”
Working a case
.

He leaned in close. “Looking for more no-strings sex?” Anger glinted in his gaze.

Maybe it was time for an explanation.
Hi, I’m Sam, an FBI agent. I picked you up in a bar, and I don’t even know why I did that. I may be having a breakdown but
don’t tell my boss because he’ll fire my ass.

Sam licked her lips. Not the right time, not the right place, and no way could she get all that information out right then.
“It’s not what you think,” she managed instead.

The steel in his eyes told her that he wasn’t buying that one. “Look, I was—”

“Max!” Another man shouldered through the crowd. Younger, familiar. “Max, I didn’t think you’d ever get here!”

Dark gray eyes. Pretty-boy face. Ruddy cheeks already flushed from too much beer.

The image clicked instantly. He’d been at the party last night. And that voice—he was the guy who came out on the balcony.

Her gaze flew back to Max. A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Samantha, I want you to meet my brother, Quinlan Malone.”

She didn’t offer her hand. It would be a little hard to do because Max had both of them in a steely grip.

Quinlan flashed her a smile but seemed to weave on his feet. “Nice to meet you, pretty lady.”

Uh, right.

“Did you talk to him?” he asked Max. “What did he say, man, am I—?”

“No money, Quinlan,” Max gritted, turning his head a fraction to meet his brother’s stare. “No deal.”

“
Fuck.
”

Sam glanced between them. “Max…” Okay, this was just awkward. She didn’t have experience with the whole family situation.
An only child, she’d never dealt with sibling drama.

“Frank says you have enough for now.” Max’s lips were tight. “No more.”

Quinlan spun away and stormed through the crowd.

“Hell. Give me a minute, okay?” Max released her and took off after his brother.

But Quinlan slammed into what looked like a football player, a big, thick guy, and chaos erupted.

Fury. Fists. Screams. A ball of men tumbled onto the floor.

Fear pumped through her blood but she raced forward. “S-stop!” She screamed.

Quinlan got slammed into the floor. Hard.

Her fingers moved to her bag and to the gun that was hidden inside it. She pushed forward. “Let him go! That’s an or—”

“
Jesus,
” Max growled, shoving other bodies back, “
give it a damn rest!
” His roar seemed to quiet the crowd. He snatched his brother free of the violence.

Sam took a breath.

Quinlan shoved away from Max and took off through the gawking group.

Sam realized that she had her fingers curled around her
gun. Carefully, she eased her hold and let the weapon sink back into her purse.

Then Max stalked back toward her. He held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

He never hits the same bar twice.

Sam put her fingers in his.

Quinlan watched them leave.
Sonofabitch.
He’d known, deep down, that the old man wouldn’t give him the money.

“That jerk shouldn’t have hit you.” A woman’s soft, sexy voice murmured. She sidled up to him, tall and slim, dressed in a
slip of a black dress that barely skimmed her thighs.

He took another long pull from his beer. “A sore jaw’s the least of my damn worries.” His horseshoe ring gleamed, mocking
him.

She sat next to him. Didn’t wait for an invitation. Just sat and that skirt hiked up a little more.

No panties.

“I’m a good listener,” she murmured, and her fingers skimmed down his arm. “I bet talking will make you feel better.”

“No, the only thing that would make me feel better is if my tight-ass father gives me
my money.
” But his father wasn’t going to
give
him anything. How many times had he asked only to get fucking shot down?

He’d hoped his father might change his mind, so he’d gone to Max to run interference.
One last chance.

No deal.

And no more.

Her lashes lowered. “Parents can be hell.” She leaned
forward, and her long, blond hair brushed against his arm.

“I just want what’s mine!” Was that so wrong? No, no, he wasn’t the one who’d made the mistakes. That had been the old bastard.

She took his beer from him. Enjoyed a long, slow drink. “I know you do….” Her index finger traced around the rim of the beer
bottle. “I know, Quinlan, I know….” Her fingers rubbed over the rim once more. “Finish this one,” she said, “and the next
one will be on me.”

“Where’s your car?” Max demanded, fury still heating his blood.

Samantha blinked at him with her wide, dark eyes.

Picking up another man? Shit, I should have known that I was just one in a line for her. Should have known.

When she didn’t answer, he spun around and found the red VW at the end of the street. “You’re packing it in.
You’re done for the night.
”

“I wasn’t there to pick up a lover.” Halting, soft.

He turned back to find her frowning at him, a faint furrow between her brows.

“If I need sex,” she told him quietly, “I know I can come to you.”

What? Jesus, who went around saying things like that? Well, other than her?