They’d met so suddenly. She’d come on so strong.
Then she’d just appeared at the D.C. party. With me and Quinlan.
And she’d been at The Core, with me and Quinlan.
Samantha had been there last night, and tonight…
Frank Malone would pay nothing if Max disappeared. Max wasn’t real flesh and blood, so the old man wouldn’t give a shit about him. The money—the family money—was all tied to Quinlan.
“The guy said he’d been following you?” Real surprise flashed over her delicate features.
He grabbed his keys. “Go home. I don’t have time for—”
“I’m coming with you!” Fast, tumbling words. “Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing, I’m coming.”
He glanced up in time to see Samantha snatch up her shoes. “I’m not letting you do this alone,” she told him.
Max shook his head. “You don’t know what—”
Her fingers wrapped around his. “You don’t know what’s coming either. But you don’t need to be alone.”
His jaw clenched.
“Either you let me come with you or I’ll follow you, so just accept—”
“They could still be watching. Shit, they are watching. That ass**le on the phone, he told me if I went to the cops, I’d get my brother back in pieces!”
She flinched. “Max, you should—”
“Did you read the headlines? Did you see what they did to that other poor bastard?” The guy had suffered for a long time. “They’ll do it.” His eyes squeezed shut for an instant. Worry and guilt ate at him. “I was right there, and I didn’t even see them take him.”
“This isn’t your fault!”
“I’m getting Quinlan back. I don’t care what I have to do, but I’m getting my brother back.” His gaze met hers.
Samantha just stared at him, her expression worried. She doesn’t think I’ll ever see him again.
And deep down, he was afraid of the same damn thing.
Max drove fast. Too fast. The seatbelt cut into Sam’s shoulder as he rounded a too-sharp curve, and her breath hissed out. Her fingers were shoved in her purse, and she was sending the text on her phone as quickly as she could.
And she was hoping like hell that Max was so focused on the road and so distracted by his brother’s abduction that he wouldn’t notice what she was doing.
Hurry, hurry. Her fingers tapped quickly even as her stomach twisted.
He told me if I went to the cops, I’d get my brother back in pieces! Max’s words wouldn’t stop playing through her head.
If he knew who she really was… If he knew what she was doing…
No choice. This was her job.
And Quinlan’s life.
Sam sent the message and knew that she’d lost her lover.
Luke Dante’s phone beeped, a slow, deep tone that told him a message had come through for him. It was piss late, and he was comfortable, satiated, and in bed with the woman he loved.
Not just in bed with her. Three weeks ago, he’d moved in with her. Next step is marriage, baby. Get ready. Before Monica realized it, he’d have her bound to him for life.
And he wasn’t going to be satisfied with anything less.
For an instant, he thought about ignoring the text for a few hours, just until the sun slipped into the sky. He wanted to see the sun rise with Monica. The woman had a killer view from her bedroom. Much better than he’d had at his apartment. Not that he’d spent many mornings there.
Prefer to be with her.
“You want me to look…” Monica asked, her voice husky from sex and sleep, “or are you getting it?”
Shit. They didn’t have the luxury of ignoring calls. Not with their life.
Even damn doctors got more sleep than they did.
Luke rolled over and turned on the lamp. The soft glow spilled over the bed. “You think they’ve already taken another one?” Fully awake now, Luke growled the question as he reached for the phone. They. The kidnappers who were hunting rich prey.
Monica didn’t speak, but then that was an answer, wasn’t it? Hell.
He touched the screen on the phone. Sam. No, that didn’t make sense. If someone else had been taken, the call would’ve come from Hyde, not her.
“Luke? What is it?”
He scrolled over the screen and pulled up the message.
K has another. Stand by.
“What the f**k?” K—that had to be the kidnappers. They had another victim and that was all Sam was telling him? What was this shit?
Soft fingers pressed on his shoulder. A light breath eased against his ear. “What’s she doing?” Monica asked as she leaned in close to read the message.
“Hell if I know.” And that scared him. “This isn’t procedure. Sam knows—” Sam knows better than to screw with FBI protocol.
The bed squeaked as Monica eased back. “She does know. Sam knows a lot that most people don’t realize. Take a breath,” she ordered, “and figure out why she contacted you this way. She knows you’re here, so she could have just called the house line.”
He glanced over his shoulder and found Monica watching him with her bright eyes, glinting in the dark. “She… couldn’t talk.” So she’d texted him.
“Because maybe she’s not alone.”
Not again. Not to her. His left hand knotted in the bed sheets. “You think they’ve got—”
“No, Sam’s not the kidnappers’ type,” she immediately reassured him.
But Luke shook his head. “She’s from money, baby. We both know that. Old Boston money. If the perps found out about her, if they know what she’s worth…” Sam had turned her back on that rich life to take the job with the Bureau, but that life was still there, reaching out to her. What if the kidnapper had found the link? It wouldn’t be the first time the perps watched the hunters. Not the first, not the last.
“They take men,” she said quietly, and not a flicker of worry showed on her face. “Sam’s not the target. If she’d been taken, they never would have let her text you.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Her phone.” If he wanted to find Sam or if Sam wanted him to find her, it would be easy enough.
Monica raised a brow and nodded. “Hyde put those handy tracers in all our phones after the Watchman case. To find her, you know all you have to do is activate the trace.” Whether the phone was on or off, the tracer would still work.