The Silenced (19 page)

And yet...

He watched the two of them. And all he wanted to do was...

Kill.

11

M
eg was startled, not at all sure what to say.

Should she tell him the truth? About what she’d said—or what she felt?

“I said you were a good partner.”

“Oh, now, that would be a lie,” he said, obviously amused. “You think I’m high-handed, chauvinistic and intolerable.”

“That’s not true,” Meg protested. “Not the intolerable part. You’re bearable. Just bearable.”

“Ah, thank you for that!” he said, lifting his coffee cup to her and smiling.

“Well, let’s be frank. You feel I’m too young, too emotional and not nearly as capable as you are. You’d rather have an experienced man at your back.”

His smile deepened. “You’re young, yes,” he said.

“That means better reflexes,” she told him.

“And you’re emotional, yes,” he went on as if she hadn’t responded.

“Well, yes, I was emotional when we met.”

He eased forward again, running his finger around the edge of his coffee cup. “I didn’t mind.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I wasn’t rude, was I?”

Meg waved a hand in the air, astonished by this whole conversation. They were almost flirting.

And she liked it. Liked him. How many times in the past few hours had she thought she’d like to take a moment
not
to be an agent, and to turn back into his arms?

“Am I more capable?” he asked. “I hope so. I’ve been out of the academy for years. A decade. So I hope I’ve gained something from my experience.”

“That’s fair,” Meg said. “Or fair enough.”

“Would I rather have a man at my back?” He shook his head. “No. I want someone I trust. I believe in you, kid.” He raised his cup to her again. He turned as their waitress arrived to deliver their meals.

“I’m not a kid,” she informed him when their waitress had gone.

“No, I guess you’re not,” he said. “Ketchup?”

She burst into laughter.

“Ketchup is funny?”

“I can’t read you. I can’t read you at all. One minute, I feel as if you’re...well, as if we’re almost on the same wavelength—and the next, ketchup.”

“It’s good on a burger.”

She gazed down at her plate and wondered if she was a fool. She thought about her past, her previous relationships. Nothing recently. A great romance in high school that ended the minute she’d gone to college. There’d been lots of flirting with male cops at the police academy. Then she’d dated a lawyer until he’d begun to look at her too oddly, uncomfortable with her “hunches.” Then more flirting, this time with the male cadets at the academy. All kinds of innuendo—and yet nothing that she chose to pursue, not with the goal ahead of her. And now...

She looked up. Matt was watching her, hazel eyes like broken shards of crystal, his expression as charming as she’d ever seen.

“What is it, Agent Murray? There are things we can’t learn at the academy, aren’t there? So, you want the truth—without condiments? You’re a stunning woman, but surely you know that. I’d love to sweep you into my arms, and never let you go. Of course, basic decency, not to mention social rules, keep me from doing that, especially when we’re searching for someone near and dear to you. So...if I’m moving too far in what might not be an acceptable direction, I move on to ketchup. It does go well with burgers. Should I have suggested mayonnaise?”

Meg stared at him blankly in bewilderment—and then she slowly smiled. “I do like ketchup,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “Perhaps I could pass the salt or pepper?”

“Salt and pepper can certainly add flavor.”

“Ask for anything you’d like.” He lowered his head as he turned his attention to the food in front of him. Meg felt frozen—and on fire. She knew she should focus on her burger—and the ketchup—as well.

Or she could act. Act on her feelings. And she suddenly wanted to.

She reached across the table and placed her fingers lightly on his hand. “Want to know what I saw when we first met?”

“What?”

“Arrogance—which I’ve discovered is another word for the confidence needed in this work. And let’s see... A man who looks like a television gladiator, just like Maddie said. And most important, I saw someone who had my back even when I felt I was being judged.”

“Well, you
were
being judged.”

“And?”

“I’ve already laid it all out quite nicely,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.

“So have I.”

He studied her a moment longer. Then he asked, “Did you want anything else?”

“Pardon?”

“Anything else to eat. More coffee, dessert?”

“No, no, thank you. I’m done.”

He caught the eye of their waitress and quickly paid the check. “Let’s go,” he said, once his card had been returned.

He held her elbow lightly as he led her to the car. She slipped around to get into the passenger seat. When he began to drive, she asked him, “Where are we going?”

He glanced at her, his smile endearingly crooked. “My place.”

“Okay. There is mine.”

“Ah, but I have furniture.”

She eased back in the seat, realizing that they were headed to his house for the direct purpose of having sex.

It seemed remarkable, but she was glad, and the anticipation was warm and exhilarating. She refused to even wonder if she was committing professional suicide. The days had been hard and frantic, and now...

Evidently, foreplay had taken place at dinner. They’d barely stepped into his foyer before she was in his arms. His hold was more sensual than she’d ever imagined. They tore at each other’s jackets and shirt buttons, then paused.

The guns were awkward.

“Upstairs. Bedroom,” Matt said.

“You’re good with words, Agent Bosworth!” She laughed, but she took his hand and raced up the stairs with him. Soft night-lights lit the way. Their Glocks went on the bedside tables.

He paused again, looking at her in the shadowy light as he slipped her tailored shirt from her shoulders. She nodded in answer to his unspoken question as she returned the gesture. Moonlight played through a slit in the drapes, falling on the sleek, tightly muscled, bronzed expanse of his chest. She leaned against it as her bra fell away. She felt the electric delight of touching so gently, and as he tilted her head, he stared into her eyes one last time, and kissed her.

He was everything she could have hoped for—a practiced lover with the ability to tease with his lips and tongue, to awaken hunger and longing with every brush of his fingers. His kiss was deep and compelling, his touch purely sensual and erotic.

She wasn’t even sure exactly how and when they lost the rest of their clothing. She just knew that they were entwined on the bed. She felt the stroke of his fingers and the caress of his tongue and returned both.

Only the foreplay with words had ended. The sweep of his touch continued; his kisses roamed the length of her, brought her near climax and then drew back, again and again. They were in a tangle of kisses and strokes and whispered utterances of pleasure and encouragement. He took the time to look after the necessary precautions, then he was on top of her and within her, and she felt she’d never had such an experience before. Maybe it was the longing, the loneliness she hadn’t known she felt, or maybe it was just the magic of this man.

Climax was explosive and sweet, and it occurred again and again. Eventually she slept; it was sheer exhaustion that led her to it at last. At times, she woke, and felt the cool air in the room and saw the moonbeams filtering through, and she basked in the comfort.

She knew that when daylight came, she’d worry again; she would doggedly follow any chance of finding Lara.

And she knew she’d be helped. By Matt.

She closed her eyes and couldn’t believe what it felt like to sleep in his arms, surrounded by his warmth.

* * *

Slash had watched many people over the years; it was necessary in his business.

He’d never felt like a voyeur before. He didn’t like the feeling. And yet...

He couldn’t quite turn away. The drapes had been closed. There’d been just that narrow little window. And what he hadn’t seen, he’d envisioned in his mind’s eye.

The two of them, beautiful people, naked in each other’s arms. Her long shapely legs, the curve of her back. And him...holding her, touching her, feeling her, breathing her in...

Slash had felt the fury inside him become something terrible. He’d smashed his fists on the dashboard—almost broken it, but then remembered it was his own car. He’d stared at the slit in the drapes again. He’d been so upset he’d gotten out and walked the open pavement. It was late, so no one saw him.

He realized they wouldn’t be leaving and he imagined them in bed. He imagined her hands on the other man, her long elegant fingers moving over his body...

And finally he’d realized that he had to control himself.

He also had to sleep. It was difficult being two people—one who appeared by day.

And one who killed by night.

He forced himself to drive away.

He could not force himself to forget.

* * *

Matt woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He saw that it was Jackson and answered immediately. They’d be at the cemetery, ready to exhume the body of Congressman Hubbard in an hour, Jackson said. He’d meet them at Arlington, along with Adam and Kat Sokolov.

Matt glanced at Meg, who was just beginning to stir. She could look so cool and efficient when they were working. Lying there, with her hair a dark and tempting halo around her face, she managed to look like a provocative vixen, even asleep.

He didn’t have time to wonder if what they’d done was a mistake, whether it was right or wrong; it had felt natural, and he could never regret the night.

Neither could he linger.

She was blinking at the daylight coming through the drapes. He couldn’t resist a tap on her backside. “Hey, new girl, no hot morning sex. We have to be at Arlington in an hour.”

In case he was tempted himself, he hurried to the shower and came out moments later, draped in a towel. He tossed one to her, trying not to look her way.

They hadn’t bothered bringing in her bag last night.

“I’ll run and get your things while you’re in the shower,” he told her. “Extra toothbrushes, soap, shampoo—in the cabinet over the sink.”

He dressed as she fled into the shower. Downstairs, he set the coffeemaker in motion, then went out to the car to grab Meg’s bag.

He paused. Something had been written on the car. He could hardly make it out because the car wasn’t dirty. But someone had written on the hood. He leaned closer to study the barely discernible scrawl.

It was just one word.
DIE
.

He hesitated, not wanting Meg to see it, but not wanting to remove it until he’d had the forensic team examine the car. There could be a fingerprint; of course, it might just be that of a neighborhood tough who knew it was a company vehicle.

It might also belong to the murderer—or at least the person who’d been following them, whether or not he was the murderer. Whether or not he’d taken Lara...

Matt dashed upstairs with Meg’s bag, calling out to her as he left it by the bathroom door. Downstairs again, he poured coffee.

Meg was down as soon as he finished. She’d gotten ready in ten minutes and yet looked as if she’d spent an hour securing her wealth of hair in a shimmering bun. He wasn’t sure if she was wearing makeup; her blue eyes were so darkly fringed with lashes she didn’t need much.

Although he didn’t
want
to tell Meg what someone had written on the car, he also realized that if she were any other partner, he would. “I think we had someone watching us last night,” he said. “Either that, or some juvenile delinquents were out writing on cars.”

“Oh?” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “What did they write?”

“‘Die.’”

“‘Die’—as in...die?”

He nodded.

“You really think someone’s following us, then?” she asked. “Are they afraid we’re getting too close?”

“It’s possible. So we need to be extra vigilant,” he said. “Ready?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, all business now.

And he meant to be, too. But as she set her cup in the sink and rinsed it, then walked to the door, he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her back. He kissed her, inhaling her clean sweet scent. “Quickie?” he whispered against her lips.

“No,” she returned, smiling into his eyes. “But one day, remind me—and I’ll show you a real quickie.”

“Wow, you wicked woman!” he teased, locking the door behind them.

In less than thirty minutes, they were standing at the grave site at Arlington. The cemetery workers had already broken concrete and were ready to extract the coffin. They waited for Adam Harrison, Katya Sokolov and Dr. Wong, as the official presiding medical examiner. The three arrived shortly after, greeting them beneath the blue sky of the beautiful summer morning.

Arlington always seemed solemn and yet beautiful to Matt. He had many relatives buried there, all of whom had served in the military at different stages of history.

He’d never seen any of those ancestors walking the grounds, and he saw no one that morning. Even looking up the hill to Arlington House, Matt saw no sign of the dead—that is, of the departed appearing, in some form, in the present. The Krewe always hoped the dead would speak, that they’d solve things simply by saying, “He did it!” or “She did it!” But too often, the dead themselves didn’t know. They remained behind because of what they might suspect or because they needed justice in order to move on.

They all stood silent as they watched the workers, perhaps because there was something so sad, something that felt
wrong
, about digging up the dead. Another car drove in to join them.

Matt was disheartened to see that the arrival was Maddie Hubbard, driven by a chauffeur. He went to the car to greet her as the chauffeur helped her out of the backseat. “Mrs. Hubbard, you didn’t need to be here,” he said.

“My boy, you’re as nice as they come,” she said with a wink, “but rather slow. I distinctly remember asking you to call me Maddie.”

He had to smile at that. “I’m sorry—Maddie,” he said. “This isn’t easy for you.” He shook his head. “You really don’t need to be here.”