Where Evil Waits (21 page)

T
HE DOOR TO
M
ONTIEL’S
lodge opened electronically; the key was right where Knutson had said it would be. Luke held it ajar for Kara and they stepped inside. There were a few perks to posing as a crony of Montiel; this was one of them. High ceilings with the full-length windows and the skylights Luke always wanted, an enormous stacked stone fireplace and gourmet kitchen, fluffy, high-end furnishings. He imagined the bedroom would be equally luxurious.

Wanted to take Kara upstairs and find out.

He pushed that thought away and went to the sink, stripped off his shirt and examined his arm. The cut was about four inches long but shallow, just deep enough to have soaked his sleeve with blood. He used a wet washcloth and cleaned off the worst of it, then tied a towel around his upper arm using his teeth to pull the tail tight. Rinsed his face and hands and turned back to Kara.

She stood on the opposite side of the great room, strung like the highest string of a violin. After a silent, tense drive, she was still uncertain about him, probably running through every event and conversation from the
past day and night and trying to color them with the realization that she’d hired an FBI agent—not a criminal—to fake her death.

Luke walked to the edge of the great room, careful to leave the space of the area rug between them. She looked nothing like the warrior who’d gone after him in the courtroom a month ago, or the banshee who’d taken on Ronald Gibson an hour ago. She looked lost.

“What do you want to know?” Luke asked. Quietly, like a hunter trying not to spook a doe.

She lifted her face and tears shone in her eyes. “Where is Aidan?”

“Outside Dahlonega, in a Bureau safe house. Maddie—Special Agent Madelena Baez—is with him, along with an interrogator who specializes in talking to teens. He’s safe, Kara. He was never in danger from me.” He paused. “Neither were you.”

She looked at him, and he could only imagine the confusion in her mind. He didn’t know what to do to help her make sense of it. He wasn’t accustomed to handling people gently or tending to their emotions. His solution to her uncertainty would be to take her upstairs and blow her mind with orgasms.

Clearly, Kara wasn’t thinking of such things. She was a collection of raw nerves. Relief might be in there somewhere, but confusion and anger were, too.

“I wanted to tell you,” Luke said, wondering why it mattered to him that she know. “For the first time I can remember, it bothered me to play the part.”

She looked at him. “Who are you, really?”

He swallowed, surprised that his true identity was closer to the surface than he could ever remember. “Lukas Mann. I’m from a little Pennsylvania Dutch town in
northern Ohio. My brother is the sheriff there and I have a passel of siblings. My mother still lives there.”

“Katrin,” she said, and Luke felt the tug of a smile.

“Yes.”

“How long have you been Luke Varón?”

“A little over a year. He was created for me to come here. Before that, I infiltrated the Rojàs cartel in Colombia. Frank Collado is Manuel Rojàs’s nephew. He was the one major player who slipped the net, and just when we thought he’d gone underground, he set up shop in Atlanta.”

“Because of Andrew.”

Luke shrugged. “And Montiel. His companies provided the venue for money laundering.”

“What about the man who died in the warehouse fire? The one you were charged with murdering.”

She was still suspicious, but Luke could see it was beginning to make sense. “He was a hit ordered by Collado—a test for me. The DEA had a bead on him. They helped us fake his death and put him in witness protection, then let Varón go to trial for murder for the sake of building credibility.” He looked at her. “I’m not really a hit man, Kara.”

“So you haven’t killed anyone?”

He winced. “I can’t say that. But I haven’t killed anyone unlawfully.”

She held his gaze. “Why FBI? I thought the drug war was the purview of the DEA.”

Luke felt as if he was on the stand, being cross-examined. She was leaving no stone unturned. She didn’t quite trust him yet. “Mostly. But the FBI handles organized crime. The Rojàs family was into more than just drugs.”

“And Montiel? Ben Archer’s case against him?”

“Archer was getting ready to bring indictments; we couldn’t let that happen with the shipment en route. We shut him down.” He cocked his head. “Which brings up an interesting point: the letter you said you have about Montiel.” Her cheeks went pink. Luke smiled. There had never been a letter. “That’s what I thought. Well played, Counselor.”

She looked at him, unable to relax just yet. She was still uncertain, still scared.

Still so fucking beautiful.

“Andrew?” she asked.

And there it was, the heart of the issue. Luke felt a block of weariness weigh him down. “Kara, do you think we could sit down?”

Her gaze went steely. “Andrew,” she demanded, still standing on the opposite side of the room. So, Luke was one of the good guys now, but he’d still worked some nefarious scheme with her husband. Who was dead.

“When Montiel got in with Collado, Andrew was a ripe target. He was in financial trouble and—” He stopped. She wasn’t ready to hear about Aidan, yet. “Andrew signed on with Macy’s, thinking it would solve his problems.”

Luke felt as if he were the dispenser of torture. Every word he said seemed to cut a little deeper.

“Why were you ordered to kill him?”

“When the trial routes started running—smaller shipments to put all the players in place—Andrew got cold feet. He wanted out. Collado didn’t trust him anymore.”

A frown gathered her brow. “So you volunteered to kill him?”

“It was a little more complicated than that, but yes. Collado and I have some… unfinished business. He
knows me from Colombia under my previous cover. So Luke Varón was born. Another insider made sure the pictures he saw of me were doctored enough he wouldn’t recognize me, and I came on as a reputable hit man with a well-documented history.”

She wrapped her arms over her midriff as if a chill had washed over her. “Did you meet Andrew?”

Luke held her gaze. “Yes.”

She looked at him with sheer betrayal in her eyes.

“We marked him for an informant, and it progressed from there. Elisa wasn’t his lover, Kara; she was the case agent. The night of the accident, they were nailing down the details for him to turn on Collado and come in.”

“You were in custody.”

“That was the story. I was actually in the same safe house where Aidan is now. Talking to Andrew and Elisa, getting the information we needed and working out a deal for him.”

Kara was silent and still, but Luke could see her mind going a thousand miles an hour.

“Andrew did some bad things, Kara, but this much is fact: In the end, he decided to work for us.”

“I know,” she said, sounding distant. “The night he died, before he left… he was upbeat. He kissed me—for the first time in ages—and told me everything was going to work out. He said he’d screwed up, but said, ‘Tonight will change everything.’ ” She closed her eyes, and after a long moment, looked at Luke again. “He was right.”

Luke’s heart sprang a leak. “I’m sorry, Kara. Jesus, I’m sorry.”

For the first time since they’d entered the house, she looked at him as if she really saw him. The sheen of shock had dissipated. “It wasn’t your fault. Andrew was the one
who signed on to the deal. You and Elisa were offering him a way out.”

“Yes,” Luke said. He couldn’t account for the degree of relief he felt learning she didn’t blame him. He hadn’t quite acknowledged how much it meant to him before.

Now, he did. He admitted deep inside that he wanted her to trust him, lean on him,
know
him.

Heady stuff.

She frowned. “So, when I contacted you, you thought it was going to be about Andrew.”

“It was a helluva lot more likely than the real reason. I never dreamed a murderer had been stalking you for the past year.”

Hearing it put into words seemed to take her by surprise. “Neither did I,” she said, then shook her head. “So, this man who’s out there now, killing people and threatening me… Is he connected to the drug cartel?”

“Honest to God, we don’t think so anymore,” Luke said, daring to take just one step closer to her. “This isn’t about drugs or money. It’s some psycho getting off on torturing you. All this time, I thought Andrew’s death came from my end but now… It looks like the car accident was just the beginning of whatever this killer is doing.”

“Alexander,”
she said, scrunching her brow. “God, I can’t place it.”

“You haven’t had time yet. We’ll figure it out. I’ve already got Knutson running the name.”

“What about Ronald Gibson?”

“They took him into protective custody. If the poor man ever recovers from the scare you gave him tonight, they’ll squeeze him.”

She looked insulted. “You weren’t getting anywhere with him.”

Luke tried to look stern. Inside, relief poured through his veins: Her spark was coming back. “I was getting somewhere. Just not as fast as you wanted me to.”

“A man like that is used to other men wanting something and pushing to get it. A crazy woman flying off the handle is different.”

“No argument there.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Luke asked. He started across the room, slowly closing the distance between them. “You stole a firearm from a Federal agent, disobeyed a direct order, and might have stopped Gibson from talking or gotten any one of us hurt. You were impulsive and rash and nearly out of control.” He stopped right in front of her, drilling her with his gaze. “It was sexy as hell.”

Her mouth unhinged and that alone pushed Luke’s blood to a faster rate. The pretense was gone. She knew what he was. She didn’t blame him for Andrew’s death and she wasn’t afraid he was going to hurt her or her child. She stood in front of him looking relieved and vulnerable and beautiful, and he wasn’t the ruthless drug henchman Luke Varón anymore. He was Special Agent Luke Mann.

“I thought you were steaming mad at me,” she said.

“I was steaming,” he said, and couldn’t help dragging a fingertip down the side of her cheek. “I was mad at first, too. But I forgot that part when you came bearing down on Gibson and I licked my lips and still tasted you there.”

The rush of color in her cheeks deepened and Luke tucked his knuckle beneath her chin, letting his thumb brush her lower lip. “I’m one of the good guys, Kara,” he said. “You’re safe with me.”

Her lip quivered beneath the pad of his thumb. Her
eyes filled with a torrent of emotion. Astonishment, skepticism, wonder. Fear, relief, hope.

Desire.

“Lukas Mann,” she said as if tasting the name.

“Hopewell, Ohio. Two brothers, one sister, two loving parents. A white picket fence.” He stopped. Sometimes he’d barely remembered those things himself. “I want you, Kara,” he said, sliding his hands to either side of her face. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

He bent his head, his lips covering hers with all the tenderness and warmth he could muster, his hands cradling her cheeks as gently as if he were handling a butterfly. The muscles in his arms quivered with restraint and his lips played on hers, her mouth warm and supple, her body both fragile and strong at once. She kissed him back for a moment, then tipped her face toward his and let her lips fall open. Luke crushed her against his body, delving into her mouth with his tongue, drinking her in like the finest of wines. She was sweetness and heat—and an innocence that shouldn’t have been there but was. Her body trembled with need and passion untapped for too long, and when he pressed her closer and felt her nipples rub the skin on his bare chest, all he could think about was being the lucky bastard who would take her places her husband never—

“Shit,” he said, ripping away. The brooch had scraped his chest. His breaths came short and he set her apart from him, gazing down at that glorious cleavage. He grabbed the brooch and yanked it off the dress.

She gasped, startled. Luke bullied down the need that had his pants tight and his chest beating like a drum, and held the brooch in front of his face.

“Signing off now, Knutson,” he said, never taking his eyes off Kara. “See you in the morning.”

He strode to the front door. Without a shred of guilt, he hurled the brooch into the woods.

He turned back to Kara, whose shock transformed to embarrassment, then finally melted into a snicker. “I’m pretty sure you just trashed a gazillion-dollar recording device,” she said, and Luke closed her into his arms.

“So sue me,” he said, and bent his head.

K
ARA GIGGLED.
Giggled.
It was such a foreign sound she almost didn’t recognize it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had giggled. Kara’s life had held its share of grief, but all in all, it wasn’t unpleasant. She had a child she loved and a successful career; she had friends she enjoyed and money enough for comfort, and for the majority of her adult life, she’d had a husband who was, if not passionate, at least caring and cordial.

And yet: She couldn’t remember ever giggling before. And that, in the middle of the most harrowing week she’d ever endured.

Luke stroked the side of her face with a long finger, stepping back.

“I need a shower,” he said. “Can I interest you in joining me?”

Kara swallowed. Shyness flooded in. “A shower?”

“This place belongs to Gene Montiel. I’m pretty sure it has a shower.”

Montiel.
Money launderer for Frank Collado. The prosecutor in her made an appearance and Luke nudged up her chin with a knuckle.

“Let it go, Kara,” he said. “It’s an international investigation and it has nothing to do with you anymore. Or us.”

Us.
Warmth washed through her limbs. The idea that she was part of an
us
—and that pairing included not a dangerous drug henchman but a protective FBI agent—made her want to hand him her troubles, sink into his arms, and simply let the FBI handle it. A shameful impulse for a woman who was known for strength and chutzpah and independence. But it surfaced nonetheless.

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to bully down the ignoble thought. “I’m not the kind of woman who—”

“Who would indulge in a love affair?”

“I have a child.”

“He’s not here.”

“I’m a public official.”

“And I’m a Federal Agent. Sounds like a good pairing to me.”

She shook her head. Everything had happened so fast she felt as if she’d been in a tornado and it had spun her and spun her and set her down with her equilibrium still reeling. She had to get her bearings back.

“I need to think,” she said, and his shoulders sagged a little. He stepped back.

“Well, I need a shower.” He tipped his head toward the stairs. “And I’ll warn you now that I won’t stay there too long knowing you’re out here. So whatever thinking you’re going to do, you’d better do it fast.”

Sasha’s father stared at the shower.
“Mo bog,”
he said, and instead of the shock Sasha might have expected, his face twisted with disgust.

Sasha snatched the nearest towel and covered himself, but it was too late. His father slammed his hand to his
forehead, like a man who’d just lost everything. A flash flood of emotions rose up in Sasha. Shock. Fear. Shame.

Rage.

His father kicked the bathroom door behind him. “It’s true. You? You are the one who attacked the girl?”

Sasha’s heart pounded against his rib cage. She’d told. The little bitch had told.

“I don’t know what you’re talking abo—”

“Do not lie to me.” Before Sasha could react, his father’s hand yanked the towel away. He gaped at the dark puncture wounds. “What is this?”

Sasha shoved him back and covered himself. “Get the fuck out of here. It’s none of your busin—”

“It
is
my business. It’s all of our business what you do with that girl, you understand? Your mother’s business and mine.” He was furious.

“What is she saying?” Sasha asked. “Kara. What did she say?”

“Nothing, at least I think nothing. I only hear the kids talking—that you maul her and she fought you. They make a pact not to tell. But they will. They are children.” He glared at Sasha. “Now you talk,
mo syn. Pravda.
Truth
.”

Pravda.
Sasha sneered at his father. What the fuck did he care? But Sasha told him anyway and as he did, the color drained from his face.

“Nyet, nyet,” Dmitri said, and actually sank to his knees. “You have no idea what you have done.”

“Stop overreacting. You said yourself; she isn’t going to tell anyone. Besides, nothing happened. Fuck, I didn’t hurt—”

“You don’t understand. You have ruined everything.”

Sasha frowned. “What are you talking about?”

His father grabbed his shoulders. “We must go. Pack a bag—only what you need. I will tell your mother.” He turned away, muttering in Russian. Sasha understood most of it but didn’t give a fuck. His father was acting crazy.

Screw him. Sasha knotted the towel he’d been holding and started for the door. “It was a game, you idiot. It would have been nothing, except the bitch shoved me onto a roll of bar—”

His father’s hand shot out. Sasha heard the crack before he even realized what had happened, then his cheek began to burn. He touched it, shocked, and felt blood at the corner of his lip. He stared.

“What the fuck?”

His father bore down on him, eyes filled with hatred. Sasha had always known Dmitri hated him; Sasha was his father’s American Dream gone wrong. The child they’d come here for was Stefan, Son of the Brilliant Mind and Great Potential, but now Stefan was dead. Sasha didn’t appreciate all they had sacrificed to give their children an American education, not like Stefan had. Sasha screwed around in school and didn’t study hard enough or work hard enough. He played games like baseball instead of pursuing the academics in which Stefan had shown such promise.

And it was all there now—the hatred and shame and disappointment in his child—burning in his father’s eyes, vibrating in his frame. No matter that he was smart and spoke perfect English like his parents had demanded and had a talent for baseball. He was a failure.

“You don’t understand,” Dmitri said again through clenched teeth. “I know you don’t but someday you will. Pack your things. Do not ask questions. If you come with us now—and the girl does not talk—perhaps we can still
save ourselves. If not,” he said, “then you will rot in the hell of your own making and I will never spare another breath thinking of you.”

Luke left Kara in the great room and climbed the stairs. He had to, otherwise he was going to be too far gone to stop. If she gave him any more—one more kiss, one more sigh, one more
look
—he would be lost.

Christ, he wanted her. He wanted to be her hero. He wanted to be her lover. And for the first time in more years than he could remember, he was a man who
could
be those things.

He walked into the spacious bedroom, groaned at the sight of the softly decorated king-sized bed, and tried to put it out of his mind. Kara needed to think—she’d told him that—and in his experience, a woman thinking too hard wasn’t likely to lead to sex.

He turned his back on the bed; he had to get his head together. He unwrapped the arm. It wasn’t bleeding just now, but he rooted in a cabinet until he found some gauze bandages in case it reopened. Took inventory of the rest of the drawers—clothes, toiletries, linens—and put his wallet in the nightstand drawer.

Just in case.

Then he checked in with Knutson.

“I was afraid to call you,” Knutson said. “Thought you might be busy.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Luke said, then dragged himself back to business. “Is Gibson talking?”

“About a guy named Alexander. But he doesn’t know much more than he told you already. You scared the living shit out of him. You and ‘some crazy-ass woman with a pistol.’ ”

Luke smiled. “She was something.”

Knutson said, “Our guy from Quantico is here; he’s chomping at the bit to talk to her.”

“Who is it?”

“Guy named Mike Hogan. Highly educated, good track record. Works with the BAU’s elite multiple murders squad.”

Luke closed his eyes. He didn’t need to hear about Mike Hogan’s reputation. “Does he know I’m on the case?”

“You’re not ‘on the case.’ And all he knows is that the main target of the killer he’s supposed to catch is hiding out with an undercover agent in cahoots with the DEA. He doesn’t like it.”

Luke cursed. Mike Hogan. It had been a long time. “Kara’s beat. She’s staying in hiding one more night. Tell Hogan we’ll meet him in the morning.”

“She gonna be any more rested then?” Knutson asked, then changed his tune. “Never mind. Listen, I’ve got two things for you. First, we traced the phone used to send Kara the picture of Penny Wolff. Its GPS put it somewhere near Garters’ Bridge over the Chattahoochee River.”

“He dumped it.”

“Probably. It looks like he’s never used the same phone twice. My guess is that every time he sent Kara a text over the past year, he trashed the phone right after.”

“So there are a bunch of cell phones in rivers all over the place.”

“The second thing is bigger: We found a missing male, thirty-four years old, in Chattanooga. His name is Anthony Fietti. His friends called him ‘Tony.’ He worked the eleven-to-seven shift at a refrigerator plant and got home every morning at seven twenty. Three times a week,
while his wife was getting the kids ready for school, he went for a run in Eastdale Park, about a half mile from his house. One morning six months ago, he never came back from his run.”

Luke straightened. Wasn’t sure where this was going but knew Knutson well enough to know it was important. “And?”

“His wife’s name is Gina.”

Luke’s pulse kicked up. “The engraved pen.”

“I’ve got a pair of agents going to talk to the wife first thing in the morning. They’ll find out if the pen was his.”

It was. Luke could feel it. “Find out if they know anyone named Alexander. Find out if Tony had a coke habit, or if he knew John Wolff—”

“Luke.” Knutson was frustrated. Didn’t need to be told what to do. “I’ll handle my end. You handle yours. I’ll send you what we know about Fietti. See if Kara knew him, or why he might have been a target. If so, maybe we can get a line on who those other things belong to. Maybe figure out what this asshole Alexander is trying to do.”

“He’s trying to torment Kara Chandler. That’s what he’s trying to do.”

“Then get her to name him so we can figure out why. I’d rather not get another picture like the one of Penny Wolff.”

Right. God, he didn’t want to lay this on Kara right now.

“Is Aidan talking?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Knutson said. “Maddie’s working on him, and a guy who’s been debriefing him over pool cues and video games. He’s been tight-lipped so far but he’ll come around. He’s just scared. And he’s worried about his mom. He says he doesn’t trust you.”

Smart kid,
Luke thought. He hoped when Aidan learned what Kara had, he would change his tune.

“And what about Collado?” he asked, knowing that the drug case would now roll forward without him. They didn’t need him anymore. In fact, now that Kara knew who he was and her stalker had ID’d him as a Fed, he didn’t dare go near that drug ring again. If anything tipped off Collado now…

“He’s offshore. They’re moving the load tonight, and it should be at Macy’s by tomorrow.” Knutson paused. “It’s in the bag, Luke. You gotta let the team finish and take care of Chandler. Mike Hogan is still reading up on the case and getting up to speed, but when he saw that message on the phone from the woods, he said one thing was certain.”

“And that is?”

“This killer has something specific in mind for Kara. And he’s not going to let you get in his way.”