He blinked at her. “You… you’re my brother’s girlfriend.”
She didn’t look at Max. Or Ramirez. “I’m Special Agent Samantha Kennedy, and I’ve been working your case.” She kept her voice low. Others were around, too eager to hear and run to the news. Every day, a new story appeared in the papers or on the news about Quinlan.
It was a good thing that Hyde had called Kenton Lake in from the Virginia office to help with the press. So far, the media had an insatiable appetite for the kidnapping case. The more lurid the details, the more they fed.
The fact that the other two surviving victims were back in town and broadcasting their story on every news channel wasn’t helping. Those two victims thought they were safe now. They just might be dead wrong.
“I already talked to the other woman.” Quinlan’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at Jared. “Daven—”
“Monica Davenport,” Sam inserted smoothly. Yes, Monica had wanted to talk to him right away. She’d only been able to talk with Quinlan briefly, though, before his lawyer had swooped in and closed them out. They’d had the options of forcing an immediate sit-down with Quinlan—and letting the press make them look like the big, FBI ass**les who were attacking the injured victim—or waiting until he was out of the hospital. They’d waited.
Quinlan was out of the hospital now, and although she understood his situation was damn painful, she had to bring him in. The waiting game was over.
“This isn’t the time…” Jared began, huffing with indignation.
Max just watched them with inscrutable eyes.
“We’ve given you time,” Ramirez said as he kept his arms loosely at his sides. “Time’s up.”
Sam held Quinlan’s gaze. “Tomorrow morning, we need you to come into the FBI office and answer some questions for us.” Deliberately, she let her stare drift to Jared. “You and your lawyer should check in at nine a.m.”
“You actually suspect my client of—”
She raised her hand. “Save it, Jared. We have routine questions for him.” Questions that the lawyer had blocked in the hospital. And with the press raining down on them, the SSD had allowed the delay.
But they’d kept a constant eye on Quinlan.
An eye that told them that, despite his injuries, Quinlan had spent last night with his father’s mistress. Grieving? Hurting? Yes, undoubtedly.
And screwing.
“We need you in the office tomorrow,” Sam said again. Then she turned her attention to Beth. “And we’ll need you, too, Ms. Dunlap.”
Beth’s lips parted in an outraged gasp. “Me? Why would you need—”
“We have some background questions for you,” Ramirez said flatly, and Sam caught the woman’s slight flinch.
Yes, Beth, we know. A past can be an inconvenient thing.
Beth fired a fast, nervous glance Quinlan’s way.
And this was the hard part. Sam turned her attention to Max. She found him staring at her with too-watchful eyes. “And we’ll need you there, too,” she said.
He didn’t blink. Damn but it hurt to see his eyes so blank like that.
“I’ll be there.” He inclined his head.
“Thank you.” She wanted to say more, but didn’t have the words to offer comfort to him. Sometimes, the job sucked. Ramirez took her elbow, and they both stepped back.
“I don’t—your girlfriend’s an agent?” Quinlan’s voice seemed too loud. “What the hell?”
She didn’t hear Max’s response and maybe that was a good thing. Because right then, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know what he had to say.
When someone pounded on her door just after midnight, Sam was awake. Awake, lying in bed, and staring up at the ceiling. Her heart lurched at the hard thumps, and she jumped to her feet. Her hand automatically dove into the nightstand drawer—going for her gun.
This time of night…
She hurried down the stairs of her townhouse. The pounding came again, harder now.
Sam peered through the peephole and saw Max. She wrenched open the door.
He froze with his hand still up. Raindrops glistened in his hair and clung to his wet coat. The chill air slipped inside, raising goose bumps on her arms.
“You think you need that?” he asked, and she followed his gaze to the barrel of her gun.
She kept her hold on the weapon. “What are you doing here, Max?”
“I traced your name. Traced you. Should have done it long ago.” The words were deeper and darker than she’d heard before.
Understanding hit. “You’re drunk.”
“I wish.”
Lightning streaked across the sky behind him.
“You’re a genius.” His hands slapped against the wood on either side of her door. “How many degrees did you get from MIT?”
She shook her head. “Why are you here?”
His gaze seemed to burn her.
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I needed to see you.” He leaned forward. Max ignored the gun as he caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head back. “I just needed you.” His lips crushed hers. His mouth was hard, hungry, wet from the rain, and she wanted him. Her lips parted, and Sam tasted whiskey on his tongue. Whiskey and… him.
Her mouth widened. She needed more of him. Her left hand pressed against his chest, right above his heart that raced so fast beneath her fingers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she moaned in her throat, a low rumble, even as her br**sts tightened with hunger.
More.
His tongue swiped against hers. His head lifted. Slowly, so slowly. “I figured out something tonight.”
She fought to keep her breathing steady. Okay, he was playing it cool. She could do it too. “What’s that?”
“We’re not over.”
She knew her eyes widened.
“Work your case. Do whatever you have to do, but we’re not ending, not yet.” A pause, then his lips kicked up on one corner in a rough half-smile. “That is, unless you tell me to drag my ass out of here.”
She didn’t say anything. One hand stayed over his heart and one hand clamped around her gun.
His gaze searched her face. “We started… at the wrong place. Too fast. Too hot.”
But she shook her head. He didn’t understand. “No, we started just right.” He’d been what she needed. Sex. Pleasure. No past. No future. And now…
A blast of thunder broke the night. Sam inhaled sharply. “Come inside.” She turned away and headed toward the desk. The door clicked shut behind him. The snick of the lock seemed a bit too loud.