Dangerous Loves Romantic Suspense Collection (62 page)

Wasn’t he the smart villain, stroking her ego?

“I suppose you say that to all the girls.”

His expression tightened.

She braved a step closer. This was it…her chance to capture the one prey who’d eluded her. All she needed to do was attack. To pit her will against his.

“You’re a killer. Why spare me?” she asked instead.

“I’m not a killer.”

“What about Mirna Catanzaro?” Mirna, the woman Grayson killed in Colombia. Vega had no idea why she needed to know. She just did. She needed to hear about Mirna from him.

“I shot her.” He turned away as if he couldn’t face the ugly truth.

“Why?” He’d saved Fiona and had protected her. Vega held her breath waiting for a logical explanation of Mirna’s death.

“Okay. You’re right. I’m a killer. That’s what I’m trained to do, damn it. Kill. Condemn me.”

The words fit with the profile of the monster she’d created in her file. They didn’t fit with the man standing in front of her.

“I don’t buy it. You wanted to marry her. You were there to kill the drug czar Carlos Briceno and you fell in love with Mirna. What happened? Did you find her in his bed? Tell me.”

Grayson shook his head as if trying to chase away his memories. “I killed her.”

“The file says she was in his bedroom with him, that you shot them both. What was it? Had she betrayed you?”

“No…don’t.” He grabbed her wrists and pulled her close. “Let the dead stay dead.”

His lips captured hers. He took, demanding she give into the passion burning just below the surface. She did nothing to stop him. His guilt and heat seeped deep into her soul. What did he want? Her forgiveness? Understanding?

For a wild moment she was ready to believe anything he’d tell her. She was ready to believe him innocent.

He pulled away and held her at arm’s length, scrutinizing her. “Last night, at the bar. Why did you kiss me?”

Why had she kissed him? “Because you’re safe, I suppose.”

“Safe?” He swallowed a laugh. “I’m a killer, Vega.”

There was something seriously wrong with the picture he’d painted of himself. He wasn’t a killer. His admission of coldly killing Mirna didn’t ring true. There was much more to that story. Just like there was much more to the story of what happened to his partner, Greg Harper. Her instincts had lied to her. He’d never been safe.

“You see me as unattainable? And that makes me safe? Is that it?” He raked a hand through his hair. “Jeez, and I thought I was messed up when it came to relationships.” He caressed her bruised cheek, tracing the line of her jaw.

“Who did this terrible thing to you? Who made you seek out men who can never offer you anything permanent?”

Vega jerked away. He’d hit too close to a truth she’d been unable to admit. Ask someone who was loveable how to find a lasting relationship. Not her.

Life drove her to harden any soft edges that could get her killed. That was just the way—the only way she could ever hope to become the very image of the stern man who’d made her.

“I’m not some sexy woman hiding behind a tough-girl package, Grayson. I am that tough girl. There’s no room in me for anything pink and frivolous like love.”

He pulled her back into his arms and gave her a little shake. “You’re a terrible liar. Who did this to you?”

The question cut deep and pain spilled out.

“No one.” She choked down a throat filled with tears. “I’m just trying to be the best…”
To make my father proud
.

“I’ve never met anyone as capable and sexy and so damnably desirable as you, Vega. You have nothing to prove to anyone.”

She let him hold her tightly against his chest while he rained kisses on her forehead. Her ironclad defenses weakened. She felt lighter, like she didn’t have to fight quite so hard.

“Excuse me,” a man cleared his throat. “Not to interrupt this tender moment. But damn, Vega. You’ve made one hell of a mess. What the hell’s going on?”

Grayson’s hands slipped away, leaving her standing alone. Cold.

“Agent Johnson,” she said. The FBI Johnson, a dark-haired man in his late thirties, was dressed in a dark suit and fit the federal agent stereotype perfectly. “Am I glad to see you.”
Just not right now
. Five minutes ago would have been better.

Grayson increased his distance, preparing to flee around a corner and through a maze of alleyways she knew nothing about. She had to stop him. She had to get him to face his lies and tell her the truth about Mirna and Harper.

“Don’t,” he said when she took a step toward him. He plucked an automatic from the ground and pointed it at her chest, which didn’t worry her. He wouldn’t shoot her—at least, not again. Well, she didn’t think he would.

Agent Johnson drew his pistol. “Drop it, Walker.”

Vega remained completely still, cursing silently. Johnson would pull the trigger and shoot Grayson without hesitation. Things
were
getting messy.

“I can’t let you take me, Vega. I need to be out here.”

“Why? If you’re as innocent as you claim, why run?” She stepped between Johnson and Grayson, effectively blocking the FBI agent’s aim.

“Just watch your sister, Vega. She’s in danger.”

Three regular uniformed police officers stormed the alley then with their pistols drawn creating a mess of chaos.

And just like that, Grayson was gone.

Johnson darted past her in pursuit. A few moments later, he returned empty-handed. He holstered his gun and gave her a curious look. Like he felt sorry for her or something.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asked.

“Umm…” Before Vega could come up with a reasonable explanation, an efficient officer shoved her up against a wall and cuffed her.

“Johnson? A little help?” He owed her. Last spring, she’d apprehended a crazed bomber who’d slipped through the feds fingers. The FBI would have gotten a serious black-eye if she hadn’t pulled through for them. She’d even stepped back and let Johnson’s team take the glory. He owed his job to her.

“She’s not dangerous,” Johnson said after a minute or so.

The cuffs came off, but the young police officers kept a cautious eye trained on her. So did Johnson.

“I suppose you had a damned good reason for tying up Whitfield,” he asked. “He’s got the political power to burn you to an unrecognizable crisp, Vega.”

“Not today, he doesn’t.”

She explained what had happened and what she had found on the way back up to Greg Harper’s office on the sixth floor. They found Whitfield loose and sitting at the computer Vega had used to view Harper’s CD.

“She’s delusional. Keep her away from me.”

A young officer pulled her aside. He patted her down, confiscating her Beretta and Harper’s data CD.

Whitfield straightened the gold-rimmed glasses balanced on his nose and nonchalantly took possession of the disc. “Next she’ll be spouting all sorts of nonsense about conspiracies and attempts against her sister’s life. I expected this, of course. What with all the negative press.”

A condescending smile curled on his lips. Vega couldn’t help but snarl. Johnson jumped in between to act as a calming shield. Unnecessary really. She couldn’t do anything to stir up trouble while so many cops guarded the power broker.

“I’m sorry, sir. But I’ll need to take that data CD into evidence.” Johnson held out his hand.

“I don’t plan on pressing charges,” Whitfield said.

“Because you’re afraid of what’s on that CD,” Vega said, only to have the officer restraining her give her a shake.

“You just stay out of this,” Johnson warned. But he did ask Whitfield for the data CD all the same. “This is evidence, sir. It came from a murder scene. I have to take it.”

Whitfield reluctantly handed over the disc. “You’ll hear from my lawyers about this.”

Johnson merely nodded. He dropped the disc into a small plastic bag, told the police officer in charge to take statements, and led Vega away from the scene.

She fidgeted while Johnson’s FBI team interviewed nearly every employee at Six-Star. Across the room, an FBI agent began a cursory review of Harper’s financial data CD. One hour passed. Then another. She glanced at her watch. She was supposed to meet Fiona within the next ten minutes to compare notes.

“I need to go.” She found Johnson rushing down a hall. He’d just hung up his phone and was rubbing his temples. “You know how to reach me if you need any more information for Whitfield’s arrest. Just be sure to question all those security guards in the black uniforms. At least two of them tried to kill Fiona. I’m convinced the one I’d tied up with…”

“Forget Whitfield for a moment. There aren’t going to be any arrests today. It’ll take weeks to sort out this mess.” He passed another FBI agent in the hall, a young energized beanpole whose enthusiasm reminded Vega of Fiona. “Keep an eye on things up here. I’ll be right back.”

Johnson kept Vega close to his side while they rode the elevator down to the lobby. “I just got a call about a kidnapping. A witness saw that Walker fellow grab your sister right in front of the Atlanta police station.”

Fiona? She couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s very possible. So tell me. What the hell were
you
doing kissing him?”

Her phone chirped. She ripped the tiny silver phone from her pocket.

“Hello?” It could be Fiona…or Grayson.

“Vega.”

Butch.

She didn’t say anything. Her mind had frozen.

“Vega, listen to me. Fiona’s gone.”

“I know.” This was impossible, unthinkable. Grayson wouldn’t do this to her. He couldn’t.

“I spotted him on the road a few minutes ago. I followed for as long as I could but lost him in the traffic on the interstate. I lost him, and he’s got Fiona.”

Oh God. What if Grayson had been playing with her emotions just to confuse her? What if he had intended to kill Fiona all along?

She’d kill him.

Chapter Eighteen

But why would Grayson kidnap Fiona?

A whole day and a half had passed. No calls. No demands. This silence was the worst kind of torture. It prodded Vega to question and re-examine all her assumptions.

She paced in her hotel room.

Where would he take Fiona? Why take her at all?

Jack had booked the next flight to Atlanta minutes after her call. By late afternoon, he’d arrived and taken control of the situation. The police were combing the metropolitan Atlanta area street-by-street, searching for clues, while the FBI picked apart Six-Star Enterprises and its subsidiary companies. They all were doing all that could be done, Jack assured hourly.

“Face it, he fooled you. You’re not the first person to believe a well-practiced criminal,” Jack said, trying his best to comfort. “You won’t be the last.”

Vega didn’t want comfort. “I’ve got to find him.”

“We will. The whole state of Georgia is looking for him. He won’t get far.”

If only Vega could believe that.

She’d screwed up royally and let Grayson slip under her defenses to take Fiona. What else had she missed?

Well, she’d completely dismissed the legwork Fiona had completed in the weeks she’d been recuperating in Detroit. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Perhaps there was something in Fiona’s notes that would provide a key.

Vega spent hours scouring Fiona’s notebook. Her sister had been thorough. Her entries were neat and easy to follow. No surprise, really. Fiona was an excellent researcher.

Researching was safe, respectable. Dismissing her sister’s work as meaningless had been wrong. A protective mechanism to keep Fiona at an arm’s length with bounty hunting, yes…but wrong.

Buried in the notebook was a notation hastily written in the margin—a scrawled name, “Etta Gray” with, “ask Pearl Sampit about her” written beside it.

Just three days ago, Vega had stopped Fiona from asking Pearl a direct question. Another mistake. After hitting herself upside the head with guilt, Vega picked up the phone and dialed Pearl’s number to ask the question she should have let her sister ask.

“Etta Gray,” Pearl paused, as if the name answered all the questions in the world. “Etta is Grayson’s grandmother.”

“No she isn’t.” Grayson’s parents and both sets of grandparents were long dead. And none of them had the surname
Gray
. Vega’s research had been thorough.

“Not by blood, child.” Pearl turned adamant. “Mabel…Mabel, dear woman. She was a good mother to Grayson, but she couldn’t run to her parents when things got bad. She did that once, but he found her. Things were bad, back then. Etta—she lives in the neighborhood—took pity on poor Mabel and her young son, Grayson. She gave her a place to run to when trouble brewed at home. A place where that rotter of a husband couldn’t find her or the boy.”

“So Mabel would hide at a neighbor’s house? I don’t see how that would be much better than running to her parents.”

“Don’t be so thick, child. Etta has a summerhouse. She just returned from spending the Christmas holidays with her family there. It’s far away, mind you, up the coast in South Carolina. That’s where she’d take Mabel and Grayson. No one knew about it but me and Etta.”

Perhaps this was why Grayson seemed worried about Vega poking around Millville. People tended to follow patterns. Turn the heat up too high and he’d go to the only place he’d ever felt safe.

“He wouldn’t bring trouble to Etta’s doorstep though…” Pearl let the thought trail off.

“But you said Etta has recently left the summer place? So, it would be deserted right now. Right?”

“Yes, child. It’s been closed up for the winter for the past several days. Won’t be a soul going out there until May.”

You won’t find him running here
. Pearl Sampit had said the other day as if she knew where he would go. She’d said it because she did know. This summer place would be the last place he’d run while “Grandma Etta” and her family were staying there. Now that they were gone, the place would be free for his use. What perfect timing—like a setup.

Take Fiona and run someplace far away and safe.

But why take Fiona?

“You’re too green, too innocent for this kind of rough work,” her father used to say. “That damned innocence is going to get you into trouble.”