The only sane thing for him to do was to pounce on her, swing the silver wire around her neck, bunch his fists and turn her away, hard and fast, yanking the twin dowels close. She’d witnessed him attack a woman. She could put him behind bars forever.
He took a step toward her, but something told him to stop. He waited a heartbeat while she approached him. She took the garrote from his hands and smiled. Then she leaned toward him, breath warm and soft, like a ripe peach, and kissed him. Her lips were soft and gentle, her tongue slick. She kissed him for what felt like a very long time, the unmoving girl at their feet, and then she pulled back and squeezed his hand, those moss-green eyes locked on his.
Her voice was like honey when she finally spoke again.
“My name is Curtis Lott. I’ve been watching you for a very long time.”
Chapter
30
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, D.C.
THE BRUTISH, DIRTY cream concrete edifice of the Hoover Building gave the first clue to its coming demise. The FBI was planning to move its headquarters away from the crumbling building that had housed and protected them since 1975, but for the time being, the bureaucratic machine was moving at a glacial pace, and Headquarters remained on Pennsylvania Avenue.
The spacious marble lobby was significantly more impressive. A very subdued young agent was waiting for Sam and Xander when they arrived. He got them signed in, through the metal detectors and in the elevator for the quick ride up three floors, then led them through the winding halls into an empty conference room. With a nod toward the water and coffee service on the table by the window, he left them alone.
Xander wasn’t talking to Sam. It had taken her an hour on the road to convince him to take her back to D.C. instead of bundling her off to his cabin in the Maryland mountains and hiding her in his closet. They’d gone round and round—he could keep her safe; she would be protected. She didn’t need protecting; she was a big girl who’d faced much worse. He’d mumbled something about her falling into trouble headfirst, which got on her last nerve, and they’d been inches from having a knock-down, drag-out, hurt-each-other-with-nonretractable-words fight when Fletcher called and interrupted. They’d retreated to their corners, glaring at each other while she’d answered the call.
“You need to head directly to FBI Headquarters. We’re going to be debriefed on Timothy Savage and the Kaylie Rousch case.”
That’s all he’d tell her over the phone, and she spent the second hour of the drive in awkward silence, feeling the hollowness of her victory over Xander’s objections, and fretting about what was going on. Xander hadn’t done anything more than grunt noncommittally since the George Washington Bridge, and she felt it was important to fix things.
But before she had a chance, the doors to the conference room opened and people started streaming in. Fletcher entered first, and he introduced them to Agent Rob Thurber and Agent Jordan Blake. They all shook hands, Thurber quick and hard, Blake no less intense but softer. She was a pretty girl, probably ten years Sam’s junior, brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail, very focused. Thurber was older and struck Sam as a bit uptight. They complemented each other, yin and yang.
Last through the door was a man Sam knew well, tall and intense, with black hair and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. Supervisory Special Agent Dr. John Baldwin, head of the FBI’s elite Behavioral Analysis Unit II team, and her best friend’s fiancé. The man who’d recently implored her to come work for the FBI.
He looked completely whipped, his hair standing on end, his clothes rumpled. But his smile was genuine. “Sorry I’m late. Hope I didn’t hold you up. Hi, Sam.”
She ignored the pointed look from Xander, rushed across the room to hug him. He hadn’t shaved and his beard scratched her cheek when he leaned down to hug her back.
“Baldwin! What are you doing here? Is Taylor with you?”
“No, Taylor’s back in Nashville. As to why I’m here—it’s a long story. I’m just consulting on this case. Rob will fill you in. Why don’t we get started, and we can catch up after?”
Sam squeezed his arm. “Of course. But before we do, I want you to meet Alexander Whitfield.”
Baldwin shook Xander’s hand and Sam watched the two men size each other up. Taylor had met Xander on a weekend trip, but Baldwin hadn’t been with her; this was their first face-to-face. Xander was a bit shorter than Baldwin’s six foot four, but he looked just as menacing, just as tough. These were two smart, capable, deadly men. She caught their body language, friendly enough, but slightly tense, as if Baldwin was warning Xander not to mess things up. She smiled. It was nice having a pseudo big brother to watch out for her. She knew once they got past the small problem of Baldwin wanting her to work for the FBI, the two men would get along famously—they were of the same mind on many things. And they both had their own version of the rules. Mavericks.