Cold Spite, page 18
part #1 of Cold Justice® - Most Wanted Series
She touched her hair self-consciously. “I have the blonde wig.”
He shook his head. “Scanlon knows that look.”
“We should have something at the office.” Parker headed down the path to the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s see what my best analyst has found out about your friend Scanlon in the meantime.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What the hell is going on?” Ryan Sullivan drove a work truck back to their apartment building.
Cas was keeping his head down in the back of the vehicle. Sebastian Black and JJ Hersh bookended him in the backseat, and Seth Hopper took shotgun. It was overkill, especially as Novak had even insisted on sending drones fitted with thermal cameras over the nearby buildings to check for snipers—in case Scanlon was lying in wait to finish the mission.
The guys needed to know what was happening for their own protection. “I’m pretty sure the bomber is a drug smuggler I helped put away five years ago following an undercover op down on the Mexican border.”
Seth Hopper glanced around sharply at that.
They’d all gone a few rounds with the cartel last month.
“I doubt he has any connections left in the cartel given the turnover rate, but, unfortunately, he was also a Navy SEAL.”
“Joseph Scanlon? You think that motherfucker blew up your truck?” Hopper was also a former SEAL, as was another sniper on HRT. But none had gone through BUD/S or been on the same team as Scanlon—SEAL Team One.
“Yep.”
“If you know it’s him, why isn’t he arrested already?”
“Because there’s this little thing called proof.” Cas tried to sit up, but Sebastian shoved him back down.
Cas gritted his teeth against a lash of pain. “Hey, watch the injuries. One of us was almost blown up today.”
“Sorry, man.”
Ryan twisted around. “Thought you said you weren’t injured?”
“I said,” Cas gritted out, “that I wasn’t seriously hurt. Doesn’t mean I didn’t lose some skin when I hit the ground. I’m fine. Just sore.”
Ryan huffed and turned his attention back to driving.
“This have to do with why you ran out of the bar Monday night?” Sebastian asked.
“And disappeared all of yesterday?” Ryan sounded how a parent must.
“Perhaps.”
“So, the friend who died…” Sebastian asked gently.
Cas shared the story, keeping the details to a minimum.
“He killed her partner?” asked Sebastian.
“Yeah. Then she called me because she decided the best thing to do was play dead, which Frazer told her was a smart move as Scanlon’s a motherfucking psychopath.”
“How do you know you can trust her?”
Cas felt a little sick going over a bump. There was only one way to make these guys truly understand. “I know because she’s the love of my damned life, and I blew it. I broke it off and left her behind when I applied for HRT. I didn’t do it kindly. I burnt it down to the ground and regretted it ever since.”
There was a long moment of silence while they absorbed that information.
“That explains a lot,” said Ryan.
Yeah. It did. “You can’t share this information that she’s alive or that we were together. And if the higher ups discover we were personally involved they’ll take us both off the task force.” Separate them—like her father had done years ago.
“Not even the other guys on Gold Team?” Hopper pressed.
“No. It’ll get back to Novak, and he’s duty bound to tell Ackers.” Cas ached all over, but they’d arrived in the underground parking area of the apartment building, and he sat up and winced as his damaged skin protested.
“Novak is gonna be pissed.” Sebastian scanned the underground parking lot.
As much as Cas respected his team leader, he wasn’t budging on this. “I need to be part of this investigation. I need a chance to make it up to her. Promise.”
Ryan raised his little finger and held it up between them. “Pinky swear.”
The others all hooked their pinkies together in a tangled mess. “Pinky swear.”
Cas shook his head and placed his grazed palm over their hands. “Thank you.”
Emotion crowded the back of his throat. He might not have grown up with a family, but he had one now. And now he was going to track down and neutralize the motherfucker who’d put everything he held dear at risk.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Delilah stared, frowning, at a timeline on a whiteboard.
Alex Parker’s team at the Cramer, Parker & Gray satellite office consisted only of a woman called Yael Brooks and a young man named Tim Theriault who looked like he should still be in high school. Apparently, most of the company’s employees were in DC or were busy on jobs.
She was impressed by the amount of tracking they’d done of Scanlon’s movements using his cell phone, but not what it showed. So far, the only time the man had left the great state of Louisiana had been on Tuesday when he’d gone to Washington State to visit his kid.
“This timeline doesn’t add up.” Parker watched her with a concerned expression on his face. “Even ignoring the cell data, it would be nigh-on impossible to go from California on Monday night to catching a commercial flight to Washington State on Tuesday morning from NOLA. And back to NOLA this morning. It’s almost impossible for him to have committed both crimes and to have also visited his daughter.”
Dammit.
She knew it was Scanlon, but how had he pulled it off?
“Do we have him on camera seeing his kid in Washington State?”
“Sure do.” Yael pulled up a video feed.
In a cramped room full of toys sat an incongruous-looking Scanlon licking an ice-cream cone as he sat directly opposite the camera. A little girl sat on the floor a few feet away also eating an ice cream. They appeared to be talking, although no sound was available from the feed. An unknown female sat in another chair, observing, presumably some sort of social worker. Every so often Scanlon smiled up at the camera as if he knew someone would be reviewing the footage for this exact purpose.
Delilah leaned closer. “Is that a scar on his face?”
Yael zoomed in and sure enough there was a two-inch scar beside his left eye.
“That’s his brother, Virgil,” Delilah exclaimed.
“You’re sure?” Parker sounded excited.
“Yes. His brother had a scar like that. The guy must have lost a few pounds and started pumping iron, enough to pass for his brother. They are identical twins.” Excitement cruised through her veins. He was making mistakes. They could do this. They could catch him.
“I hate to burst your bubble.” Yael rolled her chair away from her screen. “But check out this video I found of Joseph Scanlon leaving Miramar three weeks ago.”
Delilah watched a black-and-white footage of Joseph Scanlon walking out of the brig into the parking lot and being met by what looked like his father and his brother.
She didn’t get what the other woman was referring to until Yael enlarged him and she leaned closer at the screen.
“Dammit.”
The man leaving the prison had the exact same scar.
“So, either Joseph pulled the trick of the century and got his brother to serve his sentence, or…”
She exhaled. “Or Joseph deliberately cut himself, so he and his brother are more or less indistinguishable to the camera. I wonder if Virgil got a matching tattoo?”
“I’d bet on it.” Parker didn’t look happy.
“Which begs the question,” Yael voiced her thoughts, “which Scanlon showed up in Washington State?”
Delilah stared at the screen where the man had finished eating his ice cream and was now playing checkers with the little girl. “And how the heck do we prove it?”
Chapter Thirty
Delilah arrived at Unit Chief Quentin Savage’s modest townhouse wearing a red woolen hat over a long blonde wig, dark sunglasses, blue jeans, and a red parka that Alex said belonged to his friend Haley Cramer.
She stepped out of a Porsche 911 that also belonged to the other woman—a vehicle she’d left in Cramer, Parker and Gray’s secure parking facility while she would be away for her wedding and honeymoon.
Alex insisted Haley wouldn’t mind her using it, but Delilah was a little nervous.
It was a really nice car.
Delilah had never owned anything quite so expensive. Her family drove practical vehicles that blended into the DC burbs—a habit she’d taken to the West Coast even if she’d graduated to an SUV. The Porsche was sleek and attractive and gained attention even in the short drive over from the compound.
Alex’s theory was that at a quick glance, most people would mistake Delilah for Savage’s fiancée, who was a regular here. People saw what they expected to see. She grabbed the designer leather duffle bag that Alex had lent her and locked the car. Walked confidently to the black painted door of No. 12. She let herself inside, placing the bag in the hallway, and stood there looking around with some trepidation. The place was neat and tidy. Nicely furnished but little clutter. Definitely a bachelor pad. The couple were moving into a new house after the wedding. Somehow that made it feel a little less like an invasion of privacy to stay here now.
She went over and drew the shades. Parker had shadowed her back here, checking that no one followed her before he headed home to spend the evening with his family. Everything looked fine and, as a precaution, they’d checked for listening and tracking devices on her and her stuff at the compound. As Scanlon wasn’t psychic, there was no way for him to predict where she was going to be and therefore no reason to believe she’d be in any danger at Savage’s condo.
She slipped out of the heavy parka and hung it on a coat rack, removing the dark glasses and putting them on a side table. She removed the hat and wig too, leaving them beside the glasses.
Her phone buzzed, and a jolt of excitement moved through her.
But it was Alex saying good night and to text him if there were any issues.
She sent him a thumbs up emoji and found herself gulping in a breath.
It hit her how horribly alone she was right now. Val was dead. David was dead. There was no one in her life to share this time with except the man who’d hurt her so badly in the past, a man she’d never be able to trust emotionally again. The desire to go visit her mom and dad was almost overwhelming as each day brought a deterioration in her father’s condition. But the idea of putting them in danger made that impossible. If Scanlon hurt them, she would never forgive herself.
Tears crowded her eyes, and she blinked furiously.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a key in the lock, and the door opened. Demarco stood there, staring down the barrel of her Glock 26.
He paused and then lines gathered between his eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you one bit, sweetheart, but maybe let me come inside first to make it easier to dispose of the body.”
He eased through the door, closed, locked it, and her heart thumped violently inside her chest.
She lowered the weapon.
“I brought sushi. I seem to remember you liking—” He cut himself off. “Are you crying?”
She slid the weapon back into the holster at the back of her pants. “No.”
“Delilah,” he admonished.
She wiped her face with both hands. “I was feeling sorry for myself, that’s all. I know I’ve no right to. At least I’m alive.” She headed into a small but well-stocked kitchen to search for plates. Demarco followed her and put the food on the counter in the center of the room, unpacking the bag. He looked like he wanted to say something else about her breaking down but thankfully dropped the subject.
He unpacked the sushi, and her stomach grumbled.
He added a couple of beers, and she got napkins as they immediately fell into a natural easy rhythm. And the loss of him, the enormity of how much she’d missed him all these years struck her all over again.
Goddammit.
He’d dumped her like a piece of garbage. So what if he’d admitted it had been a mistake? She’d been eviscerated.
She found a tissue and blew her nose, then washed her hands. She had every right to be emotional. She didn’t need to apologize to anyone. Oddly, she knew the only person she needed to convince was herself.
She dragged a stool a little further away and joined him at the breakfast nook.
He’d uncapped the beers and held his up for a toast. She reluctantly tapped his bottle with hers knowing she was being drawn back into the enticing web that was Cas Demarco.
“To new beginnings and putting that sonofabitch back where he belongs.”
She found herself nodding, although the new beginnings was a bit of a stretch.
He divided the sushi evenly onto each plate and split the wasabi and pickled ginger down the middle. She wondered if he was trying to tell her something, but she already knew she was his equal.
“Any updates?” He swallowed a piece of gyoza and closed his eyes like he’d gone to heaven. The guy had always appreciated good food.
“Discovered that Joseph now sports a matching scar to the one Virgil has on his face. The two of them are practically clones nowadays.”
Demarco frowned. “That complicates things.”
“No kidding. We’ll have to track both of them all the time without knowing which is which.” She used chopsticks to eat the first bite. The saltiness of the sauce burst on her tongue. God, she was hungry. She washed the food down with a mouthful of Chinese beer. “This is delicious.”
She wiped her mouth and saw Demarco was smiling but not looking at her. He was trying to win her over with food. Not a bad tactic.
“What about you? Any updates?”
“Not really. Early days on the investigation into the bomb itself, although TEDAC were on scene and took the evidence to the National Lab here at Quantico rather than Alabama—at least initially because it might be possible to get touch DNA from the explosives and it is closer. Unfortunately, it will take time to process, but it’s a priority.” He pulled a face. “I had to confide in a couple of my teammates what was going on or risk getting waterboarded, but I also swore them to secrecy.”
She gave a little shrug even though she dreaded the news getting back to Ridgeway even more than the thought of Scanlon figuring out the truth. “The cat is out of the bag, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“Not about us.”
“Hmm.”
“They won’t tell anyone.”
She ate another piece of sushi roll, not sure she believed him. “What about Trainer and all his cronies?”
“The director wants Trainer to keep it confidential, they’ll keep it confidential.”
She smacked her lips together thoughtfully. “Not that it matters.”
Demarco’s brows furrowed in anger. “It matters that Scanlon doesn’t figure out you’re alive, Lilah.”
They both froze at the use of the nickname he used to call her in the heat of passion.
Her pulse raced and she held her breath.
Crimson stained his cheeks, and he looked away. Grabbed another piece of dynamite roll.
Appropriate.
She cleared her throat. “Scanlon will find out eventually.”
“Yeah, but hopefully by then he’ll be back in leg irons.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.” She raised her bottle again, and he clinked it.
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, and she felt remarkably at peace considering how much her life had blown up and how vehemently she’d hated Demarco right up until…
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she’d truly forgiven him, but it was probably the moment that bomb had gone off and scared her to her bones.
Life really could be cut short in an instant and regrets were something she’d rather not have to live with. She already had too many to count.
She gripped the bottle tighter. “I’m glad you weren’t killed this morning.”
His yellow eyes locked on hers. Then he smiled. “Makes two of us. I spotted a flash of sunlight in the woods, and the egotistical fuck had taken an FBI ball cap off my dash.”
He looked thoughtful. “I should thank you. If you hadn’t called me up on Monday night, I wouldn’t have been on guard. I wouldn’t have been suspicious, especially in my grief…I owe you my life.” He let the words sink in before asking. “Why did you? Call me, that is?”
Her throat tightened. “Because as much as I hated you, I didn’t want that bastard to murder you too.”
He nodded, acknowledging the truth. Then let the quiet stretch.
He’d always been able to hold his silence when anyone else would have filled the void with noise or movement. It was another thing she’d liked about him—the peacefulness of his company when they hadn’t been fucking like bunnies. She hadn’t remembered that until now.
She watched him maneuver his chopsticks with those long, clever fingers and recalled how his touch had made her body ignite. That was something she’d never forget.
She looked away. It had been so long for her. She’d dated a little, at Val’s insistence, after a few years of being a virtual social recluse, but no one had come close to replicating the feelings she and Cas had once shared. She could count the number of times she’d had sex with anyone else in the past five years on the fingers of one hand—with digits to spare—but she’d bet money he couldn’t say the same thing.
He’d told her there’d been no one else significant in his life—and for some foolish reason she believed him. Although she knew he was a very good liar.
But what if…
What if they were doomed to have been “the one” for each other? Only for Cas to burn them down as surely as her apartment had gone up in flames?
And perhaps, given his upbringing, she shouldn’t be surprised. He hadn’t had a loving role model the way she did. He’d had a series of foster placements but nothing that had worked out long term.
What did that do to a child?
