Chapter Five

Mel glanced at the control panel around her wrist. Luckily, no one had thought to take it from her, but then it looked like a simple watch. It had been designed specifically for this assignment, with a black strap and a digital readout.

She had just under eight hours remaining before her next scheduled report time. She could cancel, but she wasn’t sure that was her best move. There was something strange going on, and she wanted to get her report to her supervising officer, just in case anything happened to her.

If possible, she needed to be away from here before then. Somehow, she had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen. At the same time, she didn’t think her life was in danger. She’d faced killers before—all part of the job—and these people didn’t come across as the type. They weren’t ruthless or psychotic enough.

All the same, she had to do her best to persuade them to release her before her time was up, otherwise—

The key scraped in the lock and she straightened. How should she play this? Be cool. She was an FBI agent.

She wiped the expression from her face as the door opened and the guy from the prison entered. Christ, he was gorgeous. All long and lean, with those piercing blue eyes. And since when had she noticed any suspect’s eyes? His hair was glossy and black, quite long, so it almost touched his shoulders. As she watched, he pushed it back from his forehead in a restless gesture. He’d changed his clothes and wore jeans and a black T-shirt that clung to his broad chest and wide shoulders. She wasn’t used to seeing so many muscles on a man—where she came from, they tended to use brains rather than brawn. But there was certainly something to be said for the latter. He’d be hard and… She shook her head. What the hell had gotten in to her? Anyway, he looked more comfortable in the casual clothes than he had in a suit. And he wasn’t armed, as far as she could tell.

He was returning her scrutiny.

Did he like what he saw?

What was the matter with her?

Maybe there was something in the air here. Or perhaps she needed her hormone levels checked when she got back. She was aware that the job could knock them out of balance.

He carried a tray, and she peered at it suspiciously. Instruments of torture?

“Soup,” he said as though reading her mind. “And bread. I thought you might be hungry.”

The words knocked her off balance. She hadn’t been expecting…kindness. It must have been obvious because he grinned. “What did you think it was? Electric shock treatment?”

He put the tray down on a nearby table, glanced around and then crossed the room and dragged a chair close to her. He studied her for a moment.

“If I release you so you can eat, are you going to behave?”

What did he expect her to say? No, I’m going to bang you over your head with the nearest blunt object and then escape? “Of course.”

He grinned and immediately looked years younger. He reached behind him and pulled the taser from where it was tucked into the back of his pants. “I even charged it up.”

“Then I’m definitely going to behave.”

“Good.” He replaced the weapon and pulled a key from his pocket, then crouched down in front of her, so close she could breathe in the male smell of him. It was so different from what she was used to—the faintest hint of soap and fresh sweat. It occurred to her that she might be able to take him now. She’d wait until she was free, punch him hard, grab the weapon… At that moment, he glanced up and stared straight into her face. This close, she could see the black circles around the blue of his eyes.

“Don’t try it,” he said.

She sniffed. “Try what?”

He unlocked the cuffs, then shoved them in his pocket. Mel rubbed her wrists as he straightened, picked up the tray, and placed it on her lap. “Eat.”

Her stomach rumbled. She lowered her head and inhaled. Some sort of vegetable, thank God. She didn’t eat meat. Just the thought of it… She ignored him as she ate, spooning the soup into her mouth. It was good. And the bread was warm. She ate until the tray was empty then sipped on the glass of water. “Thank you.”

He was seated in the chair across from her, his long legs stretched out, eyes half closed as he watched her, and she shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

He got up, took the tray from her and placed it on the table. When he came back, he stood in front of her for a moment, just staring. A frown formed between the black slash of his brows and he gave a small shake of his head.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’ve told you who I am. Special Agent Melody Lyons of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

He sank down into the chair behind him, resting his forearms on his thighs as he studied her some more, head cocked to one side.

“Do you plan to kill me, Mr.…?”

“Sutherland. Quinn Sutherland.”

She checked the name against her databases but found no record of him. Which didn’t surprise her. “Well, Mr. Sutherland?” she prompted.

“Call me Quinn and I’ll call you…Mel and no, I don’t plan to kill you. You might not believe it, but we’re not the bad guys here.”

She quirked her brow. “So, what do you plan on doing with me?”

“We just want to understand what your involvement is in this, and then we’ll let you go.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, maybe not just like that, but providing your ID checks out, this time tomorrow you should be free.”

The ID would be fine. But this time tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough.

“Why were you interviewing Martin Rayleigh?” he asked.

She decided to go with the cover story she’d been plotting in the hours since they’d brought her here. It wasn’t perfect, but without further intel, and knowledge of who and what she was dealing with, she couldn’t come up with anything better.

She licked her lips and noticed his attention follow the movement. “I’m investigating the suspicious death of a Senator Gilpin.”

Something flickered in his eyes. He’d definitely heard of the senator. Was she onto something significant at last? But what?

“And how does that tie to Martin?”

They were on first name terms, so he wasn’t some outside mercenary brought in to free the other man. They had a close relationship.

“I’m not sure yet.” She gave a small smile. “That’s why I was interviewing him.” She watched him for a minute. “Why did you want to free Rayleigh? What is he to you?”

“A friend.” She suspected there was more. “How did you tie Martin to the senator’s death?”

“I haven’t, as yet.” The link was tenuous, but it was all she had. “But I found a connection between Rayleigh and the job the senator was working on prior to his death.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “Maybe the senator’s death was an accident.”

“Not likely.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Gilpin was head of an oversight committee of eight other people. All of them met with ‘accidents’ shortly after the committee was disbanded just under a year ago.” Nine accidents. For a woman who didn’t believe in coincidences, that had been a big red flag.

Quinn’s expression had gone curiously blank. Why did she get the idea she was telling this man something he already knew?

“What was this oversight committee working on?” he asked.

“Well, that’s where it gets interesting. The records were all destroyed, and I hit a dead end every time I ask the question. It seems nobody wants to talk. But someone with a lot of power has made certain that whatever mess Gilpin was involved in has all been cleaned up.”

“But you made a connection?”

“I’m good at my job.” She was, actually. She used a combination of insight and intelligence. When she’d been at the academy, her intuitive skills had been off the charts. She had a knack of homing in on seemingly insignificant happenings and slotting them into the bigger picture.

“Tell me Martin’s connection.”

She thought for a moment but couldn’t see what harm it would do, and she might even get some information that would help her case. And Christ, she needed all the help she could get.

“Just over four years ago, Martin Rayleigh approached Gilpin’s predecessor. He asked for an independent review to be done on a group under the control of the British government. The request was turned down. At that time, there had been little U.S. involvement in the group.”

Quinn got up and shoved his hands into his pockets. He paced the length of the room, then came back to stand over her. “Go on.”

“There’s not a lot more. Shortly afterward, Rayleigh disappeared. There was no record of him in our systems. Or in the UK government systems.”

His eyes narrowed again, and he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, as though to ease the tension. “You’re working with the UK government on this?”

“It’s a joint effort. Gilpin died on British soil. Anyway, it seemed like Rayleigh had vanished. I was beginning to believe he was dead or hidden too deep to ever be found. Then, all of a sudden, up he pops as a transfer to the prison here. I got an interview as soon as I could.”

She’d almost left it until tomorrow, at which point Martin Rayleigh would have vanished once again. But at least then she wouldn’t have been captured. She had to try and move this around, find an advantage. These people were totally involved in her investigation. She just wasn’t sure how.

“Tell me something,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “How did you know we were being followed on the way from the prison this afternoon?”

Good question. And one she was going to have to make up an answer for quickly, because the truth wasn’t an option.

“I was followed to the prison. I was aware of someone behind me. A blue van. They pulled up at the prison and I was going to get someone to pick them up when I left.” She shrugged. “It made sense that they would be following you. If they were watching for me coming out, they would have seen us.”

“Hmmm.”

He didn’t sound convinced, but then she hadn’t sounded terribly convincing.

“Martin is a good man,” he said. “He had nothing to do with the murder of Senator Gilpin.”

“And how would you know that? Do you know anything about the senator’s murder?”

…

Hell, he’d been there, though Gilpin had been alive when they’d parted. Quinn had seen him being loaded into an ambulance. A little shaken—but having your house explode around you would have that effect on most people. Gilpin had never made it to the hospital. Somewhere along the way, he’d succumbed to smoke inhalation. Which was a load of bollocks. He’d been murdered. Along with the other eight members of the oversight committee.

That had been on Kane’s orders. Gilpin had been an innocent man, a good man. He hadn’t deserved to die. But Kane had believed the oversight committee knew too much and were a threat to his precious mission. So, he’d killed them.

But her story made sense. It was impressive how she had managed to connect the deaths, considering the facts had been hidden. Kane had been using the Conclave to do his dirty work, and the Conclave had the resources to bury anything as deep as they wanted.

She cleared her throat, waiting for an answer, no doubt. Her full lips were pursed, the fingers of one hand tapping against her chair.

He’d loved watching her eat. Such a normal mundane pastime. A small break from his completely abnormal life. He liked the lines and hollows of her face, the arched brows, the high cheekbones, her straight nose with its smattering of freckles.

“Well?” she prompted.

What was her question? “No, I know nothing about Gilpin and neither does Martin. Hell, he’s been incarcerated for more than four years, so he could hardly have participated in a murder that happened less than a year ago.”

“I know he didn’t murder the senator. But he’s tied to all this, somehow. And he’s my only lead.” Her lips curled in a small smile. “Was my only lead. Now I have you.”

Ha.

“And I have a couple of questions of my own,” she said.

“You do? Go ahead.” Of course, that didn’t mean he would answer them. He sank down onto his chair and waited. She stared over his left shoulder, and he could almost see her mind working. He probed gently but was unsurprised when she remained closed to him.

“How did you knock the guards out at the prison?” she asked.

The question took him by surprise and he had to scramble for an answer. He certainly wasn’t telling the truth. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Taser.”

“No, you didn’t. So why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying. How else would we have done it?”

“Is Martin Rayleigh safe with you?”

“Hell, yes. I told you he’s a friend.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me finish my interview.”

He felt a smile tug his lips. “I don’t suppose I would. Martin is sleeping right now, and we leave first thing in the morning.”

“And besides, you don’t want me to find the connection.”

“There is none.”

“Oh yes, there is. I think he made enemies when he asked for the review of that group all those years ago. Someone had him taken out of play. So why did he do it? What did he hope to achieve?”

The safety of the group, Quinn presumed. Martin had wanted to bring things out in the open, maybe give them a measure of security. With the world watching, there would be limits to what could be done with the group. Unfortunately for his sister and the others who had died, that hadn’t happened. It had been financial considerations that had eventually resulted in the oversight committee being set up. Someone had noticed a lot of money being sent their way and wanted to know why. It always came down to money in the end. Money or power.

She snorted. “I think you know the answer to that, but I guess you’re not going to share.” She rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold. “I need to report in. There will be people looking for me. Why don’t you let me go now, and I promise not to tell?”

He chuckled. “Of course you won’t.” Standing up, he stretched, feeling her eyes on him. While he couldn’t get inside her head, he reckoned she liked the look of him. He stretched again. He hadn’t had any sleep last night; he’d spent the time with Rose, going over the plan—or lack of plan. Now it was catching up on him. While he didn’t want to go, he had no reason to stay. He wasn’t going to get anything else out of her. “In the morning, as soon as we’re away from here, we’ll let your people know where to find you.”

“But—” She broke off, maybe seeing the futility of saying anything else. An intelligent woman.

“I think we’re both lying about something,” he said. “And I suspect we both think our reasons are good ones. That will have to be enough for now.”

Maybe he’d come back when this was over—would it ever be over? And they could go on a date…do some normal shit. He almost smiled as he pulled the cuffs out of his pocket. Yeah, normal.

“Do you have to?” she asked.

He nodded, and she scowled but held out her wrists. He snapped the cuffs in place but couldn’t resist stroking his thumb over the silky skin of her palm.

“Nice meeting you, Special Agent Lyons.”

Without giving himself time to think it was a stupid idea, he lowered his head and kissed her on the lips. The touch was brief, and he was left with a sense of softness, sweetness.

Time to get out of there.