Not the kind of guy he was.
“By the time Hyde got inside the garage,” she said, “it was too late.”
His heart slowed, then immediately began racing too fast as he faced her.
She exhaled. “The perpetrator he’d followed was dead, and the money was gone.”
What? “What about Quinlan? Is he alive?” He wanted the brutal truth.
Max got it.
“I don’t know,” she said softly and he realized that Samantha feared his brother was dead.
The kidnapper knew the authorities were involved. He had his money. Why bother keeping Quinlan alive?
“They planned to kill you and Malone all along,” Samantha told him. “You realize that, don’t you? That’s why they attempted the hit in the park.”
His shoulder throbbed.
“Special Agent Monica Davenport wants to talk with you. She has some questions about your family—”
Max grabbed her, clasping her shoulders and drawing her close, even as he ignored the burst of pain from his wound. “I’m a suspect? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Samantha shook her head. “Monica’s our best profiler. She’s trying to figure out why things are going differently with your family. These perps—they’ve never gone after any of the other families at the drops. But they came gunning for you.”
If he hadn’t heard that twig snap…
Samantha’s brows lowered and a faint furrow appeared on her forehead. “If you’d walked in there unarmed, you would have been a sitting duck. Even with weapons, if it hadn’t been for Ramirez, you’d probably be dead.” Her voice seemed wooden, so at odds with the dark fire in her eyes.
Max stared at Samantha, caught by her burning gaze. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be there.” If he’d known… hell, what would he have done? No way to stop her.
“I couldn’t let you walk in there without me. And when I heard the shots…” Her breath rushed out. “You scared me, Max.”
Honesty. Real emotion plain to see on her face and to hear in her voice.
This was the woman he’d needed to see. The one who’d been hiding from him. Maybe from herself. Christ, this was the woman he wanted.
“Max?”
He took her lips, crushing his mouth against hers, and he just tasted her. Not over. She couldn’t slip away from him yet.
A low moan rumbled in her throat, and a shudder worked the length of her body. Then her hands were on him, tightening around his shoulders and—
He wrenched back from her. “Fuck!”
“I’m sorry. I forgot—”
Max caught her hands and pushed Samantha back against the wall. Screw the pain. He had her, right then, right there, and he wasn’t going to lose her.
His tongue plunged deep even as his c**k shoved against the front of his jeans. Wrong time, wrong place. He couldn’t have her here, but he’d take his taste.
And it would have to sustain him when she walked away.
Her br**sts stabbed against his chest. Tight ni**les, eager, aroused. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They touched and ignited.
“Why?” The question was torn from him as his mouth tasted the slender column of her throat. “Why do I need you so damn much?” Like an addiction. The more he had, the more he craved.
Was it the same for her? Did the hunger just keep growing?
Her pulse thudded beneath his mouth, so fast, but she didn’t answer him.
And he heard the squeak of the door again. Fuck them. He tightened his hold on Samantha.
“Ah… should I come back?” Quiet, cool, a woman’s voice questioned.
Samantha stiffened against him. Her hands jerked beneath his. Strong again. Why did he keep forgetting that strength?
Max eased away from Samantha and turned his stare on the new agent.
“Is everything okay in here?” Now the guy was there. Dante. He crowded in behind the dark-haired woman, and Max didn’t miss the way the guy’s hand moved to the small of her back.
“Everything’s fine,” Samantha said, and she really, really needed to get better at keeping her voice level.
Max flashed a cold smile at the agents in the doorway. “You interrupted.” So they could come grill him. Tired of this shit. He could play the bastard, and he was getting ready for his role. “I thought you were going to keep me in the loop from now on, Agent Dante.”
The woman strolled inside with careful tap-tap-taps from her high heels. She pulled out a chair next to the small wooden table. Yeah, he knew that he was in an interrogation room. These rooms all looked the same, and he hadn’t forgotten his last visit inside one.
He’d been alone then. No lawyer. No family beside him. His mom had been hysterical. They’d shoved her into the back of an ambulance, and then they’d taken him away. He’d confessed fast enough. After all, why lie?
I swung. I hit the bastard. I’d do it again.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Ridgeway?” The female agent suggested.
“Call me Max.”
Her lips curled but her bright blue eyes didn’t warm, not even a little. “Max, I’m Agent Monica Davenport.”
Right. The profiler.
Dante walked around and positioned himself near the window. A window Max was sure was reinforced, but since they were several floors up, he figured perps didn’t jump much.
Max pulled the chair out with his foot. He sat down and stretched his legs out before him. Samantha hadn’t moved yet.
Had these two been watching them from behind that mirror? If so, then they knew his weak spot. Her.
“So I heard your team screwed up again, and the other ass**le is dead,” Max said, ready to cut right through the bullshit.
“I’m afraid the perpetrator was dead before our agents could arrive on scene,” Monica said cooly, not so much as a line appearing on her face. “But I assure you, we are doing everything possible—”
“Not good enough.” Max turned his stare to Dante. “I told you, I want to know everything. No more shutting me out. Good, bad, I want to know.”
Dante nodded. “We just need you to answer a few questions first.” The guy’s voice was so calm, almost friendly. “Then we’ll move ahead and share everything we have with you.”
Max laughed. “Really; what is this? Are you supposed to be the good one?” His gaze returned to the woman. Good cop, bad cop. Stupid game. “You don’t look bad,” he told her.