Born to Die Page 6

  Boyce expertly poured her favorite Merlot into two wine glasses.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trying to relax. We’ve both had a rough day, and this would be a nice way to end it.” He lifted a glass toward her. “Stop reading too much into what I’m doing and go with the flow. You’re as uptight as your sister.”

  That was a new one, comparing Cassy to Nic. They couldn’t be more different than a killer whale and a seal. Accepting that he wasn’t about to go anywhere in the next few minutes, Cassy took the offered glass. “Does Liza know you aren’t planning on returning to the hotel tonight?”

  “Liza thinks I’m a bastard to the nth degree for even walking away from you. She’s probably on her knees right now praying that we’re in bed together, working out our problems.”

  His easy slide into conversing about sex didn’t shock Cassy. When he wasn’t in Agent Hunt mode, Boyce had no barriers or filters. On more than a few occasions, she’d wondered if his blunt seduction wasn’t what attracted her to him.

  But at the moment he was sampling the deep-red liquid. Boyce was more of a whiskey man, but she’d known him to drink wine, especially in her company.

  “Your taste in wine has gotten expensive,” he said.

  “That was a kiss-up gift from Pop after my nephew was born.” Cassy placed her glass on the counter. “Boyce, what do you plan on doing for the rest of the night? I need to get some sleep; my shift starts at seven in the morning.”

  He swirled the wine in the goblet. “Hope your sofa is long enough for me to sleep on. Unless you have a better idea.”

  “Not happening.” Cassy pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “How did you turn ‘you’re not getting anywhere near me’ into ‘let me drive you home because you’re in a state of grieving’?” She completely left out the dark shadow of Boyce’s job being more important than her, and his running out when she was at the lowest point in her life, which loomed between them. One thing at a time here.

  “I was under the impression that you wanting me to stay miles away from you is still the case, but I’m just being my normal ‘bastard’ self and doing my damnedest to ignore your ultimatum.”

  “Argh! What the hell is wrong with you? It’s like you enjoy being passive-aggressive.”

  Amusement flashed in his eyes, further infuriating her.

  “Boyce, call Liza and tell her to come pick you up.” She downed the last of her wine, set the glass down on the counter with a clack, pushed away from the counter, and went to her bedroom. “When I next come out, you better be gone.” She slammed the door shut, finalizing her words.

  Safely tucked away, she leaned against the door and sank to the floor. Elbows braced on her upright knees, she tunneled her fingers through her hair and clenched fistfuls of it. Boyce was going to toy with her, stalk her perimeter, testing the defenses until he found the hole, and then come in for the kill. Once he got what he wanted, he’d leave her again. There would be no coming back after that.

  That’s why she wasn’t going to let it happen, at all.

  Chapter Eight

  The double tap on the hotel door dragged Boyce out of the bathroom, razor in hand; he was in the middle of shaving, half his face covered in the creamy shaving soap he preferred. Flipping the locks on the door, he jerked the handle down and pushed it open. Liza slithered through the gap, two large to-go coffee cups in each hand.

  “This is a surprise, you running behind and me on time.”

  Boyce took the cup she offered him. “You, Agent Bartholomew, are beginning to get too cocky in your old age.”

  “And you’re being an old grouch.”

  He returned to the bathroom to finish shaving. “Have you heard from HQ?”

  “Not yet. I was going to give the boss a call after we got on the road.” Liza propped herself against the doorjamb, watching him. “You’re doing everything possible to make sure Cassy never takes you back, aren’t you?”

  “Liza.”

  “Can that growl. I know we haven’t been partners for a few years, but there’s something about you that makes me want to act like your big sister and boss you around.”

  He pointed his razor at her. “And that right there is exactly why I don’t talk to my coworkers about my personal life. By the way, I’m older than you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Boo-hoo. Last I checked, you have no friends, and the guy they partnered you with in Memphis complained that you rode his ass until he demanded to be reassigned. As for family, well, Ruby Jean Gladstone isn’t exactly family.”

  At the mention of Mother’s name, Boyce’s hand slipped, and he nicked his chin. “Shit,” he hissed, ripping a tissue from the box and pressing it to the bloody cut.

  “Interesting,” Liza said from behind her cup.

  His face was, for the most part, shaved, except for his upper lip. Maybe it was time to grow a mustache. Dousing the corner of a washcloth with hot water, he wiped off the rest of the cream and tossed the cloth in the sink. Boyce picked up his coffee cup and moved past Liza. “Let’s go.”

  “You got something”—she pointed at the spot he’d nicked—“right there.”

  “If I were a different kind of man ... ”

  “You’d never get a chance to lay a hand on me.”

  They left his room and headed to the elevator. The ride down was done in silence.

  Shit. He was a reasonably smart man. So why had he reacted to the mention of his mother’s case? He was supposed to be neutral in all things Ruby Jean, willing to aid the FBI with aspects about her organization and the case but staying out of it so as not to ruin anything when it came time to prosecute her. It burned that he couldn’t be the one to bring about her fall, but that was the bargain he took when he chose to be an FBI agent.

  One thing was certain: He would be there when she was brought into custody. His vision of what she would look like—humiliated and furious—had sustained him through the rigors of Quantico and the tough cases where he witnessed death in all its pain and ugliness. He lived to see her reaction when she laid eyes on him, when she realized that his vow had been fulfilled. He hoped, wished, she’d throw the biggest temper tantrum, to prove to the world what kind of selfish bitch resided under that perfect exterior. Not many could understand why a son would hate his mother so, but they hadn’t been raised by the cruel witch. From the moment he’d realized he was nothing more than a tick sucking the life from her, Ruby Jean had made it crystal clear he was a mistake to either ignore or bully. That right there would make any son turn rogue.

  Outside the hotel, Boyce held out his hand. “Keys.”

  “You’re driving?”

  “It would be faster for me to drive instead of giving you directions.”

  Liza dug the keys out of her coat pocket and placed them in his hand. “Where is it we’re going?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.” He hit the unlock button; the car beeped in response.

  The mention of Mother had given him a momentary reprieve from replaying everything that had occurred between him and Cassy last night. He’d made a play and got his hand burned. Damn it, he knew better than to push her. Once again, he was thinking with the wrong part of his anatomy.

  But a nagging thought hadn’t left him from the moment he spotted the subtle shift in Cassy’s behavior, first at the scene of Wallis’s murder, and then again last night as he observed her in the crowd at the vigil. Something was off with her, and he knew where to go to find that answer.

  And if Cassy Rivers had known what he was planning to do now, she’d probably strangle him.

  • • •

  Twinkling lights peeked from between the yards of garland. Boyce couldn’t fathom how a woman like Nicolette Rivers O’Hanlon had any Christmas cheer, much less a decorating spirit. She didn’t cross him as the kind to give a damn. On second thought, she wasn’t the type to be married and a mother either. So, why not fly in the face of perception, which was her character through and throug
h.

  He knocked, stepping back so she could get a good look at him. Liza remained in the car, keeping the engine running and the interior warm. She’d harassed him about where they were going the entire ride up the lane that went on for eternity, and he’d ignored every attempt she made to get him to talk.

  A moment later the door opened, revealing the tall brunette wearing an old Marine Corps T-shirt and jeans, a chubby-cheeked baby boy propped on her hip. His eyes were the same brilliant blue as his father’s, but the shape and angles of his face were all Nic.

  “Agent Asshole, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Oh, how I’ve missed your sharp tongue, Deputy.”

  Those piercing hazel eyes narrowed. Nic adjusted her son on her hip. “Ex-deputy. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  Boyce stared at the little guy, and deep inside him an urge to reach out and cradle the child took hold of him. It was all-around bewildering. “May I come inside? It is brutally cold out here.”

  Nic stepped aside, waiting for him to enter before closing the door behind him. She shifted around to face him, barring him from entering her home any farther. “Warm?”

  Shuddering inside his coat, he nodded. “I’m grateful.”

  “I find that difficult to believe.”

  And here’s where he started to regret his choice to come and enlist—no, scratch that—beg for her assistance. “I’m not here to nitpick my lack of virtue with you.”

  “Which brings us back to, why the hell are you here? I hold no grand illusions that you came to apologize for your lackluster performance the last time you were in Eider and how it almost cost me and Cassy our lives.”

  That stung, dredging up the very thing that still pricked at his conscience now and again. “By this point, it’s too late for apologies. If I did, I don’t think you’d accept it.”

  One eyebrow lifted and then flatlined as Nic’s son yanked on her hair. Calmly, she reached up to disentangle his fingers. Simply amazing; she didn’t react rashly or in anger. What had become of the emotionally wild woman he’d met two years ago?

  “I have something to ask of you, Nic. Before you protest vehemently, hear me out first.”

  She gestured for him to continue, which was a relief, considering what she was capable of doing. She had become the first female Marine Scout sniper because she was ruthless and hard-core. Perhaps motherhood had mellowed the woman.

  “On a scale of one to ten, one being worst, ten being best, where do you place Cassy’s mindset after The Priest kidnapping and subsequent incidents?”

  Nic’s burst of laughter startled her son. His face puckered, and he grabbed at her T-shirt, turning in an attempt to bury his face. Nic cuddled him close, murmuring an apology and kissing his forehead before she walked over to a playpen set up in the middle of the living room floor, laid him on his back, and handed him a bright, multicolored toy. With her arms loose at her sides and fists pressed into her thighs, she turned and, like the lethal predator she’d been trained to be, stalked toward Boyce.

  “You’ve got some nerve asking me that, considering how much of her mindset is a result of your reckless actions.”

  “I advised her against getting close to The Priest. You know as well as I what she can be like when she gets a wild hair.”

  Nic’s face scrunched. “Do you? Because from where I stand, you have little knowledge of the true Cassy.”

  “I know more than you think.”

  “You only know what you wanted to know to get your way. No man who claims to care for a woman would run out on her, using his damn job as an excuse to abandon her when she needs him the most.”

  Anger crept along the edges of his mind, threatening to overthrow his reasoning. He had to control it. Nic was notorious for provoking people—especially men—to irrational behavior. “I’m not perfect and never claimed to be. Frankly, Nicolette, neither of us has room to talk when it concerns Cassy. I wasn’t the first one who walked away from her.”

  Pain flickered across Nic’s features. He’d scored a hit there, but that didn’t make him feel better about it.

  Crossing her arms, she sighed. “I don’t know her true mindset. She’s shown me only what she wants me to see. Maybe it’s because of my own PTSD issues that she hasn’t said more. And before you ask, she doesn’t talk to Con about it, either. Your best bet is to ask Nash or Hamilton, and I’m doubtful there, since Hamilton doesn’t like you much and Nash is new.”

  “Does she have any friends in Eider?”

  “Do you?”

  Her caginess was plastered all over her body. She’d never been able to hide her thoughts from those she got close to, but it was an oddity that she could be close to Boyce. What was Nic trying to hide from him?

  He pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “I see we’re not going to get anywhere with this conversation. It was a crapshoot to ask. I’ll let you get back to your son. Good day, Nic.” He couldn’t reach for the doorknob fast enough.

  “Boyce, wait.”

  Startled by her use of his proper name, he glanced back over his shoulder. Nic chewed on the inside of her cheek, a habit she had when she started to think hard about something.

  “Why are you so concerned with her mental state? What’s going on?”

  “You know I can’t divulge information to a civilian, even a former law enforcement officer.”

  She waved her hand in front of her as if swatting at a fly. “Give me the CliffsNotes.”

  “Something bad is happening in your county, and Cassy’s going to get sucked right up into it. If she’s not mentally prepared for it, I fear it could do her more harm.”

  “I think you’re seriously underestimating my baby sister.”

  Opening the door, Boyce shook his head. “I hope you’re right. For her sake.”

  Chapter Nine

  The powdery layer of snow swirled and flew through the air as the wind picked it up and peppered the squad car’s windshield. Today would be overcast. The possibility of more snow was the second-favorite headline on the radio, the first being the news of Wallis’s death.

  Cassy stared out the passenger-side window while Nash navigated the streets covered in snowdrifts to their first interview. The Eider police chief had handed over all of Wallis’s reports, and at the top of the list was an arrest he’d made around Thanksgiving. Wallis had pulled over a drunk driver in town; the man refused to do as he was told, got out of the car, and attacked Wallis. Their person of interest, Sam Linrock, didn’t have a record, but with the way his arrest went down, the chief was insistent that they talk with the guy first.

  “You’re awful quiet today, Rivers.”

  She fiddled with her gloves, making sure her hands were secure inside. “Not much to say.”

  “No thoughts about who you think killed Wallis?”

  “I wait until I have enough evidence pointing at a particular person before I pass judgment.”

  Nash humphed. “Learn something new about you every day.”

  A smile played with Cassy’s mouth. She liked working with Nash. When they’d take breaks on patrol, they’d meet up to chat, and sometimes he’d tell her dumb jokes to make her laugh—which was something she rarely did these days.

  He’d come from Des Moines, born and raised there, but tired of working the city beat. When the deputy position had opened, he’d jumped on it. His family couldn’t understand why he took a drop in rank and pay to live in a Podunk town like Eider. Nash claimed he wanted a slower pace, a safe place to live.

  So much for that.

  “Ahh, the student is starting to outgrow the teacher.”

  Nash snorted. “Your sister broke me in long before you took her place. You, Rivers, are a cakewalk compared to her. Damn, my training officer didn’t crack down as hard on me as she did. She should have been a drill instructor.”

  “Marine to the bitter end.” Cassy drew circles in the condensation on the window. There were times she envied anyone who’d had a lot of contac
t with Nic.

  In her late teens, Nic had severed their bond when Cassy was young by enlisting. Nic’s abandonment had hurt, deep. There was a wide gap in their ages, and for a time, Cassy had considered that was the reason. But when the marines forced Nic out, and she and Pop had their huge fallout, Cassy began to think it was something else. Eventually the truth came out, and now Cassy knew where to lay the blame: at Pop’s feet.

  “Are your folks coming for Christmas?”

  Great. Nash had perfected mind reading.

  “Uh, yes.” She smeared the window drawings. “In fact, they’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Really? I’d love to have a chat with your dad.”

  Cassy scowled. “About what?”

  Nash’s brows shot up. “Whoa there. I just wanted to shoot the breeze with him. Man, I didn’t think it would earn me an interrogation.”

  “Sorry. Most people don’t want to just ‘chat’ with Pop. They usually have a hidden agenda.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me why you sound like you’d rather swallow a bucket of nails than discuss your dad?”

  She shook her head. “You’re a good friend, Nash, but not that good.”

  He slapped a fist into his chest. “Oh, you wound me, Rivers, right in the heart. Only a good friend? I thought we were more intimate than that.” He added a little eyebrow dance.

  “Shut your mouth. Don’t you know I don’t swing that way? The gossips think I’m a lesbian. Why else would I be single as long as I have been?”

  Nash laughed.

  If this town only knew who the real Cassandra Rivers was, they’d all probably suffer major heart attacks. Boyce’s presence in Eider served to remind her how long it had been since she’d slept with him. Cassy licked her lips and squirmed in her seat. Last night, she’d come close to considering it, again.

  Nash parked the squad car along the street in front of a well-kept Craftsman-style home where a large Santa, a Grinch Santa, and two crazy-big blow-up snowmen were positioned near trees as if they were playing hide-and-seek with visitors. Huge ornament balls dangled from the tree limbs, threatening to bop heads as people went past. Unlit strings of lights covered every available surface of the house and were draped over the bushes lining the front of the porch.