Cold Spite, page 32
part #1 of Cold Justice® - Most Wanted Series
“I wish I had a cure.” She rested her chin on her mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”
“You were back at Christmas.”
It seemed like a long time ago now.
“Can I poke my head in to see Dad?”
Her mother drew back, took her hand, and led her into the kitchen. “Wait until after we’ve had the chance to talk. If he gets upset or agitated, we might not get that opportunity, and I honestly never know how he’s going to react.”
“That bad?”
Her mother nodded. “That bad.”
“That happened fast.”
Her mom looked down and rubbed her hands together. “I guess we ignored a lot of the early symptoms. I feel now as if it’s my fault. I should have made him go to the doctor sooner. There are meds…”
“Dad has never done anything he doesn’t want to do. You know that better than anyone.”
Her mother laughed a little. “Well, even now that hasn’t changed. He’s a terrible patient but, thankfully, he doesn’t know it most of the time.”
Her mother buried her stark reality under the guise of humor. Delilah tried not to crumble under the same weight. Her mom had always been the strongest person she knew. She didn’t need a badge or a weapon when she had steel for a spine.
They went into the kitchen that they’d remodeled a few years ago. Even though it was light out, her mother drew all the blinds. “I’m assuming you still want the rest of the world to think you’re not alive.”
Delilah nodded. “For now. I feel wretched about Valerie’s mother not knowing the truth, and my colleagues in San Diego.” Acid ate at her sternum. Hopefully this would be over soon, and she could present the truth along with the person responsible.
“I do not believe you would have hidden this way unless you genuinely believed you were in danger and there was no reasonable alternative.”
That was true. But she’d also hoped that Scanlon would have been arrested by now. Unfortunately, when her subterfuge was revealed, it would probably mean even more press on her parents’ doorstep, but there was nothing to be done until the truth came out and the story died a natural death.
The landline rang.
“Ignore it.” Her mom insisted and closed the door into the hall. “Your father won’t hear it anyway. He never does.”
“Still forgetting to put in his hearing aids?” Delilah winced at the way she’d phrased the question.
“He’s been better at wearing them lately, but I think that’s more a case of forgetting to take them out. I read some very interesting stats about hearing loss and dementia. Want a scone? I have cream and jam. I’ll put the kettle on and throw a few things into the crockpot for dinner. I have another helper who comes in around seven p.m. and helps me get your father bathed and into his pajamas.”
How he would hate the indignity of that.
“Can you stay for dinner?”
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t. “I’ll take that tea and scone, but I need to get back.” See if Yael had dug up any new data—assuming the analyst would still be willing to share information with her. Presumably that depended on Alex Parker and not ASAC Greg Trainer. “Why don’t you put your feet up for a few minutes while I chop things for the crockpot,” she offered.
She couldn’t stay long but she desperately needed her mother’s company for a little time.
Scanlon’s burner cell rang, and he figured it must be urgent so he slipped into the backyard where the flowers his mother had planted years ago were starting to bud. The Spanish moss draped the old live oak and created shade from the sun that was hot today, even at this hour.
He answered. “Yeah?”
“She’s alive.”
Bullshit. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Check the photo I sent.”
Joseph opened the image despite his usual reservations when dealing with downloads from the internet. He’d ditch this cell ASAP.
“I flew to Virginia.”
What the fuck?
“I wanted to see if I could figure out who was on the task force and maybe follow them home.”
Bug them. Like Joseph had done with Agent Gonzales last weekend. Virgil had arranged for several listening/tracking devices to be sent to a mailbox using a stolen identity he’d bought off the dark web. It was virtually untraceable.
The photo showed a blonde knocking on a door in the rain.
It was grainy and indistinct and proved nothing.
“So I’m walking past the front entrance of the J. Edgar Hoover Building first thing this morning, and there she is. Plain as day. FBI Agent Delilah Quinn.”
Bull. Shit.
“I figured out where she likely parked from the direction she’d come from and parked up near there a while. I didn’t think I was going to get lucky before security got suspicious, but the Lady was with me. Quinn came out less than an hour later.”
They’d have his partner’s face on a camera somewhere now. He was a liability.
“This photo doesn’t show me anything,” Joseph said impatiently.
“Are you questioning my words or my eyesight?” The tone reminded Joseph this person wasn’t some grunt in the prison system, and he needed to tread carefully. “She put on a wig in the vehicle. Then she went to a mall and bought some clothes and shit. While she was inside, I stuck the tracking device onto the truck she was driving.”
He sent a photo of the license plate.
Government issue.
Interesting. But DC was full of government plates.
“And that house she’s standing outside in the shitty photo I sent? That’s Special Agent Delilah Quinn’s parents’ home.”
Joseph stared at the photo of the woman harder. Could it really be her?
How?
How could it be true?
He pictured that night. The woman sitting on the recliner not even turning around when he came inside. It had been dark except for the TV.
He hadn’t wasted time with gotcha speeches or given her the chance to pull a weapon. He’d brought that hammer down hard, and her skull had crumpled.
A blitz attack. He’d just wanted her dead.
She’d been wearing the FBI cap. She was the right size and shape as the Fed. She’d been in Quinn’s apartment.
Was it possible she hadn’t been Delilah Quinn after all?
And suddenly he knew it was true. He’d made a mistake. Made an assumption. He slumped onto a bench. His heart racing. His hands shaking. His veins felt as if his blood were on fire.
“You there?”
He pushed down the knot of rage. “Yeah.”
“Shall I run her off the road? Shoot her?”
Joseph stared at the pitted, moss-stained statue of the Virgin Mary his mother had placed in the yard years ago.
The truck wouldn’t be easy to run off the road, and Quinn had advanced training in evasive driving tactics. Plus, she’d be armed.
“Well?” The voice was impatient.
“I’m thinking,” he snapped. “Is she staying at her parents’ house?”
“I don’t know. Way she knocked on the door was like she wasn’t expected and wasn’t sure of her welcome.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let her see you.” Shit, this idiot was going to blow everything. “You have the tracker on the truck. Get the hell out of there. Use the tracker, and text me when she leaves. Use a new cell.”
Scanlon heard a car engine start.
“I could knock on the door and shoot her right now.”
“Watch what you say on the phone.” Idiot. Unless he’d been caught and flipped in which case Joseph was already fucked, but he wouldn’t go down easy. “There’s a better way.” And it would bring both the Quinn bitch and this moron close enough to deal with personally. Here. On his home turf. “Drive around the corner out of sight, and do exactly what I say.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Cas stood in the doorway of Delilah’s parents’ home feeling like a damned fool. He rang the doorbell and turned and gave a thumbs up to the guys as they watched from the SUV. Delilah’s truck was parked on the next block. Unless she slipped out the back, he should be able to catch a ride back to Quantico with her.
Hopper and Hersh both grinned at him manically from the front seats. This must be what it felt like to have parents who dropped you off on your first date. The guys gave him the thumbs up back and pulled away.
The door opened, and all of Cas’s worst nightmares were realized, but at least there were no witnesses. He’d expected Delilah’s mother but why would this part of his day be any easier than the rest?
Stephen Quinn’s eyes crinkled in angry confusion. “Why are you here? I told you to leave Delilah alone. I told you what will happen if you don’t. I’ll make sure you never get into the Hostage Rescue Team.” The guy looked haggard and old now, wearing plaid pajama pants, a white T-shirt, and a thick cardigan. The creases around his eyes and mouth were much deeper than they’d been the last time Cas had seen him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, young man.”
The old man tried to push the door closed, but Cas heard Delilah’s voice from inside, so he wedged his boot into the gap.
He wasn’t leaving without her. Not this time.
“Daddy, what did you do?” She caught her father’s arm and tried to open the door.
“Let me go! Who are you? Esme! Esme! Who’s this person in our house?”
Delilah was wearing the long blonde wig, but the look in her brown eyes was stricken.
She pulled Cas inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“Sorry, I…”
She ignored him and followed her father into the living room.
Cas followed reluctantly.
She carefully pulled off the blonde wig and let her rich chocolate hair tumble. “Dad.”
She moved so she stood to one side of her father’s recliner.
“Daddy, what did you do?”
Stephen Quinn was arguing with his wife who was trying to make the man sit back down. “Delilah! Delilah.” He grabbed her in a bear hug. “Darling girl. When did you get home?”
He looked so delighted. It hurt to watch.
“Just now.” The words were throaty as if she were trying to rein in her emotions. “How are you feeling today?”
“Good. Good.” He leaned closer. “Except your mother is trying to poison me with the number of pills she makes me swallow every day.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Makes my brain foggy, and I can’t remember the things I need to.”
“Mom isn’t trying to poison you, Dad.”
“What would you know? You’re never here.”
Delilah looked shocked by the sudden mood swing.
“Stephen Anthony Quinn,” Delilah’s mother cut in sharply. “One of these days someone is going to believe you about me poisoning you, and they’ll lock me up in prison with all the criminals—is that what you want? What do you think will happen to you then? What do you think will happen?” The woman sounded fraught and exhausted and angry.
Cas could only imagine the anguish of losing someone you loved, incrementally, one memory at a time, even though they stood right in front of your eyes.
At first, Stephen’s expression remained angry but it quickly crumpled, and he grabbed his wife’s hand and sat back down on his recliner. “Don’t leave me, Esme. You’re the only one who matters. You’re the only one who cares. Please don’t leave me.”
Esme crouched beside her shaking husband.
“I’m not going anywhere, you old goat. But tell me this, did you interfere with Delilah’s personal life?”
His mouth frowned, and he turned away from his wife. “That’s classified.”
Esme Quinn rolled her eyes.
Cas didn’t know if this was the right thing to do or not, but he held out his hand. “Assistant Director Quinn, it is an honor to meet you, sir. My name is Operator Casta Demarco.”
Stephen straightened his spine and his eyes brightened. He shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” The grip tightened and the eyes crinkled in confusion. “Have we met before?”
Delilah’s eyes were growing bigger and bigger.
Cas’s mouth went dry. It felt important not to lie. “Yes, sir. Once. I was a lowly Special Agent at the time. It was a long time ago.”
Stephen nodded and suddenly looked incredibly tired. “I remember.”
He obviously did not. “Why don’t you rest for a minute, sir? I’ll fetch you a glass of water from the kitchen.”
Esme nodded her thanks and Cas left the room. Delilah followed him.
A moment later, they both stood in the kitchen and stared at one another.
“He threatened you.” Her voice wobbled.
“I wanted to join HRT.” He shrugged. “You know that. It was my dream for years. Your father threatened to take that away from me, but…” Cas closed his eyes. “But I already told you why we really broke up. It wasn’t all on him… He was a convenient excuse I told myself at the time.”
Delilah touched his face. “I don’t believe you. Not anymore.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “HRT was your dream, and he had no right to threaten you that way. His actions also stole your dreams of belonging to a loving family, and I’ll never forgive him for that. You have to know I would have cut all ties with him to be with you if you’d only told me. You know I would have. And he wouldn’t have gone through with his threats after I spoke to him.”
He opened his eyes. “You love your parents, Delilah. I knew that from the way you spoke about them. The love. The pride. I couldn’t take that from you. I would never destroy your family.”
Family was everything.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head against his heart, and he held her tight. “I love you, Cas Demarco. I would have chosen you, and he would have come to love you too. He became very overprotective after my brother died, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry people have treated you so badly. They didn’t know you or they’d have seen the true nature of your worth. They’d see the character of a man who’d willingly sacrifice himself rather than hurt others.”
“I’m not a saint, Delilah.” But her words warmed him and gave him hope. She loved him. That was enough.
“I want what we once had back again. It’s not too late, is it?” She swiped away a tear. “Unless I’m arrested for murder.”
He pulled back, both warmed and horrified. “You’re joking?”
She grimaced. “Not really. Greg Trainer seems to consider me a viable suspect.”
Cas ground his teeth together. “I should have punched him in the face earlier, that mother—”
He cut himself off as Delilah’s mom entered the kitchen.
“I gave him one of his pills, so he’ll sleep a little. Maybe he’s right about me poisoning him because the only time I get any real rest is when he’s sleeping. God knows I get to feel guilty about everything else, I may as well feel bad about that too.”
She smiled through her tears and then held out her hand to shake his. “Esme Quinn. Delilah’s terrible mother and Stephen’s horrible wife.”
“Mom,” Delilah chastised softly.
“Casta Demarco, ma’am. People call me Cas. Pleasure to meet you.”
Esme didn’t let go of his hand, and her grip was too firm to pull away from gracefully. “I remember Delilah talking about you a couple of times, years ago, and then she stopped talking about you and she became sad. Is my husband the reason my daughter became so sad?”
Cas shook his head. “You can’t blame your husband. It was my fault.”
“Not true.” Delilah took his other hand in hers. “But the fact we broke up isn’t the only reason I was miserable. I miscarried, Mom, and had to have an emergency hysterectomy.”
“When?” Her mother dropped his hand and picked up her daughter’s.
“Five years ago.”
Tears were bright in the woman’s eyes. “And you never told me?”
“I never told anyone.” She shot a look at him. “Only Val.”
“Oh, Delilah. I’m so sorry.” Her mother shook her head. “And I’m so sorry you didn’t feel able to come to me. I would have been there for you, I promise.”
“I know you would. I was unable to talk about it for a long time. And I didn’t want to quash your hopes of having grandchildren.”
Esme waved that away. “There are other ways to have kids if you decide you want them. And right now, I have enough to deal with.”
She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Listen to me complain when I’m not the one with some maniac after them or a horrible disease eating away at my faculties. I’m truly a horrible person.”
Delilah hugged her mother. “You’re not. And you need to be able to vent. It doesn’t change how much you love him. Daddy was difficult even on his best day, but he loved you dearly exactly the way you are.”
“Yes, well, we are a long way away from his best days I’m afraid, and it’s only going to get worse.”
The two women embraced, and Cas felt awkward and went to take a step back. “I’ll wait outside.”
Delilah reached out and grabbed his arm. Esme wrapped her arm around him and suddenly he was part of a group hug. It was the closest he’d come to being part of an extended family since he’d been that little kid kicked out of the foster family because an adult had abused him.
Fuck if he didn’t want to cry. He managed to hold it together, grateful beyond measure and at the same time terrified it was all going to go wrong again, and being alone would be worse this time. A thousand times worse.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
They’d made love when they’d gotten back to the townhouse, and then Delilah had showered and dressed and taken the files Yael had compiled about the prison visitors to sit on the couch and start over from the beginning. Scanlon had to have been communicating with someone to set up this complex plan, and as his SEAL buddies Holtz and Johnson both had alibis for Nicole’s murder, it meant someone else was involved. Something nagged at her, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
