Stolen (Lucy Kincaid Novels) Read online

  “For what it’s worth, I think it’s personal with her. There’s a history.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Lucy, I care about you. So does everyone here at RCK. Your brothers are key assets for us. They would tell you the same thing: Don’t put your career in jeopardy over this. You don’t know Colton Thayer and who Sean was ten years ago when they were friends.”

  Lucy didn’t know what to say. Duke was Sean’s brother, and it was like he was abandoning him. “I don’t think you can judge anything until we know what Agent Brighton is investigating.” She hesitated, then said, “Duke, she’s been researching my past.”

  “How do you know?” His voice was soft and concerned.

  “Something she said. She was trying to intimidate me.”

  Duke didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “Duke?”

  “You need to talk to Sean about Deanna Brighton.”

  “Were they … involved?” She couldn’t imagine that; Brighton was at least ten years older than Sean.

  “No. Nothing like that. It goes back to Stanford.”

  “The pedophile professor.”

  “Brighton was the FBI agent who arrested him.”

  Now it made sense. Brighton’s animosity and anger. Her vengeance.

  “It wasn’t pretty,” Duke continued. “She was over-the-top, but Sean was—well, his usual self, with far less self-control. I suspect she’s been after him for a long time, and if he’s really back in the same game with Colton Thayer, this time she’ll get him.”

  “I don’t believe Sean is doing anything wrong.”

  “Love is blinding you, Lucy.”

  “I think your anger at Sean quitting is blinding you.”

  “Do you know why he quit?” Before Lucy could respond, Duke said, “He flat-out broke the law. He hacked into a private company and extracted information for Colton Thayer. They are up to something, and I can guarantee you it’s not legal. I hope you can convince Sean to walk away before he gets into a jam he can’t charm his way out of.”

  Lucy hung up because talking to Duke was upsetting her. She considered calling Noah, but he’d told her last time she talked to him that he was working on a complex case and to only call if there was an emergency. She thought of Hans Vigo, except he was on medical leave, recovering from a brutal attack nearly two months ago.

  Lucy decided to go to the source and called her friend Special Agent Suzanne Madeaux in the New York City office. She trusted Suzanne to be discreet.

  After they had exchanged pleasantries, Lucy said, “I need a favor, and I need complete confidentiality. If you can’t help me, I understand. I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”

  Suzanne laughed. “Where you go, trouble follows.”

  Lucy didn’t see the humor. “I’m serious.”

  “Lucy, we’re friends. Lighten up.”

  “It’s complicated, and I don’t—”

  “Just ask.”

  Lucy appreciated Suzanne’s friendship. She didn’t have a lot of girlfriends, and no one she felt particularly close to except Suzanne.

  “Do you know Special Agent Deanna Brighton?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “She’s in the Manhattan office. White-collar.”

  “We have over three hundred agents in the Manhattan office, and I only know one guy from White-Collar because one of his CIs ended up dead in the middle of one of my investigations. I can ask him, though—”

  “No,” Lucy said quickly.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Deanna Brighton is looking for Sean, and I don’t think it’s to ask for his help.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “She came to Quantico because she thought I knew where he was staying in New York.”

  “Why didn’t she call?”

  “If I had to guess? She wanted to intimidate me. She also talked to Sean’s brother, Duke, in Sacramento. I just got off the phone with him.”

  “Does this have something to do with Sean leaving RCK?”

  “Does everyone know?”

  “It got around pretty quickly, since RCK is a federal vendor and there are like a half-dozen former agents who work for them. Is Sean in trouble?”

  “No,” Lucy said quickly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t talked to him today and he isn’t answering his phone. I’m worried.” She scratched Chip behind the ears as the cat purred and stretched on Sean’s desk.

  “When was the last time you spoke?”

  “Saturday night.”

  “Less than forty-eight hours ago. You don’t know what he’s doing in New York?”

  “He took a temporary job. Not through RCK. He couldn’t share the details because of a confidentiality clause, and now I’m worried there might be something more going on. This Brighton—I didn’t like her.” Lucy didn’t want to go into details. Telling Duke had been hard enough, and Suzanne didn’t need to know. “I wish I could explain better. Chalk it up to a gut feeling.”

  “I trust your gut, Lucy. Stop apologizing and tell me what you need. If I can do it, I will.”

  “I need to find out if either Sean or his friend Colton Thayer is the subject of a federal investigation. It could be Brighton wants Thayer and thinks she can get to him through Sean. But the way she was talking, she thinks Sean’s guilty of something.”

  “I can get the information. But depending on the answer, I don’t know if I can tell you. If he’s the subject of a federal investigation—”

  “I don’t think he is. I think she’s fishing.”

  Sean’s computer beeped and Lucy resisted the urge to look at the results.

  “Let me see what I can find out. Quietly. You’re adding some spice to my life—I get to be a spy.”

  “I can’t ask—”

  “You didn’t. I get it, Lucy. And tell Sean when you talk to him, if he gets jammed up, send me a nine-one-one.”

  Lucy hung up and closed her eyes. Her heart was racing, and not from her conversation with Suzanne.

  Lucy breathed deeply. In and out. It didn’t matter who this woman in the park was, did it? It didn’t matter, because whatever that picture showed on the surface didn’t mean anything—Lucy trusted Sean. Explicitly.

  She opened her eyes and viewed the report.

  Skylar Jansen.

  Skye.

  Sean’s ex-girlfriend. One of his many ex-girlfriends, but the one he’d had for years while at MIT.

  There’d been a weekend months ago when Lucy and Sean had the house to themselves before Lucy went into the Academy. Carefree, relaxing. They’d gone to see a Disney movie that made Lucy smile and Sean laughed like a little boy. They’d come back and made love in front of the fireplace, Lucy drunk with emotion.

  * * *

  “I love you so much,” she’d said as they held each other. She was unable to contain her feelings, a rarity for her, since she usually kept her emotions bottled up inside.

  “I don’t deserve it, but I hope to earn it.”

  “Earn it? You don’t earn love. There’s nothing you can do that could take this away from us.”

  Sean ran his hands through her hair, kissed her, held her close, a light blanket covering them as the fire danced across the darkened room. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved like this.”

  “You don’t have to say that. I’m not naïve. There have been others for you.” Many others, she knew, from what Patrick had said when he tried to get her to break it off with Sean when they first started seeing each other. Patrick was being an overprotective big brother, but she’d never been able to completely forget what he’d said. “I’m not as comfortable with all this, with my sexuality, with you, as I know you expect—”

  “What?” Sean propped up his head with his hand and stared at her, his mouth a tight line. “Who said I’ve ever expected anything from you?”

  “I just … I know you dated a lot—”

  “Lucy, I’m not go
ing to go through all the women I’ve been with, because none of them matter now. They’re in the past. You are my present; you are my future.” He sounded hurt, and Lucy wanted to fix it but didn’t know how.

  “I don’t want to ruin tonight,” she said, her voice catching.

  He lay back down and pulled her close to him, so close it almost hurt. He was shaking.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you that will make you understand how I feel.”

  “You don’t have to say anything; I know—”

  “I’m far from perfect. I know Patrick doesn’t like us together.”

  “He’s getting used to it.”

  “He wants to protect you. I dated a lot of women before you. But from the moment you came to my door in January, drenched from the storm, you’ve been the only one. The only one I love, the only one I want, the only one I dream about every night.”

  “Sean—” She kissed him. “Please don’t. I trust you.”

  “Then I’m going to tell you something, because it’s important. So you understand my love is real.”

  “I’ve never doubted.”

  But Sean didn’t believe her, and she’d done that; she’d put that doubt in his head. She was angry with herself because she didn’t want to be this way.

  “I dated a lot of women, but I never told any I loved them before you, except one. I was in college, and at the time I thought Skye was it. I was nineteen, she was twenty-one, my life had gone through a major upheaval after I was expelled from Stanford, and she helped.”

  Lucy wanted to cry. She didn’t want to hear about his lost love. But she’d started this, hadn’t she? She deserved the story.

  “I told her I loved her. And maybe, in an immature way, I did. But what I felt then could fill a thimble; my love for you is an ocean. I can hardly breathe thinking of losing you.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Sean—”

  “You are everything to me, Lucy. Ten years ago I was a different person.”

  “Sean, I’m sorry.”

  He kissed her. “You’re crying. Luce—” He kissed her damp cheeks. “Baby, please, don’t.”

  “I just love you so much. I never thought I could feel this way. I thought I was dead inside. I’ve been reborn because of you.”

  He kissed her over and over, his arms around her, holding her almost too tight but not tight enough. He made her feel safe and loved and, more than that, wanted. He made her feel special. She kissed him, held his face in her hands, and said, “Make love to me again.”

  They locked eyes as he slowly entered her. Her body was still overheated from their earlier round of sex, but this time it was different. She craved him physically in a way she hadn’t before, as if a switch had flipped and she was the woman she wanted to be for Sean. She wrapped her legs around him and watched his skin glisten in the firelight as they moved together in a perfect, escalating rhythm until her mind shut down and her body spiraled out of control—

  * * *

  Lucy’s ringing phone broke through her memory.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, princess.”

  She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Sean.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I’m sitting at your desk.”

  “My desk?”

  “I needed your computer.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She turned off the monitor. “An FBI agent named Deanna Brighton came to talk to me today. She’s looking for you. I can be on the next flight to New York. Just say the word.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Please—stay put.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” He wasn’t okay—she heard it in his voice—but she didn’t say anything. He continued, “She’s had it in for me for a while.”

  “Since Stanford.”

  Silence. “How do you know?”

  “Duke called. She talked to him, too. He’s worried about you.” And furious, but Lucy left off that part.

  “Trust me, Lucy.”

  “Always.”

  “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

  Lucy decided not to tell Sean about Brighton threatening her or about the photograph. Instead, she said, “I’m not being dragged into anything. I didn’t like her tone. Suzanne is there if you need her.”

  “I can handle Brighton.”

  “You must have really pissed her off.”

  “I have that effect on people.”

  Lucy wanted him to tell her why, but he sounded rushed and distracted.

  “If you need me, I’m here.”

  “This job has gotten a little sticky. But I’m not doing anything that I’m not supposed to. I promise you that, Lucy.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Duke did.”

  “Your brother’s worried.”

  “I gotta go, Luce. I love you. Be careful.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to tell you.”

  “Always, princess.”

  He hung up. Lucy slowly lowered her phone. He’d been preoccupied. He hadn’t even asked her why she was using his computer.

  She turned the monitor back on. Time to do a little research. Sean would try to protect her, not to worry her, but she was already worried and she didn’t need his protection.

  This time, he needed hers.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tuesday

  Sean couldn’t spend another day working in the apartment with Noah. They’d hardly spoken. Sean had spent the night alternately worried about Lucy and her visit from Brighton, pissed off at the agent, and researching the board members of PBM, trying to find a connection—any connection—to Jonathan Paxton. He might have found something. He wanted to talk to Hunter, without anyone else around.

  Sean left early, picked up a breakfast burrito from a corner shop, and ate it while he walked to meet Hunter at Bryant Park, near the library, which was on Sean’s list of places to go today.

  Sean trusted Hunter. Maybe because he was a big conspiracy nut, but mostly because he was a good guy. Sean wanted to talk to him about Evan and Carol. He was certain that Hunter had done his own research on them when they joined the group.

  Sean spotted Hunter walking down the path, looking at his feet, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. He hadn’t changed since college. Like Sean, Hunter had entered college early, but he stayed longer. Probably had a Ph.D., or at least a couple master’s degrees tucked away. He functioned well in college, where his intelligence and oddities were respected and even encouraged. The real world, outside the safety of the university, terrified Hunter in ways Sean understood, even though he didn’t share the same fears.

  Hunter hadn’t shaved, but he had showered—his shoulder-length hair was damp. “Hey, buddy,” Sean said. “I got you a breakfast sandwich.”

  Hunter grinned. “Thanks.”

  They walked while they talked, because Hunter wasn’t a guy who could sit still for long. “I’m glad you called,” Hunter said between bites.

  “I was getting stir-crazy. Patience has never been a strong suit.”

  Hunter snorted and said while chewing, “You can say that again.”

  “Did Colton tell you I talked to him about being followed?”

  Hunter nodded, swallowed his food. “Asked me to beef up surveillance. I plugged in the picture of that Fed. If she comes within a hundred feet of the carriage house, or me, I’ll know.” He held up his phone.

  “You’ve always been smarter than me.”

  “Naw,” Hunter said sheepishly. He took another bite of the sandwich. “So is that why you wanted to talk?”

  “A few other things. I’m worried about Colton.”

  “Why? I’ve never seen him happier. Seriously, dude, he’s glad you’re back.”

  “I only signed on for this one job.”

  “He doesn’t believe it.” Hunter glanced at Sean and swallowed. “You’re not lying.”

  Sean shook his head. “This is important to C
olton, and I want to help him.” Both were true. “But I can’t stay here forever.”

  “C. thinks it’s because of your girlfriend.”

  “It’s because of a lot of things.” Sean needed to steer the conversation back to Evan and Carol. “How well do you know Carol and Evan?”

  Hunter frowned. “Why?”

  “I want to know if one of them betrayed Colton.”

  “No,” Hunter said quickly.

  “You’re sure?”

  He looked pained and fidgeted with his food. “I hate digging around on my friends.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  Hunter stopped walking and almost got knocked over by a jogger. Sean guided Hunter to a bench at the edge of the park, where he made him sit down.

  “That fed is the bitch who arrested me at Stanford.”

  “Did you tell C.?”

  “I found out late last night. But she knew I was in New York, and she followed Colton to the pub. I don’t care what he says, I know she did—we saw her on the carriage house surveillance tapes.”

  “Yeah, but C.’s pretty good at slipping in and out. He’d know if someone was following him.”

  “He’s distracted.”

  Hunter didn’t say anything, and Sean knew he’d seen the same thing.

  “Start with Carol. What’s her story?”

  “C. met her over a year ago. She was working at a museum.”

  Sean frowned. “She’s not in this business?”

  “Not then. But she really looks out for him. And they kind of bonded, because her sister died of leukemia, just like Travis.”

  Sounded like a setup to Sean.

  “And she has no problem with what Colton does?”

  “She’s totally into him.”

  “Does she still work at the museum?”

  “Part-time. She graduated from RISD in art history or something. She’s a real good artist. Those paintings at C.’s place? In the living room? All Carol.”

  Sean remembered the bold contemporary art. Not his style, but it was certainly high quality.

  “She has her work in an art studio someplace. I was there once, but there were so many people—you know—I left early.”