Cold Wicked Lies Read online

She zipped her black down coat up to her chin, trying to ignore the sting of cold across the tips of her ears and nose. She wore fleece-lined leggings, sturdy boots, and silk underwear of the unsexy variety. When she’d discovered their destination, she’d packed more of the same.

  This wasn’t her first rodeo in this part of the world. She’d spent several weeks on and off this year, talking the Freemen down from their latest version of insurrection.

  Agent Truman was speaking with one of the HRT guys. He pointed in the direction of several large boxes, which he and some of the other men started hauling in the direction of the SUV.

  Charlotte caught the gaze of the HRT Gold section leader again. Payne Novak. He sent her a smirk before turning away to continue orchestrating the unloading of tons of equipment HRT needed to function.

  And yet, he found her having a suitcase with wheels amusing.

  The Tactical Commander and Negotiation Commander both worked with the Incident Commander to form the “Triad of Control,” which meant Charlotte was about to spend quality time with Payne-in-the-ass-Novak. Great.

  Though they’d never directly interacted, she’d ascertained from the frequent stares and frowns he sent in her direction that, for some reason, he didn’t approve of her. She didn’t have time for territorial or macho nonsense and hoped he could handle working with a woman as an equal.

  Charlotte climbed into the front passenger seat of the SUV and waited for Agent Truman to finish packing the gear. Then he got in and turned on the ignition.

  She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to spending a little alone time with Agent Hottie—maybe figure out if the guy was spoken for, or single and looking for love.

  At thirty-two, after putting relationships on hold in favor of her career, she’d finally figured she was going to have to be more proactive when it came to dating. She wasn’t in college anymore and most of the likable, straight, single men had already been snapped up. Agent Truman fitted the exact image she had of her perfect future partner. Polite, educated, cultured. Someone who’d comfortably fit behind the wheel of the family SUV with two kids and a dog strapped in the back. Someone who looked gorgeous enough to lick all over and virile enough to return the favor.

  A sharp tap on the window almost had her heart levitating from her chest.

  Supervisory Special Agent Payne Novak stared at her through the fogged-up glass.

  She buzzed it down a few inches.

  “I’m riding with you so you can update us both concurrently and save time. Unlock the door.” Novak directed his comments to Truman.

  He climbed in, and Charlotte’s mood sank. She buzzed the window back up and stared out through the frosted glass.

  It was probably a smart idea. Didn’t mean she had to like his bulldozer attitude.

  “What can you tell us about the situation? Any updates?” Novak asked.

  Truman replied, “It’s a mess. Federal Wildlife Officer name of Bob Jones was shot dead on private land that edges Colville National Forest. He’d previously radioed in to say he’d discovered the body of a young woman and was in pursuit of a suspect. He was shot, presumably by the suspect or members of a survivalist group who own the land and compound where the suspect lives. Sheriff and other wildlife officers went up there to assist FWO Jones, but a gun battle ensued, and now they can’t get near the place to retrieve his body. Another deputy was also injured and is in serious condition in the hospital. Sheriff contacted us in Spokane, and we called Seattle, who called HQ. The director intervened. Everyone was told to stand down until the cavalry arrived.”

  The cavalry. The Tactical Operations arm of the FBI. CIRG. The Critical Incident Response Group—of which the Crisis Negotiation Unit formed a co-equal branch with the Hostage Rescue Team.

  “How did the woman die?” Charlotte asked.

  Truman shook his head. “We don’t know yet. Agents from my Resident Agency are helping to process the scene. Medical Examiner arrived about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Her body is still there?” Charlotte asked in surprise.

  “Director told our SAC not to let the locals touch a thing. I guess he’s feeling antsy.”

  Charlotte didn’t blame him. This incident shared aspects of two of the Bureau’s biggest failures, Waco and Ruby Ridge. “Can you take me to the location where the body is? I’d like to view her before the ME moves her if possible.”

  “That’s not your job,” Novak stated firmly from the backseat.

  She turned to face him. His close-cropped dark blond hair was hidden beneath a black knit cap, but his icy brows were clearly visible and met in a disapproving frown. Charlotte raised an eyebrow back, a little incredulous at Novak’s audacity, but she held onto her patience. “SSA Novak, the Incident Commander hasn’t arrived yet. My team is setting up the Negotiation Center and working to establish initial communications with the people on Eagle Mountain. In the meantime, I’d like to check out where this all started to get a handle on what exactly occurred so we can resolve this without anyone else getting hurt.”

  Charlotte held the steely glare in those blue-green eyes and gritted her teeth in an effort to be polite. “We can drop you off first if you need to supervise your people.”

  Truman glanced uneasily from her to Novak and back again.

  “Actually, no.” Novak flashed her a grim look. “A quick reconnoiter isn’t a bad idea.”

  Irritation snaked along her nerves. “Are you sure you have the time, SSA Novak?”

  “Sure. What are we waiting for?” Novak asked impatiently.

  “I thought you’d want HRT to follow me to the ranch where we are basing operations,” said Truman.

  Novak glanced over his shoulder at his team. “Give me the GPS coordinates, and I’ll let them know. They’ll find it. Let’s go.”

  Charlotte blew out a long breath and prayed for patience. “Yippee-kai-yay,” she murmured under her breath, earning the tiny uptick of Agent Truman’s rather excellent lips.

  “Motherfucker.” Came the rejoinder from the backseat.

  “Indeed,” said Charlotte.

  * * *

  Payne Novak leaned forward in his seat, impatient to get on with things. It was killing him that a fellow federal law enforcement official was lying out in the dirt, exposed to the elements and abandoned like trash. No man left behind was a mantra he’d lived by since his Green Beret days. He swallowed, trying to loosen the tightness in his throat, thinking of another soldier on another hillside on the other side of the world. He had no intention of repeating that mission fail.

  A short recon wasn’t a terrible idea as long as it didn’t stop him getting his men into position before dawn. As HRT’s Tactical Commander on the ground, his job was assessing the threat, preparing for the threat, and developing action plans to eliminate the threat.

  But from a personal standpoint, he also needed to get FWO Jones’s body back to his loved ones as quickly as possible.

  Maybe the negotiators could talk the leaders of this compound into a truce and giving up its shooters, but Novak doubted it. This sweet-looking blonde didn’t seem the type to play hardball with killers. She looked like the type to bake cupcakes, hold hands, and kiss booboos.

  Novak had seen the petite agent at several incidents since the summer, always smiling and joking with her colleagues. She glanced over her shoulder, and her blue eyes narrowed with unspoken criticism.

  For some reason she didn’t like him.

  He smiled back.

  He didn’t care.

  Special Agent Truman drove fast, obviously aware of the tension that filled the atmosphere like CS gas, and smart enough not to open his mouth and inhale.

  Charlotte Blood was the Negotiations Commander for this incident, which meant Novak had to deal with her whether she liked him or not. Until the overall Incident Commander was on scene, Novak and Blood were running this shit show. Novak’s immediate boss was out of the country doing something classified with the US Naval Special Warfare Dev
elopment Group. Probably taking down a high value target in some remote part of the Middle East. If Novak fucked this up, he’d never hear the end of it.

  The Hostage Rescue Teams were tight-knit groups. Same as the negotiators. Theoretically, they were all on the same side, and they shared objectives, up to a point. Ending the siege. Protecting the innocent. They simply had wildly different ideas about how to go about that.

  “Do you have any experience with murder investigations?” The bite in SSA Blood’s tone was unmistakable and something he only ever heard when she addressed him. She was sweet as pie to everyone else.

  “Not a lot.” He leaned back against the leather seat and glanced out the window. He’d served two years as a street agent where he’d learned about the law enforcement side of the agency, but he hadn’t found it nearly as rewarding as his current role of kicking down doors and taking out terrorists. “I was on the violent criminal apprehension squad in Miami before I joined HRT.”

  Marking time until he could apply for selection. That had been five years ago. His rise through the ranks had more to do with his military know-how than his law enforcement skills.

  “Of course, you were,” she muttered under her breath.

  Novak saw Truman flash a look of surprise in SSA Blood’s direction, probably at her acidic tone, but he didn’t say anything. Smart man.

  “I suppose you are highly experienced—with murder investigations?” He hadn’t meant it to come out snide, but it did. Her shoulders stiffened.

  “I ran multiple murder investigations in three different field offices. We made arrests in all but two of the cases, which are still ongoing.”

  It didn’t surprise him that she kept track of old cases.

  “Just keep out of the Medical Examiner’s way and don’t contaminate the scene,” she instructed.

  “I am a qualified FBI agent, SSA Blood. Not some bum they picked up off the streets.”

  “We all know the Bureau wanted you for your tactical skills and experience, not your investigative prowess.”

  Was she seriously suggesting that he hadn’t reached the same standards as other applicants when he had, in fact, far exceeded them? “Are you questioning my abilities, SSA Blood?”

  “Only your experience at murder scenes and in peaceful resolutions, SSA Novak.”

  That rankled. “HRT is the tip of the spear. We’re not paid to hold hands.”

  “Nor are the negotiators.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn’t let him.

  “You know the FBI is mandated to pursue negotiations as far as possible while lives are not at risk.”

  “Of course, I know that.” Novak crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the back of Charlotte Blood’s annoying head. She obviously considered him a freaking idiot. When she could solve complex algebra equations after a week with no sleep and running the equivalent of four marathons in full kit, they’d talk.

  Chapter Three

  Novak sat silently in the back seat, trying to ignore his irritating coworker. Long roads snaked through barren desert before climbing into rocky foothills and then higher, passing through steep banks covered in swathes of thick forest. It took forty minutes before they reached the valley closest to the incident and the small town of Eagle Creek. Flakes of snow rode the breeze, a warning that the weather could turn at any moment. They needed to get that downed officer to his family before the snow buried him until spring.

  Truman pointed out the ranch where they were basing their operations. They left the convoy of HRT vehicles, who’d caught up twenty minutes ago, behind them. It took another ten minutes to reach a gravel logging road, another ten minutes of teeth rattling misery to get to a police cordon, and a string of emergency vehicles stretched out along the side of the road.

  Truman pulled up beside an ambulance. The field agent had called ahead on the sat phone to arrange for someone to meet them and guide them to the scene. Truman pointed out the side window with obvious relief. “That’s Agent Fontaine over there. She’ll take you up to where they found the female victim. I’ll figure out somewhere to turn around and wait for you here.”

  Charlotte Blood sent the agent a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.

  Ha. So that’s why she was pissed he’d tagged along. She’d wanted to hit on pretty-boy Truman, and Novak had ruined her dating plans. Well, tough.

  He got out of the SUV and glanced around with a frown. A crowd of people, including the media, were being held back at one end of the dirt road. Law enforcement needed to secure the entire mountain and make sure no one went wandering where they weren’t authorized. That wouldn’t be an easy assignment.

  Hell of a lot of local police activity too. Too many eyes and ears for his liking. Too many loose lips and potential wannabe heroes and victims getting in the line of fire if the men in the compound decided to make a break for it before HRT were embedded and firmly in control.

  Novak switched his attention to their guide. Agent Fontaine had long dark hair tied back into a no-nonsense ponytail and smiling red lips. Her eyes lit up a little when they caught sight of him. Some women had a thing for body armor and thigh holsters.

  Not his erstwhile Negotiations Commander, though. Nor his ex-wife, come to that. She hadn’t even bothered to tell him she was leaving him for another man. He’d simply arrived home from a long overseas deployment to an empty house with a note on the kitchen counter telling him how much he owed her to cover utilities.

  He pushed the thoughts out of his brain.

  Charlotte Blood’s mouth bent upside-down as she noticed Fontaine’s reaction to him. Novak stood a little taller and possibly puffed out his chest. Not because he wanted to flirt with Agent Fontaine, but because annoying Charlotte Blood amused the crap out of him, especially since she considered him such a bozo.

  “SSA Payne Novak.” He introduced himself as he shook hands with Fontaine. “This is SSA Charlotte Blood.”

  Agent Fontaine barked out a surprised laugh. “Blood and Payne. Perfect. You guys should be partners and get your own TV show.”

  He and Charlotte locked gazes, her eyes reflecting the exact same horror he felt.

  “Ha. Right,” SSA Blood said between gritted teeth. “Please, call me Charlotte.”

  “And you can call me Payne.” Novak gave Fontaine his best smile.

  “Funny,” Charlotte muttered. “That’s what I always call you.”

  He let go of Fontaine’s hand and raised a brow at his fellow commander. “I thought you were supposed to be the diplomat?”

  Charlotte sighed. “You’re right. It was a cheap shot. I apologize. Any idea who the victim is, or where she came from, Agent Fontaine?”

  Agent Fontaine glanced at Charlotte then back to him. No doubt about it, she was interested in more than his weapon’s holster. Not that he got involved with co-workers, especially junior ones—but he wasn’t a regular field agent, and Fontaine lived on the other side of the country. A temporary hookup with no emotional entanglements wouldn’t be completely out of the question if she was genuinely interested in checking out his equipment. Not that he had time to take advantage of such an opportunity should it arise. Probably just as well.

  Fontaine lowered her gaze back to Charlotte. “We think she was part of a group of environmentalists and conservationists who are camped over in that direction.” Fontaine pointed east. “One of the sheriff’s deputies believes he recognizes her from a protest, but we haven’t confirmed her identity yet. The FBI Director told Sheriff Lasalle to leave everything to the FBI, but we haven’t had time or manpower to interview people there yet. Deputies are recording the identity of anyone who leaves.”

  “What are they protesting?” Novak took in the thick forests that surrounded them and knew the answer before she spoke. “Logging.”

  Charlotte glanced at him in surprise.

  Yeah, SSA Blood, I have a couple of brain cells inside this thick skull.

  “Let’s go.” Charlotte waved Agent Fontaine ahead of
them, and Novak let her go next with him bringing up the rear. Outside the bright lights of police vehicles, it was pitch black—the sort of dark where you had to hold your hands out in front so you didn’t walk into a tree. His eyes would adjust in time, but the others were impatient. They turned on their flashlights and trudged up the steep, uneven path.

  “There are several groups who’ve joined together including, more recently, a small contingent of Bigfoot enthusiasts who are investigating a credible sighting,” Fontaine said, straight-faced.

  Novak shook his head to clear the ringing. Credible sighting…? “You’re saying the victim believed in Bigfoot?”

  Fontaine cleared her throat. “Not necessarily. Most activists here are protesting forest destruction because of rare birds and mammal habitat, but…well, it’s possible, and I didn’t want you going into the situation blind.”

  Great.

  Charlotte Blood said nothing as they carried on up the hillside. He found his gaze following the sway of his colleague’s ass as she hiked in front of him. She wore skintight, black leggings over slim legs and no-nonsense boots to tramp over the uneven ground. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Agent Fontaine’s ass he was ogling, it was the irritating Charlotte Blood.

  Whatever.

  His animal brain had observed and now his civilized one could ignore the fact that the negotiator hid a fit body beneath that frosty exterior.

  A twig snapped, and they all paused as he shone his flashlight into the woods.

  A six-pronged buck stared back at him, the retinas of his eyes reflecting eerily in the beam. Not Bigfoot.

  He laughed at himself and took another step. His foot caught on a root, and he went down hard, taking SSA Blood with him. He managed to wrap one hand around her thighs to cushion some of the impact, but he weighed two-hundred pounds not counting equipment. His face landed against the softness of her ass, and they lay in frozen shock for a fraught nanosecond.

  “I am so goddamn sorry. Are you all right?” He rolled away but not before the sensation of her form was imprinted on his from the waist up.