Daring Deception Read online

  "There's no connection between that neighborhood and the Bolton explosion."

  "It was an example."

  "I don't need an example of what my family has done wrong. I'm very aware of the blemishes on the company record, but I'm also aware of the steps that have been taken to mitigate the damage."

  "I hope that's true."

  "It is true," she snapped. "My father has made many changes, and my brothers will do the same as they take over the company."

  "Both Baxter and Spencer are still working for Carlson Industries?"

  "Yes. Baxter is further up the ladder, but Spencer is taking on more responsibility each year."

  "I remember when you were getting pressure to go into the business. Your father didn't like the idea of you becoming a journalist. What does he think of you being an FBI agent?"

  "He's not thrilled, but it's not up to him what I do. Let's get back to the LNF Army. If it wasn't a group decision, who would have gone rogue? You knew them better than I did. Who was at the top of your list?"

  He had known the members better than her. He'd joined the LNF when he was eighteen years old and a freshman at Bolton. His roommate, Donovan Byrne, had founded the group, and almost instantly, they both had thought they'd found their tribe. The group had been composed of young, passionate ecologists and environmentalists who wanted to protect the climate and change the world. As an ocean scientist, protecting the sea was his primary concern. And for the six years that he'd belonged to the LNF, the group had been good at raising awareness and sometimes successful in encouraging companies to improve their policies.

  But it hadn't just been about the environment for him. After the death of his mother two years earlier, he'd been lost. He'd needed a cause to believe in, a group to belong to, because he'd been all alone in the world. The LNF had become his second family.

  That changed when he'd met Caitlyn. She'd been covering a protest for the school newspaper, and they'd fallen hard and fast for each other. The more time he'd spent with her, the less time he'd spent with the group, which was probably why he'd missed how much it was changing, how radical it had become. By the time he realized that the LNF was not the group he'd once believed in, it was too late.

  "Quinn?" she pressed.

  "I don't know," he said, realizing she was waiting for an answer. "Were there any suspects besides me that the FBI liked?"

  "Donovan was interviewed many times, as was Hank Merchant, who was second in command. Vitaly Loucks, Lauren Sullivan, and Vinnie Caputo got some interest, as well as Gary Keniston, who had had several physical altercations during previous protests. In the end, there wasn't enough evidence to move forward on anyone. But there may be new evidence with today's explosion."

  "You think they're connected?"

  "Yes. The location, the type of explosion, and the climate symposium organized by eco-activists that was supposed to take place in the auditorium lead me to that conclusion." She paused. "Did you know that Lauren's sister, Allison, was a witness to the explosion and a member of the Green Citizens Group, which organized the symposium?"

  His pulse jumped at that piece of information. "No. Allison was a little kid when we were in college."

  "She's twenty-one now. She gave a statement to the FBI, but I need to follow up with her."

  "That's strange. Or maybe it's not. She might have wanted to go to Bolton because Lauren went there, and she could be involved in an environmental group like Lauren was. Lauren was always passionate about saving the environment."

  "Among other things," Caitlyn said with irritation.

  "I already told you nothing was going on between us."

  "She still had a huge thing for you."

  "What did your FBI file have to say about her?"

  "That everything she said checked out. But if anyone had had a motivation to hurt me, it was Lauren. Not only did she have a crush on you, she resented me for keeping you too busy for the group."

  "She wouldn't have set a bomb, Caitlyn. She was an activist, but she was also a student. She spent hours studying. She had to get As. Her grades came before anything else."

  "Of course you would defend her."

  "I'm not defending her; I just don't believe she was involved."

  "And yet her name comes up again today."

  "Why aren't you talking to her then?"

  "Because I saw you at Bolton, and I had to know why you were there."

  "It really was just curiosity."

  "It's difficult to believe anything you say after the way you disappeared, changed your name, and started over. Those aren't the actions of someone who is completely innocent."

  "Maybe they're just the actions of someone who needed to lock the past away in order to move forward."

  She gave him a hard look. "There's something missing from your story, Quinn, and I will find it."

  He believed her, which meant he needed to get her out of his house and out of his life as soon as possible. "Are we done?"

  "We are not even close to being done."

  "What do you want from me? I have no information I can give you that will help you find out who set today's bomb or the last one. I have seen no one in ten years. I didn't just cut ties with you—I cut ties with every single person in my life."

  "That might be true, but you could probably still be helpful, especially with one individual."

  He didn't like the sound of that. "What does that mean?"

  "The one person I can link to both blasts is Lauren. I spoke to her five years ago, when I first joined the FBI. She was not helpful at all. She gave me one-word answers and referred me to her lawyer. She would be different with you. She would talk to you about the past, and she might provide more information about her sister's environmental group."

  "I seriously doubt that Lauren would want to talk to me."

  "Oh, she'll talk to you. She'll be very curious if you show up at her door and will want to hear what you have to say."

  "Well, I'm not interested. You want to talk to her, talk to her. I don't need to be involved in this. I have my own work."

  "Which is what? I know you're in some kind of science role. I saw the research papers on your desk in the living room."

  "I'm a scientific diver. I provide data to a research institute."

  "How did you get that job? You changed your name, so you wouldn't have your educational credentials. Who hired you?"

  "Someone who knew me at Bolton and was willing to be the conduit between me and the institute."

  "Who was that?"

  "You have a lot of questions."

  "I'm just getting started. Even if you don't tell me, I can figure it out. I have your name now."

  Which meant his career was probably over. "Fine. I work at the Oceanic Institute. I was hired by Jeremiah Cooper, who was a TA at Bolton when I was getting my master's. He knew my credentials and could appreciate the fact that I wanted no connection to the LNF, who had been branded as eco-terrorists. Jeremiah gave me a chance to do what I always wanted to do, and I'm grateful to him for that. I hope you won't punish him because of me."

  "I'm not surprised you're a diver." Her gaze filled with more shadows. "The sea was your first love."

  "And a constant," he said. "Every time my life spun around the ocean was there. It didn't change. It steadied me. It still does."

  "I wish I had something that always steadied me," she said, revealing probably more than she wanted to. She picked up her gun. "This helps a little."

  "Does it?"

  "Yes. I'm in control. I have power."

  "That gun wouldn't have prevented that bomb from going off."

  "No, but it can prevent other bad things from happening. And, perhaps, one day it will help me get justice."

  "Is that what you want—justice?" He rested his arms on the table, giving her a long, thoughtful look. "Or do you want revenge?"

  She didn't flinch under his gaze, a defiant pride in her eyes. "I want both."

  "What if you had to cho
ose between one or the other? Which would you take?"

  "I won't have to choose. I'll get both. I'm determined to do that, if it's the last thing I do."

  "That's the problem, isn't it? It could be the last thing you do. You're going down a dangerous road."

  "I am not afraid of danger, Quinn, not anymore. I am not the girl you once knew. I don't jump at spiders; I smash them. I don't run away from trouble; I run toward it."

  He had to admit he was both impressed and disturbed by her words. "You're not invincible. Being an FBI agent and carrying a gun doesn't mean you can't be taken down."

  "I am very good at what I do, Quinn. I can handle myself. I can handle you."

  "What if I can't handle you? What if I want you to leave right now? What would you say?"

  "That you've gotten to do what you wanted for the last ten years. Now, I get what I want. I need your help with Lauren, and you owe me."

  A turbulent mix of emotions passed between them as their gazes clung together.

  Love, anguish, doubt—the bad times—the good times: it was all there.

  He saw images from their past: the first time they'd met, the instant attraction, the explosive chemistry, the overwhelming desire to be with each other when so many people would have preferred they stay apart.

  He saw that last day of darkness and pain. He had gone to her house, unsure of what he wanted to do. He loved her, but they couldn't seem to connect anymore. Instead of making her happy, he made her angry and sad. Caitlyn had been in the backyard, supposedly reading, but when he'd seen her on the patio chair, he'd realized she was crying, and it wasn't just small sobs coming from her mouth, but deep, anguished, ripping cries of despair.

  For two months he had tried to comfort her, to be there for her, but she kept pushing him away. Seeing her so distraught, he knew deep in his gut that leaving was the best option. He was tied to her pain. Maybe if he wasn't there to remind her, she could heal. Not that his reasons had been completely altruistic. There had been another motivation that made disappearing a good idea.

  He had not seen her again—until now.

  "Well?" she prodded.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Talk to Lauren about the past and about today."

  "Why would she tell me anything?"

  "Because you're you."

  He frowned. "Like I said, it's been a long time, and there was nothing between us."

  "All I know for sure is that she won't tell me anything. Maybe it's a long shot, but I have to take it. Her sister being on campus today, in the same kind of group, is too coincidental. If Lauren tells us one thing, it could all start to unravel from there."

  "Now I see a hint of the optimist you used to be," he said dryly.

  "Lauren lives in San Francisco. We can be there in less than an hour."

  "We're just going to show up at her door?"

  "Yes."

  He sighed. "Do you really want to spend more time together, Caitlyn?"

  "This isn't personal, Quinn. I'm not trying to spend time with you or get you back. I don't want you back. And, clearly, you were done with me a long time ago. But you and I both lost someone ten years ago. Maybe she didn't matter as much to you—"

  "She did matter." He cut her off with a pointed glare. "And I have not for one second ever forgotten about her."

  Caitlyn appeared taken aback by his words. "Well, how would I know that? We never talked about her, about our loss."

  "You couldn't talk about it."

  "You left before I was ready to discuss it. If you don't want to help me, then think of it as helping her."

  "I wish we'd given her a name," he said.

  Caitlyn paled at his words. "I wish we had, too." She cleared her throat. "So, what's it going to be, Quinn? Are you going to help me?"

  Chapter Five

  Caitlyn waited impatiently for Quinn's answer, trying not to think about what he'd just said about their baby, about wishing she'd had a name. She'd actually given their child a name, but she wasn't going to share that with him. He didn't deserve it, and she didn't trust him. She didn't know who he was anymore. She wasn't sure she'd ever known him the way she thought she had. But that didn't matter now.

  She hadn't intended to ask him for help when she'd tracked him down, but it had become clear during their conversation that using Quinn might open up new leads. She'd already tried to get to the truth and had been unsuccessful. She didn't want to go down the same path. She had to try something new.

  Quinn wanted her to believe that he'd had nothing to do with the bomb, that he had no knowledge of the perpetrator. He could prove that to her by cooperating.

  Would he agree to help?

  She could see the conflict in his deep-blue eyes. His eyes had always changed with his emotions: sometimes as dark as the sea he loved so much, sometimes light with happiness and joy. Although, she'd seen more of the dark than the light.

  Actually, that wasn't completely true. For a long time, there had been light. It was only toward the end, when it had felt like everything changed, that the darkness had settled in.

  The shadows in his gaze now were thick and difficult to penetrate. She couldn't read him. There was anger, pain, uncertainty, and secrets. She didn't completely buy his explanation for why he'd disappeared. There was something he wasn't telling her, and she wanted to know what that something was.

  She had always been impatient with the unknown. When she sought answers, she wanted to get them right away. It had been that thirst that had driven her toward becoming a journalist. Some of that drive had also come from growing up in a family where her father made rules and statements that he never cared to explain.

  She frowned as she thought about her dad. Had he threatened and harassed Quinn into leaving? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. If Quinn had been the man she'd thought he was, he would have fought back. That man wouldn't have let her dad run him off. So, was it a lie? Was there another reason for his abrupt disappearance from her life?

  She shouldn't care anymore. She'd put Quinn behind her a long time ago.

  But sitting across from him made it impossible to put him back in the box she'd locked him away in. Following him had probably been a bad idea, but hopefully there would be an upside.

  She just had to stay focused. That wouldn't be easy. He'd grown more ruggedly attractive over the years. His brown hair was longer but still thick and wavy. Ridiculously long black lashes framed his blue eyes. And his mouth… Her heart sped up as her gaze moved to his full, sexy lips.

  God, she'd loved his mouth. How many hours had she spent exploring it? How many times had he driven her crazy, running his mouth all over her body? And how many times had she done the same thing to him?

  "What the hell are you thinking?" he suddenly demanded.

  She started, realizing she'd lost herself in memories she'd tried desperately to forget. "Nothing. Answer the question."

  "Do you even remember the question?" he challenged.

  She met his gaze, a little shaken by the fire she saw there now, the same fire that had burned so hot between them. She reminded herself that he'd put that fire out a long time ago. She would not restart it.

  "The question is, will you help me talk to Lauren?" Thank God, she actually had remembered the question. "Think of it as an opportunity to prove that you want the truth as much as I do. That you don't want this latest explosion to go unsolved, too. We don't know if the bomb today was a one-off. There could be another explosion tomorrow. More people could be hurt. More people could die."

  His chest rose as he blew out a breath. "All right. I'll talk to Lauren, even though I think it's a bad idea."

  "Which part? Talking to Lauren or doing it with me?"

  "All of it," he said sharply, as he got to his feet. "Let's go. The sooner we do this, the sooner we're done."

  "Exactly." She stood up and took her gun off the table, then followed him into the living room. "I'll drive, so you don't change your mind."


  "Where is your car? I didn't see it out front."

  "It's around the corner. I wasn't sure who Michael Wainscott was when I first arrived. But as soon as I came inside, I knew you and Michael were the same person. I saw the photo of your parents on the table and the ocean artwork was also a giveaway."

  "You're probably one of the few people who would recognize that photo."

  She probably was. After his mother died, he'd kept very few mementos from his life. "I wonder how many times you're going to start over," she murmured.

  "I can't predict that."

  "I sometimes feel like my life is divided into two parts. The part before the bomb and the part after. It's like I'm two people now."

  There was understanding in his gaze. "I know what that feels like."

  "How many people are you?"

  "Four and counting. The kid in Ireland who didn't understand the violence around him, the California teenager embracing a new life only to end up completely alone, the young man who went to Bolton, who found a passion, a career, and a woman he loved more than anything. And the guy I am now, living under another name."

  Her gut twisted at his words. "And who did you become as Michael Wainscott?"

  "A man who does his job and doesn't get close to anyone."

  "Why not? Why are you still hiding after all these years?"

  "That's too long of a story, Caitlyn. And this isn't about me, is it?"

  She realized she was getting distracted, and that annoyed her. She'd thought she was good at compartmentalizing, but she wasn't as good as she thought she was. "No, it's not about you. It's about our baby, getting her justice. That's it."

  Caitlyn's compact sedan was way too small. Quinn could smell the scent of her perfume, a mix of florals that took him back in time. A lot about her had changed, but not that. What also hadn't changed was how his body reacted to hers. The smoking-hot look she'd given him in the kitchen had taken his breath away. He'd never expected to see her gaze move across his face and down his body in that way.