Daring Deception Read online

  "What's the longest you've been undercover?"

  "Six months. It was long enough that I started to lose track of who I was. It was good to get out and be me again before diving into another case."

  "I know what that feels like."

  "I guess you do, Michael Wainscott. How did you do it, Quinn? How did you create a fake ID, a fake life? You must have a different Social Security number than you used to. How did you acquire that?"

  "Are you asking as an FBI agent?"

  "I probably should be. I suspect you broke a few laws in your quest to become a different person, and that's what a criminal does."

  A shadow passed through his gaze, but he remained silent.

  "You're not going to say anything?" she asked with irritation. "I just called you a criminal. Do you have a defense?"

  "Does it matter? You want my help. I said I'd give it to you. Let's talk about Hank. What do you know about his life?"

  She didn't want him to change the subject, but she could see by the resolute gleam in his blue eyes that he didn't intend to answer questions about his personal life. For now, she'd let it go.

  "Some of my information is a few years old," she said. "But here's what I know: Hank owns the gym in Pacifica and another one in Reno with a partner who is based in Nevada. That individual has no tie to Bolton or to our past. Hank has been arrested twice for misdemeanor assault from bar fights and a third time for vandalism. He and his neighbor had an ongoing battle about property lines and Hank got drunk and trashed the neighbor's yard one night."

  "It sounds like he still has anger problems."

  "I'd say so. His business encompasses both a fitness center and a boxing gym."

  "Where he gets to fight all the time. I'm not surprised. Boxing was something Hank and Donovan had in common."

  "Didn't you and Donovan also have that in common? You met him in the ring, didn't you?"

  "When we were seventeen," he confirmed. "That gym was the only place I could pummel the hell out of my anger at being an orphan. Donovan was one of my first sparring partners. He was furious with his parents for a bitter divorce that shattered the family. We both needed an outlet, and boxing was it."

  "And then you became best friends. You ended up at Bolton together. Donovan started the LNF and you were the first member. You were like brothers." She gave him another thoughtful look. "It is odd that you didn't go to his funeral."

  "I had already left town and started over. I couldn't go back. And I didn't want to, because I didn't know how I felt about him anymore."

  "What do you know about how Donovan died?"

  "Probably not as much as you. I heard that Donovan went up to Yosemite to do some rock climbing shortly after graduation. He was pushing the limits as usual, and he slipped and fell."

  "That's all I know, too. He rented a small tent cabin the night before. He was alone, by all accounts. A couple of hikers mentioned seeing him on his way up the mountain. But no one saw him fall. It apparently happened after dusk, and most people were off the mountain by then. His body was found the next morning by a hiker. Maybe he did kill himself."

  "Would that give you any closure if you knew for sure?"

  "No, because he wouldn't have been punished." She gave him a curious look. "Does it make you feel better? Does thinking that he was in despair somehow balance out what he might have done?"

  "Definitely not," he said forcefully. "Nothing could balance out the act of that bomber—nothing. If you can't believe anything else that I say, believe that."

  She saw the sincerity in his eyes, and old, intense feelings flowed between them once more. "I believe you."

  "Good." He held her gaze, then let out a breath and looked out the window.

  She gripped the wheel more tightly, feeling shaken by the look that had just passed between them. It was much easier to be angry with Quinn than to feel anything else.

  They didn't speak again until they got to Hank's gym. By then, she had pulled herself together, ready to focus on what information they needed to get from Hank.

  The gym was located in a strip mall of shops and restaurants that lined the beach. As they walked across the parking lot, Quinn gave the ocean a longing look.

  The sea had always been her rival for his affection. In college, Quinn had spent hours either in the ocean or studying it. It was a link to his childhood. He'd lived in two different worlds, but the sea connected them.

  "Your real love is right there." She swept her hand toward the wide, blue sea with its crashing white waves. It had rained earlier in the day, but now there was a mix of clouds and sun.

  "The ocean is always there. That's what I love about it. Not that it isn't changing every day. We're not doing a very good job of taking care of our planet."

  "I know. I hope we can do better."

  "Before it's too late," he said with a somewhat dire note in his voice. "Unfortunately, that might not happen. It's very difficult to change behavior or even attitudes. It's easier to just let it be someone else's problem, someone in the future, but that future is no longer as far away as it once was." He drew in a breath and looked away from the sea. "But we didn't come here to look at the water. Let's see what Hank can tell us."

  He walked up to the front door and opened it for her. She smiled to herself. Quinn had always had good manners, something his mother had instilled in him a long time ago. Her friends had been so impressed when Quinn had opened her car door for her, as if that was a miraculous act. Of course, they hadn't been impressed with other things he'd done, but then they'd wanted to show their love and loyalty to her, and trashing Quinn had been part of her grieving process.

  It was strange to be with him again. They weren't friends or lovers anymore, but they also weren't strangers. There really wasn't a name for what they were. They were in an odd state of relationship limbo. She didn't need to analyze it or label it, though. She just needed to use Quinn to get what she needed. It was as simple as that.

  The gym smelled like men and sweat. It was a no-frills fitness center emphasizing weights and boxing. They stepped up to the front desk. A beefy young man gave them an enquiring look.

  "Can I help you?" he asked.

  "We're looking for Hank," Quinn replied.

  "He's running a lesson in the ring right now," the man answered. "Go through the double doors, down the hall to the end. The ring is in the far back."

  "Thanks."

  They walked down the corridor, passing by the fitness area. At the end of the hallway was the boxing center. The large room housed a dozen large punching bags, three of which were currently being used, as well as a raised boxing ring in the center. There were two men in the ring: Hank Merchant and an older teenager.

  Hank was built like a linebacker: square, muscular, and solid. He wore sweatpants and a tank top that revealed powerful arms emblazoned with tattoos. Hank had always been intimidating, with rippling muscles and tremendous power, but he seemed even more so now that he was older and stronger.

  They moved toward the ring as Hank finished his lesson. When the kid stepped out of the ring, Hank turned and saw them. He froze, his reaction one of shock and paralysis. She didn't think either of those emotions had anything to do with her. His gaze was locked on Quinn.

  Quinn stepped farther into the light while she hung back.

  Hank jumped down from the ring, coming face-to-face with a man who had once been a friend. Quinn and Hank were the same height, but that's where the similarity ended. While Quinn had some dark shadows in his gaze, they didn't compete with the simmering anger that rose in a cloud of tension around Hank.

  "So, you're not dead," Hank said, as if he wasn't happy about that. "I always figured that was too good to be true. What are you doing here, Quinn?"

  "A bomb went off at Bolton today. Very similar to the last one," Quinn replied, his words cool and to the point, no trace of emotion.

  "So?" Hank challenged.

  "Do you know anything about it?"

  Hank gave
Quinn an incredulous look. "Get the hell out of my gym."

  She stepped forward. "Not so fast, Hank."

  Hank fell back a step, and she realized he hadn't seen her at all, not until this second. "You? You two are together?"

  "We have some questions," she continued.

  "I told you before, I have nothing to say to you, Caitlyn. I still don't. Leave."

  "We need to talk about the past, Hank," Quinn said, not budging.

  "I'm busy."

  "You can take a few minutes."

  "No, I can't. I have to work. You want to talk, you need to pay for my time."

  "How much?" Quinn asked.

  Hank hesitated, then straightened. "Ten minutes in the ring gets you ten minutes of conversation."

  She was shocked at Hank's suggestion. Why would he want to get Quinn in the ring? She could think of only one reason. Hank wanted to fight Quinn. He wanted to do something with the anger running through him.

  "Don't do it," she said, unable to stop herself.

  "You still let her call the shots?" Hank drawled. "That's not surprising. You changed when you met her. You became a different person, and not one I respected."

  Quinn's jaw stiffened, and he lifted his chin. "You want ten minutes in the ring, you got it."

  "You'll need to be on your feet at the end of that time," Hank warned.

  "If you're not on your feet, I'll take fifteen," he countered.

  She frowned as the two sized each other up. "This is stupid," she said. "We don't need a fight; we need a conversation."

  "This is between me and Hank," Quinn said sharply, shooting her a hard look. "Why don't you get a drink?"

  "Yeah, get lost, Caitlyn," Hank added.

  She did not like being dismissed. "I don't think so. And I can compel you to speak to me for longer than ten minutes, Hank."

  "You can compel me to sit in front of you, but I don't have to talk," he countered.

  "But you will talk to me," Quinn said, drawing Hank's gaze back to him.

  "If you meet my terms."

  As Quinn shed his jacket, she searched for something to say that would end this, but neither man was paying attention to her. She hoped that Quinn knew what he was doing. She couldn't imagine he'd boxed much the last ten years, although he had once spent time in the ring. But Hank made his living teaching people how to box. He had a clear-cut advantage.

  And what if Hank knew nothing? Or wouldn't say anything?

  Quinn could be taking punches for nothing.

  "Quinn," she said, as he pushed up his sleeves. "You don't have to do this for me."

  "I'm not doing it for you," he told her, and then he climbed into the ring.

  Chapter Eight

  Caitlyn didn't want to watch Quinn fight Hank, but she couldn't look away. A terrible feeling of foreboding ran through her, and she felt a wave of worry and protectiveness that also bothered her. It wasn't on her to protect Quinn from anything. He'd left her to fend for herself. Why should she care if he took a beating now?

  Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to stop herself from caring. She might not love or even like Quinn anymore, but she didn't want him to get hurt.

  Not that it mattered what she wanted. Both men were eager to fight. There were layers upon layers of emotions running between them. This wasn't just about the bombings or the unanswered questions; it was about a broken relationship, a perceived betrayal. And once again, she was in the middle of it.

  She'd wanted to be friends with Quinn's buddies, but the LNF members had had a built-in dislike of her because of her last name. Some had tried to be nice, probably because they liked Quinn, but others had just seen her as an embodiment of their enemy. She didn't believe they had all wanted her to die or be hurt in the blast, but at least one person had, maybe more. And while she believed Donovan had had a hand in the attack, he could have had help, and that help might have come from Hank.

  She paced as the two men raised their gloved hands. She actually knew more about boxing than either of them might think. She'd been trained in hand-to-hand combat at Quantico, and she'd kept her skills up ever since then. She'd even had to use those skills a few times, although not in a ring, and not with gloves on. But neither one of these men would believe that. Neither one saw her as who she really was. Not that that mattered. This fight might be a little about her, but it was mostly about them.

  A few other men gathered around as the fight grew in intensity.

  She flinched as Hank landed the first blow, but it was only glancing, and Quinn was quick on his feet, landing his own right jab.

  As the fight continued, she noticed that Hank favored his left. He mixed up his offensive and defensive moves, but when he was in trouble, he moved to the left.

  The crowd cheered as Hank landed a harder blow and blood spurted out of Quinn's nose. Clearly, the members were rooting for Hank. This was Hank's turf. And everyone could sense that the fight was personal.

  "Come on, Quinn," she yelled, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  She hadn't been on Team Quinn in a long time. In fact, she'd wanted to punch him herself, but right now, if she had to pick between the two men, she'd pick Quinn.

  Quinn got off the next punishing blow. Hank stumbled backward. He pivoted toward his left, the way he'd done before. Quinn anticipated the move and hit him again, then again. He pushed forward until Hank was up against the ropes, and then delivered one quick, punishing blow after another, until Hank fell to his knees.

  Quinn backed away. He glanced at the big clock on the wall. "That's ten minutes, and you're not on your feet."

  Hank was breathing too hard to respond, blood dripping down his face.

  Quinn stripped off his gloves.

  One staffer moved toward Hank, but Hank got to his feet, motioning him away. "I'm fine," he growled.

  She grabbed a towel from a nearby table and handed it to Quinn as he left the ring. He wiped the blood from his nose and then turned toward Hank, who was doing the same thing.

  Hank tipped his head toward a glass-walled room behind the ring and moved toward the door.

  They followed him inside. There was a table and a couple of chairs, along with a stack of flyers for an upcoming fight night.

  Hank grabbed a bottle of water out of a small fridge and tossed it to Quinn.

  Quinn caught it and sat down. Hank grabbed two more bottles, slid one down the table toward her and opened the other one, greedily sucking down half the bottle before he took a seat across from them.

  "You've been in the ring," Hank muttered, his right eye swelling up to match his bottom lip. "You played me."

  "I answered your challenge," Quinn replied. "Now, we talk, and I've got fifteen minutes. Let's start with Donovan's birthday party, a few days before the explosion."

  "What?" Hank asked in wary surprise. "I thought you wanted to talk about the bombing."

  "We'll get there," Quinn said. "You told Vinnie Caputo that things at the LNF were about to change in a big way, that you and Donovan had a new plan. It was going to be bold and impossible to ignore. What were you talking about?"

  "I don't remember."

  "I'm sure you do."

  "Look, I had nothing to do with the bomb. I told her that when she was here before," he said, tipping his head in her direction.

  She loved how he couldn't even say her name. Clearly, his dislike of her was as strong as it had always been, maybe even stronger now that he knew she was in the FBI and determined to solve the case.

  "Did Donovan set the bomb?" Quinn asked.

  Hank didn't immediately respond.

  Caitlyn watched with fascination as something tense and silent passed between the two men. She had thought she'd run this show, but Quinn had taken control. And since he'd gained Hank's respect in the ring, Hank actually seemed like he might want to talk.

  "I don't know for sure. He never admitted it to me," Hank said. "But I thought he did it."

  "Why did you think that?" Quinn
asked.

  "Donovan wanted to do more than we were doing. No one was taking us seriously. We were getting nowhere. We were just college kids with a cause. We needed to make bigger and bolder statements. I agreed."

  "Then there was a plan," Quinn said.

  "Donovan made some notes one night. We were drinking a lot at the time, and we came up with some crazy ideas." Hank waved his hand dismissively as if it was no big deal.

  "Was one of those ideas a bomb?" Quinn asked.

  "Yes. Bombs, arson, vandalism…it was all discussed. But none of us were that serious. We were drunk."

  "But the bomb went off," Quinn said. "That happened."

  "And I was shocked," Hank replied. "Donovan told me that the grand opening was off-limits. He said you'd asked him to leave it alone for Caitlyn's sake, and that he'd agreed." Hank's hard gaze turned on her. "Even though the center was built by the dirty money that your family made by polluting the earth."

  "The environmental center was a good thing," she argued. "Blowing it up didn't accomplish anything except to create sympathy for me and my family."

  "Well, that's true," Hank said, taking a swig of water. "But like I said, I had nothing to do with the bomb. I think Donovan got pissed when you two didn't show up at his birthday party. He had a lot to say that night about how you were no longer his friend, Quinn. My guess is that he decided to get back at you and Caitlyn."

  "It's easy to blame Donovan since he's dead," Quinn said sharply.

  "That's right. That was another party you missed—Donovan's wake. You should have been there."

  Quinn paled under Hank's harsh words, and she suspected there was a part of Quinn that wished he had made the service.

  "Let's get back to the plan," Quinn said with determination. "What were the targets? What protests were going to take place?"

  "I don't remember specifics. We were going to target structures, not people. We wanted to attack companies in the same way that they were hurting the planet. We could no longer just be a thorn in their sides; we had to attack with a knife, a fire, a gun or a bomb, whatever it would take to get their attention."

  Hank spoke so pragmatically about targeted violence, she had no problem believing he would have been happy to carry out any of the acts he'd mentioned. It was odd that he was speaking so freely. He'd probably completely forgotten she was an FBI agent. He was more interested in letting Quinn know how much he'd been out of the loop.