1
Maggie Samuels was pale. Too pale. The freckles across her creamy cheeks and along the bridge of her nose stood out clearly, emphasizing the frail, delicate look of her features. Her lush lips trembled, her wide green eyes were shocked and filled with unshed tears.
And he wanted to save her. Joe Merino stared through the two-way glass, his hands pushed into the pockets of his slacks as he watched Maggie wrap her arms across her chest and stare unseeing back at the detective questioning her. Detective Folker had been questioning her for hours.
Her husband had been dead less than a week, a husband who had supposedly adored her. Who lived for her. The same man who had supposedly been Joe’s friend. And now, Maggie’s life was being threatened as well. Because of that same man.
Joe knew he shouldn’t give a damn. From all accounts, she had gotten herself into this; he should let her get herself out of it. That’s what his head was saying. His heart was saying something different. His heart was assuring him that there was no way Maggie was involved. He had slept with this woman at one time, held her in his arms, and watched her as she climaxed. The woman he had known couldn’t be cold-blooded enough to be involved with this. But then again, he had never suspected for a second that Grant was part of Fuentes’s organization. That he had helped rape and torture many of the young women that Fuentes had kidnapped.
And now, here he stood, days after Grant’s death, trying to harden himself to the threat that someone else he cared for could be involved in the horror that operation had turned into. That his own life could have become such a mess.
He had let his bitterness, his distrust of women after his wife’s deceit and death five years ago, stand between him and the woman he knew belonged to him. Hell, he had known it at the time. Each time he thought of forever with Maggie, the memory of Bettina’s death hung over him like a haunting specter. She had died leaving him. She and her boyfriend, high on drugs, had run the car they were in over an embankment, killing them both. He hadn’t been able to hold on to the woman he married, the woman who swore to love him. And two years later, there he had been, falling in love with Maggie.
Joe watched Maggie now, his jaw clenched, his back teeth grinding, as the past threatened to swallow him. Two and a half years before, Maggie had belonged to him for a few short months. But he hadn’t taken what he knew could be his. Maggie had walked out of his arms, and months later had walked into Grant’s.
The problem was, he hadn’t stopped loving Maggie.
He stared into the interrogation room, fighting to ignore the tightening of his chest, the regret and the rage and the lust. He had been fighting the lust for two and a half years. A hunger that never slept, that never eased, for a woman he could never have again. A woman who, it appeared, was involved in her husband’s illegal activities.
He ignored the gut-clenching feeling that she couldn’t be involved, that she was innocent. It was the same reaction he had when he began to suspect there was indeed a mole within his team. He had begun the investigation on all the team members, except Grant. He had shared his suspicions with his friend, discussed the best way to flush the traitor out. And Grant had sympathized, become angry on Joe’s behalf, and pretended to help.
God, he had been a fool. Just as he was being a fool again, wanting to believe in Maggie when the evidence against her was mounting.
“Mrs. Samuels, your husband was working for Fuentes,” Detective Matthew Folker told her, not for the first time, his plump face and hazel eyes appearing almost kind as he watched her. “Your neighbors have seen him.” He pointed to Diego Fuentes’s picture. “As well as his nephew Santiago Fuentes, and his brother Jose, at your home. Surely you overheard something?”
Maggie shook her head, the silken fall of her deep red hair caressing her shoulders as her lips trembled again. He knew how Maggie reacted when she was hiding something. Her lips didn’t tremble. Her lips trembled when she couldn’t understand the pain she felt or events unfolding. Her lips had trembled when she had seen another woman on his arm, and her face had gone that same pasty white.
“I saw them. They came to the house several times over the past months… .”
“You met with them,” Folker accused, his voice benign, confident.
“I didn’t meet with them.” Her voice was thin, filled with fear. It sent a surge of fury racing through Joe. Was she lying? The evidence said she was. But the evidence had come from Grant. And they all now knew how reliable Grant had been. Even two and a half years ago Joe had known he knew Maggie better than he knew his best friend. He had acknowledged it, and it had scared the hell out of him.
“Agent Samuels left evidence that you were involved in his illegal activities,” the detective repeated. The accusation had been voiced a half-dozen times in the two-hour-long interview.
“God. No,” she whispered, as a tear slipped free and she shook her head again.
“There is proof you were involved. Pictures, Mrs. Samuels, as well as written notes. We’re prepared to be lenient here. Give us the pictures and audio tapes Agent Samuels made of his meetings with the Fuentes family and we’ll forget your part in this.”
She shook her head again, her breathing jerky as she stared back at the detective.
“Mrs. Samuels,” Folker sighed, pushing his hand over his balding head as he stared back at her, a glimmer of compassion in his eyes. “Would you like to call your lawyer? We do have evidence that you’re involved. If you’re frightened …”
“I don’t know anything.” Her hands tightened on her upper arms, her fingernails biting into her own flesh as a sob echoed in her voice. “I don’t need a lawyer because I didn’t know what Grant was doing. We’ve barely spoken for months.”
“Mrs. Samuels, it’s too late for this game.” Folker slapped the table in frustration. “Look at the damned pictures.” He pointed to the pictures of the young women murdered over the past two years; the morgue shots were horrendous. “Look at them, Maggie. He helped do this. You helped …”
“I didn’t do this,” she screamed back, tears washing over her cheeks as she stared back at the detective. “I didn’t know. I don’t have anything to do with it. I swear to God I don’t. Please …”
Maggie lowered her head, her shoulders jerking from the sobs she was fighting to hold back, as Folker leaned back in his chair and looked over his shoulder to the mirror behind him. The disapproval in his gaze was heavy. He didn’t like what he was doing to her, what he had been ordered to do. Detective Folker didn’t believe Maggie could be involved. And, Joe admitted, he couldn’t fully believe it himself.