Cold Spite (Cold Justice: Most Wanted #5)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

D elilah had changed out of the sundress into something a little more work appropriate. Now she sipped another coffee while she paced the hotel room with the burner pressed to her ear. She’d managed to track down a landline number for Nicole Zimmerman, Scanlon’s ex-wife, who’d remarried and now lived in the Seattle area.

She’d done a few web searches, but without access to FBI and law enforcement databases, she had no idea if anything untoward had already happened to the woman. She desperately wanted those resources.

It was a risk, but she couldn’t not warn her about the possible danger.

“Hello?” A young high-pitched voice answered.

Delilah cleared her throat. “Hello, I’m looking for Nicole Zimmerman. Is she there?”

“Mommy! It’s for you.”

Delilah pulled away at the piercing volume. At least the kid and mother were still alive. That was good news. She waited patiently while sipping her coffee and wearing a groove in the floor.

“Hello?” The voice was tentative .

“Nicole Zimmerman? I’m with the FBI.”

“Yes?”

The tone turned frosty. Nicole hadn’t been a fan of her or the FBI. In fact, she’d been a constant pain in the ass online until the video and audio tapes had been released during the trial. That had been too much evidence for her to overlook then.

“My boss requested that I connect to make sure you were aware that your ex-husband was released from prison three weeks ago.”

“Yes. He wrote to me from Miramar to let me know and to apologize for everything that happened. He wanted to reestablish a relationship with Melody, our daughter.”

An apology?

Didn’t sound like Scanlon.

“Forgive me for being curious, but are you going to let him see her?”

Nicole gave a bitter laugh. “Well, technically he has legal rights. And my new husband, Preston, said every man deserves a second chance. We both think Melody should spend time with her father, supervised, of course.”

“Of course.”

The idea of Scanlon being suitable father material for a young girl seemed preposterous, but maybe Delilah was wrong about the guy. She’d only seen the nasty side of Scanlon—the drug mule, the liar, the betrayer of his unit and his country, the wannabe rapist. Maybe he was a great dad.

“As it happens, they’re meeting up for the first time this afternoon.”

That jolted her. “In Seattle?”

“Yeah. He practically begged me to make it happen. I’m pregnant, and the doctor has told me to get plenty of rest,” she added as if excusing her decision.

Delilah felt that familiar stab of hurt but pushed it away. “It’s important you take care of yourself…”

What was she supposed to say now? That she thought Scanlon had attempted to kill her last night and murdered three other people in an elaborate frame? To be careful? Maybe she was completely off the mark about the guy.

She covered her face with her hand. She wasn’t sure anymore.

Anger could calm over time and five years was plenty. Perhaps this situation was related to one of her current cases. Maybe she was closer to a big public corruption scandal than she’d realized. Something huge. Someone with a lot to lose? The governor or some tech bro who thought he was God and beyond the law?

Maybe she was simply paranoid. Which left her where?

Absolutely fucked.

The Agency might not be such a bad option after all.

She gripped the back of her neck. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure you were aware.”

“Thanks. Agent?—”

“Have a great day.” Delilah spoke over her and then hung up without leaving her name. She wasn’t a complete idiot, although the risk she’d taken suggested otherwise.

There was a knock on the door and she pulled her weapon and moved behind the wall to the bathroom. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Cas.

Demarco, she corrected herself.

Using his first name was too intimate, and she needed distance.

She walked over and checked the peephole. He stood there wearing a dark suit and carrying that large, heavy bag of his. She’d rarely seen him in business clothes. She hated that he looked even better in a suit than dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

She opened the door. Let him inside. Put her gun in the holster at the back of her dark jeans as the door closed with a firm bang.

He glanced at the bags on the bed. “You went shopping?”

She winced. “I hope you don’t mind.” She went and grabbed his credit card. “I have receipts and will pay you back as soon?— ”

“Delilah.” He held up his hand. “It’s fine. I can afford a shopping spree for a friend.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she repeated firmly. She had expensive tastes and paid her own way. Then she frowned. “Is that what you think we are now? Friends?”

It sounded so mediocre and tepid, like warm milk.

It sounded wrong .

He stared down at the cream marble floor. “I guess that depends on you. I had hoped to earn back your friendship, but I also know I treated you abominably.”

“Abominably.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “That’s a good word for it.”

“I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me.”

“Will you? How very generous.” Her eyes watered, and she looked at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “It’s actually not that easy to forgive you, even after all this time. The things you said…”

Misery washed over his features. “I’ll never forgive myself for the way I treated you that day and afterwards.” He opened his mouth, but she spoke over him.

“That I was a good fuck but not to make the mistake of thinking you were emotionally invested? And that the high stress of undercover work made people say things they didn’t mean—like ‘I love you’?”

Suddenly the weight of her secrets was too much to bear. And why should she bear them alone? What sort of self-destructive bullshit was that?

“I didn’t know it at the time, but I was pregnant with our baby. That day at the condo.”

Demarco went sheet white.

“The day you scraped me off your boots like dog crap.” Tears came now. This had been her silent wound for years, and he deserved to know it all. All the reasons she would never be his friend .

“After you dumped me, I went to bed and cried. Not long after, I started to cramp and bleed. ”

He took a step toward her. “Delilah?—”

“Don’t.” Her glare was forceful enough he took a step back. “Do not touch me. I lost the baby—that’s the first I’d known I was pregnant, so the pain of losing it was unexpectedly acute.” Her laugh came out ugly. “And I don’t blame you for the miscarriage, don’t think that. Ten to twenty percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage.” She blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears. “But the fact I went through that alone… I blame you for that.”

He collapsed down to the bed as if his legs could no longer support him.

She clenched her fists determined to tell it all, to spare him nothing.

“Unfortunately, I wouldn’t stop bleeding. The doctors tried various medical procedures, but nothing worked. I had to undergo an emergency hysterectomy—it was that or die.”

She didn’t tell him that she hadn’t been mentally strong enough to make the choice. Between Cas leaving her and losing a baby she hadn’t even known she was carrying, she’d zoned out and been incapable of making a decision. Or perhaps it had been blood loss and the threat of ischemia to the brain. The doctors had made the choice for her. She still mourned her lost fertility but was grateful for her life.

He looked aghast. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice was as brittle as shattered glass, but she was proud she wasn’t shouting.

He opened his mouth as if to argue.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.” She paced the room, barely able to stop herself from slamming out the door. This truth was something she could never outrun, and he deserved to know why she couldn’t forgive him, why they couldn’t be something as insipid as friends. “You had no right to know anything. Not about the fetus who died in the womb or the fact I almost died, too, or about whether or not I have a uterus. You told me exactly what I meant to you, and I owed you nothing after that.”

Demarco looked as if he might vomit .

“Val…” A shiver stole over her. “She’s the one who got me through it. Val—who is now dead because some bastard thought she was me. While you packed your bags and headed merrily off to the Hostage Rescue Team, she held my hand.” She bared her teeth in a snarl proving exactly how much she wasn’t over this. “You had your path, and I had mine. I’m grateful you ripped the blinders off before I did something stupid like request a transfer.”

His olive skin looked ashen.

“So, regardless of your coming here, uninvited, to help me out of the shit show my life has become, do not mistake that for friendship. We are colleagues at best. You are here because you insisted on helping me. That’s all. It’s all we will ever be.”

Her heart pounded, and she wanted to whirl away and run down to the sea. She didn’t have the luxury. She pushed the emotions back down so she could function the way she needed to if she hoped to make it through this mess with her career intact. “Do you want to shower and eat before we leave for the air base? I’m not hungry. I had tacos at the shack.”

The shack where they’d used to hand feed each other like besotted fools. Demarco stared at her mutely, as if she’d poleaxed him.

Yeah.

She probably had.

She checked her watch. Nervous energy crawling through her. No way could she stay here with him looking at her like that. As if she’d hurt him .

“If not, let’s head out and be ready to catch that flight out of here.”

She pulled her long brown hair into a tight pony and dragged the blond wig over her forehead and back, adjusting the fit.

“I need to change.” His voice sounded scratchy and suspiciously deep.

“Fine.” She slipped on her sunglasses. “I’ll wait on the balcony.”