The Intelligence Unit Series
The Grifter Chapter 29

Beck stood in the shadows, watching carefully from the spot where he'd hidden in the alcove that housed a tidy row of trash cans and recycling bins. Normally, residential neighborhoods like this were nowhere near his radar; he wasn't exactly the kind of guy who mowed his lawn or put up f*****g Christmas lights. But this particular block had very much been on Beck's radar for the past few days. Because this was the block where Detective Shawn Maxwell dropped off his darling daughter with the babysitter every day before he went to work. And today was going to be the day that his little pride and joy was kidnapped from this block. Nobody double-crossed Beck without losing everything they loved. Nobody.

He hunched down low in his jacket, watching carefully as Shawn walked the little girl-Isla, he'd overheard the sitter call her the other day-to the front door and disappeared inside with her. It had been all too easy to discover the kid once he'd followed Shawn from the precinct a few nights ago, and to lurk around just enough to recognize Shawn's patterns and schedules for dropping her off and picking her up. The sitter, Annette, had made things a little difficult, never really letting her phone distract her when she and Isla were out, and not taking her eyes off the kid whenever they went to the park or the library. Beck had thought a simple distraction would work to snare the woman's attention, then he could slip in and grab the brat in the work of a moment. But the sitter hadn't given him so much as an inch of space to work with over the past couple of days, and he was through waiting. He was going to have to do this the hard way, forcing entry into the house and probably killing the woman in order to make off with the kid undetected. Eh. Not ideal, but at least it would keep today from being boring.

Beck's pulse picked up as Shawn came out of the house. He watched as the detective pulled out his phone, tapping out a series of texts before getting into his car and heading down the street. Dumb fucker was never going to know what hit him. And snatching the kid was only the beginning of what Beck would take from both him and that Frankie bitch.

***

Frankie's eyesfelt like they'd been scrubbed with sandpaper and left in a sauna to dry. But she was no holds barred when it came to her emotions, and that meant they'd keep her up all night if the occasion called for it. Shawn taking her by complete surprise by asking her to move away from Atlanta so she move in with him? Definitely an occasion that called for it.

Frankie coasted to a stop at a red light, letting her thoughts wander and her heart ache freely. She couldn't deny that her feelings for Shawn had grown far deeper than garden-variety attraction. If she were being truly honest-and let's face it, when was she not?- she could admit that she'd fallen back in love with him. But she'd been in love with him eight years ago, too, and it hadn't been enough. Asking her to move in with him had blindsided her last night, to the point that her mind had gone spectacularly and fully empty, leaving her emotions to take advantage of the room to take over.

But come on. Shawn hadn't just been talking about switching jobs or relocating to a different city. He'd wanted her to do both of those things and move in with him and Isla. No, he hadn't proposed, and he also hadn't asked her to be Isla's mother in a technical sense. But moving to Remington to live with the both of them meant they'd form their own family unit of sorts, and God, how could Frankie ever take on a responsibility with so much gravity when she couldn't say for sure that she'd always be able to be responsible for herself?

The light turned green, and she moved through traffic as she released a slow exhale. As justified as her panic had felt in the moment, she'd realized after only a few hours of tossing and turning that she and Shawn would have to talk this out. Not that she had any clue what she could say, but their meet with Beck was only a few short days away. They'd have to figure out a way to work together, at the very least.

But no matter how she felt about him-ugh, her heart thumped with that old ache she'd thought was long behind her-she'd have to replace the words to make him understand that she just couldn't stay. It wasn't fair to him, and it was equally unfair to Isla. Annnd just when you thought your heart couldn't ache any harder. Frankie rubbed a hand over the center of her chest, working her palm beneath her seat belt for just a second before returning it to the steering wheel. She'd come to love her time with Isla just as much as her time with Shawn over the past weeks. It was all the more reason she had to go back to Atlanta.

She just wasn't cut out for providing that kind of safety and stability. That kind of promise.

No matter how badly she might want to be.

"Stop," Frankie murmured. She had to face facts. The sooner she did that, the easier it would be to go back to Atlanta when this case was over and Beck was behind bars. She'd drop off Mr. Prickles with Annette, then go to the precinct and tell Shawn that as soon as the case wrapped, she was headed back to Atlanta. Yes, it would hurt, and no, part of her didn't want to do it. But it was the only way.

Frankie made the rest of the trip to Annette's town house with a lump in her throat and sadness in her chest. She was able to get a decent spot less than a block away now that most people had left for work, and she grabbed Mr. Prickles from the back seat and headed to Annette's. The morning was gray and colder than it had been all season, the chill in the air making Frankie hustle along the sidewalk. She was moving so quickly that she nearly missed the man who had just ducked out from beneath the tree by Annette's mailbox, who had seemed to not see her, either.

"Oh." Frankie side-stepped the man just in time to avoid a collision. "I'm so sorry. I-"

The rest of her words died in her throat. For one time-suspended instant, Frankie had the oddest sensation, as if she were seeing something that didn't, couldn't, make sense. A person and a place that didn't belong together, like time and space colliding in a brilliant, fatal crash.

And then, Beck smiled with a cold, remorseless gaze that chilled her all the way to her bones and blood, and said, "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, Detective Rossi."

Frankie's pulse went ballistic in her veins just as her hand went automatically for the weapon holstered at her side, dropping Mr. Prickles to the ground in the process. But Beck had been faster on the uptake, his own weapon already in hand and pointed directly at her chest, and oh, God, how had he figured out who she was?

"That would end badly for you," he said, closing the already slight distance between them to reach in and take her weapon and secure it in his waistband at the small of his back, covering it with his shirt before turning his attention back to her. "We're going to take a walk to that alcove over there, nice and easy, and have a little chat."

He lifted his chin to a small structure across the street that reminded Frankie of a bus stop shelter, tucked away to keep the trash cans and recycling bins from sight. Her instincts fought the idea immediately-the more privacy Beck had, the more power it would give him to hurt her-and she forced herself to be tough even though her heart had taken up residence in her windpipe. "And if I refuse?"

Beck shrugged. "Then I shoot you right here and go take the kid anyway. Your call, but either way, I will get what I want."

Fear claimed Frankie in one ice-cold instant. Isla. She had to get him far away from Annette's house. She had to think. "Fine," Frankie said, holding her hands up as her brain scrambled to come up with a plan. "If you want to talk, we can talk."

Beck nodded her in front of him, staying within a half-step of her as she walked over to the alcove. She scanned the street, searching for anything she could use to her advantage. But it was late enough that everyone had likely left for work, and the weather was frigid enough to deter joggers and parents who might normally take their kids out for a stroller ride. The entire street was quiet, with not even a single car passing by, and Frankie's gut dropped as she reached the alcove.

"Put your back against the wall. In the corner," Beck said, giving her a shove to help her along. Her shoulder banged into the brick behind it, pain shooting down her arm, but she bit down on the noise that wanted to rise from her throat. It came out anyway when he wrenched her around, taking her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and tossing it to the ground, smashing it with the heel of his boot.

"Look," Frankie said, aiming at her first line of defense as she turned slowly to face him. "We don't have to do this. You can walk away right now, if you want. I won't call it in and I won't go after you. You can disappear, no questions asked." Beck's flat, sharp laugh slithered up her spine. "It's not smart of you to insult my intelligence, Detective. I already want to smash your f*****g skull in for fun."

Okay, so reasoning with him was a no go. Time for tactic number two. "How long have you known who I am?"

The corners of Beck's mouth edged up into a smile, and bingo. Beneath all that menace, his ego was in charge. "Long enough that you and Detective Maxwell should've figured it out."

Frankie had to keep him talking. The more he talked, the greater her chance of replaceing a way to fight out of this corner and keep Isla and Annette safe. "Come on. You're going to kill me, anyway, right? You might as well tell me where my f**k-up was before you do." Tilting his head, Beck considered this. "I would've figured it out, no matter what. I always knew there was something off about you two. But the truth is, I got a little lucky. The Intelligence Unit really should be more careful about letting their undercover detectives investigate crime scenes, even when those scenes are deserted. Sloppy, sloppy work."

Frankie's brows snapped together, her thoughts whirling. Beck couldn't have been at the scene where they'd found Alfie. He wouldn't have known Alfie was even dead, unless-

"You killed him, didn't you?"

Beck rolled his eyes. "And you call yourself a detective. Of course I f*****g killed Alfie. Nobody challenges my authority like that, least of all a piss-ant like him. Although, I suppose he wasn't entirely useless. After all, he did lead me to you and Detective Maxwell." "So, what? This is your endgame?" Frankie asked. "Kidnapping his daughter?" She tried to make it ridiculous, but Beck simply looked at her as if she'd finally said something intelligent.

"Uh, yeah. You two have been so wrapped up in getting prepared for the drug deal-that, oh, by the way, isn't really happening in a couple of nights-that you've missed what's right in front of you. Of course, I've had to be careful about it. But you've got a nice group of friends. Maybe I'll slip a pipe bomb in Detective Walker's car one morning. Definitely on a day that she drops her husband off at the fire house, I think. Of course, they'll be taking their baby to daycare, too. It'll be a tragedy." Fear clotted Frankie's thoughts, adrenaline coursing through her hard enough to make her shake, and Beck grinned.

"Oh, that bothers you, doesn't it? Maybe I should just cut to the chase and take Detective Maxwell. He looks tough. Stubborn, too. He'll probably last a really long time while I cut him limb from limb. I'll take video for you, naturally. Why t*****e one of you when I can have both? Or maybe"-he tapped his bottom lip with a finger, swinging his gaze toward Annette's house for a single, chilling second-"I'll just go take Isla, like I'd planned to, and t*****e you both that way."

No. No. Some deep-seated emotion Frankie had no name for rose up from within her, forcing words from her mouth.

"Why don't you just take me instead?"

That got him. Beck hesitated-only for a second, but it was enough.

She shifted forward, weighing all the facts. Knowing that, soon, the Intelligence Unit would realize she was missing, that they'd replace the stuffed animal she'd dropped by the mailbox. That she had a failsafe, and that Shawn was a good enough detective to connect the dots that would lead him to her. Beck might hurt her gravely, first; in fact, he might even kill her. But she didn't have a choice.

This would work. This had to work. She could not, under any circumstances, let Beck take Isla.

Even if it meant she had to die instead.

"I mean, you have to deal with me, anyway, right?" Frankie pressed. "You could shoot me right here, sure. But killing me and Annette, then forcibly taking a three-year-old from a suburban house in broad daylight..." Frankie shrugged, feigning calm she didn't feel but needed in order to pull this off. "I'm not sure that's your smartest move if you don't want to get caught."

"Are you questioning my intelligence?" he snapped.

Frankie didn't hesitate. "Yep. It just seems like a really dumb move when you could take me now and totally get away with it."

A muscle jumped in Beck's jaw, his face flushed through by the cold. Or maybe it was the rage she saw shimmering in his eyes, because the next thing she knew, he said, "Fine. Have it your way, bitch."

Then, he reared back to smash his weapon against her temple, filling her head with white-lightning pain for only an instant before her whole world turned black.