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CHAPTER 1

"This is the only chance you'll be given to avoid rotting in jail for the rest of your life," Eleanor Williams said as she walked into the cramped interview room. Her Agency partner Robert Stevens came in a few paces behind her.

The room was typical of any one of its kind around the world. Three bare, slate gray concrete walls kept the light from the florescent bulb quite dim. The fourth wall held the traditional one-way mirror. Any fool knew exactly what that mirror signified — that victims, family or management watched the discussion without wanting to be seen.

The thermostat controls remained perpetually a few degrees cooler than was considered comfortable. It was a purposeful, psychological prod to keep those being questioned off kilter. As part of her questioning technique, El frequently found it useful to be able to offer to turn the temperature higher when she wanted to appear courteous — the traditional 'good cop' routine.

Thaddeus Brown, however, seemed almost at home in the cool, depressing box. The solidly built, blond man lifted his gaze to meet hers as she faced him across the thin aluminum table. El knew her petite, short frame rarely intimidated anyone, let alone well-muscled, hardened thugs like Thaddeus.

Words could be quite powerful. El had long ago learned to wield them as sharply as any sword. She also knew her well-deserved self-confidence came across strongly in her body language. When needed, she could back up her physical self-assurance with actions. She worked and trained hard to keep in top shape and knew enough about a body's momentum to more than adequately make up for the difference between criminals who could be twice her size.

El didn't need to see behind her as the door thudded softly closed. She and Rob had worked together for years, been friends and partners for more than half her career. Trust bound them together more tightly than many lovers or siblings. Rob would almost certainly be leaning against the door, or wall, relaxed and appearing supportive and confident in her interrogation skills. At six foot four, he towered over practically everyone, but his height was always highlighted when he stood near her.

Powerfully built, Rob could have had almost any physical job he desired, from professional rugby player to a sleazy pub bouncer. Dark hair showed the first, faintest traces of gray, and his warm brown eyes could be frighteningly hard when Rob wished it so.

Sometimes he affected a bored look during their interviews — El knew that was a favored deception of his. Rob never lost focus, always tracking everything and retaining it for analysis later if needed. His control was icy and complete. She was a perfect counterpoint for him, her long, straight red hair being blamed for her passionate nature and usually fiery impatience.

They both knew with certainty that she could be patient and calm when needed, cool under fire. But she enjoyed getting information from reluctant people — the play of words, the dance and parry of matching wits. Rob plotted and planned — she reacted on the fly. As working partners, they were suited perfectly, their skills complementing and completing one another.

She loved him like a brother, trusted him unlike anyone else. Most of the time they were totally in synch, working as a pair and putting the worst of the bad guys away. While she loved Rob, it would never be a sexual thing — for either of them. El felt proud to defend her country, to do the work they did. It gave her a buzz she couldn't find any other way.

She rested her palms down on the table, then leaned in close, until her face was right up in Thaddeus' personal space. He met her gaze steadily, clearly unafraid of her or the power she wielded in this room.

"Why don't you start at the top," El cajoled. "Tell me everything."

El kept her gaze steady on Thaddeus. He watched her with an unblinking stare. El could see the reflection of her pale face in his orbs. They were now close enough that she could feel the faint puff of his breath as he exhaled.

She remained silent, letting the weight of the situation press down on him. After a full minute of mental fighting, Thaddeus scraped his chair back and put distance between them. Metal clinked — the cuff's chain knocked against the arm of the chair Thaddeus sat in.

His putting space between them was a small win, one that pumped adrenaline and more confidence through El.

Thaddeus ran a hand through his scruffy, sandy-colored hair. She could see in his eyes that something wasn't right. Over the years, she'd interviewed, interrogated and taken down countless criminals, many of them murderers with no conscience whatsoever. That hard, blank emptiness was something one couldn't overlook. After so much exposure to such people it didn't make her shiver anymore, or even blink.

El didn't move as Thaddeus ran his gaze slowly down her petite frame. She could feel the weight and heat in that glance, knew he was weighing her worth, judging her as a woman and an agent. El remained cool and calm. She'd been checked out by far creepier men than this. Her skin was thick and her tolerance for slime was high.

Any indication or acknowledgment would give him a sense of power and satisfaction. She watched him steadily, ignoring his lazy enjoyment and giving no outward response to him at all. But the more she surveyed him, the more she realized he wasn't the ordinary, garden-variety psychopathic killer she was used to. A vibe resonated from him, slowly filling the room.

"I'm sure it's not news to you, Mr Brown, that you're in a world of trouble," El began as she stood upright and placed her hands on her hips. Her tone was almost conversational, not hard or interrogating as yet. "We have substantial evidence to prosecute you. I've been informed the case we have on you is strong enough on its own merit. We don't need to lump you in with your co-conspirators. Let's see ..."

Wanting to draw out the tension, El slowly lifted her head and caught Robert's gaze. She held a hand out, tilting her chin to indicate the files he held. Rob pushed his large frame away from the door and walked two paces into the room.

"Now, Brown, Brown," he played along as he flicked through the manila folders. "Ah, here we are. Thaddeus Brown."

Rob selected a folder and held it out to her. The corner of her mouth twitched in a tiny smile she knew her partner would catch, and took the paper from him. Opening the folder she then took her time to draw out every action. Feeling the tension crackling in the air, El held the folder in one hand and thumbed through the papers with her other. She pretended to read the printouts, rustling the file to keep Thaddeus' attention on the knowledge she had and he didn't. Instead of reading the file she already knew well, she scanned Thaddeus for reactions through her peripheral vision.

"Right." El flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and rapped the word out promptly, wanting to ratchet up the pace of the conversation once again. Moving from fast to slow like this, hopefully, would keep Thaddeus off balance and result in something new cracking open. "So far, the charges we're laying against you are really stacking up. We have multiple counts of illegal possession of restricted weapons — explosives, ammunition, numerous weapons themselves. Then we have smuggling, receiving and exporting of stolen and illegal items — that's two charges there — carrying concealed weapons, intent to cause bodily harm, premeditation of an assault against public property and destruction of property in general."

El felt proud of the smooth flow to her tone. She didn't hesitate over the complicated compilation of words. Indeed, the ease with which she listed his offenses washed through the room, frequently more powerful in these situations than fake bluster or arrogant posturing.

"And then we have my personal favorite and the current slam-dunk of our court system — domestic terrorism. That stunt you and your mates pulled at the National Gallery, it clearly falls under the new laws that have passed through. I'm sure you're aware of the changes to our Terrorism Act, and the harshness of those penalties. Times have changed, haven't they?"

El felt a small frisson of satisfaction as this, her final point, seemed to hit home. His eyes widened. There was no other indication that she'd managed to rock him and El was glad she'd caught the small giveaway. She didn't expect someone as hardened and unstable as Thaddeus to weep or bury his head in his hands, so this physical sign was akin to a scream of fright from him.

"Oh yeah," she purred as she closed the folder, dropped it onto the table and pressed her palms against the cool surface once again. Leaning close, she grinned. "This isn't your first time around this particular block, we all know that. The weapons, ammunition, even the devastation of property, those are all old hat to you, Brown. You can do the time on your head with one hand tied behind your back. We've no blushing virgins here. But terrorism? Ooh, that's a different level altogether."

Thaddeus narrowed his eyes to slits and he crossed one leg over the other in a defensive movement. She couldn't tell yet if he was starting to crack, or if these were small, unconscious tells. El didn't pause for breath, pressing the small advantage she held.

"Do you really think Kent and Luke aren't going to roll? I bet they're dancing to my colleague's tune already, handing out any information we wish and laying the bulk of the blame on you. I know you understand cooperation is key here, and the first person to help gets the plum deal. Your mates are the strategists, I can see that. You're just the weapons man, the boomer expert who keeps the artillery flush. Do you really think they aren't going to work their best to get their collective arse out of the fire?"

Experience coupled with her gut-deep instinct warned her that this man was highly dangerous, far more so than their usual suspects. The manner in which he skittered his glance around the room, coming back time after time to rest on her face, solidified the feeling that something wasn't right with him. If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she'd never have noticed how his breathing increased very slightly. That, coupled with his jerky gaze, made her wonder if he was a powder keg waiting to explode.

She finally found that label for Thaddeus she'd been searching for. The man was flat out crazy.

If he was, she knew he would go berserk and be an even greater threat to them all. Having long ago learned to never let her true emotions show while in interviews, El kept her expression even, not hinting for a moment that she had begun to get a picture of the depths and complexities in this man.

Despite the clear instability he possessed, there was certainly still intelligence flickering in Thaddeus. El knew he understood the airtight case they had against him and his co-conspirators. Yet he continued to remain silent as she gave a brief sketch outlining the strengths of the case they held.

Thaddeus sat up, but his muscles and posture remained relaxed.

Maybe he truly was crazy.

El stood again, reaching out swiftly with one hand to scoop up the file.

"They were right," El spoke, directing her words for the first time to Rob as she stepped away from the table. "He's not all there. We're wasting our time here."

"You have not, as yet, asked me a question," Thaddeus said in a calm, soft tone.

El paused, cocked her head to the side, then gave a single, curt nod. She gave him that point.

"My apologies," she replied formally, her tone as cool and low as his. "I'll make this extremely simple. Tell me where the Cezanne is, and I'll do what I can to stop you from being fried. There's no way out of this — you're all cooked — but there are harder ways to serve a multiple life sentence, and less hard ways. First one to point us correctly at the painting gets the less degrading, simpler route straight to hell."

Thaddeus frowned, the first seemingly normal, genuine response he'd given so far. "I don't know what trap you think you're setting out, but don't fuck with me or I'll happily go back to my comfortable cell and give you nothing. What do you really want?"

Now it was El's turn to struggle to restrain the surprise from crossing her face. Thaddeus' words were blunt and clear, his eyes cool and assessing, but free from guile. He honestly thought she was playing him.

"The whole point of your little spree was to compromise the security, create a cluster-fuck of confusion and upset security routines. This was to ultimately steal a little known Cezanne," El said slowly, clearly explaining the obvious to him. "Kent and Luke were the instigators, but you and the rest of your team successfully stole the painting. Despite the evident length of planning and detailed work the group of you did, during the few hours after your mission you were all scooped up and arrested. Are you denying you're a part of that team?"

"Lady, I'd happily lay siege all over again to the Gallery. Blowing those pillars up, getting to finally use my baby — the rocket launcher — fucking with the guards and compromising their precious system, not once but twice in less than twenty-four hours has been a highlight of my career. I'm not denying anything."

"So you're not interested in having a say on where you get to spend the rest of your life rotting away." El shrugged as she turned to face the door.

Thaddeus sighed. She tilted her head to look at him, but didn't move back to the table. El waited, patiently. Their gazes met. El showed nothing but self-confidence. Deep inside, she burned with a fire, knowing she was determined. She'd come out on top, regardless of how she made it there.

The air in the small room seemed to crackle with tension once again. Thaddeus was the first to glance away.

He sighed. "Kent and Luke didn't have the picture when you picked them up?"

"I wouldn't be here enjoying your company and asking you useless questions if they did," she pointed out reasonably.

Thaddeus shrugged. "I never laid a hand on the picture. How can I know where it ended up?"

"Why don't you make a guess and hope it pans out? Where do you think they might have kept it?"

Thaddeus frowned further, creases showing on his brow.

El remained still, frozen as she gazed steadily, taking in every inch of the criminal's posture and body language. He seemed to genuinely consider her question. When he licked his lips and lifted his eyes to her, she could see he'd decided to make an effort.

"Ask me something I can speak about," he said in a slow, clear tone. "Like those piece of shit weapons you're wearing — I can go on for hours offering solutions for better holsters, equipment or ammo. Talking about a painting I never personally laid eyes on isn't doable. What's so special about this picture, anyway? Kent never did tell me what the fuss was all about and why there was so much interest in it."

She wouldn't trust a word out of his mouth until she'd verified it, but at least this was something she could act on. Silence usually wasn't.

"Fuss? What kind of fuss happened over the piece?" El asked.

Thaddeus licked his lips again, a glint of something she couldn't label in his eyes.

"Thirsty work, talking," Thaddeus said with a smirk. "Any chance I can get some tea?"

El weighed the situation for a moment, then lifted her gaze to catch Rob's eyes. She nodded. He pushed away from the door again, opened it and stuck his head into the corridor. She heard the soft murmur of his voice, most of the words indistinguishable but 'tea' and 'plastic cup' letting her know her partner had the situation under control.

Robert finished, pulled himself back into the room and closed the door once again. He caught her gaze, nodded, and she threw a quick smile at him, thanking him silently. Knowing this could take a while, El pulled out the chair near her, opposite Thaddeus, and sat.

"So what kind of fuss brewed up over this painting and who else was interested in the Cezanne, Thaddeus?"

Thaddeus crouched, half standing in a bent over position so he could drag the chair closer to the table. This was difficult owing to the restraints chaining him hand and foot, but in a slow process he managed. El's body had tightened, her senses sharply aware as she watched him carefully, making sure he didn't palm a weapon or position himself in a manner that could let him spring on her or take advantage.

Satisfied when he sat back down and met her gaze again, she nodded for him to continue.

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Excerpted from "Burning Intensity"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Lapthorne.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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