by Cynthia Eden
She could see the bruises on his knuckles.
“You need to move,” Joel urged in her ear. “Private dances are only for a limited time, and something tells me the clock is already ticking on us.”
She moved. Headed down the hallway. Swept her gaze to the left and right. Paused to study a dark stain on the wall.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Joel steered her forward. “This isn’t freaking stare-at-the-wall night. We need to move.” He used his left hand to rap on the door to Cinnamon’s room.
A sultry voice called out, “Come in!”
They went in.
Cinnamon stood on the other side of the small room, all of her cash now hidden but she was still wearing her very tiny G-string. She also had on an elaborate bra, well, not really a bra but…something with lots of lift and sparkle.
Cinnamon smiled. “Two of you, hmm? Hope you paid Bobby extra for that.”
Bobby must be the bouncer they’d passed. Chloe made a quick note of his name.
Cinnamon pointed to the wooden chair beside her. “Who wants to sit first?” She winked. “One will sit and one will watch? That how you two like it?”
“I have no idea what he likes,” Chloe responded honestly. “But I can see the bruises beneath your makeup.” Now that Chloe was closer to the woman, she could see the blue and black marks on her neck. Someone had tried to strangle Cinnamon.
Cinnamon stopped smiling. “I don’t know where this is going, but let me tell you right now, I don’t like pain. I’m not into that, no matter how much you paid.”
“Good for you,” Chloe said instantly.
Cinnamon’s eyes were huge. Almost as huge as her impressive breasts. Her gaze jumped from Chloe to Joel. “Get your crazy girlfriend out of here.”
Joel took a step forward. “She is crazy…”
That label was old. And incorrect. There was no such thing as crazy. There were delusions, there was psychosis, there was—
“But she’s not my girlfriend.” He motioned to the chair. “Why don’t you sit down? We just want to ask you a few questions. Answer them, and we’ll be gone in a flash.”
Cinnamon—um, Coreen—sucked in a breath. “You more cops?”
“I’m definitely not a cop,” Joel assured her. “I simply have a few questions. I want to know—”
“Donnie was a sonofabitch. He liked hurting me. And I’m glad he’s dead, okay? Glad. So what if I didn’t go to help him when I heard him scream? He made me scream plenty of times, and I thought it was his turn for payback.”
Did Joel flinch at the word payback? Chloe thought he did.
“You.” Cinnamon pointed at Chloe. “You and the other uppity bitches always stare at me like I’m trash. You don’t believe a word I ever say.”
Ah, that would be why Cinnamon hadn’t wanted to talk to the female detective. “I don’t think you’re trash. I think you’re very limber and quite talented at your job.”
“Fuck off,” Cinnamon snarled at her. She stormed for the door.
Joel glared at Chloe. “You have zero people skills.”
Why did she need them? And hadn’t she just complimented Cinnamon? She’d meant the compliment. The dancer was very talented and deserved all the money she earned. Chloe wished she possessed the other woman’s agility and rhythm.
No matter. Time to get back on track and move things along before Cinnamon completely stopped talking. “Donnie was here last night.” Donnie Adams, the victim currently at the morgue. “He got rough with you, and Bobby taught him some manners.”
Cinnamon whirled toward her. “Bobby tell you that? He usually keeps his big mouth shut.”
He hadn’t needed to say a word, not when the proof had been on his hands. Hard to miss the bruises on his big knuckles. “He beat Donnie in the hallway outside.” She’d seen the blood stain. “Then…threw him out back?”
Cinnamon shrugged.
Ah, not talking to me. Chloe glanced at Joel.
She found him frowning at her. She stared at him, then jerked her head toward Cinnamon.
Joel cast a glance toward the exotic dancer. “You…ah, heard Donnie? You heard Donnie screaming out back?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed. “At first…um, I thought he was just mad at me. Screaming ’cause he was mad, you know. I was with Bobby when I heard the screams start. Bobby stormed away. Said not to let him back in because Donnie was just a drunk dick.” She swiped her hand over her cheek. “Then I…I realized he wasn’t just screaming because he was mad. He hurt.”
Chloe crept closer to Cinnamon. She caught a faint, sweet scent clinging to the other woman. She filed that scent away. “You liked for Donnie to hurt because he’d hurt you.”
“Yeah. Does that make me some kind of fucking bad person?”
“No.” Joel shook his head. “Not even close.”
Cinnamon straightened her shoulders. “When he stopped screaming, I eased open the door. Th-that was when I saw Donnie’s body.”
She’d just stumbled. Given a little stutter. Her gaze had jerked around the room, sliding away from Joel’s before returning.
Got you. Chloe tamped down on her excitement. “You saw the killer.”
“No!” Cinnamon’s eyes flared wide.
“Please don’t waste my time with lies.”
Cinnamon’s cheeks reddened.
“You saw the killer when you opened the door. He was still there.” She tried to work through the puzzle. “He didn’t hurt you. He just went after Donnie.” Another vic who seemingly fit this particular killer’s pattern. Cedric had been right on that point. It was good that he’d come to get her at the bank so they didn’t waste too much time. “Why didn’t you tell the cops that you saw him?”
Cinnamon had clamped her lips together.
Chloe motioned to Joel. This was his time to step up and get the woman talking.
Joel cocked his head and nodded as if he’d figured out Cinnamon. “You don’t trust the cops.”
“Why should I? What have they ever done for me?” She licked her lips. “You want the truth? That man in the alley…the man who killed Donnie? He did more for me than a cop ever would.” She stomped forward and wrenched open the door to her room. “I didn’t see his face. He had on a ski mask. I can’t tell you a damn thing about him. Now get out. Your time is up.”
A private dance sure didn’t last long these days. Chloe headed for the door. She wanted to go into the alley and look around herself. But first… “Are you chewing gum?”
“No.” Cinnamon squinted at her.
“You smell very…sweet.”
A rough laugh came from Cinnamon. “That’s my body butter. Bubblegum flavored. Makes me smell sweet. The customers love it.”
“I’m sure they do.” There were so many other things she wanted to ask Cinnamon.
But Cinnamon wasn’t laughing any longer. Her gaze was locked hard on Chloe. “I didn’t get your name,” she suddenly said. Cinnamon’s eyes were a deep, bold green.
“Chloe. Chloe Hastings.”
Cinnamon’s lower lip trembled. “God…he meant you…” She wheezed out a breath. “Come and get me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Chloe was sure she must have misunderstood.
“He said…Killer wanted me to tell someone named H-Hastings…Come and get me.” Her breath panted out. “Guess he’s your friend or something, huh?”
Or something, yes.
Chapter Four
“Do killers normally taunt you and ask you to hunt them down?” Joel rocked back onto his heels as he stood in the middle of a dirty, stinking alley. “Asking for a friend.”
Chloe was shining her phone—or rather, her phone’s light—at the back of the brick building. He could hear the distant beat of music from inside the club. “It’s not the first time,” she replied, sounding totally cool and collected.
He jerked to attention. “Bullshit.” It had better be bullshit.
“I am quite well-known in certain circles.” The light flew over the ground. �
��The crime scene team did a thorough job out here. I wish Cedric had contacted me before the PD sent in a clean-up crew, though.”
“Oh, right, because it’s always fun to find blood and guts on the ground. Best time ever.”
She swung toward him. Her light hit him in the face. “You seem awfully grumpy.”
Grumpy? “You have no idea.” He blew out a breath and then four more. “I want to know what’s happening. Every detail. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Why? You came along willingly enough when I told you that we were hunting a killer. I mean, you didn’t even ask for specifics. Just grabbed your shoes and your motorcycle—which I really liked, by the way—and sort of bounded into action.”
Adrenaline still churned in his veins. “I want to know exactly what’s going on—and, dammit, will you get the light out of my face?”
The light dropped. “Fine.” She shuffled closer. Probably hard to do in the dark and in those heels. “We’re hunting a killer.”
He would not growl at her. But he wanted to. “Does the killer have a name?”
She laughed. “That’s funny. Obviously, if we knew his name, we’d have him behind bars.”
He growled.
She stopped laughing. “I have his profile, so that’s almost as good as a name. We’re looking for a Caucasian, mid-twenties to early thirties. Fit. After all, he has to be strong if he’s going to attack his victims and beat them into submission.”
Holy hell.
“He attacks at night. Stalks his prey before making a move. The profile on him indicates that is because the perp wants to make sure his targets are guilty before he goes in for the kill.”
His mouth had gone dry. “Did you make the profile?”
More laughter. It was…musical. Weird as all hell given their situation and location. “Of course, not. I’m no behavioral analyst. Do I look like I work for the FBI? I told you already, I’m freelance—”
“Freelance with the PD. Some mystery freelance person who has killers inviting her to hunt them down.”
“According to the FBI’s profile, this perp punishes those he deems bad. Donnie Adams attacked Cinnamon—ah, Coreen Miller. I checked Donnie’s rap sheet before we came here. Last month, he put another dancer in the hospital, though she didn’t press charges. God knows why…” A disgruntled sigh. “The FBI says our killer is taking out those who hurt others. He’s had three vics at last count.”
“Three?” Had he missed these stories on the news?
“Um. The perpetrator killed a suburban dad about four weeks ago. Turned out the husband was beating the crap out of his wife and kid.”
Joel’s hands clenched and unclenched. “So the killer is some kind of vigilante?”
“His second victim was a male who killed his wife in a drunk driving accident. The guy’s alcohol level was through the roof. He walked away from the wreck, but his new wife wasn’t so lucky. She was trapped in the car and died in the hour that it took the firefighters to use the Jaws of Life to get her out.”
Joel shook his head. “No.”
“No…what?”
“No, I’m done. I’m not…” Was that blood on the wall? It was. Her light had just hit it, and he could see the stain. Not red. Dark brown. And he remembered the spray of his own blood. The smell of it. The way it had soaked his body.
Rage and pain clawed at him until Joel wanted to attack everything and everyone. He wanted to fight and destroy. He wanted—
Her hand curled around his arm. “Are you with me?”
Her light was gone. She’d turned off her phone. Put it away. The moon shone down on him. He could make out her features. The soft curves of her cheeks. The plumpness of her lips. Her touch was soft and light on him, and the rage seemed to ease. He could pull in a breath. He could smell strawberries. Her. “I’m with you.”
He thought she smiled.
Why did he like her smile? In that rotting alley, why did he like anything? “If our killer is offing bad guys, why do we want to stop him?”
“Because he’s not God. He doesn’t get to decide who lives or dies.” Her head tilted back. “And it’s the FBI behavior analyst who thinks he’s only going after bad guys. I believe the killer is just doing that part to throw us off. He’s no Dexter.”
“Dexter?” She had not gone there. Was she seriously talking about the fictional—
“Yes, you know the character who was a serial killer but he focused on bad guys? The show was quite popular, I mean, I know it was several years ago but—”
“I know Dexter.” His head was throbbing again. He had the fear that it might always throb around her. “You said there were only three vics—”
“The FBI thinks there are three. I believe there are others. And, no, the vics aren’t all bad.” Her hand slid down his arm before easing away from him. “I’ll return in the daylight. See what else I can find. I think we’re done for tonight.”
Done? He…didn’t want to be done.
But she was walking around the building, and Joel found himself hurrying to follow her. She headed for his motorcycle, but paused to look at him and say, “I think it would be better if I took a cab home.”
He grabbed for a helmet, his hand clenching around it. She’s ditching me now? “Why would the killer want you to find him?”
“Because he wants to be stopped. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t help himself. That’s where I come in.”
She looked far too breakable to him as she stood on the edge of the sidewalk. “You stop killers.”
A shrug. The loose collar on the red blouse slid down her left shoulder. Sexy as fuck. “We all need hobbies,” she told him in a quiet voice, as if imparting a secret. “This one is mine. I guess crime solving is in my blood. My gift or my curse, depending on how you look at it.”
He couldn’t look away from her. “Will you need my help again?”
“I doubt it.” She turned away. “I learned what I needed to know from Coreen.” She headed across the street. Her high heels clicked on the pavement.
Right when she reached the center of the road, headlights flashed on. A car engine revved.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that. Chloe’s head turned until she was staring at the headlights. A deer, caught too late.
The car hurtled forward. Headed straight for her.
Joel threw down his helmet. He raced toward her. But even as he was trying to run, he felt slow. Too slow. Everything was too slow.
Her head whipped toward him. She stared at him with wide, stark eyes.
Joel wasn’t going to make it to her in time. He wasn’t going to—
She flew at him, shoved him back, and they both slammed into the sidewalk.
He could smell the rubber of the tires. Could swear that he felt the heat of the engine. The screech of wheels filled his ears as the dark car rushed away.
“What in the hell were you doing?” Chloe was on top of him. Her legs straddled his hips, and her hands curled over his shoulders.
“Saving you?” Joel asked. That had been his plan.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He stared up at her and tried to ignore just how incredibly good she felt on top of him. This was the wrong time to be thinking about anything except surviving. The wrong time to be thinking that he wanted her. The wrong time to be thinking—
He blinked and stared up at her. Footsteps were pounding toward them. Voices were raised. Someone was talking about calling the cops.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Chloe cocked her head. She made no move to get off him. “What is it?”
“I just realized…when I’m with you, I don’t think as much about my past.” The past had tried to grab him in the alley, but when she’d touched him, he’d slipped from those shadows. I went back to her.
No, when he was with her, things were different somehow. He thought less about the nightmare that wouldn’t let go of him. And he thought about…her. He th
ought about hunting killers. Stopping bad guys. Questioning exotic dancers. He thought about a million things, but he stopped being a victim.
For a moment, he could’ve sworn a smile teased her lips.
She leaned toward him. Her lips slid near his ear. “Good. That’s step one.”
Then she was pulling back. Rising. Dusting herself off and appearing totally cool. Acting as if some nutjob hadn’t just attempted to run her down.
And had she really whispered, “step one” to him? Or had that been his imagination?
If she had whispered it…shit, what was step two? Did he even want to know?
***
Chloe offered her hand to Joel as she stood in front of his apartment door. “Thanks for your help.”
His hand closed around hers. Warmth seemed to spread from her palm all the way up her arm.
His hold tightened on her. “Is this what every night is like for you?”
More nights than he’d probably suspect. But that was good. When she was out, chasing her killers, she didn’t have to stay alone in the dark and think. “Everyone needs a hobby.”
“How many killers have you put away?”
“Do you truly want to know?”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
He was still holding her hand.
“Officially, only five.”
His brow furrowed. “That’s one hell of a lot.”
“Unofficially, probably about fifteen. But I discovered early on that the local departments or the FBI hotshots like to take the big credit. I steer them where they need to go, I get the job done, and then I move on.” Simple enough.
Joel stared at her.
“You’re stroking my wrist. Do you realize you’re doing that?”
He immediately stopped. She supposed he hadn’t realized he was doing that. Cute. He let her go as if he’d been burned.
Not so cute.
It was time to leave him. “Good night, Joel. Or rather, good day.” The sun would rise soon. She turned away from him.
“The driver tried to run you down.”
“Maybe. Maybe it was simply an accident. A drunk guy who’d left the club and didn’t realize that a woman stood in his path.”
“I saw the car. It angled toward you.”