by Cynthia Eden
He took the key. Just because, dammit. His fingers tangled with hers and a hot surge of attraction shot through his body. He caught the quick inhale of her breath and knew she’d felt the same thing he just had.
Only instead of saying something, she crossed the threshold, walked inside, and flipped on the lights—
“No.” He wasn’t playing her game. “You feel it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know I want you.”
Chloe glanced over her shoulder. “You’re being very honest.”
“Why the hell would I lie about something like that? You’re a gorgeous woman, and you know it.”
“Different people have vastly different ideas of beauty.”
He stalked toward her. The guest house was much bigger than it had appeared on the outside. Giant, sweeping ceiling. Windows everywhere. But he barely glanced at the surroundings. He was focused on her. “Then let me be clear. I find you beautiful.”
She nodded.
Didn’t say anything else. But she did walk toward the room on the right. The room he figured had to be the bedroom.
A rough laugh broke from him. “You feel it, too. I know you do. I can see it when we touch. You get the same surge I do.”
Her head cocked as she paused in the doorway.
“And you bring me to your house. You get your brother to try and buy me? You think I don’t see what’s going on here?”
“I truly don’t think you do,” she murmured. “Why don’t you come and take a look at the bedroom?”
He marched toward her. “You want to have sex with me. You’re moving me in your place so that you have a close and convenient spot for us to have—”
“No.”
No? Dammit. Had disappointment just stabbed through him?
“We could have sex at that pit you called a home. We could’ve had sex in the alley behind the strip club. At the strip club. In the limo. By the swimming pool. By—”
“I get the idea,” Joel growled. He got the idea and all the mental images. Lots and lots of mental images that were now burned in his brain.
“The point is that if I wanted to have sex with you, bringing you to my home would be unnecessary. We could have sex at any time. In any location.” Her lips pressed together, she seemed to mull something over, then Chloe added, “Unless, of course, you’re shy and not much of an exhibitionist, and in that case—”
“I’m not shy! But I also don’t perform for crowds. Thanks for asking.”
A spark of humor made her eyes even brighter. “Are you going to look at the bedroom?”
“For someone who isn’t interested in having sex with me, you’re trying awfully hard to get me in the bedroom.” He strode by her.
“I never said I didn’t want to have sex with you.”
He froze. And his eager dick surged against the front of his jeans.
“I said I wasn’t moving you in here so that we could have a convenient spot for sex. You should also know that I don’t need to buy lovers. That’s not something I do.”
He whirled toward her. “It’s not something I do, either!” Was that how she thought he spent his nights?
“Good to know.” She lingered in the doorway. “What do you think?”
“Of what?” Joel asked blankly because she’d totally lost him. No, he was just stuck several sentences back.
I never said I didn’t want to have sex with you.
“Of the bedroom. I believe it should work well for you.”
He dragged his gaze off her and finally looked around the room. The bed appeared big. Fluffy covers—he didn’t care about that shit. But he realized that the entire wall near the side of the bed appeared to be made entirely of glass so that he could see outside—and he had a killer view of the pool. He walked toward the wall and he realized it wasn’t a glass wall. It was two massive doors.
“You can go out to the pool whenever you feel confined.”
His gut tightened at her soft words.
“I thought the view would help, too. I noticed you kept the windows in your apartment open, so maybe you’d like to just leave the doors open in here? The property is quite secure.”
Joel swallowed before he turned back toward her. “You notice lots of things, don’t you?”
“It’s sort of…who I am.” Now her head tipped back and she gazed up at the ceiling. “You can also watch the stars when you’re trying to get to sleep.”
He looked up. Holy shit. It wasn’t an ordinary skylight. A huge section of the ceiling seemed to be made of glass.
He could stay in this room and not feel confined. Not feel like he was suffocating in the dark. Not feel like he’d been buried alive again.
And she knew that.
“You’re probably tired,” Chloe said. “I’ll leave you to get some sleep. Once you’ve rested, come to the main house and we’ll make plans. I want to go back and look at the crime scene in the daylight.” She headed for the door.
“Stop.”
She did. Glanced back.
“Who lived here before me?” He was trying not to let her see how much he loved the room. It was as if it had been made for him.
“No one lived here,” she told him. “I recently had the guest house added to the property.”
And part of him…part of him wondered…
Did she build this for me?
But no, that wasn’t possible. They’d just met at the bank. She hadn’t known him before that moment. There was no way she could have gotten this place built for him. That was crazy.
“Glad you like it, Joel,” she said softly. “We all need a place to call home. Maybe you can put some personal touches in here. You know…an actual photo or two.” Then she walked away.
He found himself following her. “How do you know I like it?”
She slowed near the couch. “Because you aren’t telling me that you’re leaving any longer.”
No. He wasn’t. He wanted that room. “Am I supposed to say thank you?” Jesus, he sounded like an ass. He cleared his throat. “I’m not a charity case.” Okay, dammit, that wasn’t any better. He still hadn’t managed to tell her thanks.
She opened the front door. The hinges didn’t make even a whisper of sound. “I don’t do charity. And thanks aren't necessary. Besides, by the time we’re done with our first case, you might be cursing me. Not thanking me.” She left him without looking back.
He stood there, rooted to the spot, and it took Joel a moment to realize that his right hand had clenched into a fist. He forced the fingers to open, and he peered down at the key she’d given him.
It felt like more than a key to a guest house.
It felt like a fucking key to a new life.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s it. I’ve officially lost my mind.”
***
“You have a tendency to pick up dangerous strays.”
Chloe didn’t jump when the low, feminine voice came from the darkness. She’d known that Marie would be waiting on her. She’d felt the other woman’s displeasure back in the car.
Chloe turned on the lamp at the base of the stairs. The faint glow sent the shadows sliding across the floor. She looked up and found Marie on the sixth step. “I hardly think the doctor is a stray.”
“But you didn’t say he wasn’t dangerous.”
True. Marie had been with her long enough to realize that, half the time, it was the stuff Chloe didn’t say that mattered the most.
“Why him?” Marie eased down to the fifth step. It creaked.
“I think he will be important to this case. You know Cedric is concerned. He thinks a lot of the FBI analysis is bullshit.”
“I know Cedric is territorial. He didn’t like it when the FBI Brass took over the case, so he figures you can teach them a lesson.”
That might also be true, but…“I’m not here to teach anyone a lesson.”
“No. You’re just here because you have an obsession with death.”
Chloe climbed on
to the bottom stair. “And you don’t?”
Marie laughed. “That’s one of the reasons we get along so well, isn’t it? Because we like the same things.”
They did have many things in common. “There is more to Joel than meets the eye. I don’t want him hurt.”
Marie nodded. “Fine. Then I won’t play with the new stray.”
“Marie…”
“But if he bites…if he attacks you, he’s done.”
Chloe considered the matter. “That seems fair.” Chloe headed past Marie as she made her way to the second level and her bedroom. She was almost at the top of the stairs when…
“Two nights ago…” Marie’s voice drifted up to her. “I could have sworn that I heard a woman scream.”
Chloe’s hand curled around the bannister. “I had a bad dream.”
“You don’t have bad dreams, Chloe.”
If only. “This time,” she replied quietly. “I did.”
Chapter Seven
“The Feds are about to give their updated profile and—what in the hell is he doing here?” Cedric barked when he caught sight of Joel.
Joel smiled at the homicide detective. They were in the back of the bullpen at the downtown PD. Uniformed cops were buzzing everywhere. He’d never been in a bullpen scene like this one. Kinda felt like being slammed down into the middle of some cop TV show. The air seemed to crackle with electricity. The big downside of the whole scene? The detective seemed pissed that Joel was there.
Cedric swore. Then… “Chloe, do not tell me, please, I am begging you, do not say—”
“Joel is my new partner. He’s a former surgeon, and I think his insights on the perp we are after will prove to be extremely useful.”
Joel straightened a little. She’d sounded like she meant her words. A compliment from Chloe. He’d take it.
“Right. Sure. You would think that.” Cedric side-eyed Joel. “What’s your excuse? I gave you good life advice, man, and you should have—”
“Detective Coleman. Why in the world is Chloe Hastings standing beside you?” A nasally voice asked that question. A voice that belonged to a tall, thin, rather pale guy who was currently glaring at Chloe.
“Agent Paul Richardson.” Chloe lifted one eyebrow. “How long has it been? One year? Two? Has it—”
“It’s been two fucking months, Chloe,” he snarled back at her. “Two months since we last crossed paths and you damn well know it. It’s been six months since you made me look like an ass in front of my boss.”
Chloe’s gaze cut to Joel. “I could have sworn it was longer.”
Cedric snorted, then coughed into his hand.
Agent Richardson’s pale skin mottled. “You need to get out of here. I’m about to do a profile update, and there can be no civilians present for—”
“The police chief said I could be here.” Joel had to admire her cool and casual reply. She didn’t so much as blink.
Richardson blinked. A lot. “The local police aren’t in charge. The FBI is and I am telling you to get your—”
“My ass is staying put.” She didn’t seem even mildly intimidated. “Your boss also told me that he’d love any insight that I had to give on the case. He said that to me not an hour ago when I called to check in and see how his kids were doing.”
Richardson’s nostrils flared. The man sort of resembled a bull who was dying to charge. Joel got the feeling that Chloe was the red flag to the man’s bull.
Then Richardson’s angry attention shifted to him. “The new boyfriend can get the hell out.”
“No. He’s staying.” Chloe put a hand on Joel’s arm. “He’s also my partner, not my—”
“I don’t care what damn label you want to give him! He’s out. He is—”
“Dr. Landry will be staying during your update. And later, he will be taking a trip to the coroner’s office so that he can review the case files for all of the victims. That visit has also been green-lighted by your boss.” She shrugged one shoulder. “By the way, everyone in the room is staring at you because your voice has gotten to be so loud. Perhaps, since you have everyone’s attention, you should go ahead and deliver your report. Wasted time is an annoyance, you know. People are busy. Places to go. Killers to trap and whatnot.”
Richardson’s head snapped up. He looked around. Joel realized she was right. The controlled chaos in the bullpen had quieted, and everyone was staring at Chloe and Agent Richardson.
Richardson stomped his way to the little podium that had been set up in the center of the room.
Joel leaned down toward Chloe. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I don’t think he likes you very much.” The scent of strawberries teased his nose.
Chloe turned her head toward him. She was dressed in black slacks and a white blouse. She’d slid lipstick over her plump lips and they gleamed with a warm red color. “He hates me,” she retorted easily. “And, you, too, now. Welcome to the club.”
“That guy is such a dick,” Cedric mumbled a moment later. He was to Joel’s right.
Most of the cops were frowning at Richardson as he began his talk, so Joel figured no one there felt a whole lot of love for the FBI agent. Was it a territorial thing? Or was the man truly just a dick?
“Bad deeds,” Richardson announced dramatically. He lifted a small remote in his hand, and the lights dimmed. There was a massive screen behind him, and images began to appear on it. The three victims.
Three males.
“First victim,” Richardson announced. “Gregory Guidry. Beaten to death at his own home. The home he shared with his wife.” He changed the image with a click of the remote, and a picture of a woman with bruised eyes, cheeks, and a split lip filled the screen. “This shot was taken during one of the many times that Michelle Guidry claimed her husband abused her. She would never file charges, no matter how much friends and family members begged her to do so.”
“Guidry was a real piece of shit,” Cedric inserted quietly. “Know several uniforms who had to deal with him. The wife would always swear she’d fallen down. They just wanted to help her…”
Joel glanced over at Chloe. She had narrowed her eyes on the image of Michelle Guidry, and she was rubbing her fingers over her left cheek.
“Second victim…” Richardson continued in that nasally voice that was like nails on a chalkboard. “Ray Malone. He was found beaten to death inside his car. The vehicle was parked at his job. Two years ago, Ray’s wife died in a car accident. It was believed that Ray was drunk at the time of the crash, but his lawyer was able to work out a deal for Ray. He never set foot in a jail.”
Cedric made no comment but when Joel cut a glance at him, he saw that the detective’s jaw was clenched.
“This was an image from that crash. The wife died while the firefighters were working to remove her from the vehicle. The metal had torn into her chest. She bled out.”
He looked at the image. Fuck.
“And finally…” Richardson jutted up his chin. “We come to our most recent victim. Donnie Adams. Found beaten to death in a dirty alley. Cops interviewed folks who knew Donnie and the general consensus is that he was a drunk who liked to hurt whoever got in his way. Donnie is the third vic who fits my profile.”
“His profile is bullshit,” Chloe said in her ever-so-proper voice. So proper that it took Joel a moment to realize she’d even called bullshit.
And that her voice had, um, actually been quite loud.
Someone snickered.
Joel found himself smothering a laugh, too.
What the hell? When was the last time I laughed? And this sure as hell didn’t seem the right time to laugh.
Richardson did not look amused. His eyes lasered in on Chloe. “All of the victims are approximately the same age. In their late twenties. All have a similar body type. They’re big, physically imposing. Their personality traits are the same, as well. Simply put, they are bullies. They attacked the weak. They enjoyed hurting others.”
There were murmurs. A
greement.
Chloe began to tap her left foot.
“Oh, damn.” Cedric sighed. “Here we go. It’s on now. When the foot starts tapping, she’s losing patience.”
“I never had patience,” Chloe corrected, her voice brisk. “But I’ve stood here this long to be polite. I was doing that for you, Cedric. I hope you appreciate my effort.”
“Consider it appreciated.” Cedric winked at her.
Okay, so…Chloe and Cedric were friends. He’d wondered about their relationship at the bank. But there definitely seemed to be a bit of camaraderie going on between them. But if Cedric liked Chloe, then why had he warned Joel to stay away from her?
“These men committed bad deeds.” Now Richardson looked proud. Satisfied. “And the perp who killed them, he was punishing them for their crimes. He knew what they’d done, and he was delivering justice—his justice—to them.”
It almost sounded as if Richardson admired what the guy was doing.
“Payback,” Richardson threw out dramatically. “It was a true bitch in these cases.”
“Utter waste of valuable time.” Chloe turned on her heel. “He’s never going to catch the killer. Let’s go.”
Joel started to follow her but…
“We’re looking for a very intelligent killer. Someone who stalked his prey. Who researched these men. Who waited for the perfect moment to strike. Someone who didn’t mind the wait, who enjoyed it, in fact. He sees himself as an instrument of vengeance, and he is delivering justice. This man does not think he is doing anything wrong, and the people close to the victims…they are grateful to him for what he does.”
Cinnamon had been grateful. She’d said as much. Joel glanced back at Richardson.
Chloe caught Joel’s arm. “That man knows nothing about killers. Don’t let what he is saying get in your head.”
She sure seemed confident. Once more, Joel turned his head away from Richardson—
“Sorry your…ah…services won’t be needed on this one, Chloe,” Richardson called out. “Turns out, you aren’t the only one who can figure out how a killer thinks. Professionals can do the job just fine without you. I have a strong profile for the Bad Deeds killer, and please, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”