Hunting Gorgeous: A Romantic Suspense

by B. B. Hamel

  “Your sister was a smart girl.”

  I was tempted to say that I enjoyed her shows the most—not sexually, not the naked parts, but the bits before she stripped down when she joked and laughed and told stories to the chat. She was flirty, of course, she had to be, it was the job, but she was smart in a way some of the other girls weren’t. It wasn’t all about fucking and sex with her. Some of it was fun and strangely innocent. She blushed, she giggled, she got embarrassed.

  It was endearing and human.

  And that fuck killed her, hurt Rose, and ripped apart a family in the process.

  A wave of hate washed over me and I opened the door, unable to keep talking about this without letting loose. CGK had caused enough pain in this damn world and taken far too much. We were going to stop him.

  Rose followed me inside without a word.

  4

  Rose

  Nick slept in the extra bedroom that night.

  It was strange, having him there in the room where I stayed so many nights over the years, him sleeping on the same flower-petal sheets I slept on, surrounded by the same patterned wallpaper, with the same china dolls slumped over on the bureau. I felt like he’d invaded somehow—even though he was my guest.

  I woke early, made coffee, and stepped out onto the front porch to stare down the gravel driveway.

  The rooms felt silent, empty, and oppressive.

  I hated it. My Gramma’s house was a place of warmth and acceptance for so long. She was one of the few people in our family that didn’t care what Delia did, and that made her a safe haven for both of us. We went to her house for holidays, ate her incredible cooking, sat out on the porch, and drank beers late into the night—even though I was too young to drink, Gramma never said a word.

  Now it was violated. I didn’t know what to do.

  I stepped down the porch steps and walked along the gravel. I liked the way my feet crunched down into the rocks. I wrapped one arm around myself and held a chipped mug with my other hand as I looked up at the trees Gramma always complained about—too many leaves to rake in the fall, constant threat of total imminent collapse during heavy storms—and tried to think about all the time I spent with Del running around this property.

  I reached the mailbox and found it empty. It was always empty, these days. Gramma got mail still sometimes, junk stuff from folks that didn’t know better, and once Del got a letter from what I had to assume was a fan, but I never got a damn thing.

  Except bills, of course. Bills always showed up.

  I walked back toward the house, and when I got halfway there, the sound of crunching gravel made me pause. Nick came running down the driveway toward me and stopped a few feet away, breathing hard, wearing his shoes without socks, the laces untied, and only a pair of dark sweatpants over his bulky thighs. His chest glistened in the early light and he breathed hard, staring at me with wild eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  “I’m fine.” I reeled back from him. “I checked the mail.” I gestured toward the purple box with a cow-patterned flag. The neighbors hated it. Gramma had a sense of humor.

  “Fuck.” He put his hands above his head. “I came downstairs and you were gone and I flipped the fuck out. Goddamn it.” He walked around in a little circle, calming himself.

  I laughed even though I knew I shouldn’t. “Sorry. Just stepped out.”

  He glared at me. “It’s not funny. You think CGK couldn’t be hiding in these bushes right now?”

  “Probably not.” I gestured around me. “I mean, it’s pretty early.”

  “Jenny Schlemmer. CGK broke into her house at six in the morning while she was feeding her cats and took her as the sun rose. Taylor Green. CGK slipped in through her bathroom window, waited until she got in the shower, and took her without a sound. The towel was still damp when we found her.” He walked toward me, breathing hard, skin flushed red, and I could’ve sworn I saw his pulse. I liked the way his muscles moved, the way his eyes flashed rage. Something about it made my pulse quicken. Maybe that was wrong—maybe that was messed up. Someone with half a brain might’ve been a little scared.

  I didn’t have half a brain anymore.

  “You can’t leave the house without me ever again,” he said.

  I took a step back. “That’s unreasonable. I mean, not even to walk to the mailbox?”

  “Especially not that.” His eyes were hard and I could see a sort of panic in them, which only made me more on edge.

  He was supposed to be the fancy FBI agent. He was the Hunter, the guy with everything, the only wall between me and a serial killer intent on murdering me.

  And he was panicking a little bit.

  I turned away from him and walked a few feet, trying to get myself together. When I looked back, he took a deep breath and watched me carefully. I glanced down at his chest and spotted a tattoo—a deer on his chest, right above his heart.

  I nodded at it. “I didn’t know FBI agents had ink.”

  “I wasn’t always an agent.” He kept staring at me. “Are we going to have a problem?”

  I decided to ignore his needlessly aggressive question. I kept staring at that deer, at the black eyes and upturned nose and huge rack of antlers. “What’s it mean? The tattoo, why do you have a deer over your heart?”

  “I had a little brother once.”

  “Is that for him?”

  “His name was Buckley, called him Buck. I got this to remember him.”

  I looked back at the deer and its enormous rack of antlers. “What happened to him?” I asked.

  He stepped toward me. “I don’t want to talk about that. What I want to talk about is you never running off again.”

  “Okay,” I said, shaking my head. The tension in the moment slipped away. “I promise, I won’t run off.”

  He relaxed a bit. “Thank you.”

  “Did you really run out after me without a shirt?” I squinted at him. “You could’ve put something on.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and stretched like he wanted to work out some pent-up energy. “I’m sure you’re enjoying the show.”

  I laughed, nervous and shrill, but it felt good, even if it was half faked. I was good at pretending everything was okay—good at putting on the mask. “Not exactly.”

  “Should’ve stopped to grab my gun. Won’t make that mistake twice.” He scanned the bushes around us. “Come on, let’s go back.”

  He led the way along the driveway and inside. I drank more coffee while he cooked breakfast. At some point, he put on a shirt.

  “It’s pretty quiet around here,” he said, putting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. “What do you do for fun?”

  “What’s that?” I picked at my food. “Mostly I sit around. Go to work at the hardware store. Not much else to do really.”

  “You must be bored then.”

  “I guess.”

  He sat across from me and drank coffee, but didn’t eat. “You were attending school when Delia died, right?”

  “Senior year.” I laughed a little, shaking my head. “Dropped out as soon as it happened.”

  “Do you still have the credits?”

  “Probably, if I ever bothered to check.”

  “You ever think about finishing school?”

  “Sure, all the time.” She tilted her head. “What about you, bad boy? How’d you end up as a fed?”

  He shrugged. “I lucked into a gig with a private detective, then we got dragged into a murder case when a client of his ended up dead.”

  “That doesn’t really explain it.”

  “I solved the case, caught the bad guy, and it turned out that the bad guy was a very, very bad guy.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You caught a serial killer?”

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “I’m not, it’s just, that seems so unlikely.”

  “Now you know why Head took me on.”

  “Head?” I made a face, not sure what to make of that. His l
ittle group seemed so strange to me, with all their odd lingo, but maybe that was necessary. Maybe they needed that to keep themselves sane, to put distance between them and the enemy.

  “The name of our leader,” he said. “Not his real name. Code name.”

  “Sounds like something from a spy movie.”

  “I know.” He laughed, sipped his coffee, and looked out the window. “It’s a little silly, but the people we’re after are serious. Head doesn’t want his identity known. These people tend to come after the investigators.”

  “Doesn’t that put you at risk?”

  He shrugged. “I can handle it. Head’s an older guy. Not as physically fit and able to defend himself as he once was.”

  “Must be hard though.”

  “Lonely life, but the job’s important.”

  “What about your partner? You guys are probably together a lot.”

  “We get along fine.” He said it quick and didn’t look over toward me. I got the sense he wasn’t being forthcoming about that one, but I chose not to press him on it. “You got many friends in town?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “When I moved here, I sort of left my old friend group behind.”

  “Must’ve been hard.”

  “It was, but I just… after Gramma died, then Del, I needed something different. Since the house passed to me, I figured I’d come move in for a while, you know? I thought it’d be temporary.”

  “And a year later, here you are. Must be nice, having a big, strapping man like me around.”

  I took a bite of food and watched him for a second. He had a small smile on his lips, and I got the sense he was flirting with me—but that couldn’t be right. He was supposed to be an FBI agent tasked with protecting me. He wouldn’t openly flirt.

  Then again, he wasn’t really an agent, not exactly. He didn’t have the same background as all the others. He was a regular guy that got thrown into all this, given a badge and a gun and some training, then told to go catch serial killers.

  “I like it when he comes running out shirtless. That’s not so bad.”

  He laughed and gestured toward me. “Feel free to run around shirtless as well. I wouldn’t mind.”

  Definitely flirting. I felt myself blush a little, unable to help it, and that only made him laugh more. I got up and cleared my plate, only half my breakfast eaten, and got more coffee. I stood near the counter, looking at him, trying to get a sense for what I was getting myself into.

  There was the serial killer, of course, but there was also him. Nick the fed, Nick the Hunter, but not like any fed or any cop I’d ever met. He seemed genuine, funny almost, and handsome as all hell. But there was something else to him that I couldn’t quite understand, a layer I hadn’t been able to break down into. The story about his brother was only half told, and there was more to the CGK thing than he was letting on.

  But still, I liked him, despite myself. I should’ve wanted to keep him at arm’s length, and part of me still held back, but he made me smile, made the house feel less empty. That was a big deal to me, even if it wasn’t something he intended on.

  His eyes took me in, measuring me, watching me, a hint of amusement on his lips. I felt the sudden urge to live up to that gaze—like somehow, I could disappoint him if I ruined what we had going. It was crazy, really, the idea that I owed him anything, or that throwing myself into this situation wasn’t enough. And yet the way he ran his tongue along his bottom lip made me shiver and want to give him whatever he asked for—within or without reason.

  Del would’ve known how to handle him. Outgoing, charming, bubbly Del, men loved her, even when she wasn’t taking her clothes off. I didn’t get an ounce of her charm, not a single drop of it. I was more like a walking coatrack, and Del was a closet full of designer dresses—each one brighter and more beautiful than the last.

  “I should go shower,” I said, tearing my eyes away.

  “Need a hand?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “I’ll stand guard them.”

  “You do that.” I walked toward the stairs then looked back at him. “Feel free to use whatever.” I didn’t know why I said it and instantly felt dumb.

  He only smiled. “Thanks. Cal will probably stop by later today, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, of course.”

  “Great. Enjoy your shower, Rose.”

  I smiled tightly then hurried upstairs. I shut the bathroom door with a click and sat down on the edge of the tub, my face in my hands. Nick, handsome Nick, with the half-told story.

  I knew this wasn’t going to go well, one way or the other.

  5

  Nick

  I found her lounging back on the couch that next afternoon. She had her nose buried in a book and her feet dangled off the end into a shaft of light, kicking up and down restlessly. The TV played the news but on mute, and she squinted at the words in front of her like she needed glasses.

  “You look bored.” I sat on the edge of a nearby chair.

  She looked over at me and put the book down on her chest. “I was reading until you showed up.”

  “Okay, maybe I’m bored then.”

  “Sorry the serial killer hasn’t been trying to break down the door.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I tilted my head and craned my neck to try to see what she was reading. “Is that some trashy romance?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Skipping to the dirty scenes?”

  “Sometimes.” She pursed her lips and arched her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all. I like a woman that knows what she likes.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What can I do for you, agent?”

  I leaned back into the chair. “What’s there to do for fun around these parts? I was thinking about taking you out somewhere.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Ah, come on. You can’t work, you can’t go outside without me, so you might as well take me up on this kindness.”

  “Really, I’d rather not.”

  “Really, I’m insisting.”

  She sucked in a breath then let it out, acting dramatic, but she sat up and met my gaze. Her hair was in a messy bun and she looked like she hadn’t slept the night before, which didn’t surprise me. I slept lightly, only half-dozed, listening to every sound, wondering if it was him coming to kill us both, wondering if I was making a mistake—but refused to back down, refused to let him scare me into quitting.

  “Why do you care if I’m bored?”

  “It’s more about the case, if I’m honest with you.”

  “How does going out to dinner help the case?”

  “We should be seen together.” I tapped the arm of the chair. “You know, show him that we’re out and about in the world. That he’s not keeping us holed up.”

  “You think that would work?”

  “It’d piss him off, I bet.” I looked up toward the ceiling and mentally sifted through the hours and hours of paperwork and profiling I’d already done on CGK, all the images I’d seen, the psychological profile I’d built and had other experts validate. All that and I’d never met the man, but I felt like I knew him. “He’s got a thing for control and fear. Most serial killers do, but CGK especially. He doesn’t want his victims to be happy, he wants them terrorized, hiding in their houses, afraid he’ll strike. If we go out and have a nice time, it’ll taunt him.”

  She looked skeptical, not that I could blame her. I was only being partially honest. All that was true—only I didn’t think CGK would notice if we went to dinner once.

  Mostly, I wanted to take her out on a date for selfish reasons.

  Those reasons being her lips, the way she smiled, and the stupid, gut-churning desire I felt every time she walked into the room.

  Stupid, very stupid. And yet there I was, still going for it.

  “Okay then, if it’ll help. But I pick the place, and you’re buying.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

&nbs
p; “I hope you like Italian.” She lounged back down and opened her book. “Now I’ve got a very hot blowjob scene to finish reading, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Oh, no, go ahead, by my guest. Read it out loud, if you want.”

  “No, thank you, agent.”

  I laughed, got up, and left her to read in peace. No part of me thought she was reading a sex scene—that was her way of trying to take some control back, sort of like CGK but without all the murdering. She wanted to freak me out and knock me off balance.

  Too bad I liked it when she pushed back. I watched her on the couch and saw her cheeks flush pink, her eyes darted over toward me, then back to the book, and I wondered—

  But no, couldn’t be.

  I headed upstairs and gave her some privacy.

  The restaurant was in an old building that looked like it might collapse at any moment, though that was part of Foylestown’s charm. We climbed the steps up to the entrance and were seated at a small round table across from a wood-fired brick pizza oven. A small guy with dark hair spun dough and cooked, nodding his head along to his earbuds.

  “Nice place,” I said, eating some bread, dipping it into olive oil infused with spices. “You come here much?”

  “Every time I visited with Del, we’d come here.” She wore a light gray blouse, top two buttons undone showing a hint of cleavage—enough that I had to keep reminding myself not to check her out—and a pair of tight black jeans. Town was crowded on a Friday night, which was a good thing. CGK was more likely to try to blend in when there were a lot of people around to hide him, and I wasn’t confident I’d be able to pick him from a crowd based on the sketch we had.

  “Your Gramma too?”

  “Sometimes, but usually not. It was a special thing I did with my sister.”

  I watched her for a silent beat, wondering about that, trying to picture the two of them laughing over wine, or beer, or whatever they drank—until the waitress appeared and took our orders. Rose asked for a Peroni and I requested one too. The waitress returned with two tall, thin glasses, still fogged from the cold.