by Cynthia Eden
And the press? She knew Cash was right. They would be closing in. And Ana had no intention of being present when they arrived.
“I—I can take you back,” he said quickly. “As long as you don’t mind riding in the patrol car.”
“Not my first time back here.” She gave him a tired smile. “Just get me the hell away from this place.”
“Right, I will—”
“Ana!” Cash’s voice—strong, a bit worried.
So much for an easy escape.
“She’s here!” Deputy Welch called out. Her eyebrows beetled at the guy, but he totally missed her angry stare because he’d whirled around and was waving to Cash. “I’ve been keeping a close watch on her, just like I promised.”
As if she needed watching. Ana knew perfectly well how to protect herself—and the green deputy, if necessary—but it had quickly become apparent that the killer was long gone. The tire tracks showed that he’d driven away long before they arrived. And the way the blood had congealed . . . Tate’s death occurred hours before.
“Give me a moment with her, will you, deputy?” Cash murmured.
The deputy nodded and quickly made himself scarce.
Sighing, Ana slipped from the car. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d been hoping to vanish without facing Cash again. Maybe because that was her MO? Slip away . . . don’t look back.
“Are you all right?” Cash asked her, concern evident in his eyes.
Ana pushed back a lock of hair that wanted to tumble into her face. “I’m fine, Cash. Like I told you, that wasn’t my first dead body. With my line of work, it won’t be my last, either.”
He stepped closer to her. “You don’t have to bullshit with me.”
“I’m not. I’ve seen—”
“That kill was particularly brutal, and we both know it. Hell, you think I wasn’t flinching in there? I was. The guy was carved up, Ana. I didn’t want you to have that image stuck in your head. I didn’t want you to have the nightmares that come from seeing shit like that.”
You think that’s bad? Try watching your brother kill two men before your eyes. Even better, watch your mother die right in front of you as she screams for help. Try being the one who gets carved up by a sadistic, stoned-out-of-his-mind bastard. Ana cleared her throat. “I already have nightmares, and I manage them just fine.” She managed them by having as many late nights as she could. By working herself into exhaustion so that when she slept, it would be like falling into a deep, black void. She’d be too tired for the nightmares to plague her—that was the general plan, anyway.
Only it didn’t always work out for her.
She glanced over his shoulder, peering at the chaos that still reigned around the cabin. “What happens now?”
“Now . . . we tell the public that Bernie Tate is dead. We reassure people that he is no longer a threat.”
“And the person who killed him? You don’t think that perp is a threat?”
His head dipped toward her. “I think the same thing you do, Ana. That this kill was personal. That it involved a whole lot of rage and hate. A very smart individual went to a whole lot of trouble to get Bernie Tate out of that prison, to get him to this cabin, to kill him. The attack was focused totally on Bernie, not any innocent civilians. Hell, even the transport driver was left alive.”
Yes, he did think the same thing she did. “I guess my job is done then.” Bernie had been found and the Feds would be taking over the hunt for the Butcher’s killer. “It was . . . good to see you again, Cash.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Actually, I do.” And maybe that truth surprised her. “Not the best of circumstances but . . .” She let that sentence trail away because Ana wasn’t sure what to say. She floundered a moment, then managed, “I’m glad you’re doing well. And I wish you luck catching this killer.”
He stared down at her.
She tried not to fidget.
“Over again, huh?” Cash murmured. His hand rose and the back of his knuckles feathered over her cheek. “At least this time, you’re telling me good-bye.”
She flinched.
“Ana, shit, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” Her chin lifted. “Good-bye, Cash. I’ll get the deputy to take me back to town, and come morning . . .” Because the sky was already beginning to darken again. “I’ll fly home. If you need me to hunt down anyone else for you, well, you know where I am.”
“I know.” His expression softened. “Good-bye, Ana.”
He turned away. Headed back toward the pack of agents and deputies. Ana climbed into the patrol car. A few moments later, Deputy Welch was driving her toward the small town of Heather, Virginia.
No repeat performance.
When Cash had approached Ana about working together, she’d been clear regarding her list of conditions.
Condition one . . . honesty. She’d wanted total honesty from him.
He hadn’t given it to her. She’d found that shit out fast and her eyes had flashed with fire at him.
Condition two . . . she’d wanted their past kept secret. He’d done that part—hadn’t breathed a word to anyone about their night together. Mostly because that night was his. Just as she’d been his, for a few precious hours.
No repeat performance. Ana had used those exact words with him. She’d said they would be professional, partners only.
But the case was over and . . .
Cash’s gaze slid to the thin motel room wall. He was back in town. Night had fallen. The press had been appeased, for the moment, and he should be crashing.
He wasn’t. Adrenaline hummed just beneath his skin, and that fucking thin wall . . . it separated him from Ana. She was in the room next door to him, by his request. He’d slipped the desk clerk an extra twenty to be near her.
Why?
Because he still had the urge to protect her, even with Bernie gone? Yeah, that fucking urge was there.
But also . . . he’d just wanted to be close to her. Ana Young was a mystery to him, and he’d always enjoyed solving mysteries. Smart, sexy, dangerous . . . that was his Ana. But there was so much more to her than what met the eye.
He wanted Ana. The desire he felt for her should have vanished over the last two years. It hadn’t. If anything, it had just grown stronger. When he’d seen her walk into Gabe’s office at LOST, he’d felt as if he’d been punched. The desire he’d felt for her had come raging back to the surface and it had taken all of his self-control to stand there, to act normal . . . when he’d wanted to grab Ana and pull her close.
Not the way I’m supposed to be. I’m the agent on the fast track. I have my control in place, always. Except with Ana.
He whirled away from the wall. He needed a shower, a cold one. To wash away the day and to—
A door squeaked. A faint sound, but one he could hear because of the thin wall he’d been cursing just moments before. His gaze shot to the clock on the small bedside table. Close to midnight. But . . .
He hurried toward the blinds near his room door. He cracked those blinds and peered outside.
But Ana is leaving.
Where was she going? And why?
None of my business. I should go get in the shower. Ana doesn’t want a repeat performance.
It had been one hell of a day. Maybe she didn’t want a repeat performance, but maybe she wanted a friend. He could do that for her, couldn’t he? He could be that for her.
Cash grabbed his coat and hurried outside. Ana was already walking through the parking lot, her battered jacket over her delicate shoulders, but when she heard his feet pounding on the pavement behind her, Ana swung around, her body tensing.
Cash put up his hands. “Easy. It’s just me.”
The tension didn’t leave her body. “Like seeing you is supposed to make me relax.”
His gaze swept over her. “I heard you leave. I just wanted to . . . to check on you.”
Her soft laughter floated in the night. “There you go again. Being
the good guy. Do you ever get tired of that role?”
Cash took another step toward her. “You have me all wrong, Ana.”
“No, I don’t.” She rolled back her shoulders. “I am absolutely fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl.”
“Ana—”
“I’m going out for a drink. There’s a bar around the corner.” She pointed to the left. “I saw it when Deputy Welch dropped me off. I couldn’t sleep, so grabbing a drink seemed like a good idea.”
He nodded. “It does seem like a good idea. I think I’ll grab one, too.”
Ana didn’t speak.
His gaze sharpened on her. “Unless that’s a problem?” The moon was full, hanging low and heavy in the sky, and there were plenty of lights shining in the parking lot. It was easy for him to see Ana’s face.
And the flash of anger that just appeared.
“No problem,” she said, but her voice was tight. “It’s a free country. You get to do what you want.” She turned to the left and started walking toward the bar.
“You don’t get to do everything you want,” Cash said, sliding closer to her and automatically shortening his strides to match hers. “No one gets that option. We can’t hurt others. Can’t attack, can’t kill without reason.”
“Oh, Cash, you sound like such an FBI agent.” There was the faintest thread of laughter in her voice. “Maybe shut that off, just for tonight?”
It wasn’t possible for him to do that. He knew Ana had plenty of secrets from her past, but he did, too. Secrets he’d worked hard to bury.
Secrets that could hurt innocent people.
People . . . like Ana.
He should have stayed away from her. Always. But Ana drew him in. Even then, he was stepping closer to her. Her scent—light, sweet, feminine—teased him.
Cash could hear the music from the bar—a rock song that was beating out in a powerful rhythm that filled the night. As they neared the small, flat building, he saw a bouncer sitting beside the entrance. The guy just waved them inside, and when they stepped in, Cash saw why.
Obviously, a slow night.
A small crowd stood in front of the band, maybe fifteen people. A few stragglers sat at the bar. The place was dim, the music loud, and no one seemed to be giving them so much as a second glance as they stood inside the doorway.
“My kind of place,” Ana murmured, then she headed for the bar. She tapped her fingers in time with the music. When the bartender appeared, Ana leaned toward him and said, “Give me a beer.”
“Make it two,” Cash told him, lifting two fingers as he slid onto the stool beside her.
A moment later, the bartender pushed two foaming mugs toward them.
Ana lifted her mug and gave Cash a little salute. “Shall we drink to our good-bye?”
He didn’t want a good-bye from her. He wanted one hell of a lot more.
But she was already tipping back her mug and taking a quick drink. When she was done, a small dollop of foam clung to her upper lip. As he watched, her tongue slid out and licked away that foam, sliding over the slight edge of her scar.
He grabbed his mug and drank fast, hard.
Her eyebrows rose. “Guess you enjoy the beer.”
No, I’m just trying to keep my hands off you.
She hopped onto the stool. Her fingers kept tapping on the bar. She turned so that her eyes were on the band and on the small group of dancers out there. “I like places like this,” Ana mused, taking another sip from her beer. “Dark, with loud music. No one knows who you are and they don’t give a shit about your past in dives like this.”
He lowered his mug to the bar. “You enjoy being anonymous.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Her body was swaying now, and she was still staring at the dance floor. Her gaze cut toward him. “Don’t suppose you want to dance?”
Good thing he wasn’t drinking the beer. If he had been, Cash would have choked. Had Ana really asked him to dance? “I don’t . . . dancing isn’t . . .” Dammit, he was screwing this up.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll find another partner.” Then Ana hopped off the bar stool and headed straight for the dance floor.
I’ll find another partner.
“Buddy,” the bartender muttered from behind him, “you are one dumb sonofabitch.”
As he saw another man approach Ana, Cash realized the bartender was right. He grabbed his mug and drained the rest of the beer in one long gulp.
The FBI agent was in the bar.
Shit, shit, shit.
Going out for a drink had seemed like a good idea, until now. Until FBI Special Agent Cash Knox had appeared with Ana Young in tow.
Ana, I know all about you.
Sinking back into the shadows at the bar seemed like the best plan. No, getting the hell out of there was the best plan.
No one knows it was me. No one has any clue about me and Bernie. The FBI agent wasn’t there to search for a killer. He was just there to drink. While Ana Young . . . she was dancing. Laughing with some blond guy.
They had no clue.
I thought they would still be at the cabin. Looking for clues.
But maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they realized the truth. Bernie Tate had gotten exactly what he deserved.
A fast trip to hell.
Ana was laughing. Would she have been laughing if Bernie hadn’t died? Would she have been laughing when Bernie came for her?
No. She’s glad he’s dead. She’s celebrating.
A slow smile spread on the killer’s face.
And I’ll celebrate, too. Celebrate tonight . . . and then get to work again tomorrow.
Chapter Four
Matt Quade was her type. Tall, muscled, with a rough edge. He danced easily, his smile was wicked, and she could see the edge of a tribal tattoo sliding up the side of his neck.
His hands were around her waist, and he had her pulled close to his body. Not too close, not yet. After all, they’d just met.
But Matt’s dark gaze promised her a definite escape.
“I have got to say,” Matt told her, his words a rumble as he leaned in close to her ear. “That scar on your lip is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I am dying to—”
“Back away, buddy.”
Cash’s voice. Cash’s very cold voice.
“It’s my turn to dance,” Cash said.
Matt stiffened against her, and he turned toward the guy who’d just interrupted his moment, a snarl curling his lips.
Ana wasn’t in the mood for any macho bullshit, so she just shoved against Matt’s chest. “Thanks for the dance.”
Matt’s brows pulled low.
“He’s the guy I came here with,” Ana stated, her voice low, easy. “He’s the one I’ll be leaving with.”
“Huh. Like that, is it?” Matt’s fingers fell away from her waist. “My mistake.” He gave a little nod to Cash and headed toward the bar.
No, it isn’t like that. But she hadn’t wanted to get caught in some kind of pissing match. Ana turned to face Cash. “I thought you didn’t dance.”
“You’re leaving with me?”
She smiled at him. “In your dreams.”
“Only every damn night.” He caught her hand and pulled her against him. “To warn you, I can’t dance for shit.”
A quick laugh tumbled from her.
“But I couldn’t stand the sight of you being so close to him.” Cash’s fingers slid down to curve over her waist. “Of him touching you.”
Alarms flashed. “You sound jealous.”
“Because I am fucking jealous.”
The band had slowed down. Their bodies swayed and brushed and an electric thrill surged through her. “You’re not supposed to be.” She shook her head. “You have no reason to be. We weren’t fucking, Cash. We were dancing in a public bar. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I wanted to be the one with you.”
She looked up at him through her lashes.
He growled. “I’m .
. . sorry. Okay? I know I’m being an ass.”
She shrugged and slipped a little closer to him. “You are, but I wanted to dance with you, so I’m glad you’re here. This once, I’ll forgive you for being an ass.” Because Matt said the wrong thing . . . he pushed . . .
“I saw your face,” Cash murmured, “when he mentioned your scar. He hurt you.”
She didn’t speak. Ana had thought she’d been more careful. She usually guarded her expression much better.
“I wanted to drive my fist into him.”
Shocked, she pulled back. Stopped dancing. “That . . . isn’t you.”
“Isn’t it?” He pulled her back against him. “How many times do I have to say that you’ve got me all wrong, Ana Young?”
She could feel the leashed power of his body against her.
“You think I’m the good guy because I have the badge, but you don’t know who I was before I joined the FBI.”
“I know you pretty well.” Intimately well. He was the kind of lover who took exquisite care of his partner. The kind always in control.
The kind who didn’t understand that sometimes, she needed something darker.
Rougher.
Because I’m not a good girl, Cash. I haven’t been for a very long time. When a woman only felt alive when she was hunting down some of the worst criminals out there, yes, that was a problem. One that a shrink would have a field day solving. Too bad Ana wasn’t the sharing sort. She’d been forced to see a few shrinks when she’d been a teenager. She’d bullshitted them, told them exactly what she knew they needed to hear, and then she’d left their offices with their carefully muted colors. She’d gone back to her home, a home with a father who was slowly drinking himself to death because he couldn’t bear the guilt tearing him apart.
And she’d broken down.
Even Asher didn’t know about the pain she carried. She hadn’t been able to tell her twin. He already shouldered far too much guilt.