by Cynthia Eden
***
“Watch your ass.”
Flynn turned at the terse words. He was waiting near the elevator in Cecelia’s building. She had stopped to talk quietly with Mark. And, of course, the FBI agent had used that time to close in on him.
Aaron’s eyes were slits. His hands were on his hips, and he’d pushed his coat back just enough for Flynn to see the holster of his gun. Was that supposed to be intimidating? It wasn’t.
“This is my crime scene,” Aaron added darkly. “You don’t touch anything, you got me? You stay with Cecelia. You guard her, if that’s your deal.”
If?
“But you don’t get in my way. You don’t slow me down. And you remember that I am in charge.”
Flynn couldn’t help it. He smiled.
“Why the hell are you smiling?”
“I thought you were going to tell me to watch my ass…around Cecelia. To be careful because you didn’t want me getting in your way.”
He heard the special agent’s heart rate accelerate. He’d also picked up on those exact freaking thoughts from the special agent a moment ago, only the guy hadn’t been ballsy enough to speak those words.
Flynn’s smile stretched. “If you’d told me that, I would have replied that you could go fuck yourself.”
Aaron blinked at him.
“But you didn’t say that. You just got all possessive about your crime scene, and that’s fine. Your show there. I won’t touch evidence. I’ll just keep my hands where they belong.”
“And where do you think they belong?”
Cecelia was hurrying toward them. When she reached Flynn’s side, he put his hand on her shoulder.
Aaron didn’t speak, but Flynn knew the guy had gotten the message.
They belong on her. Because she will belong to me.
***
“Ever been to a crime scene before?” Aaron asked Flynn as he bent to slide under a band of yellow, police tape. The police tape blocked off the entrance to Jennifer McKenzie’s apartment.
Cecelia bent and slid under the tape, too, and Flynn followed her. He didn’t answer Aaron’s question because, hell, he had no idea if he’d been to a crime scene before.
“Flynn can handle himself,” Cecelia replied coolly. “Don’t worry about him.”
Aaron tossed them both a pair of gloves. Eyes on Flynn, Aaron gritted, “Don’t touch any evidence.”
The guy was obsessed with his evidence. Fine. Flynn pulled on the gloves and glanced around the apartment. They were in the den now, and the place looked absolutely normal. A TV. Couch and loveseat. Some style and fashion magazines scattered over the coffee table.
“No signs of a break-in at the door.” Aaron pointed toward the lock. “That’s consistent with the previous crime scenes. The guy gets inside without leaving so much as a scratch on the locks. With the Georgia cases, we thought the perp charmed his way inside.”
Cecelia moved to the center of the room. She glanced around, noting the black and white photos on the wall. “Did she take these?”
“Yeah, Jennifer was a photographer. The place is filled with her work.” Aaron pointed to the right. “Her bedroom is in there.” Then he led the way.
Flynn watched Cecelia square her shoulders before she followed the special agent. Her heart rate had sped up, too.
Flynn didn’t follow immediately. He glanced around the den, taking time to survey the scene. His nostrils flared as he pulled in the scents around him. He knew Bryce King’s scent. He knew it had been a long shot, but Flynn had hoped some of the man’s scent would linger in the air.
It didn’t. Or maybe just too many others had been in the apartment since the murder. He caught wisps of strong cologne, the hint of cigarettes, a wave of alcohol, but nothing that tied straight to Bryce. Not in that room, anyway.
He stalked into the bedroom. Cecelia stood at the foot of the bed—a bed that had been stripped of its covers.
“Crime scene team took the covers in for examination. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find DNA,” Aaron added, but he didn’t sound overly hopeful. The guy must not believe in luck.
“Were there signs of sexual activity?” Cecelia’s voice was soft, calm. Completely at odds with her racing heart.
“Just like the other vics,” Aaron told her. “He wore a rubber, didn’t leave anything behind. Or at least, that’s how it looks so far. Our crime scene guys—”
“Are checking everything, right.” She nodded briskly and glanced at the dresser. “The jewelry was there?”
“All laid out, like the guy couldn’t wait for us to see the pieces.”
She frowned. Moved closer to the dresser. Stared at the empty surface, then looked back at the bed. “Maybe it wasn’t just us.”
“Come again?” Aaron looked confused.
“Maybe he wanted Jennifer to see, too. To know that she was another in his line.”
“Yeah, well, if that shit is true, then why didn’t she fight him? No skin under her nails, the only bruising is around her neck, and—”
“She could have been afraid.” Cecelia slipped toward the window. Her gloved hand hovered over the lock. “This is new.”
Flynn could see the shiny, gleaming lock.
Aaron huddled closer to her. “Sure as hell is.” He darted to the second window. “So is this one. Both windows have new locks.”
Cecelia turned to Flynn. “She’s on the first floor in this building. It would be easy for someone to gain access through her windows.”
“Those locks aren’t broken, though,” Aaron pointed out. “No signs of forced entry on either one.”
“Not today, there isn’t. But the locks are new,” Cecelia said again. Flynn could hear the sudden excitement in her voice. “And you get new locks for a reason.”
Flynn crossed his arms over his chest. His nostrils flared as he pulled in the scents from that room. He moved closer to the bed. There was no trace of Bryce King there. The guy had been real freaking good at cleaning up after himself.
“Maybe the locks were just old, and they needed replacing.” Aaron didn’t even sound like he bought that line.
Cecelia inclined her head. “Or maybe Jennifer McKenzie felt that she wasn’t safe enough here. You did say she told her friend that she thought someone was in the apartment with her. Maybe the guy was in here, and Jennifer got the locks to try and keep him out.”
Aaron advanced a step toward her. “I thought your old profile said the perp was seducing the vics, not breaking into their homes.”
“Sometimes profiles change,” she replied. “Sometimes killers do, too.”
Flynn knew she was right. Killers did change. Especially if those killers had gotten a serious power advantage courtesy of the Lazarus formula. Why, why had Wyman Wright and Landon Meyer brought someone like Bryce King into the program? That didn’t make a damn bit of sense to Flynn.
Voice thoughtful, Cecelia noted, “Killers adapt. They grow smarter, and they perfect their techniques with every crime. It could be the perp did originally charm his way into the homes of his victims, but maybe the rush he felt from that method wasn’t strong enough. Maybe…perhaps something happened and it made him enjoy the thrill of the hunt more.”
“He got a taste for stalking,” Flynn growled. What he really thought was that the bastard had gotten off on the fear Cecelia felt in Lazarus. The guy had enjoyed sneaking into her room. Watching her. And he’d freaking tried to recreate that rush with Jennifer McKenzie.
Cecelia put her hands behind her back. “Aaron, you should question the others in this building. Question the shop owners close by. See if anyone remembers a man following Jennifer in the last few weeks.”
“Already talked to the neighbors.” Aaron’s reply was immediate. “They didn’t see anything or anyone suspicious.”
She glanced at the windows. Flynn thought about her words. You get new locks for a reason. “He would have come at night,” Flynn said.
Aaron gave a rough bark of laughter. “What? Are you a
bodyguard and a would-be profiler?”
He was a man who understood monsters and obsession. “He would have been less likely to be seen by others at night. And, at first, Jennifer might not have even realized someone was stalking her.” Not someone like Bryce. A man who wouldn’t make so much as a sound when he slipped into her home. Flynn’s gaze stayed on Cecelia. “He might have come right into her room and watched her, and she didn’t even know it.”
Cecelia flinched. Flynn’s hands fisted.
Aaron gave a low whistle. “That is some twisted shit. You’ve got a dark mind, Flynn.”
Tell me something I don’t know. “That’s because I’ve seen plenty of dark things.”
Aaron glanced at Cecelia. “You think your bodyguard is on to something?”
“Yes. I think the killer watched her, and I think she eventually realized it. That’s why she got the new locks.”
“Damn.” The lines near Aaron’s mouth deepened. “Damn.”
Her head tilted as Cecelia seemed to consider something new. “When we were driving to the victim’s place, I noticed there was a club just a few blocks down the street.”
Aaron nodded. “Yeah, and Jennifer visited that place regularly. At least, according to her best friend, Sue Rayley, the vic did. Sue is the one who found Jennifer—and the woman went to pieces.”
Finding a dead loved one was never easy. Not that Flynn could remember his loved ones. Couldn’t remember having them. Couldn’t remember losing them. Was that good? Or bad?
“We should check at the club,” Cecelia advised as she paced around the room. “Maybe the perp first noticed her at the club. In a big crowd, he could pick out his target easier. He would watch her there. The club is so close, she might have even walked back home, and that would have given him the perfect chance to follow her.” Cecelia stilled in front of the dresser. “The jewelry pieces were found here? All four of them?”
“Five were found there. The pieces from the previous crimes, and an emerald ring that Sue identified as belonging to Jennifer.” Sadness flickered in Aaron’s eyes. “Five pieces of jewelry because we have five victims now.”
Bryce King was Subject Five.
“Five that we know about.” Cecelia pressed her lips together. After a moment, she murmured, “But I’m starting to wonder if there are more.”
“Shit.” Aaron’s eyes widened. “How many more?” His phone rang before Cecelia could reply. Aaron glanced down at the screen. “It’s the Bureau. Got to take it.” He put the phone to his ear as he strode from the room. “Agent Barrett…”
Cecelia hurried toward Flynn. When she was right in front of Flynn, she whispered, “It’s him. It’s really Bryce.”
The words didn’t sound like a question, but Flynn still nodded. “It’s him.”
“But you didn’t smell him on the rope,” she said quickly. “You didn’t catch his scent—”
“I think he washed it before he dropped it at the garage.” Because Bryce was a smart predator. “Might want to get the crime scene guys to check out Jennifer’s washer and dryer.”
Her eyes squeezed closed. “I didn’t think anyone else was the target.”
He didn’t know what she meant.
“I thought…I thought he’d come after me. But then the weeks passed and nothing happened, and I convinced myself I was safe.” Her eyes opened, and her stare held pain. Anger. No, rage. “If he was coming after someone, it should have been me. I was the one at Lazarus. I was the one poking and pushing into his mind. Me. Jennifer McKenzie was innocent. She shouldn’t have been pulled into this mess. It should have been—”
“Don’t fucking say it again,” Flynn ordered, and he knew his voice was savage. He felt savage right then. “It shouldn’t have been you. It should never be you.”
“She didn’t know what was happening.” Her head turned and Cecelia stared at the bed. “We don’t know what he is capable of doing, psychically. What if he got in her head? What if he made her do things? Made her let him in her home, her bed?”
“He can push emotions on people. We know that.” Or at least, Bryce had been able to push his emotions onto the other Lazarus subjects. Could Bryce’s power work on normal humans? Shit, it stood to reason that it could.
“He could have made her feel safe with him.” She was still staring at the bed. “Or he could have made her feel absolutely terrified.”
Bryce had choked and killed the victim in her own bed. Flynn was sure the woman had felt plenty of terror.
“All right…” Aaron was back in the bedroom. “Tell me why he’s doing this, Cecelia.”
She jerked.
Aaron didn’t seem to notice her reaction. “Erotic asphyxiation, that was what you and the FBI profilers called it last time. From what we can tell, he’s up to his same old tricks with that—sex and death. Before, you said that the perp got off on control.”
“Absolute control,” Cecelia corrected as her spine straightened. “This perp values absolute control. Sex makes you vulnerable, and he’s attacking at the most vulnerable time for his victims. Even if…even if this started as a consensual sexual game, when he starts to tighten the rope, the game ends for his partner. The rope gets tighter and tighter, and he feels more and more powerful.”
“You think the first time was an accident?” Aaron swiped a hand over his jaw. “Maybe the sex got too wild and he held the rope too tight? You think that’s the way it all started?”
“I don’t think so. Not for this guy.”
Flynn didn’t think so, either. Not for Bryce. On their test missions, Bryce had been cold and deliberate. He’d killed. Never hesitated to attack the enemy. But during their Lazarus days, they’d all been just attack dogs.
Even outside of Lazarus, they were still barely human.
I feel more human when I’m with her. His gaze was on Cecelia. Did she understand what she did for him? Probably not. She probably had no fucking clue. And he was lying to her. Every single moment. Covering his ass. Because he wasn’t with her just so that he could keep her safe, though that was damn well a top priority for him.
He was with her…because she kept him safe. She helped him to control the darker impulses that ran in his blood. In his mind. In…him.
“Tell me why the vics didn’t fight back.” Aaron was shaking his head. “’Cause I don’t understand—”
“They may have been willing participants in the strangulation, I told you that before.”
“That was their kink of choice,” Aaron muttered.
Cecelia frowned at him.
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “These cases—shit, after a while, they get to you. The dead just don’t stop coming. You think you can make a difference. You think you can save someone, but all you do is chase monsters.”
Flynn was aware of a heavy tension in the room. He could practically feel the rage pouring off the special agent. He moved closer to the other man.
And you fear that the worst monster is in you.
Flynn stilled. What in the actual hell? Had that thought been his? Or…the special agent’s?
“I talked to the friends and family members of our previous victims.” Cecelia’s body was tight with a fine tension. “They didn’t know anything about the other women having any unusual sexual proclivities.”
Damn. Flynn was sure those conversations hadn’t been easy. “Maybe they just didn’t know the truth. Not like you’d confide the fact that you like to be choked during sex to your mom or dad.”
“In a situation like this, you’re more likely to confide a truth like that to a close friend…a best friend.” Cecelia’s fingers trailed over the dresser. “You’d be surprised at the secrets women tell their friends.”
“Then you’re saying I need to check in with Sue.” Aaron pointed at Cecelia. “Got it. Sue is still at the Bureau office. I’ll go in and talk to her, see what I can learn.” He waved around the room. “Anything else you want to see?”
“Not right now,” Cecelia murmured. “But I
will want to talk with Jennifer’s friend, too.”
Aaron’s face hardened a bit. “After the FBI finishes with her.”
Right. Because he was still calling the shots.
Flynn glanced around the room once more. There were photos of flowers on the walls. Lilies. Daisies. Happy pictures. The woman had seemed to have a good life. And then it was all taken away from her when Jennifer McKenzie was killed.
I was killed, too. Only I came back. I had a life before, and maybe it was a good life. Maybe it was shit. I don’t know. I don’t have pictures. I don’t have memories. I don’t have anything.
He shadowed Cecelia’s movements until they were back outside. Aaron climbed into his car and sped away, but Flynn and Cecelia lingered outside of the building a moment longer.
“Your ex is in way over his head.” Flynn thought that was obvious.
She glanced at him, then gave a quick nod. “I don’t like lying to Aaron. Actually, I don’t like lying to anyone.”
“But you do it well.”
Her delicate jaw tightened. “Is that supposed to be some kind of compliment?”
“You know I suck at the social things.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t like lying.” Her voice was low, but the street was deserted so he didn’t know why she was taking such care with her words. “But I did learn to lie well when I was younger, okay? I had to do it. In order to survive.” She started marching away. “I want to check out the club.”
He caught her easily, his fingers curling around her arm and spinning her back to face him. “Why did you lie to survive?”
“This isn’t the place. Definitely not the time.”
“Your heart rate speeds up when you lie. Your face doesn’t change expression. You don’t blink, you don’t sweat. You stay so cool.”
“I said this wasn’t the time.”
“Why did you lie?” He wasn’t letting her go. “Tell me, Cecelia. You know my dark past, don’t you think I deserve to know just one of the secrets you carry?”
He thought she wasn’t going to answer. Thought she’d pull away. Instead, she stepped closer to him. “If I hadn’t lied so very well when I was fifteen years old, I would have been tossed into a psych ward and never let out. I would have been a prisoner for my whole life, and that wasn’t going to happen. Do you understand? That wasn’t going to be my life. So I learned to lie. To lie really well. I learned to wear a mask, and while I was wearing my mask, I learned that everyone else had masks on, too. What you see is never what you get. We’re all pretending to be something we’re not.”