by Cynthia Eden
“You’re insane, aren’t you?” She spun away from him and started to pace. “That was in the FBI files, people suspect—”
“Crazy like a fox, baby.”
She stopped her pacing to glare at him.
But he just looked all smug and satisfied. Like he’d already won their battle. “Are you going to take my deal? Going to keep your close proximity to me while we hunt this killer? Or do you plan to run back to your little FBI group with your tail between your legs and let them know that their all-access pass to my life has been revoked?”
No, he had not just said that. Bree pulled in two slow breaths. She squared her shoulders, straightened her spine, and stalked toward him. When they were a foot apart, she flatly stated, “I don’t run to anyone with my tail between my legs.”
His eyes seemed to light up.
“When I was a teenager, I survived the world thinking I was a killer. I survived everything they threw at me, and I came out stronger for it.”
She could have sworn that he looked at her with…pride?
“We are so alike,” he murmured. “The world has thought I was killer since I was eighteen years old. I took everything they threw at me, and it made me stronger.” He reached for her hand. Brought it to his lips. “Be careful.”
“Why? What will you do to me?” What was he threatening—
“I might just fall in love with you.”
And she’d thought finding his file was shocking. “What?” Say it again.
“If that happens, there will never be any escape for you.” His fingers slid along her inner wrist, and a shiver chased down her spine. “More alike than you realize,” he said, eyes thoughtful on her.
She was leaning toward him again. Why was she leaning toward him? Why was she suddenly trapped by his eyes? And why was she thinking about his mouth being on hers? About how well he could kiss and how the attraction between them was so powerful that it seemed almost unnatural.
Terrifyingly so.
“Get some sleep,” Kace told her, voice almost tender. “You’re not finding out my secrets tonight. But if you stay close to me, well, who the hell knows what you might learn tomorrow?”
True. Tomorrow, she could grill him. They could go back to being enemies or…partners?
His hand slid to her elbow. He escorted her out of the study, moving like he was some old-school gentleman as he kept perfect pace with her. But at the foot of the stairs, he paused and turned toward her. “You know what I think would scare you the most?”
She couldn’t look away from his eyes.
“If you came to love me…if you loved me, even though you thought I might be a killer. I think that would terrify you.”
Ice seemed to surround her heart. “I’m not going to love you.”
Maybe her words would make him angry. Maybe—
He smiled at her. “We’ll see about that.”
Chapter Nine
“Ah, hello, sleepy head,” Kace murmured as he moved away from the stove. He’d heard the pad of her footsteps as Bree entered the kitchen. “I was starting to think I needed to drag you out of bed.”
And the idea had certainly tempted.
He turned toward her—and drew up short. How could a woman look that gorgeous? Her hair was wet, her face completely make-up free, and she was wearing the clothes she’d had on the night before.
Absolutely gorgeous.
“What?” She tucked a lock of wet hair behind her ear. “I didn’t have anything else to wear.”
“Total lie.” He made his voice brisk. “I had Remy bring by new clothing and personal supplies for you this morning.”
Her brow furrowed.
He waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Personal supplies. You know, deodorant, make-up, all of those hair items that women seem to—”
“I know what personal supplies are. I’m frowning because I’m surprised you got all of that for me.”
“I told you that I’d take care of them last night.” He pushed a plate of eggs across the marble bar top. “You should learn I’m a man of my word.”
Her gaze swept the kitchen. “There are three chandeliers in here.”
Yes.
“The fridge looks bigger than the first car I owned.”
“You must have owned a small car.”
Her lips twitched. “You know this room has more square footage than some of the restaurants in this town.”
“True.” A shrug. “So?”
“So, you’re in this massive, expensive as hell kitchen…making me eggs?”
He put another plate next to hers. “I’m making myself eggs. I had extras, so doing some for you wasn’t a bother.”
“You’re lying.” She sounded surprised. “I can…tell. You specifically made these for me.”
Whatever. He sat on one of the bar stools. “I like cooking. Can’t bad guys enjoy doing that every now and then?”
Bree gaped at him.
“Your eggs are getting cold.”
“Explain this to me.” She sat on the bar stool next to him. Their knees brushed. “All of it. The house—okay, you said you bought it because you grew up poor, you—”
“No.” His hand tightened around a fork. “I grew up with nothing. There is a difference between being poor and having nothing.” His head turned as he pinned her with a glance. “I had nothing. I had to fight for every single thing that I now possess. Understand me, I learned to fight dirty, and I learned to fight hard.”
Bree nibbled on her lower lip for a moment. “I—”
“There were times when I had no food. Times when I was so hungry that I could feel my stomach knotting and cramping. It was on those days that I swore things would change. One day, I’d have any kind of meal I wanted. I’d have a kitchen as big as a fucking restaurant.” He smiled at her. “And I’d be the chef.”
Her gaze seemed to soften on him.
“Careful, Bree,” he murmured.
“Why?”
“You’re starting to look at me as if I’m not a monster.”
Because that was part of his plan. If he told her about the dark parts of his life…about how he’d been an enforcer when he was sixteen years old, about how he used to beat the shit out of people who tried to screw him over…
Well, her gaze wouldn’t go soft.
And if she knew about the things that he still did…
Bree certainly wouldn’t be on his side. That couldn’t happen. He needed her on his side. If he was going to come out as a victor in this particular battle, he had to get an FBI agent to vouch for him. To be willing to trade anything for him.
I’m going to use you, Bree.
Maybe they’d use each other. Maybe they’d have one hell of a time along the way.
Or maybe they’d both be burned to ashes. Only time would tell.
“We’re going to the crime scenes today,” he announced.
“We are?”
“Yes, you’re still here. You haven’t run out the front door, so I take that to mean you’ve decided to accept my offer.” He reached for his coffee. Enjoyed a slow sip. Some things should be savored in life.
Bree was one of those things. When he got her in his bed, he would absolutely savor her. Every single delectable inch of her.
“You didn’t really give me a choice.”
No, he hadn’t. “We’re going to hit the crime scenes first.”
“Why?” Suspicion was heavy in her tone.
Sometimes, she was so cute. “No, baby, it’s not because the guilty party likes to go back to the scene of the crime.”
Her golden eyes were almost slits. Someone was angry in the mornings.
“It’s because I want your take on things.” This wasn’t just about her having access to his world. It was about Kace being about to use the expertise of an FBI agent on his investigation. “I want to know what you see when you look at the crime scenes. I want to know what you think of the killer.”
She glanced down at the plate of eggs. She hadn�
��t eaten a bite. “I’m not the one who made the profile for the New Orleans Strangler. I’m the junior agent. Grayson is the one leading things.”
Well, no wonder the case was so messed up. “Maybe you should have made the profile.”
Her gaze darted to his. “What makes you think I’m more qualified than Grayson? He’s been in the field a whole lot longer than I have.”
“You graduated summa cum laude with your Bachelor’s, then did the same damn thing with your Master’s. All while working two jobs. According to the intel that Remy collected, you were at the top of your class in the FBI. Every single thing I’ve thrown at you, you’ve handled.” He wished she’d eat. Her eggs were getting cold. “I don’t want that dipshit Grayson controlling anything. I want to know what you see. I want you to create a new Strangler profile for me. We’re starting from scratch. I want to find out what’s in your head.”
She seemed to consider his words. “Okay.”
Grudging but…it was something.
Finally, Bree reached for her fork. She loaded up the fluffy, scrambled eggs and took a bite. Her eyes widened. As soon as she swallowed, Bree enthusiastically declared, “Those are amazing!”
“Of course, they are.” A shrug. He was Kace Quick, after all. He didn’t do anything half-way.
“You are not what I expect.”
No, baby, I’m exactly what you think I am. He smiled at her. I’m a killer. And when I find this bastard who thinks he can mess with my world, who thinks he can target women I know…I am going to make him beg me before I end his life.
***
The jeans hugged her legs and the white shirt billowed around her as Bree kept her arms locked around Kace’s stomach. The motorcycle’s engine was growling, the wind whipped against her, and she realized that she’d just joined the side of the bad guy.
He braked on a side street, a narrow little crook of a space near Pirate’s Alley.
Pirate’s Alley.
The small lane was nestled on the side of the St. Louis Cathedral. Tourists strolled up and down it, some pausing for photos, some intent on reaching the performers who filled nearby Jackson Square.
But she and Kace didn’t follow the tourists to the Square. Instead, Bree climbed off the motorcycle. Kace secured the bike, and then he took her hand. To others, they probably just seemed like a couple taking a romantic stroll.
They weren’t. They were hunting a killer.
They headed to the rear of the St. Louis Cathedral. Tall, green bushes provided some privacy, and she knew the killer had used those bushes to his advantage.
Kace swung open an old, wrought-iron gate, and they entered the small courtyard there.
“The first body was here,” Bree told Kace as she pointed to the ground. “A silk scarf was still around her throat. Red. So it looked like blood trailing from her neck. There were rope burns on her ankles and her wrists.”
“You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already read in the newspapers.” His gaze raked her. “Tell me what you feel here. Tell me why the killer chose this place. Tell me why he put her body in that spot. Tell me—”
“He chose the spot so that she could look up and see the shadow of the statue.” The tall statue of Jesus that held such a place of prominence. At night, the statue’s shadow was illuminated on the back of the Cathedral. To some, it was a heavenly sight. To others, it seemed a bit…foreboding. Intense. Ghostly? “He positioned her so that Lindsey was staring right at the statue.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Judgment,” the word slipped from her.
Kace gave a long, slow blink.
“I think it was a sign of judgment.” That hadn’t been in Grayson’s profile, but she believed it. The scene, the placement of the body—“Her final moments were being judged.”
“And I guess she was found guilty, since the bastard killed her here.”
She walked toward the spot where Lindsey’s body had been discovered. “There was no sexual assault. With strangulations…the crimes are usually deeply personal, often sexual, so it’s possible the killer still found a release, even if he didn’t violate her body.”
“He violated her body plenty,” Kace growled. “He fucking killed her.”
There was so much rage in his voice. Bree’s gaze jerked to him.
“You really thought I could do this shit? Strangle a woman because it was personal and sexual? And get off on her death?”
Tread carefully. “It is believed you fit—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what Grayson believed with his profile. Do you believe I could do that?”
Could he strangle a woman, get off on seeing the life drain from her?
“It’s all because of Brittney.” Again, his voice was little more than a fierce, rough growl. “Maybe we should clear that shit up, right now. No other cops ever cared about my side of the story, but I’ll tell you.”
The bells of the church rang. Service was in session. It was a Sunday, after all. Plenty of people were inside, but only she and Kace were behind the Cathedral.
“She cheated on me. I found out, and I left her. Turned my back on her and hooked up with someone else. Two days later, Brittney was dead. The bastard who killed her had used one of my old shirts to strangle her. So, my DNA—yeah, it was everywhere. The fact that I’d been snagged by the cops too many times as a kid made me a perfect suspect. They were ready to throw me in a cell and lock me away for the rest of my life.” His eyes burned with emotion. “But they overlooked one small point.”
His alibi. She’d read this. Turned out, he’d been with another girl at the time. One who’d finally come forward—even though her too rich family had tried to keep her relationship with Kace quiet—and offered up her testimony on his behalf. “The girl you were with,” Bree whispered. “Susannah—”
“They overlooked the fact that I was innocent. And there was no way I was going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. If the cops catch me for the things I’ve actually done, if they actually get a jury to agree to lock me away—fine. I’ll do time for that. But I will never be locked up for crimes that I didn’t commit.” Each word vibrated with a dark intensity. “I won’t.”
“That’s why we’re here, right? To look for proof of your innocence.”
His shoulders stiffened. “We’re here so that you can make me understand the killer. I understand him, then I can destroy him.”
A few other people milled into the courtyard.
He stepped closer to her. His arm curled around her shoulders as Kace brought Bree against his body. “Was Ciara’s body positioned the same way?”
“No.” She turned closer to him, pulling in his rich, masculine scent. “She wasn’t posed to stare up at the shadow. She was positioned so that she was looking away from it.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Grayson said—”
His left hand slid under her chin as he tipped back her head. “Fuck Grayson.”
Her brows lifted.
“Actually, don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t ever do that again.”
She smiled.
His eyes widened just a little. “You’ve got a gorgeous smile. I love that dimple.”
“Um…thank you.”
He gave a small shake of his head, as if to focus himself. “I don’t want to hear what Grayson thinks. I told you that already. I want to know what you think. Why did the killer leave one victim staring up at the shadow? But he turned the other away? What do you think?”
“I think he did it because he felt guilty. With the second kill, he felt like he was being judged, and he didn’t like that.”
“Why would he feel guilty?”
“Because something about Ciara was different.”
He took her hand, threading his fingers with hers, and led her out of the courtyard. “He knew her.”
“Well, ah, the team believes the perp knew all of the victims—”
They’d cleared the courtyard and were no
w back in Pirate’s Alley. Kace spun toward her and pinned her against the wall of an old building. “Your team thinks I’m the killer. And it’s obvious I know all of the women. But if you look at this differently, if the guy was really showing guilt over Ciara, then it’s because he knew her. Maybe he targeted the other women just because of their association to me. Maybe he didn’t really know them. But Ciara was different. He had an actual acquaintance with her. Maybe even some kind of relationship. That’s why he felt guilt.”
“You might make a pretty good profiler yourself,” she whispered.
“I’m just good at understanding killers.” His mouth moved closer to hers. “Why do you hunt killers, Bree? Is it because of what happened to your family?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “No one ever found the man who hurt them.”
“The man who hurt you.” Anger there, dark and insidious.
She nodded. “I want to help other families so they don’t have to live every day, always looking over their shoulders.”
“Is that what you do? Always look for the man who hurt you?”
She wouldn’t let her fear show. “Yes.” And sometimes, she still woke up, screaming, because the nightmares never stopped.
“You help me find this killer, and maybe I can help you find yours.”
Now he’d surprised her. “What? How can you do that?” Did he think she hadn’t looked for that bastard? She had. Over and over again.
Kace closed the last bit of distance between them, and his lips brushed lightly over hers. “You’d be surprised at the connections I have.”
Another soft kiss.
Her hands rose and pressed to his chest. “What are you doing?”
“We both know I’m kissing you.”
And he did it—again.
“Why?”
“Better question, sweetheart, why are you kissing me back?”
Oh, hell, she was. She was leaning toward him. Parting her lips. Wanting a much deeper, harder kiss. But at his words, her whole body went tense. Why was she kissing him back?