Evidence of Passion

by Cynthia Eden

  Dylan hesitated before answering the boss.

  “Don’t try to sugarcoat this mess,” Mercer snapped at him. “Tell me straight...is he back?”

  “It’s too early to tell for certain. It could be Jack, or it could be a copycat.” He knew Rachel hoped they were dealing with a copycat, anyway.

  Mercer’s eyes narrowed. As the boss of the EOD, Mercer never pulled his punches. “What does Rachel think?”

  Just the mention of her name had Dylan tensing. “She’s afraid.”

  Mercer grunted and rose to pace toward the window that overlooked the D.C. skyline. They were in the main EOD building—not that most folks would ever realize the nondescript structure housed the elite group of agents. To just get through the doors of the building required a level of clearance that the majority of people in the city would never possess.

  Mercer stared out at the night for a moment then he said, “She’s smart to be afraid. If it is him, then he’ll try to make contact with her.”

  Dylan’s fingers tightened around the armrests on either side of his leather chair. “She thinks that, too. Rachel said he’d come for her.”

  Mercer turned toward Dylan. The EOD boss inclined his head. “She’s right.”

  That wasn’t what Dylan wanted to hear. “Do you think he knows she’s EOD? Is he aware that she’s working with us?”

  “I think this assassin knows quite a few things,” Mercer murmured. “And I think stopping him is our number-one priority.” A rough sigh escaped from Mercer. “As far as I’m aware, this man only has one weakness.”

  Now that news caught Dylan’s attention because he hadn’t thought the killer had any weakness. “I’ll exploit it,” he said, more than ready to get his hands dirty on this one. That sicko wouldn’t get the chance to hurt Rachel ever—

  “Rachel Mancini is his weakness.”

  Dylan’s heart raced in his chest. Instinctively, he shook his head. “The man almost killed Rachel three years ago. She barely escaped him, and you actually think she’s some kind of weakness for the guy?” Dylan shook his head. “Mercer, you’re usually a whole lot better on this than—”

  “Do you wonder why he didn’t kill her?” Mercer cut through his words.

  He didn’t wonder. He knew. “Because she fought him. She got away. She shot him,” Dylan gritted out the words.

  “From what I can tell, this man has been making his living as a killer for years. He’s never let anyone who he has targeted live, until Rachel. She was his prey. He had her tied up for at least two hours, according to our intel. He could’ve killed her at any point during that time frame.” Mercer rolled back his shoulders. “He didn’t.”

  Dylan didn’t like to think of Rachel tied up, scared and alone with the killer known as Jack.

  “Did you know that I’ve recently brought a new profiler into the fold here at the EOD?” Mercer asked.

  Talk about a change in topic... Dylan’s eyes narrowed on the guy.

  “I think you met Noelle Evers before,” Mercer continued as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “She worked with the FBI, but I...drafted her and convinced Noelle to join our team. It’s on a probationary basis for now because she’s not like the others here. No military background.” His hand fell to his side. “But I think that’s an advantage for her. It lets her see things from a different perspective.”

  He needed to get Mercer back on track. “Sir—”

  “It was Dr. Evers who pinpointed Jack’s weakness. She saw what I didn’t.”

  “And what was that?” Dylan wanted out of that office. Actually, he wanted to go and check on Rachel. She’d been so shaken, and Rachel didn’t usually show her fear.

  Except when Jack is involved.

  “Dr. Evers realized that Jack couldn’t kill Rachel.”

  That was bull. “He shot at her—”

  “And only hit her shoulder. Even though he was less than five feet away from her. Odd, isn’t it? For a professional killer, I mean. He should’ve been able to make that shot.”

  Dylan was just damn grateful he hadn’t.

  “Dr. Evers thinks that Jack only fired to stop her from hurting him.” Mercer’s gaze held Dylan’s. “The assassin’s plan was to get close to Rachel then to kill her. He got close...”

  But never killed her.

  “A weakness,” Mercer repeated. “One that we will use.”

  Dylan jumped to his feet. “No. There is no way I am putting Rachel at risk!” He was protecting her at all costs. “She just got out of the hospital, and you want to send her right into harm’s way? No. That can’t happen.”

  “I want you with her, Agent Foxx.” Mercer’s voice had hardened. “Whether we use her or not, the fact remains that the man known as Jack could be in D.C. right now, and if he is...you can bet he’ll be getting close to Rachel very, very soon.”

  “When he does, he’ll find me in his path.” Because that was Dylan’s plan. Not to use Rachel, not to jeopardize her in any way. But to be there for her. Always.

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Mercer said, sounding satisfied. He even smiled.

  Mercer smiling was a scary sight.

  “Go find Agent Mancini. I’ll brief you both when I have more information on the Patterson murder.”

  Dismissed. Fine. Dylan figured it was about time he got away from Mercer. He spun for the door.

  “Oh, Agent Foxx?”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Just be careful,” Mercer warned him. The lines near Mercer’s eyes deepened. “You don’t want Jack’s weakness to become your own.”

  Dylan didn’t respond because he already knew that message had come too late.

  Rachel had gotten beneath his skin, and, in order to keep her safe, he’d do just about anything.

  * * *

  NORMALLY, RACHEL MANCINI didn’t care much for bar scenes. She didn’t like the smooth lines that men spouted there so easily. She wasn’t comfortable with the flirtatious talk that she was supposed to use in return to their overtures.

  As a rule, Rachel had a very hard time trusting men.

  Thanks, Adam—or Jack or whoever you really are.

  When the guy you loved tried to kill you, well, it could sure make a girl hesitate when it came to men and future relationships.

  But this night wasn’t a normal night, and if Rachel hadn’t escaped the too-quiet atmosphere of her apartment, she was pretty sure she would have gone crazy.

  So she’d fled her apartment and headed down to the corner bar. Actually, the place was more of a pub. O’Sullivan’s. Patrick O’Sullivan had opened the pub over twenty years ago, and the place was still thriving in D.C.

  The pub was certainly packed that night.

  Rachel eased up near the bar. The blond man on her right immediately turned toward her, a wide grin on his face. “Hey there, doll.”

  Doll? Did she look like a doll?

  Tall, tan and with carefully tousled blond hair, the guy beside her could have stepped right off the set of some cologne commercial. His smile broadened as he stared at her. His blue gaze swept over her body, way too slowly, before finally returning to her face. “A girl like you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

  “But that’s exactly what I want to be,” she murmured back and she semi-tried to keep the annoyed edge out of her voice.

  A frown creased the blond’s brow.

  But the bartender, obviously having overheard her, laughed.

  She glanced his way. The bartender, a dark-haired guy with a well-trimmed beard that covered his jaw, offered her a grin. “What can I get you?” He leaned toward her. “Want to start with Paddy’s Whiskey?”

  That sounded like a fine plan to her. Rachel nodded.

  He winked. “Be right back.” The faint hint of
Ireland rolled beneath his words. He was a good-looking guy. Nice features. Light blue eyes.

  So why did she look at the bartender and find herself thinking about a man who didn’t look quite so handsome...a man who always appeared a bit dangerous? A man with dark eyes—eyes that she swore could see straight through her.

  Dylan Foxx.

  Her gaze shifted away from the bartender.

  “You don’t have to be alone,” the blond next to her said. Obviously, her earlier comment had gone right over his head.

  She gave him a smile. Polite, but firm, Rachel said, “That’s the way I want to be tonight.”

  Unfortunately, that was also the way she was every night.

  Three years had passed, but Rachel still tensed at the thought of any man slipping past her defenses. Any man except—

  “You heard the lady.” That low, growling voice came from behind her. And she knew only one man with a voice like that—Dylan. “Looks like you’re striking out here, buddy. So go try your luck someplace else.”

  The blond glared at him. Rachel turned, shaking her head as she gazed up at Dylan. “What are you doing here?” Sure, Dylan wasn’t like her. He visited plenty of bars. But he lived across town.

  And this bar was practically in her backyard.

  “I came looking for you.”

  His words had her tensing. “Has something happened? Has—”

  She broke off, realizing that Dylan wasn’t actually looking at her. He was too busy glaring back at the blond. The guy was just sitting there, staring at them.

  “Leave,” Dylan barked, using the voice that sent even seasoned EOD agents fleeing. “Now.”

  The blond guy fled, but he muttered, “Should’ve said she had a boyfriend...” as he stormed away.

  Dylan immediately took the guy’s seat. He exhaled as he got comfortable. “Better. Much better.”

  The bartender appeared with her drink. He slid it across the table toward Rachel. “On the house,” he said with a wink.

  Surprised, Rachel found herself smiling back at him. “Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do for a neighbor.” Again, that Irish whispered in his voice. “You don’t know me, but I’ve heard plenty about you.”

  His words surprised her.

  “My grandfather, Patrick, told me to keep a look out for you, Rachel Mancini.”

  She knew Patrick. When she’d first moved into the city, Patrick had been the first person she’d met.

  But he’d passed away a few months ago. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather—”

  The bartender held up his hand. “So am I, but he wouldn’t want us grieving. To him, life was for celebrating.”

  Yes, that was the way Patrick had thought of life—just that way. She’d never seen him without a smile on his face.

  “My name’s Aidan. Aidan O’Sullivan. And it’s good to finally meet you.” He offered his hand to her.

  Rachel shook that hand, and quickly let him go. For some reason, she was far too conscious of Dylan’s stare on her.

  Aidan glanced at Dylan. “What can I get for you?”

  “Whiskey.”

  Her gaze darted toward him. He’s still watching me.

  “I have everything else that I need,” Dylan said.

  He didn’t mean those words the way they sounded. Rachel was sure of that.

  Aidan laughed and got the drink. “Hope you have better luck than the last one.” He pushed the whiskey toward Dylan.

  Dylan’s fingers curled around the glass. “I will.”

  Rachel took a quick gulp of her drink. It burned, in a good way, as it slid down her throat.

  Dylan emptied his whole glass in one swallow. His eyes stayed on hers. He had the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen. So dark they almost looked black.

  His hair was black and thick. It was cut short and the cut just accentuated the hard lines of his face. Dylan wasn’t technically handsome. Rachel had to remind herself of that fact every few days. He wasn’t, though. He was more...dangerous. Rough. His jaw was square and firm, his cheeks were sharp angles, and Rachel was pretty sure that he’d broken his nose a time or two in bar fights over the years.

  Dylan Foxx was an ex-Navy SEAL. As far as she knew, the guy feared absolutely nothing in the world. He was her team leader at the EOD. He was the man who had her back on every mission. The one man she trusted above all others.

  He was also the man who was off-limits to her.

  Actually, as far as Rachel was concerned, all men were off-limits. She’d made a near-fatal mistake with the last man she’d let get too close.

  She wasn’t planning on getting burned—or attacked—again.

  Rachel cleared her throat. “How did you know I was here?” Because Rachel knew it wasn’t some coincidence that he was in the pub, too.

  He leaned toward her. Whenever he got too close, Rachel had the feeling that Dylan surrounded her. Maybe it was because of his shoulders. His shoulders were so wide. Muscled. Or maybe it was just because of...Dylan.

  The guy seemed to dominate everything and everyone around him.

  “I was on my way to your place,” he told her, voice low. “Then I saw you heading in here.”

  She took another quick gulp of her drink. Perhaps she should be sipping it, but Rachel was too tense for that. “Why were you coming to my place?” Rachel pushed.

  His eyelids flickered. “Because I wanted you.”

  No, he had not just said that. The pub was too loud. She’d misheard him. “Wh-what?”

  A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he leaned even closer to her. His crisp, masculine scent teased her nose. “Because I wanted to talk with you.”

  Right. That made more sense. Her too-eager imagination had twisted his words.

  “But this isn’t the place to talk.” He tossed some cash onto the bar, and his hand wrapped around hers. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She should say that she’d just gotten there. That she wasn’t ready to leave.

  But I am. She didn’t want to dodge pick-up lines and leering guys. Rachel had come to the bar because she couldn’t stand the silence.

  There would be no silence with Dylan.

  She rose.

  His fingers twined with hers.

  Rachel glanced down at their hands. That was new. He’d never held her hand before. Sure, Dylan seemed to touch her pretty frequently. He’d brush back her hair or he’d squeeze her shoulders, but never something quite so intimate as actually holding her hand.

  “Dylan?” Her voice was so soft that she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.

  He didn’t respond, but he did lead her through the crowd, pulling her toward the door. Bodies brushed against her, making Rachel tense, then they were outside. The night air was crisp, and taxis rushed by them on the busy street.

  Dylan still held her hand.

  He turned and pulled her toward the side of the brick building. Then he caged her with his body. “Want to tell me what you were doing?” An edge of anger had entered his words.

  Rachel blinked at him. “Uh, getting a drink?” That part had seemed pretty obvious.

  “What you were doing with the blond, Rachel? The blond jerk who was leaning way too close to you in that pub.”

  The same way that Dylan had been leaning close?

  “Now isn’t the time for you to start looking for a new guy.” Definite anger now. “We need to find out if Jack is back here, killing. We don’t need you to hook up with some—”

  She shoved against his chest.

  The move caught them both off guard.

  Beneath the streetlamp, Rachel saw Dylan’s eyes widen.

  “You don’t get to control my personal life,” Rachel told him flatly. What persona
l life? The fact that she didn’t have one wasn’t the point. “And neither does Jack. Got it?”

  He gazed back at her.

  “On missions, I follow your orders. But what I do on my own time...that’s my business.” She stalked away from him, heading back toward her apartment building.

  Then she heard the distinct thud of his footsteps as Dylan rushed after her. He’d better be coming to apologize.

  Right. She’d never actually heard Dylan apologize for anything.

  His fingers curled around her arm. He spun her back to face him. “Your last lover was a killer. I’d think that you’d want to—”

  “You’re wrong!” The words erupted from her.

  And something strange happened to Dylan’s face. They were right under the streetlight, so it was incredibly easy for her to read his expression. Surprise flashed first, slackening his mouth, but then fury swept over his face. A hard mask of what truly looked like rage. “You’re involved with someone else? You’re sleeping with someone?”

  Since when did she have to check in with Dylan about her love life? “He wasn’t my lover.”

  His hold tightened on her. “What?”

  “Adam. Jack. Whatever he’s calling himself. He. Wasn’t. My. Lover.” There. She’d said it. It felt good to get that out. “We were going away together that weekend. We hadn’t...” Rachel cleared her throat. “He wasn’t my lover.” She yanked away from him, angry now, too. “Not that it’s any of your business who I’m sleeping with—”

  “It is.” He snarled the words and he yanked her up against his chest. “It shouldn’t be...but it is.”

  And his mouth took hers.

  Chapter Two

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. Dylan knew that truth all the way down to his soul. His hands were supposed to stay off her.

  But instead, he was pulling her as close as he could get her.

  He’d fantasized about her mouth too many times. Red, bow-shaped lips. That plump lower lip. He’d wanted her mouth on his. Wanted her.

  Now he had her.

  Her taste made him drunk. It gave him a far better rush than the whiskey. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. His hips pushed against her.