Evidence of Passion

by Cynthia Eden

  A bloody Jack of Hearts.

  * * *

  DYLAN FOLLOWED JACK, keeping his eyes on the baseball cap as the man weaved and dodged through the city.

  The killer had dropped some cash in his frantic run. Dylan hadn’t stopped to pick it up. He didn’t care about the money. Only Jack.

  The baseball cap vanished as the guy rounded a corner.

  With a burst of speed, Dylan rounded that same corner and found himself in an alley.

  There was no sign of Jack. He has to be here, though. Dylan’s gaze scanned the perimeter. There was no way that Jack had just vanished.

  He advanced slowly. The alley stank of rotten food. There was a big garbage container to the right. And the back entrance to a restaurant was just a few steps away from that bin.

  Did you think you could escape in there?

  Dylan hurried forward. He yanked open that back door. Saw no one. Dylan advanced. When he burst into the kitchen with his gun drawn, a chorus of shouts and screams met his arrival.

  All of the kitchen staff members were wearing white uniforms. They stared at him with fear and horror on their faces.

  “Where the hell is he?” Dylan demanded.

  His question was answered with more frantic shouts. He pulled out his ID, the nice, fake FBI ID that usually gave him a free pass in situations like this one. “I’m following a suspect. White male, six foot two, two hundred pounds. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt, jogging shorts and a baseball cap.” His gaze lasered around the room. “Where the hell did he go?”

  But no one knew. They all said they’d seen nothing. No one...but Dylan.

  Vanished.

  Rage twisted inside him.

  * * *

  DYLAN BRAKED HIS CAR in front of Rachel’s apartment building. Fury still rode him.

  Fury and fear.

  “I don’t think you should stay here tonight,” he said as he glanced over at her. Actually, Dylan figured that staying at her place was one damn bad idea. “He’s already broken into your place once.”

  “And yours,” Rachel pointed out as she tilted her head to study him. “Besides, Thomas is watching the street in front of my apartment. He’s got guard duty. And Mercer told me that the EOD upgraded my security system.”

  Yeah, they had. He killed the engine. “If you’re staying here, then so am I.” He had a duffel bag in his trunk, one that he kept ready because he never knew when the EOD would ship him out on a mission.

  “You don’t...you don’t have to do that. I told you, Thomas has guard duty. I don’t need—”

  “Maybe it’s about what I need.” And he needed to be close to her. “Besides, isn’t the master plan for the guy to think that we’re lovers? I doubt that he’ll buy the charade if we’re sleeping across the city from each other.”

  Her lashes lowered. Night had fallen on the city, and the only light in the car came from the streetlamp a few feet away. That wasn’t nearly enough illumination to let him read her expression, and he sure wanted to know what she was thinking.

  “A charade?” Rachel whispered. “Is that all it will be?”

  The memory of their kiss—the kiss they’d had in that car—was suddenly right between them, he knew it was. He didn’t need to see her expression any longer.

  But he did have to tread very carefully. “We can be whatever you want us to be.” It had to be her choice, he knew that. But once she did make the choice...

  You choose me, then, baby, you will be mine.

  “Let’s talk upstairs, then.” She fumbled with the door handle and hurriedly exited the vehicle.

  He followed her. And he grabbed the duffel bag from the back of the car. His gaze trekked down the street. The pub was already busy. That place usually was, from what he’d seen. But he wouldn’t be going in that pub searching for Rachel that night.

  I’ve got her. And I’m not letting her go. Because he knew the truth now. Rachel wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

  He put his hand at her back, then headed into the building with her. For anyone watching, it would look like they were just two lovers, heading in for the night.

  They didn’t speak as they climbed the stairs. Rachel unlocked her door then reset the new alarm system. She turned toward him, and he caught the flash of worry on her face. “I have to check and make sure that he hasn’t been here...”

  But Dylan was already moving. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor and went straight to her bedroom.

  The covers weren’t disturbed this time. No playing card waited for her.

  He heard her soft exhale behind him, and he turned back to look at her. Some of the tension had eased from Rachel’s shoulders.

  If he could, he’d take away all her fear and worry.

  I will. When I take out Jack.

  “I need to shower,” Rachel murmured. She stared down at her hands now. “I just...I washed the blood away, but I can still feel it on me.”

  He nodded. Dylan understood exactly what Rachel meant. He’d been there before on plenty of other missions. He also knew that while it was easy to wash the blood away, the memory wouldn’t fade anytime soon.

  “William Harris hired Jack to kill Patterson. I know he wasn’t an innocent but...” She swallowed. “I wish things could’ve ended differently for him.”

  So did Dylan. He could have made William Harris talk. They would have been closer to unmasking Jack. Instead—

  He slipped away from me again.

  Dylan cleared his throat. “Go shower. I’ll wait for you in the den.” Because if he stood there in her bedroom, with her scent around him any longer, he was going to crack.

  He’d take her in his arms.

  He’d kiss her.

  He’d make her his.

  Dylan slipped past her. The image of Rachel wet, naked, in that shower was already making the tension flood through his body. He was so close to the one thing he wanted most. So close.

  “Dylan...”

  He stopped at her door. His hand curled around the door frame, his knuckles whitening. “Shower first,” he said, and was surprised by the gravel-roughness of his voice. “Then...”

  Then I’m taking you.

  He didn’t say that. But maybe, maybe he didn’t have to.

  Dylan stalked out of the room before his control shredded. He wanted to be in that shower with her, but after what had happened, he knew she’d need a few minutes to herself. A man had died right in front of her. Hell, yes, that would shake anyone up—even a woman as tough as Rachel.

  He found himself in her den. Pacing. A fast glance at the clock showed him that it was nearing 10:00 p.m.

  And Rachel hasn’t eaten. The sudden thought shot through his head.

  He stilled. He hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t. They’d been too busy at the crime scene. Too busy chasing leads that hadn’t taken them to Jack.

  He could hear the roar of the shower. Rachel was in there. Naked. Wet.

  He swallowed. She had to be starving. And, for what he wanted to happen between them that night, the woman would need her strength.

  The kitchen wasn’t exactly his area of expertise, so Dylan entered the room cautiously. When it came to cooking, he was woefully behind Rachel. The woman usually took pity on him. She’d bring over dinner to his place at least three times a week. Lasagna or her killer spaghetti. Garlic bread that melted in his mouth.

  He opened her refrigerator. It wasn’t going to be pretty and it sure wouldn’t be up to Rachel’s usual standards, but he’d have a meal ready for her by the time she exited the shower.

  * * *

  DYLAN FOXX WOULD DIE.

  Jack stared at the lights in Rachel’s apartment. That guy was up there with her.

  Jack should have been the one with Rachel. He was the o
ne she loved. Not the EOD agent.

  The EOD. They’d been a thorn in his side for too long. They actually thought they could stop him? Him? He was unstoppable. A force of nature.

  The government had made him, honed him. Now he was the perfect killing machine.

  And I’m ready to kill.

  He knew there was a guard outside Rachel’s apartment building. Tagging the guy had been easy, even though the agent did a decent job of sticking to the shadows.

  I’m a step ahead.

  Always.

  He didn’t need to get inside Rachel’s apartment in order to take out Dylan Foxx. He could take steps for the man’s execution from outside.

  He just had to plan carefully, had to move all the players right in this little game.

  Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a playing card. The Jack. That card was just for Dylan.

  Because you’re next.

  Jack rarely killed unless money was involved. After all, he wasn’t a monster. He was a businessman. Patterson had just been business.

  Dylan Foxx...his death would be both for business and for pleasure.

  You should’ve been faster in that alley. If you’d rounded the corner seconds sooner, you would’ve seen me scaling that restaurant wall.

  Dylan Foxx kept underestimating him. That was a fatal mistake.

  * * *

  RACHEL BELTED HER bathrobe around her body. She stared in the mirror. The woman who gazed back at her looked nervous, maybe even afraid. Her eyes were too big. Her lips trembled.

  Rachel’s hands tightened around the belt. Get a grip. Women took lovers every day. Rachel faced down terrorists and madmen on a routine basis. Surely, she had this.

  Her breath eased out. She opened the door. Paused.

  Dylan matters. I don’t want to mess this up.

  Her steps were swallowed by the thick carpeting. She crept toward the den. She’d worked up a semi-speech in the shower. Something that would sound fairly sophisticated. They were friends. Of course they could be lovers, too. They could enjoy one another.

  No emotions. Just pleasure. That was the spiel in her mind. It was also a—

  Lie, lie, lie. Because when it came to Dylan, her emotions always seemed to be involved.

  Mercer had given them the go-ahead for this charade. Only she and Dylan would know that they’d actually carried things to the next level.

  When Jack and the threat he posed were gone, would she and Dylan return to a friends-only basis? Or would it be too late for that?

  Her gaze darted around the den. Dylan wasn’t there. He was—

  The smell of scrambled eggs teased her nose. Her head immediately turned toward the kitchen.

  Dylan stood behind the counter. He motioned toward the table. “It’s not much, but I didn’t want you starving on me.”

  He’d cooked? Dylan was the king of takeout. He never cooked.

  “Eggs, bread and wine.” He gave a little shrug. Was it her imagination or were his cheeks a little ruddy? “I know, it’s no Rachel Mancini Italian feast, but it will keep you going through the night.”

  She found herself smiling. Even after everything that had happened that day, a bubble of happiness pushed through her. Dylan could do that. He could always make her happy, even when she knew she should be afraid. “It smells wonderful,” she replied as she headed toward him.

  Dylan’s gaze slid down her body, lingering on her legs. The robe was short, falling to only midthigh, and she was pretty sure that his eyes heated as he stared at her.

  Her skin sure seemed to burn beneath his gaze.

  Very slowly, Dylan’s eyes rose to her face once more. “Do you...feel better?”

  Rachel nodded.

  Dylan walked toward the table. It was a big table, able to hold eight. Whenever her family was in town—usually once a month—they’d get together at her place for a dinner night. The table should have looked too big for an intimate gathering of two.

  It didn’t. Dylan had two plates set close together on the table. And now, two glasses of wine joined those plates.

  He’d even taken out and lit one of her candles. The soft glow chased some of the chill from her. Dylan pulled back her chair. Rachel slid onto the seat, her gaze not able to leave his for long. “I didn’t...expect this.”

  His hand brushed over her shoulder, and Rachel tensed. Just that little touch had her body driving into a hyperawareness of him.

  He took his own seat. Dylan drank a sip of wine then, his fingers loose around the stem of the glass, he asked, voice curious, “What did you expect? That I’d tumble you into bed as soon as you stepped out of the bathroom?”

  She grabbed for her wine. Took a big, fortifying gulp and replied, honestly, “Yes.”

  The candlelight seemed to be reflected in his eyes. His lips—sensual, but with a slightly hard edge—curved faintly. “I’d be lying if I said that thought didn’t cross my mind.”

  She had to take another gulp of her wine. So much for elegant sipping.

  “But what I have in mind for us...it’s not going to be fast. It’s not going to be easy.”

  Oh...wow.

  “The pleasure will last all night. One time with you isn’t going to be enough for me.”

  It sounded as if he was warning her.

  He was.

  “I’ve wanted you too long. When I get you beneath me, I won’t be letting you go anytime soon.”

  She’d drained her wine.

  That faint grin of his stretched a bit more. “You should eat, Rachel, before the wine goes to your head.”

  She started eating, but her mind was on what he’d said to her. On him. “If you wanted me, why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because at first, you weren’t ready for me.” A darker note entered his voice. “Jack made you afraid. You didn’t trust any man that you met, not in those early days.”

  She still didn’t trust easily. Rachel put down her fork. “I trust you.”

  He poured her more wine. “I know.” His head cocked as he watched her. “But you haven’t told me all of your secrets, have you?”

  No. She didn’t drink more. Not yet. “And you haven’t told me yours.” There was a lot she didn’t know about him. A lot she hadn’t explored before.

  “What do you want to know?” He’d finished his food and went back to sipping more wine.

  The wine was making it easier for her to ask him. “Your lovers.” The words tumbled from her. “I’m going to assume that you’ve had your share.”

  A man like him—with that aura of bad-boy danger he carried—had no hard time hooking up with the ladies. She’d witnessed him in action herself. When they’d gone on missions, the women always seemed to flock to Dylan.

  “My share,” he repeated, nodding faintly. “Don’t worry, baby. If you’re trying to find out if I know my way around the bedroom, rest assured, I do.”

  She needed more wine. “I know that.” She’d never doubted it for a second. The sensual promise was right there in his eyes. “I, um...” Tell him. If they were taking this step, he needed to know her secrets. “I already told you that I didn’t sleep with Jack.” Her hands slid down and curled in her lap. The silk of her robe brushed lightly against her skin.

  “And I’m damn glad to know that.”

  “But the thing is...I haven’t exactly had a lot of lovers in my life.” She held his gaze, waiting for his response. If he was expecting some kind of casual sophistication from her about this aspect of their relationship, well...

  It won’t happen.

  He’d better get used to some disappointment on that end. And, despite the little speech she’d planned in the shower, now that the moment was actually at hand, Rachel just couldn’t force herself to say those words. That wasn�
�t who she was.

  He leaned toward her. “I don’t want to know about the lovers from your past. They don’t matter anymore.”

  Oh. “There were only two,” she muttered.

  His eyes narrowed. “Forget them.”

  She already had.

  “I only want you to think about me tonight. Not about your past. Not about that loser Jack. No one else is here. Just you and just me.”

  Right. She could do this. She wanted to do this. “I’ve fantasized about you before,” Rachel confessed. Her voice had gone husky. “Wondered what it would be like if you—”

  Dylan surged to his feet. The back of his chair slammed to the floor and, in the next instant, he’d yanked her out of her chair. His fingers were tight around her arms. “In my dreams, you were in my bed more times than I can count.”

  Her lips parted in surprise and he kissed her. Not an easy, teasing kiss. Not any kind of getting-to-know-you peck.

  This was a full-on, I-want-you-naked-and-I’ll-have-you-that-way kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth. He tasted her. He dominated. He made her toes curl and made her want so much more from him.

  Her hands rose and sank into the darkness of his hair. It was so soft against her fingers. A direct contrast to his rock-hard body. There was incredible power in his body. She knew it. She’d sure seen him in action enough times.

  He twisted them around, pushing her back against the edge of the table. He tasted of the wine, and his taste was making her feel a rush of euphoria.

  Dylan was right. This moment is just about us.

  First times with a new lover were supposed to be awkward. Hers sure had been. Fumbling. Hesitations. A woman was supposed to need time in order to get to know her lover.

  But...Dylan already knew her.

  His mouth slid down her neck. His breath blew over the sensitive skin. Then she felt the press of his mouth against her. The lick of his tongue. Arousal spiked through her and she found herself arching against him.

  His hands—big, strong—slid down between their bodies. His fingers curled around the small, silken strap of her belt.

  Then he loosened the tie she’d made. The robe parted. She’d just put underwear on beneath the robe—her sexiest bra and panties. Black, with lace at the cups of her bra and lace around the top of her panties.