by Cynthia Eden
It’s hard because he has money and power. And he’s smart. She could see the intelligence in his eyes. The cunning. He won’t make mistakes easily.
“I love it when your mind starts spinning,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble. “Tell me, Dr. Jacobs, are you profiling me right now?”
Her hands lifted and she shoved against his chest. He backed up, not because she’d been uber strong and knocked him back, but because . . . dammit, she suspected he moved for her.
To make her feel in control.
But he likes power.
And, hell, she was profiling him. “I don’t understand the point of this little meeting. Stopping a woman in the elevator is hardly an appropriate pick-up routine—”
He laughed. His laughter actually sounded real. Warm and rough, and it rolled right over her.
“How is anything about us appropriate?” Jax asked. That man’s voice—so deep and rumbly—it was like pure sex. She was pretty sure, like one hundred percent so, that he normally had women tossing their panties at him on sight.
She wasn’t one of those women. Or, rather, she was trying not to be one of those women.
Sarah hurried to the control panel and pressed the button to get that elevator moving again. “You’re lucky security wasn’t called in. You can’t just stop an elevator.” She was muttering. She was also not looking back at him. “Look, LOST appreciates your cooperation.” Well, she didn’t actually think her teammates did appreciate his cooperation. They pretty much thought Jax was trouble.
So right.
“But the case is over now,” Sarah continued determinedly, “and your involvement with us . . .”
The doors opened. She breathed a fast sigh of relief and said, “That involvement is over, too.” Sarah stepped out of the elevator, straightened her spine, and made herself glance at him. Then she very firmly said, “Good-bye, Jax.”
He caught her right hand. “You know we’d be dynamite together. We touch, and I pretty much implode.”
Her whole body was trembling, but Sarah locked her knees. “That kind of desire is dangerous.”
“Aw, pretty Sarah, that kind of desire is addictive.”
Her room was just a few feet away. “Let go of my hand.” This madness with him had to stop. And that was exactly what it was—madness. He wasn’t the right kind of man for her. Not even for a night. He pushed her, made Sarah want to let go of her control, and she couldn’t do that. She already walked a fine line as it was.
His index finger slid along her inner wrist. Her pulse jerked beneath his touch. He leaned toward her and his breath blew lightly against her ear as he asked, “What are you so afraid of?”
She’d never tell. “Good-bye, Jax.”
He eased back from her. “When you change your mind, come and find me.”
The guy’s arrogance was too much.
“Did you really think I’d just jump on you when I saw you?” Her skin still felt warm where he’d touched her.
His mouth hitched into a half smile. “A guy can only hope.”
She shook her head. Then Sarah turned and marched away.
“That’s not why I came tonight. Though fucking you would have been heaven.”
Her steps slowed.
“I wanted to ask you about your business.”
Her business? LOST?
“What makes your boss decide to take on a case?”
Curious now, she looked back at him. “Is someone missing?”
Jax just shrugged. “I did my research, too, you know.”
She kept her expression still. If he’d been digging into the backgrounds of the LOST agents, then she realized that he knew all about the messed-up nightmare that was her past.
“LOST takes the cold cases, right? The ones that the cops have given up hope of solving.”
Sarah inclined her head. Her boss, Gabe Spencer, had originally opened LOST because he wanted to make a difference. When his sister had vanished, the local cops had been no help. Gabe had found Amy on his own, but he’d found her too late. The man who’d been holding Amy had killed her right before Gabe got to the scene.
“There’s no expiration date on your cases,” he said. “Doesn’t matter how much time has passed. You’ll still take it?”
“We’ve taken cases where the person has been missing for over ten years.” They were the Last Option Search Team for a reason. Most people who came to them had tried every other option that was available to them. Their other efforts had turned up nothing. Desperate, at the end of their rope—yes, that was the way families were when they finally came to the LOST office in Atlanta. “But . . .” And he needed to know this, if he was looking for someone who’d been missing. “The longer a person is gone, the greater the likelihood is that you aren’t going to find a live victim.”
“Right.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I don’t have to worry about that.”
She stepped toward him. “Jax?” He’d made her curious now.
But he was backing into the elevator and shaking his head. “Forget it. I think it was a mistake.” Then he flashed his broad grin at her. What she thought of as his panty-dropping grin. “Though seeing you is always a pleasure.”
He was wearing a mask, one that hid his true emotions. In that moment, she was sure of it. For an instant, he’d let her glimpse behind the mask, but that instant was over.
“Have a safe trip back home. And who knows? Maybe our paths will cross again one day.”
“Maybe.” She was missing something there. She hesitated, then called, “Jax?”
But the elevator doors slid closed.
Sarah took a deep breath. Okay, so that had been unexpected. Pretty much everything about Jax Fontaine was unexpected. The last time she’d seen him—just days before—he’d told her, “When you need me, come find me.”
Only he’d been the one to find her. Asking questions that had put her on edge.
The carpet swallowed her footsteps as she hurried to her room, and maybe it was because she was thinking so much about Jax or maybe she was just off her game, but it took Sarah a moment too long to realize that her door was ajar. She blinked, staring at it, then she tried to hurriedly back away.
But the door was yanked open. A man stood there. A man covered from head to toe in black. She whirled away from him, but he grabbed her and yanked Sarah back against him.
“Time to pay.”
She opened her mouth to scream, but his gloved hand covered her lips.
NORMALLY, JAX WASN’T a coward. He feared no one and nothing. But . . .
The elevator opened. He stepped into the lobby. Glanced around. The rich and the pompous filled that place. Sure, these days he pretty much counted as rich, but he wasn’t pompous, and he couldn’t stand the sight of those pricks.
The marble floor of that hotel gleamed. Sarah had switched her hotels since her arrival in New Orleans. Probably because she hadn’t thought the last place was secure enough.
Since I broke into her hotel room. That had been a one-time deal. He’d just needed to talk with her and he’d been . . . concerned . . . about her well-being.
There were only a handful of people in that world that he cared about. Normally, he didn’t give a shit about most folks. But Sarah, with her dark, mysterious eyes—she’d gotten beneath his skin. And he’d just almost told her the biggest secret of his life.
Well, one of his top five, anyway.
He paused in the lobby. Unlike the other jerks running around that place, he was wearing jeans and a battered jacket. The concierge was frowning at him, so Jax just glared at the guy. The concierge then got very busy shuffling his papers.
The past doesn’t matter. Why the hell did I ever come here and ask about LOST?
He strode toward the exit. The doorman hurried forward.
Only . . .
Jax glanced back. The LOST group knew their shit. He’d seen them in action. He’d read reports about their successes. If anyone could discover the truth for him, it w
ould be LOST. And the only LOST agent who might actually push for the others to take his case?
Sarah.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered.
The doorman backed up.
Jax turned on his heel. Okay, so this time, maybe he’d even try asking nicely. The problem with that plan was that Jax didn’t exactly know how to do anything nicely.
Maybe the sexy little profiler could show him.
So once more, he found himself riding up that elevator. Only this time, he was alone. But Jax could have sworn he caught a light, sweet scent hanging in the air. Vanilla? Yeah, that was Sarah’s scent. When he’d been close to her—close enough to kiss, and he’d sure wanted to kiss her badly—that scent had teased him.
It had also aroused him.
The elevator ascended quickly, and soon he was up and high and stopping on Sarah’s floor. No one was in that hallway. All the doors were shut. He knew which room was Sarah’s—he could always get any intel he needed in New Orleans. A phone call had done the job for him. So he strode toward Room 3809. He lifted his hand and knocked. Rather politely, he thought.
There was a thud of sound from inside the room. As if Sarah had dropped something.
His brows climbed. Jax thought that he’d hear the pad of her footsteps coming toward him, but, other than the soft thud, there was no other sound coming from that room.
He knocked again. Harder. “Sarah, we need to talk.”
She couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there. Jax didn’t intend to leave until he’d had his say.
HER ATTACKER HAD a knife to Sarah’s throat. He’d nicked the skin a moment ago, when Jax had first knocked on her door.
Jax.
Right then, he was her main hope of survival.
“Make a sound, and I will slice your throat right here and now.” The man’s voice was a low, lethal whisper from behind his mask.
“Sarah, we need to talk.” Jax sounded determined. And he was pounding on her door again—harder this time. If he kept pounding like that, he’d attract attention from some of the folks in the other rooms. That attention would be wonderful.
Her attacker pulled her back against him. The knife didn’t leave its spot at her throat. He was maneuvering her, trying to get her—toward the connecting door? Yes, yes, he was. He was trying to get her to the door, and then he must think he could get her out by going through the other room. Or maybe he didn’t intend to get her out of the hotel. Maybe he’d be killing her as soon as he could.
Too bad. I’m not ready to die.
She’d been trained well, after all. She knew how to survive.
So her hands slid down and when he moved another step, she knocked the lamp off the table. Just like she’d accidentally tripped over that chair a few moments ago. But when that lamp hit, the crash was loud and clear.
“You bitch,” her attacker snarled as he yanked her around to face him. “I’m gonna hurt you so much—”
The door crashed in. Sweet hell, yes.
But that knife was still too close to her. So Sarah slammed her head at her attacker. He groaned when she hit him, and the hand holding the knife jerked. She leapt back, her head pounding now, and he swiped out with his knife. The blade sliced down her arm, and Sarah cried out in pain.
Then Jax was there. He pulled her toward him, then he pushed her behind his back, shielding her. Normally, she wasn’t the shielding type, but she was bleeding and scared and Jax was pretty much roaring as he shot toward her attacker.
The guy’s fingers were locked tight around the knife. He lunged forward, and he brought that knife down in an arc, aiming right for Jax.
Jax’s hand lifted. He blocked that attack, then swung his fist into the other man. The attacker hit the floor. In the next instant, Jax was on top of him. Punching. Driving his powerful fists at the guy again and again.
Voices rose from the hallway. Right. You couldn’t exactly kick in a door and roar without attracting attention. Someone out there was shouting for security—a very good idea. Sarah’s hand wrapped around her wound. The blood dripped right through her fingers. He’d cut her so deep. She was probably going to need stitches and—
Jax still had him on the floor. She hurried forward. Sarah touched his shoulder and Jax froze, with his hand poised to punch the guy again.
Her attacker wasn’t fighting anymore. Just lying there, moaning.
Every breath that Sarah took felt icy in her lungs. “Take off his mask,” she told Jax.
Jax leaned down and ripped that mask off the guy.
Evil has so many faces. Her father’s voice whispered in her mind. That’s why you can’t ever trust what you see.
She was staring down at a kid, a boy who looked around eighteen. His lip was busted, bleeding, and so was his nose. Sarah didn’t know if she and her head butt were responsible for his injuries or if they’d come courtesy of Jax’s powerful fists, but the kid was obviously down for the count.
“Who the hell are you?” Jax demanded. “And why were you after her?”
The guy tried to talk. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth. Sarah stared at him, caught by the bright green of his eyes. His eyes were familiar to her. She knew she’d seen him somewhere before . . .
“Bitch is . . . evil . . .” the boy rasped. “Just like . . . him.”
Him.
“He murdered . . . mom . . . Gwen . . .”
That name—Gwen—seemed to echo through Sarah’s mind, and suddenly, an image clicked for her. Gwen Guthrie. A woman who’d had eyes exactly the same shade of bright green as the boy who’d attacked Sarah. His mother?
Yes, yes, that fit. Sarah had done research on Gwen. The woman had given birth to two children . . .
Before my father murdered her.
“Have to . . . kill Sarah. What she . . . deserves . . .”
Security pushed into the room. Goose bumps appeared on Sarah’s arms. No matter how many times she tried to escape her past, it just kept chasing her down. This time, the past had come armed with a knife. A very sharp one, at that.
Jax shoved to his feet. He turned, and that gaze of his—burning with a blue fury in that moment—swept over her. When he saw her wound, he swore.
“We need to call the cops,” Sarah said as the security team closed in on the boy. “He just attacked me.” Her voice didn’t shake. Her words didn’t break. There was no emotion in them at all. She couldn’t let any emotion affect her, not then. Not with all those people standing around in the hallway, whispering.
“She needs medical care,” Jax snapped. “Get an ambulance here!”
“No, I—” Sarah began.
“He sliced your arm. You’re going to need stitches.” He was holding her hand. So carefully, as if he were afraid of hurting her.
Her head tilted back as she looked up and focused on him. He’d come to her rescue, charging inside that room and probably saving her from—what? Torture? Death? “Thank you.”
His gaze searched hers. “You know who that kid is, don’t you?”
She glanced back at the boy. The hotel security had circled around him, and the guy was hunched on the floor. Crying. “I’ve never met him before in my life.” Those words were true. But even if they weren’t, Jax wouldn’t know. After all, she was a world-class liar.
Some of her father’s victims had been identified over the years. She had pictures of all those victims—and she’d seen the boy’s green eyes before. That particular shade of green was unusual, startling. Unforgettable. Those eyes belonged to her father’s first victim.
Gwen Guthrie.
POLICE STATIONS WEREN’T his scene. Mostly because he and the cops were all too often butting heads. They wanted to toss him in a cell. He wanted to tell them to fuck off. He usually did tell them to fuck off.
If it hadn’t been for Sarah, there was no way Jax would have been at the police station in New Orleans. But he’d stayed with her while she got stitched up, and even though she had plenty of protection around her, he was still loath to le
ave her.
“We’ve got this.” His shoulders tensed at that voice—a voice he knew. He turned his head and saw another LOST agent heading toward him. Wade Monroe. The guy moved with slow, deliberate steps, and his assessing gaze quickly swept the areas. Jax already knew the guy was an ex-cop, a former detective from up in Atlanta, and like the other LOST agents, the guy wasn’t exactly on Team Jax.
His mistake, of course. Team Jax was awesome.
“What the hell happened?” Wade demanded as he closed in on Jax. “What did you do to her?” And the guy actually grabbed his shirt, fisting his hands in the material.
Jax glanced down at those hands. Wade was a friend of Sarah’s, he had to remember that, and all the LOST agents had worked hell hard to protect Jax’s friend Emma Castille. Emma had gotten tangled in some serious shit recently, and LOST had protected her. So Jax figured he owed Wade and the others a small amount of leeway.
Very, very small.
“I saved the day,” Jax drawled, deliberately letting his accent deepen. He could use or discard that accent at will. He hadn’t been born in Louisiana, but he sure liked the faint drawl. “Rushed in like the hero that I am.”
“Bullshit,” Wade threw out.
Jax’s lips curved.
“You and I both know what you did to Kevin McCormack.”
He let his brows climb. “McCormack? Ah, you mean the crazy-ass FBI agent who tried to kill your LOST buddy Dean Bannon and my . . . friend . . . Emma.”
McCormack had been one psychotic asshole. He’d kidnapped and tortured his prey, and the guy had foolishly thought that Emma would be joining that prey list. McCormack hadn’t realized that Emma was family. Part of the very small family that Jax had in this world.
“You set up that hit on him, didn’t you?” Wade demanded. “Got some of your buddies in jail to take him out?”
Like he hadn’t already heard those accusations from the local cops. “News flash. Prisoners don’t exactly like FBI agents, and when a dirty, twisted freak like McCormack wound up in their grasp, I guess one of them just snapped.” And McCormack had wound up dead. One less problem for me.