“Gerrard.”
Sawyer slowed his steps as Cade jogged to catch up with him. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“No rest for the wicked. I heard they got your unsub booked and waiting in three.”
“What took them so long to get him processed?”
His partner chuckled and eyed him with a raised brow. “Obviously you haven’t seen him yet. Broken nose, dislocated shoulder, and fifteen stitches between his eyebrow and lip. Probably gonna have a meeting or two with the big man about that one. Going to be a tough sell it wasn’t excessive force.”
“The bastard is lucky I didn’t put a bullet in him. He attacked Dr. Rhodes and slammed her head into a brick wall, knocking her unconscious.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Yeah, but she got pretty banged up.”
“Here’s his file with a list of priors.” Cade handed him the manila folder.
“You read it? You think it’s him? The Good Samaritan?”
Cade shook his head. “He ain’t our guy. But he is a rotten piece of shit that’s off the streets now, thanks to you.” He walked with Sawyer as they headed toward the interrogation room. “He’s out on parole. Released two months ago so—”
“Shit, there’s no way it could be him.”
“Not unless he killed Karen Spears from behind bars. You still want to talk to him?”
They stopped outside the room and Sawyer eyed his partner. Want was a highly figurative term. There were a lot of things he wanted—like Dr. Emma Rhodes naked and in his bed, his name a panted moan on her lips. He wanted her safe. He wanted to catch the son of a bitch killing these women. But sitting down and talking with this POS wasn’t on that list. “Yeah.” He opened the file and glanced through it. Clayton Anderson, age twenty-two, just released from Stillwater penitentiary after being arrested at the age of eighteen for burglary, aggravated assault, and rape. What a peach.
Sawyer was going to need to take an emotional step back before talking to this guy or he was never going to get through the interview without finishing what he’d started in that parking lot.
“We’ve already contacted his parole officer. This asshole’s going back in the pen.”
Sawyer tapped his partner in the chest with the file and stepped past him. “Do me a favor and turn off the cameras.” As he closed the door behind him, he met the eyes of Emma’s attacker. Well, eye anyway. The other one was swollen shut. Satisfaction was a soothing balm to Sawyer’s rage as he studied his busted lip, crooked nose, and swollen eye. His left arm was in a sling and tucked tight to his side, stretching the length of chain between his wrists and the table.
Maybe the bastard would think twice the next time he decided to attack a woman, though he suspected it would be some time before that opportunity presented itself again. Sawyer pulled out the chair and sat across from Anderson.
“Do you know the woman you assaulted tonight?”
The man stared at him through his one good eye. The defiant tilt of his chin told Sawyer he was going to need a little motivation to talk. But that was fine. He was more than happy to oblige.
“I’ll take that as a yes. I figured as much. Who are you working with? Do you kill them first or do you burn them alive?”
A flicker of fear crossed Clayton’s disfigured face and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rattling the chains as he moved. “Do I what? I ain’t working with nobody. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I’m quite sure that you do. You’re lucky Minnesota doesn’t have the death penalty. Though life without the possibility of parole doesn’t sound much better. Personally, I think I’d rather fry.”
Anderson’s bravado cracked. It was almost too easy. Sawyer was expecting the guy to make him work for it a little bit. Then again, when one started talking about burning bodies, it was bound to heat things up.
“Hey, wait a minute. You don’t think—you don’t think I had anything to do with that nutcase that’s been killing those women. The Good Samaritan.”
Sawyer stared at him, not saying a word.
He shifted again but the chains didn’t give him much room to move. The guy swore, sweat breaking out on his brow, but he couldn’t lift his arms high enough to keep it from running into his good eye. “Man, this is fucked up. I don’t know anything!”
“You attacked a woman who is a known target of The Good Samaritan. You expect me to believe that was a coincidence?”
“I was just trying to get some cash, man. She was in the wrong place at the right time. That’s all.” Yeah, that’s what Sawyer thought, but he had to be sure. “I’m in deep enough shit as it is, man. Don’t drag me into this too. I don’t kill women.”
No, he just beat, robbed, and raped them. As much as this piece of shit disgusted him, Sawyer was confident he was telling the truth. Which was good news for Clayton Anderson and bad news for Sawyer, because now he was no closer to catching his killer.
* * *
Emma couldn’t sleep. Her head was pounding, her mind replaying the attack on an endless loop. The door downstairs closed, and she heard the chirp of the alarm resetting. Sam lifted his head from where he lay curled up on the foot of her bed. Sawyer must have given him the order to protect her because he hadn’t left her side all night. Paco was curled up beneath the covers somewhere, out for the night. Must be nice. What she wouldn’t give for one full night of uninterrupted sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept a whole eight-hours. And there was zero possibility of that happening under Sawyer’s roof. The desire he stirred in her was too difficult to ignore, the emotions too tormenting, taunting her with possibilities that her past held just beyond reach.
Footsteps on the stairs catapulted her pulse into a chaotic rhythm. Down the hall and coming closer, they stopped outside her door—hesitating. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to knock, but a few heart-pounding moments later, those steps retreated and the light in Sawyer’s bedroom clicked on, shining through the fireplace opening and casting her room in a soft, ambient glow.
From where she lay, she could see into his room and watched as he crossed in front of the bed, stopping near the nightstand. Only the lower two-thirds of him were visible, and she noticed his limp was significantly pronounced tonight. She made a mental note to check that wound, especially with how much he was using his leg without the aid of crutches. He set his gun on the nightstand, then slipped off his shoulder holster, draping it over the back of the chair before his fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt.
Unless he moved, she was about to get one heck of a show. Did he realize she could see him? A secret thrill swept through her, nipples hardening against the thin cotton of her nightgown as an all-too-familiar ache simmered inside her. Emma’s conscience told her to close her eyes and go to sleep, but she couldn’t move. Especially when his shirt came off, exposing a roadmap of muscular abs. Her pulse quickened, her breath stalling in her lungs. The cotton of her panties grew damp against her sensitive flesh as she watched him under the cloak of darkness, caving to the deviant desire.
As a doctor, she was no stranger to the male body, but this was not just any man. She could no longer look at him with a dispassionate, clinical gaze. This was Sawyer, the man she desperately wanted, the man she was quickly falling in love with. When his hands dropped to the button of his jeans and he slowly dragged his zipper down, her breath caught in her throat.
Sawyer slid his jeans past his lean hips. He was hard. Did he know she was watching him? Could he feel her stare? His erection strained the confines of his boxer-briefs, outlining the most impressive piece of male flesh she’d ever seen.
Wow. Just wow.
When he stepped out of his jeans, she noticed the bandage wrapped around his muscular thigh had blood staining through the gauze. Before she could give it another thought, he raised his hand and slowly dragged the heel of his palm down his straining length. When his thumbs slipped into his waistband to tug down that offensive cotto
n, her core clenched in anticipation. They inched down and he paused. A protest nearly left her lips when he reached toward the lamp and clicked the light off, ending her show.
Chapter 23
As exhausted as Sawyer was, he should be able to sleep. But as he lay there stretched out on his bed, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other hand resting temptingly close to his erection, all he could think about was Emma. He needed to keep his head clear, his instincts sharp, and he couldn’t do that balls deep inside the woman he was supposed to be protecting. He owed it to Emma to see this case through. He owed it to the victims. But the need to protect her warred with the need to claim her. To make her his.
He contemplated heading to the shower and taking a load off. He could hardly lie there tenting the covers all night. His muscles were strung ripcord tight, tension coiling low in his spine. He could hear her in the other room, shifting restlessly beneath the blankets. What was she doing? When his mind filled with possibilities, he exhaled a pained groan.
“Are you all right?” The soft feminine whisper was like a siren’s call to his cock and it jerked in response to her voice.
It was surprising how easily sound traveled between the two rooms. He made a mental note to be mindful of that in the future.
“Yeah,” he answered into the darkness, his voice a rough rasp.
Silence followed. A minute passed. Then two.
“I can’t sleep.”
It was late. He hoped he hadn’t woken her. “Are you okay?”
How could she be after what she’d been through the last few days? And now tonight?
“No. Not really.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Kind of.”
“When was the last time you took anything for your headache?”
“Four hours. I was hoping if I slept, it would help.”
Sawyer tossed back the covers and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. He entered his bathroom and clicked on the light before heading to the sink. Grabbing the ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet, he shook three pills into his hand and rinsed out a glass before filling it.
Leaving on the light so he could see where he was going, he left his room, moved down one, and softly knocked the back of his knuckles against the door.
“Come in.”
Steeling his resolve to give her the medication and leave, he entered her room. The light coming in through the fireplace lit her room well enough. Sam was in her bed eyeing Sawyer as if he were the intruder.
What the fuck happened to solidarity?
“Out,” he told the dog, holding the door open. Sam hesitated long enough to make Sawyer wonder if he was going to refuse the order. Begrudgingly, the dog got to his feet and hopped down. “I was wondering what happened to him,” Sawyer grumbled, nodding at his partner as he slunk past.
Emma smiled. “I thought you put him back on guard duty. He hasn’t left my side all night.”
He stepped inside and closed the door. “No, he just really likes you. I’ve got some ibuprofen.”
“Thank you.” Emma sat up and the covers pooled around her waist. She was wearing a short-sleeve v-neck nightshirt. Maybe it was the light playing tricks on him, but he swore he could see her dusky pink nipples blushing through the thin white fabric.
He swallowed to wet his throat, the dry click pronounced in the silence of the room. As he came around the side of the bed, her light lavender scent enveloped him. And no, those pink nipples were no deception of the light. As his gaze swept over her, they tightened to small pearls beading beneath her nightshirt. His hands ached to feel the weight of her breasts. His mouth watered to taste her, to touch that virgin flesh. The thought of the most sacred part of her yielding to him as he slid deep inside her filled Sawyer with such a profound sense of longing, he wasn’t sure which part of him ached more—his heart or his cock.
Emma held out her hand for the pills and tossed them in her mouth before taking the glass. She swallowed them down and when she tipped her head back, the light coming in through the fireplace highlighted her neck. His gut clenched at the evidence of violence. She set the empty glass on the nightstand and before he realized he’d moved, Sawyer was sitting beside her.
He framed her face in his hands, his thumb sweeping down to softly brush over the bruises on her neck. How could anyone hurt this beautiful woman? Emma dropped her gaze under the intense scrutiny of his stare.
“By your expression, I must look as awful as I feel.”
“You’re beautiful. Nothing is going to change that. It’s a miracle I managed to sit across from the bastard who did this to you and not kill him with my bare hands. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”
Guilt pressed upon him like a crushing weight. It seemed to be his driving force these days. That and fear of failure. No matter how many lives he saved, it would never be enough to atone for the ones he’d lost.
“Sawyer, we talked about this. Blake was just being a jerk. It wasn’t your fault.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the tempest of emotions raging inside him. She turned her head and pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand. The light brush of her lips sent a current of electricity through his chest and straight into his cock.
His eyes locked on hers and Sawyer’s mind ceased to function. All he knew was that he wanted Emma. He wanted to take care of her, to protect her. The professional side of him warned that getting too close while she was involved in this case was a mistake, but that ship had already sailed because he was pretty sure he was falling in love with her. A possibility he hadn’t wanted to consider, but after tonight, how long could he continue to deny it?
Unable to resist, he dipped his head and kissed the bruise on her cheek. This wasn’t why he’d come here. He didn’t want her to think he’d brought her medication with the intention of seducing her. If he was a man of any honor, he’d get up and go back to his room. He shifted to stand, but she grabbed his hand to stop him.
“Emma, we shouldn’t be doing this. You’re in my care.”
She looked up at him with those verdant eyes that had the ability to shred him.
“Then take care of me.”
Did she realize what she was saying? His answer was affirmed when she placed her palms on his bare chest, slowly tracing his muscles with those blunt-tipped nails as she softly pressed her lips against his. Sawyer’s control was slipping through his fingers like a greased rope. He sat there unmoving, not trusting himself to draw his next breath, and knowing the moment he caved to his body’s demand for oxygen, he’d be inhaling Emma’s intoxicating scent. All hope of him leaving with his honor and her virginity intact would be lost.
“Emma,” he whispered against her lips, trying again to caution her, but she took advantage, her tongue tentatively brushing against his before retreating. When she slipped her hands around his neck and leaned back, pulling him down with her, Sawyer began to wonder who was seducing whom.
* * *
“Emma,” Sawyer groaned her name again, but it was the hesitancy in his tortured tone that gave her pause. Didn’t he want this? Didn’t he want her? Self-doubt began to erode her nerve.
She expected him to break contact and pull back, but instead he crawled over her, taking control and deepening their kiss. The exquisite pressure of his weight settling on top of her felt perfect. He felt perfect. She was drowning... His heat, his scent, he overwhelmed her senses. His lips were firm but soft, his gentle kiss quickly turning demanding—insistent.
She melted against him, craving the security of his arms, hungering for his touch. “Sawyer, I want you,” she whispered against his mouth, sounding every bit as desperate as she felt.
Those were the words that broke his restraint, shattering his control. He groaned, claiming her mouth in a kiss that took her breath away. One hand slipped into her hair, sending a thrill of excitement rushing through her as he angled her mouth to perfectly fit against his. Sawyer’s weight shifted above her as he reached down, p
ushing up her nightshirt. Cool air kissed her thighs, then her stomach. Heat seared her nipple as his palm abraded the sensitive flesh. She gasped at the sharp pinch of pain and pleasure as he trapped the beaded tip between his thumb and index finger.
He deepened their kiss, his tongue swirling against hers in a sensual rhythm. So good… She arched into his touch, a current of pleasure arrowing sharply into her core. A wanton moan escaped her throat, and Sawyer answered with a low growl that sounded more animal than man. He pulled her nightshirt off, briefly breaking contact, and then his mouth was back on hers before nipping and sucking a trail from her neck to her breast.
It had been so long since she’d been touched, and never like this by a man with such deft skill and a talented mouth. His hand slid down the plane of her stomach, and when it trailed lower, she flinched at the contact.
“Shh…” He brushed the back of his knuckles over the thin scrap of cotton between her legs. “I’m not going to hurt you, Emma.”
She believed him. But as much as she tried, she couldn’t rid her mind of Molly’s warning. Sawyer’s out of your league.
At his feather-light touch, every nerve ending inside her lit up, short-circuiting her thoughts.
“Relax,” he crooned. “I’ll take good care of you.” His whiskey smooth promise was a seductive rasp against the valley between her breasts. His mouth trailed lower, following the path of his hand. He slipped her panties down her hips, past her knees, leaving her exposed. The vulnerability was both thrilling and frightening.
The Good Samaritan Page 14