RELENTLESS

by HelenKay Dimon

  “Don’t you get it, Ben? You should be sorry for nearly bleeding out in my arms and wasting your last bit of energy on giving me the ‘it’s been swell but we’re over’ speech.” The memories zoomed through her, taking her voice louder with every word. “Who does that? What kind of man puts his girlfriend through that?”

  Davis shook his head. “Oh, dude.”

  She pointed at him. “Exactly. Davis gets it.”

  “Girlfriend?” Ben tried to sit up straighter but the bandage limited his movements and the wound had him wincing.

  Knowing he was in pain took the edge off her anger. Her frustration came both from seeing him rushed away in an ambulance and hearing him talk about walking away from her for good. She didn’t want to deal with either ever again.

  “Yes, Ben. I don’t sleep around. I barely date.”

  “I know that.”

  She could only assume his stubbornness made him blind. “Then you know I risked everything on you.”

  His intense gaze didn’t leave her face. “Because you were in danger.”

  “No, because I want to be with you, talk to you, sleep with you.” Careful not to hit the bed, she stepped in when Connor moved back. She slid her thigh on the mattress next to his legs and stopped there even though she ached to get closer. “All of it and all the time.”

  He picked up her hand and played with her fingers. “All the violence.”

  “Goes with your job. I won’t lie. That’s not easy for me. It scares me to death.” When he gave her a pained frown, she rushed to finish her point. “But I also get that you have friends and people who watch out for you and that you’re careful. You don’t take stupid risks.”

  Davis cleared his throat. “He’s usually on his game, though he’s not doing so well here.”

  “You begged for a date.” She ignored Connor’s laugh and Ben’s scowl. “You were relentless and now you want out? No. I’m not giving you a choice. You wanted me? Well, now I want you back.”

  “You do?”

  “I might even love you a little, which we’re not going to talk about now, certainly not with company listening in, but the one thing I am not doing is leaving you.” The truth sat out there now and she couldn’t call it back. She didn’t even want to. After everything they’d been through, he deserved to know the truth.

  “I like her,” Davis said.

  Connor nodded. “She fits in with the other women in the group.”

  Davis made a sound like a hum. “And it wouldn’t be bad to have a nurse on staff.”

  Ben didn’t even spare them a glance. He kept his attention on her as he slipped his fingers through hers and held on tight. “Both of you get out.”

  “Maybe we’re watching out for her,” Connor said.

  She didn’t break eye contact either. Couldn’t. “I can handle Ben on my own.”

  “Yeah, I think you can.” Connor patted Ben on the shoulder. “We’ll find Joel and Pax and come back later.”

  Davis laughed. “Much later.”

  Ben barely waited until the door closed behind his friends. “Love?”

  She knew he’d grab on to that one word. Other men, no. They’d ignore it and try to work around it. Not Ben. She said love, and excitement flared in his eyes. “A little and it’s just at the beginning stages, so don’t kill it by being a moron.”

  He tugged her closer. “Come here.”

  “Oh, now you get bossy.” She put her hands on either side of his shoulders. “I’ll tolerate that, since you’ve been shot and stabbed and who knows what else. But as your nurse, I would suggest you be careful.”

  “I’m taking my bossiness cues from you.” He tried to lift his head and hissed instead.

  She took pity on him and leaned in closer, letting her lips skim over his. “Honestly, you could use a clue or two.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said when they broke apart again.

  “For?” And this was a test. If he didn’t get it right...well, she wasn’t going anywhere. But she didn’t want to fight with him, either. “And do not say putting me in danger or anything like that.”

  “How about for trying to push you away?”

  She kissed him again. Short and sweet but enough for the desired connection. “Better.”

  “I want you safe and am willing to do whatever that takes.” His hand brushed up and down her thigh. “But I’m also not stupid. When a woman like you throws around the L word, a man listens.”

  The words knocked down the rest of her protective wall. This man, this amazing man who carried a gun and could probably scale buildings if he wanted to, meant everything. “Are you sure?”

  “That falling thing.” He toyed with the end of her hair. “The love—”

  She put her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Little bit and at the beginning.”

  He pushed those fingers farther apart. “Me, too.”

  Her heart jumped. “Really?”

  “Why do you think I’m so desperate to lock you away where my job and this life can’t touch you?”

  “I lived for months and months being afraid.” Talking about her life back then stole something from her, but she needed him to understand. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “After what happened to you and how you had to fight...all the attacks over the last week...how is that possible?”

  Hearing him rendered almost speechless was just about the most flattering, attractive thing ever. The idea she could knock this controlled man off his game made her smile. “I think it had something to do with seeing a policeman step up and do the right thing.”

  “Willoughby?”

  She still had to figure out a way to apologize to the guy. He had even come to the hospital to check on Ben, Sharon and Kent and never once threatened or suggested the crimes rolled out any way other than the way they actually did. No blame. “He came through, but that wasn’t all.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Your team thrives on the challenge of the job without enjoying the violence. That makes a difference. You view danger as a necessary evil but don’t seek it out, and that matters to me.” The words spilled out of her. She needed him to know she didn’t lump him in with the law-enforcement types she’d known before. “With you guys, danger and gunfire are normal, and I don’t fully understand that, but I’ve seen you all handle it without turning into the scary people you hunt.”

  He lifted their joined hands and placed a kiss against her skin. “Thank you.”

  “Your dad is wrong, you know.” Now, there was a man she wanted to shake.

  Ben’s eyes closed. When they opened again, they were heavy and a bit sad. “He’s set in his ways.”

  “No, Ben. He’s wrong. You’re a hero.” She balanced a hand against his pillow and leaned in real close. “My hero.”

  He skimmed his hand over her stiff arm. “Does that mean you’ll come home with me?”

  The question sent that tiny spark of hope inside her roaring to a flaring flame. He was talking about them. No more doom and gloom and mentions of leaving her behind.

  She loved it. “You think you’re leaving the hospital so soon?”

  “I thought you’d sign me out and take care of me in our bed at home.” His hand found her waist. “If that’s okay with you.”

  Her heart danced with excitement. “Our?”

  “You really want to go back to your apartment?”

  He meant the attack in her family room, but the lifeline he offered went beyond that one terrible night. Whether he knew it or not, he was talking about building a future. “I need to be wherever you are.”

  “Then close that door and we’ll start practicing in private.” He tapped the mattress. “I bet the bed moves.”

  She laughed as her head fell forward and her cheek brush
ed his. “I think we’re actually pretty good at ‘it’ already.”

  “True, but that’s not what I meant.” She felt his warm breath across her ear right before he nuzzled her there. The kisses on her neck came next. “I’m thinking we need to work on turning a little into a lot.”

  Which was exactly what she wanted. “That’s what I want.”

  “Then let’s get started.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from PRIMAL INSTINCT by Janie Crouch.

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  Chapter One

  FBI agent Conner Perigo knew throwing the file in his hand across the room would be childish and ultimately accomplish nothing except making a mess, but he was still tempted.

  Ten months.

  Ten months they had been on the trail of this psychopath. Ten months of being two steps behind and watching, helpless, as another woman was murdered. It wasn’t in Conner’s job description to attend the funerals of women he had never known. That hadn’t stopped him from attending one last week. Or three weeks before that. Or a month and a half before that.

  Each time he saw one of these women buried, it renewed Conner’s determination to catch this bastard.

  Five women dead in ten months. Most within a fifty-mile radius of San Francisco, which, of course, had the city in a panic.

  “I’m not picking that up, so don’t even think about throwing it,” Conner’s partner and friend, Seth Harrington, said without looking up from his desk.

  Conner looked at the file in his hand, then set it down. Maybe flying papers would make him feel better momentarily, but it wasn’t worth the aftermath. He sighed. “This case, Seth. I swear I’m about to lose it over this case.”

  “I hear you, man. It’s messed up.”

  It wasn’t just the murders, although those were bad enough. Now the perp was taunting them.

  Yesterday the San Francisco FBI field office had received another package. It was the same thing every time. The outside was a box addressed with an innocuous label—like a care package. Of course, innocent-looking or not, each had gone through the extensive FBI bomb scannings and toxic screenings. There was nothing dangerous in any of the packages.

  Every delivery was box after box, wrapped in plain brown paper, nested inside each other like one of those Russian dolls. Every time, inside the smallest box, Conner and his team had found a lock of a woman’s hair.

  And every time, the dead body matching the hair had been found a few days later.

  The packages also contained a handwritten note, in third person, with the killer referring to himself as Simon. As if this was all a game of Simon Says.

  “Simon says, the FBI is too slow.”

  “Simon says, you should try harder.”

  “Simon says, uh-oh, there goes another one.”

  They had kept all info about the packages from the public, knowing it would cause more of a panic. But around the San Francisco field office, the killer was known as “Simon Says.”

  There was no doubt about it: this pervert was calling the shots. The game was consistent. The FBI received a package—with zero helpful forensic evidence—then ran around for the next couple of days trying to figure out where the woman was being held with only the city in the return address to go on.

  They were always too late. A body would be found somewhere; usually local law enforcement would call it in, and the Bureau would rush to the address. The crime scene, just like the packages, would hold zero helpful forensic evidence.

  And then the game would start all over again.

  Conner and Seth worked in the FBI’s ViCAP division—Violent Criminal Apprehension Program—a subdivision of the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Their job was to help law enforcement agencies apprehend violent criminals through investigative analysis. They were the best of the best.

  But this killer was always one step ahead of them.

  “Perigo, Harrington, my office.”

  Upon hearing his division chief’s words, Conner rubbed his eyes wearily then glanced over to find Harrington looking at him, shaking his head. A trip to Division Chief Logan Kelly’s office was never good. The two partners grabbed their notebooks and headed down the hall. The chief took his chair behind his desk and motioned for them to have a seat in the chairs across from him.

  “I have spent the entire morning fielding calls. The governor. The deputy director. Even a city councilman. Everybody wants to know the same thing. Where are we on the Simon Says investigation?”

  Conner and Seth didn’t answer. Chief Kelly knew full well where they were in this investigation: nowhere.

  “It’s getting a little tiresome explaining over and over that we’ve got absolutely nothing on this psycho, despite our best efforts.”

  Conner couldn’t agree more, although he didn’t say so out loud.

  The chief continued, “After talking with the deputy director this morning, we’ve decided to pull in some independent contractors to help on the case.”

  Conner sat up a little straighter in his chair, as did Seth. “Independent contractors, sir? What type?” They had already brought in some outside help on the case—in particular, handwriting experts for the letters. What else could Chief Kelly have in mind?

  “Actually we have just one specifically in mind. We want to bring in a...nontraditional profiling expert.”

  Conner glanced at Seth to find him looking as confused as Conner felt. Why would the department bring in an outsider for profiling? Despite what popular media suggested, there was no actual profiler position at the FBI. All agents were trained in profiling. But just like in all other training—hand-to-hand combat, weapons, languages—an agent could excel at profiling.

  Conner and Seth were decent profilers, although both had other specialties. Rarely did the Bureau bring in outsiders unless it was for something very specific. They didn’t know enough about Simon Says to bring in someone specific.

  And what the hell did Kelly mean by “nontraditional”?

  Conner leaned forward. “You and the deputy director have someone specific in mind, sir?”

  “Yes, Perigo, we do. Have you ever heard of a profiling expert named Adrienne Jeffries?”

  “No.” Conner looked over at Seth, who shook his head.

  “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Bloodhound?”

  Now Seth spoke up. “Well, yeah, everybody has heard of her. She worked for the Bureau, what? Fifteen, twenty years ago? Had some sort of superpower or something. Could sense and track evil—I don’t know. Something like that.”

  Conner barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Superpowers? Seriously? Didn’t they have more important things to do than talk about FBI urban legends from decades ago?

  “Adrienne Jeffries last worked for us eight years ago.” Chief Kelly pushed a thin file across his desk toward Conner and Seth. “She was hands down the most gifted profiler any of us had ever seen. We want to bring her back in to help with the case.”

  Conner shrugged, grabbing the file and giving it to his partner without even looking at it. “No offense, Chief, but we have more important things to do than chase down a woman who has been out of the game for a deca
de.”

  Seth backed him up. “Yeah, Chief. If she’s such a great profiler and can do everything the legend says, why isn’t she still on the Bureau’s payroll?”

  “Ms. Jeffries cut ties with the FBI eight years ago after working with us for two years. During her tenure she was directly accredited with providing critical leads for thirty-seven criminal apprehensions. All over the country. Every team she worked with listed Jeffries as their number one asset and direct link to the arrests.”

  Seth whistled through his teeth. Conner had to agree. Thirty-seven cases solved in two years was unheard of. It also begged the question: With that success rate, why had she only worked for the FBI for such a short time?

  “Why did she quit?” Conner asked.

  The older man glanced away for a moment then looked back at Conner. “She decided working with the FBI was not what she wanted to do.”

  Conner reached over to grab the file Seth was handing to him. He opened it and took a brief glance. There was no picture of Adrienne Jeffries, and half the file was blacked out with thick black lines—making reading the information behind the lines impossible.

  Someone very high in the FBI did not want much known about the Bloodhound. Conner couldn’t help but be suspicious about so many black marks through a file. Somebody wasn’t telling the whole story.

  “So for eight years nobody has brought the Bloodhound back in to assist in cases?” Seth asked. “It’s been so long, I think everyone just assumed she was dead or too old or not even real to begin with.”

  “No, she’s alive, definitely not too old and very real. We’ve contacted her a few times over the years, to see if she would resume her contract work, but have been met with a resounding no as her answer.” Chief Kelly’s eyes were cold.

  “Why?” Conner looked down at the blacked-out file again. Something was not right in this situation. Not that Conner believed in any of the hocus-pocus junk that surrounded the Bloodhound’s reputation. In Conner’s opinion cases were solved by hard work and sometimes a little bit of luck, not by superpowers.