by Cynthia Eden
But she was.
That’s my problem. There is a darkness in me, and I want things—people—I shouldn’t. Sarah tried so hard to play it safe, when there was such a big part of her that wanted to run fast and hard toward danger.
“Sarah, you know it’s not that Ricker bastard, right? I’m sure you are quite in the loop. You probably heard before my . . . sources . . . told me.”
She wondered what sources he had—cops?
“Looks like he got what he deserved.”
She turned around. Found him close enough to touch.
“Who would you peg as the killer here?” Jax asked.
This man—this stranger—was trying to get her to profile for him? “Who the hell are you?”
He flashed that devilish grin again. “Told you . . . I’m Jax Fontaine. And that killer out there made the mistake of making me very, very angry.”
“You should let the police handle this.”
He laughed. Hard.
Why was the elevator being so slow?
“Who is he?” Jax leaned closer to her. “Tell me who to look for.” His voice dropped even more. “Come on, tell me who to kill.”
Her heart slammed into her chest.
“You know you want him dead. I sure do. If you’d just watched Julia get broken like I did, you’d be begging me to hunt down this man. You’d want me to break him, too.”
The doors opened behind her.
“Sarah?” Wade’s rough voice. Then he was pulling her back against him. Holding her a little too tightly. “What the hell is going on?”
Jax inclined his head toward her. “I know what you want, Sarah. I think I know a whole lot about you.”
“Look, asshole,” Wade blasted at the guy. “Emma isn’t here to run interference for you, so you need to back the—”
Jax laughed again. “My Em knows what I am, too. And she knows what I’m going to do. Guess it’s a race, huh? Let’s see who gets to him first. If I get there, well, there won’t be anything left of the killer for the LOST agents to find.”
He turned away. Walked off as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Wade jabbed the button to close the elevator. “What the fuck, Sarah? It looked like you were making out with the guy!”
No. No, she hadn’t been. But they had been standing close together. Almost touching. Making out? “He wanted me to profile for him.”
“Profile? Is that what the hell we’re calling it?” And he grabbed her. Locked his hand around her wrist and yanked her up against him.
He’d never been rough with her before. Never been anything but the perfect gentleman.
“I’ve been right here, and you’re going to slip up with some guy like him?”
What?
But then Wade glanced down at her hand. At the wrist he’d squeezed too tightly. “What am I doing?” And he brought her wrist to his mouth. He massaged the faint red marks on her skin. “I-I didn’t mean to. I’d never hurt you. I—” He let her go. Turned his back on her and jerked a hand through his hair. “This case is screwing with us all.”
It wasn’t just the case.
She’d known for a while that Wade wanted her. But Wade couldn’t understand her. He thought she was like him.
Good and whole on the inside. Someone who wanted to help others. Someone who wanted to do the right thing.
He didn’t realize that she battled her own monster every single day.
The elevator was rising.
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shove her monster far back inside of herself because . . .
I do want that bastard dead. That was her problem. All too often, she thought of death.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HER APARTMENT DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HOME ANYMORE.
Emma stood just inside the entranceway. Everything was as it had been before—well, the new-and-improved everything, anyway. The doctors had kept her in the hospital for twenty-four hours, their “observation” period. She’d been about to go stir-crazy, trapped in that small room.
“You should get some rest,” Dean said as he shut the door behind her. Emma heard the distinct click of the lock. Then his hands were pressing lightly to her lower back. “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?”
She glanced back at him. “You’re kidding, right? You have to be kidding.” She’d been lying down for the last day.
But his face looked completely serious.
Sighing, Emma turned to face him. “I got a bump on my head. The docs stitched me up. I’m fine.”
He still stared at her as if he expected her to shatter any moment. They should have been past that point by now. “I’m tougher than this, Dean, really. You don’t need to worry about me.”
His hand eased away from her. “Is it wrong that I want to keep you safe?”
“It’s not wrong, but I told you before, I’m not going to be locked up.” Not even for him. “Now, screw that resting crap. Tell me what I can do to help you.”
“Emma . . .”
“He’s still in the city. He wanted your attention. He wanted you to know about Ricker.” Since she’d been in that hospital room for so long, she’d had plenty of time to think. Sure, Emma was no profiler like Sarah, but things had added up in a way that sure made her nervous. “You said that Julia’s mother was the one to contact your office in Atlanta. When she came there, did she specifically ask for you?”
A furrow appeared between his brows. “Yeah, she did. Ann said someone had sent her a clipping about me and my work at LOST. She thought I could help her.” His lips thinned. “That didn’t happen. I didn’t help her. That poor woman is trapped in hell right now.”
Emma swallowed. “What if the killer is the one who sent her that clipping? What if he was putting plans in motion so that you’d get sent down here to find Julia?”
Dean shook his head.
She grabbed his arm. “Just wait, okay? Listen. I think this is about you. Not me. Not Julia. Not even the other victims who have vanished.” Her breath rushed out again. “Maybe he started taking people that wouldn’t be missed, so he could test himself. If he wasn’t the killer you hunted before—obviously, not,” she muttered, “then he had to train, right? Had to get it all down? So he-he practiced.” God, but that sounded cold. “And he got it all down pat. When he was ready to face you, he went after Julia. A girl from Atlanta. A girl from your town. Then he got her mom to contact you. You flew down here and . . .” Emma shrugged. “Everything else fell into place for him then. His game went to the next level.”
Dean just stared at her.
“Say something.”
He paced away from her. Went to stand out on the balcony. She hurried to follow him, and the warm sunlight hit her. His fingers curled around the railing as he looked down at the street below them. “I wanted you from the first minute I saw you.”
Now she was surprised. She definitely remembered the first time she’d seen him. Her out-of-place agent, walking around in that crisp shirt, sweating, and looking both sexy and dangerous. An intense edge had clung to him, and, as she’d watched him from beneath the shelter of her umbrella, she’d been compelled to call out to him.
“I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You smelled so good. Looked so good.” Now he did glance her way. “I wanted to fucking devour you.”
Okay . . .
“But I was here on a case. I was supposed to stay focused on the case, on the missing girl, and not get caught up by a pair of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. But once I’d met you, I couldn’t just walk away. I pulled you into the investigation—”
“I volunteered.” She moved closer to him.
“And I put you in his sights.”
Emma shook her head. “That’s not true! I was already searching for Julia!”
“But maybe he would have let you go. Maybe he wouldn’t have marked you if I’d kept my hands off.”
“Is that what you’re having to tell yourself now? You trying to put all of
this mess on your shoulders?” She caught his hands. Put them on her. “News flash. I wanted to work with LOST. I still do. And I wanted you.” Emma rose up onto her toes. “I still do.” And she pressed her mouth to his.
DEAN BANNON HAD learned nothing.
The man was up there on the balcony. Making out with Emma Castille. Acting as if she were the only thing that mattered in the whole fucking world.
I could have killed her in an instant.
He could have left her broken and lifeless body in that crypt. Then, when Dean had finally found her—with his precious LOST friends—death would have been all that waited.
But he’d been afraid of attracting too much attention. Eventually, yes, dammit, he’d planned for Emma to wind up in that tomb. Only not that day. He’d planned to take her to the cemetery later, but when she’d tried her escape attempt there, he just hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity to grab her.
Dean found her too fast.
That wouldn’t happen next time.
Through his sunglasses, he watched the couple. The way Dean touched her so carefully, so tenderly, you could actually think the guy loved her.
Do you, Bannon? Can you love anyone?
It would be good if the guy cared for her. Not just wanted her but cared. That way, her death would gut him all the more.
Dean Bannon deserved pain. He deserved to suffer. To have his reputation, his career destroyed . . . to lose everyone he cared about . . . and then, when nothing was left, absolutely nothing . . .
Dean would die.
He pulled his cap low and headed down the street.
“NO, DON’T KISS me that way.” Emma pulled back and glared at Dean. “Haven’t we moved past this?”
Dean blinked. Emma sounded angry with him. Didn’t she understand that he was trying to be a gentleman for her?
“I’m not asking you to fuck me right here,” she said.
His cock jerked in his pants. No, settle down. She just got out of the hospital.
“That will come later. Right now, I want you to kiss me like you want me. Like I’m the woman you wanted to devour when we first met.”
She’d just tossed his words right back at him. Only she didn’t get it. He pretty much wanted to devour her twenty-four/seven. He couldn’t be near her and not ache, not need.
But she’d just gotten out of the hospital. He was trying to take care of her. So, yes, his kiss had been tender. His hold on her was light. He—
She licked his lower lip. “Do you think he’s watching us?”
Dean jerked away from Emma. His gaze automatically swept the busy street. It was teeming with people. So many tourists. College kids. Folks of all ages. Voices drifted in the air. A horn blasted. But as his gaze jerked to the left and the right, he didn’t see anyone who seemed to be paying too much attention to him and Emma.
“Because I think he’s watching,” she added.
He grabbed her arm and hauled her right off that balcony and back inside her apartment. He slammed the door shut behind them. “You kissed me to rile him up?” He was starting to think she had a serious wild streak.
Emma shook her head. “I kissed you because I want you, always. If he was out there, then, yes, I wanted him to see that. I wanted him to see that he hadn’t scared me. He hadn’t driven any kind of wedge between us.”
He rocked back on his heels. “You really think he was on the street.”
“If you were the killer, wouldn’t you be? I mean if he’s after you, then it only stands to reason that he’d be seeing what you’re doing.” She gave a little shrug. “We talked about bait before—”
“I’d never use you as bait.”
“I don’t think I’m the right kind of bait. I think you are. I think we can use you to draw him out.”
This was insane. “You’re not an agent, Emma. You’ve never had any training. You can’t handle a situation like this!”
She flinched but held her ground. “Why? What’s the worst that could happen? I’d get caught, maybe thrown in a crypt with a skeleton? Been there, done that.”
Two fast steps, and he was right in front of her again. “The worst that could happen is that you die!”
“Or you do.” Her voice was soft. Her eyes seemed, if possible, even brighter. “Or have you not realized that could be this guy’s end game? You dying. If he lured you down here, it’s not because he wants you to live some long, happy life. It’s because maybe, just maybe, you’re next.”
“Emma—”
“I was never an FBI agent, I don’t have your precious training, but I can help, and I will help.” She gave a hard nod. “I bet that while I was laid up in that hospital, your teammates were working on the case, weren’t they?”
They’d pretty much been kicked off the case. Except for Victoria . . . she’d been allowed access to finish her examinations. Since Elroy needed her expertise, Dean figured the guy was content to keep using her.
“Victoria is down at the morgue right now.”
Emma nodded. “Then what are we waiting for?” She spun and headed for her door.
Seriously? Part of him—a big part—admired her determination.
Another part wanted to grab her and run.
Emma was near the door when she stopped. “Oh, and Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“When you kiss me again, do it right. Kiss me hard and deep, kiss me like you need to have me that very minute. I didn’t spend all this time working to get past your control so that we could go back to the beginning.” Her gaze held his. “I want everything from you, and in return, well, everything is absolutely what I’ll give you.”
He had no words. Mostly because he was afraid he’d say the wrong thing to her. Emma kept him off-balance. With her, he just never knew what he was supposed to do.
“I won’t break. I won’t even bruise. I can take everything you’ve got—I want it all.”
And he wanted all of her.
Dean followed her outside and waited while Emma locked the door. They went down the narrow staircase and, right before they headed out onto the street, he caught her, pulled her back against him, and kissed her.
Deep.
Hard.
Like he needed her more than he needed anything else. Like he was so desperate for her that he couldn’t hold himself in check.
His tongue thrust past her lips. He savored her taste. Demanded all that she had to give. When she moaned, the sound just drove him on. He pressed her up against the banister and knew that she had to feel the bulge of his arousal shoving against her.
She held him tighter. He felt the sting of her nails on his shoulders. Emma arched against him, and she sucked his tongue. That drove him insane when she did it.
He’d never wanted a woman the way he did her.
She licked his lower lip.
He thought about fucking her right there.
Concussion. She just got out of the hospital. Pull. Back.
His hands slapped against the banister, caging her there. Emma’s breath rasped out, and her eyes had softened with desire. “Much better,” she whispered.
Hell, yes, it had been.
Her hand slid between them. Pressed to his chest. “I’ll be expecting more later.”
He’d give her more.
EMMA HAD NEVER been inside a morgue before. Visiting one just hadn’t been at the top of her to-do list. So she was more than a little nervous when she followed Dean past the swinging doors and through the narrow office. When they entered the actual lab, the cold air blew over her, chilling her skin, and her gaze went—rather helplessly—to the line of lockers against the back wall.
Bodies were in those lockers. And those things made her think far too much about her own premature entombment at the cemetery.
She slid back a step, instinctively, but then Emma caught herself. Dean was already treating her with kid gloves. She didn’t intend to give the guy any other reason to think she couldn’t handle herself.
I have to p
rove to all of the LOST agents that I can deal with this. Because Emma had a plan. It was a plan that had developed shortly after she’d met Dean and learned about the work he did.
She didn’t want to spend the rest of her days giving readings in the square. She wanted to do what she and her father had attempted so long ago—help people. She could prove that she had talents the team could use. She would prove herself to them all.
A redheaded woman bustled into the room. She was wearing scrubs and pulling on gloves, and a nervous energy seemed to cling to the air around her. “Great,” she said as her gaze danced over Dean, then Emma. “You’re here. I was worried you wouldn’t arrive before Elroy came back for another update.” She flashed a wide smile to Emma. “You probably don’t remember meeting me before because you were, um, in a tomb.”
“Jesus, Victoria,” Dean muttered.
She winced, and her cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I have been told that tact isn’t so much my strong suit.” Her smile had definitely dimmed. “I’m Victoria Palmer. The one who takes care of the dead.”
Emma inclined her head. “Dean told me about you.” The forensic anthropologist. For some reason, she’d expected someone older, but Victoria appeared to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. It was hard to tell for certain because she had smooth, pale skin and kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was nothing hard or cold about the woman. She seemed to be spilling over with energy as she stood there, and her smile had certainly seemed genuine.
Even if her words had been a little off.
“I need to show you all what I found. Before Elroy figures out that you’re here and freaks.” She hurried toward the lockers. “I mean, really, what did you do to the guy, Dean? Agent Elroy can’t stand you.”
Emma saw Dean shrug. “The usual. Ignored his orders. Found the bad guy, got there too late to save the victim. Made Elroy look like an ass because if he’d just moved faster, everything would have been fine.” Anger hummed in his words. “All in a day’s work.”
Dean blamed Elroy for what had happened . . . and Elroy blamed Dean. Talk about a recipe for disaster.
Victoria opened one of the lockers. “The regular coroner is on his break, a break I sent him on when I got the text that you were closing in. He’s a nice guy, but Dr. Armont is way too keen on impressing the Bureau guys.” She pulled out a slab. A slab that looked like it contained something . . . small.