Twisted

by Cynthia Eden

They would have to wait until he was ready to strike.

  He’d be striking very, very soon.

  But first he had to pay a visit to a certain lady in the morgue.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  YOU’RE A BADASS, I GET IT,” DEAN DRAWLED AS he watched Emma slide under the police tape and creep right into the tomb. “You don’t have to impress me.”

  She laughed, as he’d hoped, but the sound had a raw edge. She’d grown progressively paler as they traveled to the cemetery. He hated for her to be back in that place. Dean knew he’d never forget pulling her out of that sarcophagus. Not even if he lived to be a hundred years old.

  “Impressing you is what I live for.” But she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was on the sarcophagus. Its top still lay on the floor, half-shattered. “I couldn’t get that off. No matter how hard I tried.” She glanced down at her hands. “That’s why my knuckles are so bruised.”

  Fuck. She was gutting him.

  “So we know we’re looking for a man in his prime, strong, someone who could easily move that lid.”

  That fit with Sarah’s profile.

  “And there’s the bench.” Emma skirted around the sarcophagus toward the bench. “It’s not dusty. No cobwebs at all.”

  No, there weren’t any.

  Emma spun back around. “What are we missing?”

  Nothing. “Maybe there’s just nothing here to find.”

  “I don’t believe that. If he kept Ricker here, then the place is important.”

  Yes, it was.

  “There has to be something else.”

  Dean went back to the sarcophagus. He studied the stone. Heavy and thick. When he hit against it with his fist, yeah, it was damn solid. He kicked the bottom.

  Only that thunk wasn’t solid.

  Hollow?

  “Dean?”

  He’d already dropped to the ground. It looked like stone down there, but when he grabbed hold of the bottom, he found it was loose. A cheap veneer that had been put in place to cover the bottom five inches of that sarcophagus.

  He yanked—and saw darkness.

  But when he shoved his hand inside, he touched something familiar. The heavy weight of the gun was something he’d known before.

  He jerked back almost instantly because he’d made the rookie mistake of putting his prints on that damn weapon. “I need a shirt or cloth or something.”

  Rip.

  He glanced back. Emma had just ripped the bottom of her flowing skirt.

  Okay.

  He took the fabric. As carefully as he could, he pulled out the weapon. One look confirmed that he was staring at a Glock 22, an FBI-issued gun just like the one he’d had back in his Bureau days.

  And Dean knew he was staring at the weapon that had been used to kill Jared Ricker.

  VICTORIA’S EYES WERE narrowed in concentration as she stared down at the metacarpals of Jared Ricker’s right hand. She had a magnifying glass gripped closely in her hand because she’d been going over every single inch of those remains. She didn’t want to miss anything, not a mark, not even a tiny fleck of lint. Everything was vital on this case. Everything.

  And . . .

  “Got you,” Victoria whispered. She pulled out her tweezers and very, very carefully bagged the hair that she’d just recovered, a small hair that had been stuck between Ricker’s finger bones.

  She zipped up the hair, keeping it secure in an evidence bag. Her fingers were trembling a bit. Yes, yes, the hair could turn out to be nothing. Maybe it could have been transferred to the bones when they’d all been at the cemetery or—

  Maybe it’s the killer’s hair.

  Victoria took off her gloves. Tossed them in the trash, then hurriedly texted Sarah. She had a meeting with Elroy scheduled soon. She told Sarah that she’d see her and the other LOST members as soon as she finished.

  She didn’t want to get their hopes up about the hair, not just yet. She’d do some tests and see what she could discover first. But she would be telling Elroy about the hair. Mostly because she wanted the FBI’s resources to get her test results back faster.

  Victoria stared down at the remains. She knew that Dean viewed this man as the enemy, a person who deserved no sympathy. But what about justice? Did he deserve that?

  The door opened behind her. Right on time.

  Victoria reached for another pair of gloves. “We’ve got a lot to cover,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she stared down at Ricker. But there was just no keeping the excitement at bay when she revealed, “I may have found a hair from the killer on the body, and—”

  Something sharp pricked Victoria on her neck, as if a bee had just stung her. Her hand rose, and she automatically slapped at the spot.

  Her fingers hit a syringe.

  “You’re right,” a low, growling voice said into her ear. “We do have a lot to cover.”

  A heavy lethargy swept over her body. She tried to turn around, to see the man who held her, but her body wasn’t listening to her mind’s commands. Instead of turning and fighting, she sagged in his arms.

  “That’s good. Just relax, Doctor.” He put her on the table. Right beside Ricker. The table was icy cold. Why hadn’t she noticed just how cold it was before? “Now, you and I . . . we’re going for a little trip.”

  Was he tying up her hands? If felt like he was.

  Why? She tried to scream the question, but she couldn’t speak.

  “It’s a good thing you like the dead,” he said.

  Her eyes were starting to sag closed. She hadn’t been able to see his face. Not even once.

  “Because you’re going to be one of the dead soon, Doc . . .”

  “YOU TOUCHED THE gun?” Gabe Spencer demanded as he paced in Emma’s apartment. “Damn, man, what were you thinking?”

  “Well, I wasn’t thinking that I’d find a gun under there, that’s for sure.” But he should have been more careful. He’d been too on edge, too worried about Emma, and he’d screwed up. A plain and simple screwup. “Elroy knows my prints are going to be on the thing now, but maybe they’ll turn up someone else’s, too.” The killer’s.

  Gabe stopped pacing. “Or maybe Elroy will claim you killed the guy because your prints were on the weapon.”

  What? Shit.

  “It could happen.” Sarah had her hands between her knees as she sat on Emma’s new couch. “I mean, look at it this way, he could try to tell everyone that you had a breakdown after the Ricker case. You left the FBI, turned your back on your partner . . .”

  No, Kevin had turned his back on Dean first. The guy had come to see Dean in the hospital just once. Dean had opened his eyes and found Kevin standing in his doorway. Kevin had told him, “You fucking let her die.” Dean had said that he was sorry about Charlotte, over and over, but Kevin had walked away.

  Dean had left the FBI after that, and he’d heard that Kevin had been transferred down to the Baton Rouge office. Elroy had even been demoted for a time—that would happen when the whole nation saw your screwup.

  We all should have done things differently back then. Maybe if we had . . .

  But they couldn’t change the past.

  “And maybe . . .” Sarah continued her voice jerking his attention back to her, “because of what happened to you on that mountain, you became consumed with the idea of vengeance. Maybe you lost your grasp on what was right and wrong. You killed Ricker, and you started imitating his crimes down here.”

  Dean glared at her. “That is such bullshit.”

  Emma was silent beside him.

  “Yeah,” Wade growled. “It is bullshit. But it’s the kind of bull I’ve seen the FBI pull off before. You need to watch your step. We all know that Elroy has a hard-on for you.”

  Emma surged to her feet. “You’re all looking at this wrong. The gun is a solid lead! The killer screwed up. He left the weapon there, thinking no one would discover it, but we found it, and that puts us one step closer to solving this thing.”

  Gabe slanted a gl
ance toward Dean. “I didn’t expect her to be so positive.”

  His lips almost quirked.

  “Yes, well, that’s because you’re a pessimist,” Emma fired right back as she marched toward Gabe. “A guy who has something other than this case eating at him. I mean, seriously, you’ve looked at your phone seven times in the last twenty minutes.”

  “Seven?” Gabe repeated. “Thought it was just six . . .”

  “Seven. And your gaze keeps darting to the balcony as if you’re thinking about something or rather, someone else. Since your face softens when you do that, I’d say you were thinking about a lover. You’re worried about her, and it’s distracting you from finding this killer.” She huffed out a breath. “We can’t afford distractions right now.”

  Oh, hell. She had just gone after his boss. And she’d been damn sexy doing it.

  “Positive and another head case,” Gabe muttered.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open, but before she could attack, Dean grabbed her. He locked his arms around her stomach and pulled her back against him.

  “Easy!” Gabe raised his hands. “I didn’t mean you were a head case.” He jerked his thumb toward Sarah. “I meant that you were like her. The two of you can get into someone else’s head without even half trying.”

  Did Emma realize that was one of the biggest compliments that Gabe could give her?

  “She’s not like me,” Sarah said quietly.

  Now all eyes shifted to Sarah.

  She shrugged. “I think she’s better. I just figure out what sick, psychotic bastards have going on in their heads. She’s able to figure out everyone else.”

  “She sure did a good job with me.” Gabe inclined his head toward her. “I’m thinking about my fiancée. She’s back in Atlanta, and I don’t like being away from her. My head’s not where it needs to be. Mostly because Julia Finney’s death reminded me that I came far too close to losing my Eve a while back.”

  Dean had been there during those terrifying hours. He’d seen his friend nearly break apart. But Eve had survived. Both Eve and Gabe had battled their nightmares and won.

  He glanced at Emma. When she’d been missing, terror had consumed him. It had grabbed tight to him, nearly suffocating him with its intensity.

  He hadn’t stopped to wonder why he was so afraid. He’d just reacted.

  But now . . . now . . .

  Shit . . . I went insane because I love her.

  Impossible. They’d just met. They’d had fantastic sex. She’d gotten beneath his guard. She’d made him laugh. Made him share, actually talk about his life and his past. But . . . they had only been together for a few days. He couldn’t love her.

  Could he? Dean glanced at Emma.

  I fucking do.

  That meant they were both totally screwed.

  “Victoria’s text said that she had to catch a late meeting with Elroy.” Sarah stood up. “I’ll check in with her when she gets back to the hotel.” She glanced over at Emma. “Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Dean made sure he was at Emma’s side. “She’s not going to be alone.”

  “Damn straight,” Wade agreed. “I’ll be camped out close, keeping an eye on the place. If anything goes down tonight, we’ll be ready.”

  “And I’ll rotate with you,” Gabe said.

  When Emma frowned over at the LOST boss, he explained, “I took the liberty of renting out the space across the street. Since the bookshop closed down, the place is empty, and it will give us the perfect place to watch but not be seen.”

  Because they all seemed to think the killer would be circling back by . . . but whether the guy was coming for Emma or coming after Dean, well, that was the part they didn’t know for sure.

  You’re not going to get either one of us.

  He walked his friends to the door. This was a team that he could count on. Dean knew that. They’d always had his back, from the first moment that he’d walked into the LOST offices in Atlanta.

  It wasn’t about red tape. Wasn’t about some glory call. It was just about getting the job done.

  Gabe hesitated before he left the apartment. “Your girl there . . . she’s got some interesting talents.”

  Hell, yes, she did.

  “Might be able to use someone like her at LOST.”

  Then he was gone.

  Dean secured the door behind them. “You should get some sleep,” he said, without glancing over at Emma. “The day has been hell.” Talk about a serious damn understatement.

  “I’m really not in the mood for sleep. Every time I close my eyes”—her laughter sounded too harsh, far too harsh for Emma—“let’s just say I picture things that I’d rather not have in my head.”

  He turned toward her. “Nightmares can’t hurt you.” He knew that truth because he’d had his share.

  Her smile was sad. “No, but they can sure scare the shit out of you.”

  He laughed. He shouldn’t have laughed. There was just something about Emma . . .

  “Your friends are watching across the street.” She glanced toward her balcony. “Just how much will they be able to see?” Emma turned off the lights, plunging them into darkness. “Especially with the lights off.”

  Her hands pressed to his chest.

  “Emma . . .”

  “I need this, Dean. I need you. More than I can say.”

  How was he ever supposed to deny her? Dean didn’t think he could. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to deny her a single thing.

  “I don’t want to be scared. When we’re together, all I can do is feel pleasure. Please, give me that.”

  She didn’t need to beg him for anything. Never.

  Her scent teased him, and when she pushed against him, rising onto her toes, her mouth met his. She licked his lip. He loved it when she did that. Then she bit him. A light nip that sent a surge of arousal pounding right through him.

  But he wasn’t doing this her way. Oh, he’d give her the pleasure she craved, but tonight, his control would not break.

  He lifted her into his arms. She gave a little gasp then, and he had to kiss her. He’d never get tired of feeling her luscious lips against his. He kept kissing her as he carried her into the bedroom.

  Then he put her down on the bed. She reached for him, moving fast, but he caught her hands. “Careful.”

  “Careful?” Emma repeated. A lamp was on near her bed, throwing light over the covers. “Since when?”

  Since you got a concussion. Since I realized I wanted to show you that you’re far more than a fast, hard fuck in the dark.

  “My rules tonight, Emma.” Your pleasure, but my rules.

  Her eyes narrowed. “We’ll see . . .” A taunting whisper that seemed to stroke right over cock.

  “Now, baby,” he chided as he lowered her back onto the bed. “Don’t make me have to tie you up.”

  “Promises, promises,” she taunted.

  He stiffened. Seriously, the woman was trying to destroy his mind. His cock was about to burst right through his pants.

  He positioned her hands back against the pillows. “Keep them there.” Or I will. He’d already come too close to losing Emma. And now, now he desperately needed the reaffirmation of life with her. He wanted the wild flare of passion. He wanted the sensual release. But more than all that, he just wanted his Emma. He wanted to see her break apart in his arms, then come back together in the aftermath of her release.

  He started with her shirt. Unbuttoned it, and left it hanging open. Then he went to her shoes, but before he could reach for them, Emma had kicked them away. She lifted her hips for him so he could remove her jeans, and since she was being so obligingly helpful, he slid off her panties, too.

  “I don’t want foreplay,” Emma said, voice husky and so tempting. “I just want you.”

  And he wanted to fucking worship her.

  So he did.

  Dean slowly slid his hands up her legs, starting at her ankles, moving up, up,
and caressing the silky expanse of her skin. What if he hadn’t found her? What if he’d never touched Emma again?

  He bent and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. She trembled against him.

  He’d have her doing more than just a little tremble soon.

  He let his fingers rise. Emma, sweet Emma, parted her legs even more for him. And he touched her, caressing the delicate pink of her sex. Stroking her. Parting her folds. Pushing one finger into her and loving the way she arched up to his touch.

  Slowly, with his eyes on her face—because he didn’t want to miss a moment of her pleasure—he pushed a second finger into her. Deeper. A bit harder. And while those two fingers thrust into Emma, his thumb rubbed over the little button of her clit.

  “Dean!”

  She reached for him.

  He pulled away from her. “Now, Emma, you know where your hands belong . . .”

  “Tease!” she snapped at him, but Emma put her hands back up.

  His muscles were locked and straining. Emma was wrong. This wasn’t about teasing her. Not at all. It was about giving her as much pleasure as she could stand—and then sending her over the edge into oblivion.

  And if she touched him, he was a goner. He wouldn’t be able to hold on and do all the things he wanted with her delicious body.

  Her hips lifted once more.

  But he didn’t put his hand on her, didn’t put his fingers in her. Instead, he moved his body so that he was between her legs. “I missed your taste.”

  What if I hadn’t found her?

  He curled his hands around her hips and lifted her against his mouth. He didn’t go slowly, didn’t start with a tentative stroke of his tongue. He put his mouth on her, and he took.

  She pushed against his mouth. Moaning and straining to get closer to him. He was watching when she came, watching that wild flush of pleasure that lit her cheeks. She didn’t make the mistake of grabbing for him again. Instead, her fingers fisted on the pillow beneath her head. Her body went bow-tight as she called out his name.

  He didn’t stop. He kept licking her. Stroking her with his mouth and tongue. And she was perfect. He’d been right when he thought that he could get addicted to the taste of Emma’s pleasure. He sure as hell could.

  The second orgasm hit her, and she nearly came off the bed, but he had a strong grip on her hips, and Dean held her down easily.