01 A Cold Dark Place

by Toni Anderson

  His eyes snagged a lone figure on the side of the road. Female. Caucasian. Dark hair.

  Don’t do it. Temptation warred with common sense. Keep driving.

  He indicated, slowed, and pulled over. Dammit. Rolled down the window. “Where you headed?”

  The girl—late teens, early twenties—took a hesitant step forward. “Gainesville.” Her eyes scanned the interior. Her teeth chattered as she huddled into her hoodie. It was well-below freezing with more snow on the way. “No offense but I only hitch with other women in the car.”

  He shrugged. “Fine by me, but good luck getting a woman to stop for you this time of night.” He started to roll the window back up but with a quick glance at the quiet highway, she put her fingers on top of the glass.

  “Wait!” Her smile was unsure. “Okay. I’d love a ride if you don’t mind.”

  He smiled at her. She seemed like a nice kid, a hell of a lot more like Payton than Mallory was turning out to be. “Hop in.”

  She climbed in and braced her backpack on her lap. He pulled onto the road and for the first time in hours felt good. He shot a quick glance at the girl’s profile. She had a sweet face. Brown eyes...

  Maybe she was the one? Not Mallory, but this unknown girl?

  He felt like he was being tested.

  He sat straighter in his seat. He’d figure it out. It would take time and patience and determination. That was okay. He had all three and Mallory Rooney wasn’t going anywhere he couldn’t follow.

  ***

  This was a mistake. A huge unmitigated fucking disaster. But he needed to know Mallory was safely inside her apartment and then he’d leave. Yeah, he was a real boy scout. Always helping old ladies across the road and nailing serial killers between the eyes.

  But maybe he could make this work. A quick in and out—and not the sort his body craved.

  If he got access to her laptop he could download software that let him monitor everything she did. He could also place the tiny camera he had in his pocket in her office or living room. He glanced at her across the elevator and resisted scrubbing his hand over his face.

  Who the hell did he think he was kidding? He wanted her. But there was no way it was going to happen. She was drunk and hurting.

  When he’d followed her into that bar earlier he’d known she was on the verge of some precipice. He understood the significance of the date and how it might screw up someone who was usually sensible and sober. He’d intervened when he had seen a couple of guys eyeing her like fresh meat. Figured he’d watch her get drunk, scare off anyone bigger and hairier than he was, carry her home and make sure she got safely to bed. Alone. Despite being a cold-blooded killer, the chivalry gene was alive and well in his DNA.

  Go figure.

  It was still a workable idea. As long as he didn’t think about joining her. Because although his boss had ordered him to keep an eye on the special agent, it probably didn’t include shoving his tongue down her throat and checking out her tonsils.

  Mallory leaned against the metal walls of the elevator and ran one stocking-clad foot up and down the back of her calf. She looked so damn sexy he wanted to stop the thing then and there, and kiss her until neither of them could stand.

  Not happening.

  Just a few nights ago he’d confronted her in her bedroom and scared her half to death. Now he was kissing her? Playing with fire, that was for damn sure. Tonight she looked fragile and in need of protection. She looked as if one tiny ding might make her shatter, which immediately made him think about watching her come and he shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? What about this woman turned him inside out?

  Prior to screwing up the Moroccan mission he’d dated plenty of beautiful women who meant nothing to him—he didn’t even remember their names. Mallory was different. Everything about her was different; including the fact she was an FBI agent who’d nail his ass to the wall if she ever figured out what he really was.

  It wasn’t just her appearance that got to him, although those tilted eyes had an elfin look that did something to his insides. There was some inner glow that called to him. Pussy. He couldn’t afford this sort of attachment. He couldn’t afford to think about anything except fulfilling his commitment to The Gateway Project. Whatever people might think, he was an honorable man who paid his debts and kept his promises—five-hundred thirty-eight days and counting.

  He stayed away from her during the elevator ride but the smell of her subtle flowery scent, the sound of her uneven breaths, dragged across his nerves like razor wire. They went up to the sixth floor and he followed her to her father’s door, trying to keep his eyes off her body in that excuse for a dress.

  “Is this your place?” he asked. Like he didn’t know.

  “My father’s, but he lives in West Virginia.”

  He followed her inside. The lights were off but the drapes were open, revealing a magnificent view of the city lit up for the festive season. A crackle of awareness shot over his skin as the door clicked shut behind him. Okay, she was home safe. He draped her coat over the back of the couch and watched her walk away from him. Just the sight of her drove him crazy. He started backing up. He’d break in some other time to plant the bugs, when she wasn’t standing there looking so totally fuckable. Time to get out.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  He spotted her laptop and hesitated. The chance of him gaining access to that was much lower because she took it almost everywhere with her and, as a fed, she had decent security from malware. He could do it, but it might leave tracks. “Sure.”

  The fact she’d been transferred to Quantico before she’d had time to do more than run a few searches on vigilantes was both a relief and a worry. The inside man—or woman—was keeping a close eye on her but with Lucas Randall being the case officer investigating the Meacher murder, there was a chance Mallory would at some point share her suspicions with his buddy. Alex needed to know if and when that happened.

  He hated lying to his friend, hated lying to this woman who took her job seriously, but the alternative was much worse. The Gateway Project operated in stealth mode, however, this little wave of scrutiny had made everyone sink a little deeper into the shadows. Alex wasn’t sure how far a clandestine government organization like this would go to keep its secrets, but given the potential consequences of what they were doing, he figured they wouldn’t baulk at a few dead law enforcement officials along the way. No way would he let that happen.

  He doubted Mallory was in any real danger from their operation, but right now he wasn’t sure she was safe from herself.

  “You realize you brought a virtual stranger into your home? What if I was some sick bastard?”

  “You’re not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Lucas is a good judge of character and he obviously likes you.” She bent over to turn on the stereo, that skimpy dress rising high enough to give him a heart attack. Despite the alcohol she’d consumed—with the efficiency of a sailor on shore leave—she moved with the fluid grace of a dancer. “I wouldn’t have brought just anyone home.” She waggled her finger at him. “Plus, I have a gun”—she sure as hell wasn’t armed right now because that dress wouldn’t hide a quarter let alone a pistol—“and friends in the IRS. So if you are a sick bastard I’ll make your life a living hell just as soon as I wake up Monday morning.”

  Despite her attempt at humor, something about the idea of Monday morning obviously depressed the shit out of her. What was that all about? BAU was a dream job for FBI agents, and she’d only been at Quantico for a day. She hadn’t even had time to unpack her desk yet, much less piss anyone off.

  She went over to her father’s liquor cabinet and started poking through the bottles. She found the single malt, holding it up with a triumphant grin, poured them both a drink. He took the heavy crystal tumblers from her hands before she could take a sip.

  “Slow down. You’re going to make yourself ill.” He put the drinks on the coffee table, trying to
talk her out of self-destruct.

  “I don’t care.” Tears welled up out of nowhere and her frantic blinking tore at a part of himself he’d long thought dead. “There’s something I need to forget tonight, Alex. And trust me, I’m not even half drunk enough to do that yet.”

  “So you want to get hammered and fuck me blind so you don’t have to remember?” He’d hoped the blunt words would snap her back to reality but instead he saw her soul drowning in her big amber eyes.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  CHAPTER SIX

  That single word was like a kick in the gut. So he did another stupid thing. He kissed her, diving from about a thousand feet and landing with a silky glide of tongues. She tasted just as good as she had when they were outside on the sidewalk, like whiskey, rich, sophisticated and so damn hot it seared his flesh. His pulse pounded and he pulled back, breathing hard. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t being honest. If she found out he’d lied to her after they had sex—tonight of all nights—she’d be furious. She deserved better than being fucked over by a lowlife like him.

  He stroked her hair off her forehead and the touch made her quiver. “I have to go.”

  She pressed her lips together and pulled out of his arms. “Fine.” Then she skirted around him, grabbed her coat off the couch and walked stiffly to the door.

  “Where are you going?” But, shit, he already knew.

  “Back to the bar.” She was barefoot but didn’t seem to notice as she struggled into her big wool coat. “I told you, I just want to forget for one night.”

  “Forget what?” His mouth went dry, choking on deception. Maybe he could keep her here by talking.

  “Everything.”

  Christ. Part of him wanted to shake her, make her appreciate the risks she was taking just by drinking too much, let alone seducing some stranger. But being lectured on life choices by an assassin was too hypocritical, even for him.

  She held her head high but tears glittered in her eyes.

  He’d made her feel bad. Great. Dread settled over him. Dread and an odd sense of defeat. The arousal of his body stretched his nerves taut. He could ignore his own needs; it was hers that crushed him. He eyed the liquor, picked up one glass and knocked it back, then picked up the other and did the same. If you can’t beat ‘em...

  He understood the need to forget, to block out vast chunks of life—he’d give every last cent to eradicate certain parts of his memory—the death of his buddies in Afghanistan; the torture inflicted in Morocco; the faces of the men he’d eliminated in an effort to make the world a better place. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough money in the world to obliterate some things.

  She stood by the door, watching him. Sad and hurting.

  This wasn’t love or romance. This was sex. And he hadn’t had sex in so long he could barely remember what it felt like. Now he wanted it—wanted her—with an intensity that should have scared him. He had too many secrets to get involved with anyone, least of all Special Agent Mallory Rooney, but it seemed that where she was concerned he made one bad decision after another.

  A one night stand.

  It might destroy what little was left of his soul but he had a terrible feeling it would be worth it.

  He removed his jacket and pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed it across the room. Her eyes flashed with shock as they locked onto his body and then his scars. There was the chance she’d be so repulsed she’d kick his ass out the door which would solve both their problems.

  The light in her eyes wasn’t repulsion. It was empathy. Compassion. Lust.

  Okay then.

  “Afghanistan?” she asked.

  “Some.” He couldn’t tell her the truth, but lying would be equally impossible, even when she was drunk and hopefully wouldn’t remember a word. That revelation startled the shit out of him.

  Tonight she needed someone to help her forget and he was going to take one for the team like a good little soldier. What the hell harm could it do? He’d sate the need that raged through his veins and be gone in under an hour. She’d be home, safe and asleep and would have survived another heartbreaking anniversary.

  Win-win.

  He walked toward her and she watched him with keen awareness. She drew in a deep breath, those pert breasts of hers pressing against the black silk, making his fingers itch to touch. They both knew this was happening now. They were both onboard with where this was going. Because this wasn’t about him. She just needed a warm body. Any body. He could do that. He could be anybody—he just couldn’t be somebody.

  He stopped in front of her and she dropped her coat to the floor. He traced a finger across the delicate jut of her collarbone. She held her breath. Her skin was soft as rose petals, far more erotic than black silk. His heart expanded in his chest. Something about touching her made him remember what it felt like to stand in front of a firing-squad. So scared his mouth turned to dust.

  “Breathe,” he reminded them both.

  She sucked in a lungful of air and he couldn’t resist spanning his hands beneath her breasts and then cupping each one in his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, once, twice, watching the peaks bead beneath the slippery fabric of her dress. Watched her eyes darken with arousal. Her head fell back against the wall, mouth open, eyes closed, and she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. A moan came from her lips and he was instantly hard. He stood with his knee between hers and eased up that dress to get a view of mile-long legs encased in lace-edged stockings. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Touching the skin of her inner thigh was the most amazing thing he’d ever experienced.

  He kissed her, those perfect pink lips so beautifully soft and giving he wanted to groan. Her tongue touched his in a sensuous sweep that made his heart punch like gunfire against his ribs. His lips found her neck, teeth scraping sweet alabaster skin. He made himself move slowly, sliding his hands over the curves of her breasts, the indent of her hips and the perfect roundness of her ass. Her fingers curled around his nape and up into his hair, pulling him closer. Slowly, so slowly the effort was killing him, he eased one finger inside her panties and slipped into the wet volcanic heat of her center. She went up on tiptoes, hands gripping his shoulders, eyes and mouth going wide in shock. Unable to resist her mouth, he kissed her again, desperate to taste every inch of her body but needing his mouth on hers. He withdrew and slid inside again, keeping up a steady rhythm until she writhed against his palm. She was tight and gasped as he thrust just a little bit deeper.

  “Too much?” His voice sounded nothing like him. He’d heard this version before, in that prison in Morocco. His inner animal tearing loose, but this time it was from pleasure not pain.

  She shook her head and her nails dug into his shoulders. “More,” she demanded. Then she kissed his neck, bit down hard enough to make him laugh.

  She could put her mark on him anytime.

  Her breath scorched his skin and he ached at the thought of her turning that pretty mouth on the rest of him the way he wanted to put his mouth on her. He smoothed wetness over her female folds and pressed his palm hard against the sensitive nerves of her clitoris. Her muscles spasmed in reaction. Legs shook. Or maybe that was him. He withdrew and lifted her higher, spreading her legs, making space for himself and rocking against her in a rhythm that made his pulse pound. Heat burst through his skin. Fire burned along his veins.

  He kissed her, hungrily. She kissed him back, consumed him with mindless frenzy. Something snapped inside. Whatever measure of control he’d developed over the years broke. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to be good or noble or let her come and leave. It was wrong but nothing mattered except burying himself hilt-deep inside this woman. He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Digging one-handed into one of the compartments, cards and cash spilling, until he found the foil package and dropped the wallet to the floor. He let go of her mouth and tore into the package with his teeth. She tried to fumble with his zipper but he eased away, putt
ing her feet gently on the floor as he covered himself and protected them both.

  She reached for him but he grabbed her hand. “If you touch me it’s all over. I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone as much I want to have sex with you right now.”

  “Good. Hurry.” She looked at him with eyes the exact color as the whiskey they’d drunk.

  He wanted to tear off her clothes, lay her on a bed and fuck her from top to toe. He also wanted to make love to her until she passed out. The bedroom was way too far away. He dragged her dress up to her waist. Breathing heavily against her ear, he gathered her silk panties in his fist. “Are you sure this is what you want, Mallory?”

  She nodded and he ripped the panties clean off. Her fingernails bit into his biceps. He didn’t care. She lifted one stocking-clad leg and wrapped it around his hip and he positioned himself at her core and, unable to hold back, thrust deep inside. The pleasure was instantaneous, as was the panic, because he was totally fucked.

  “You’re so tight.” And he’d taken her against a wall. Moron. “Am I hurting you?” He went to withdraw but she clutched him tighter.

  She shook her head, squirming to get closer. “More,” she demanded and nibbled his jaw. Her nails scratched his back, digging into his skin with the sort of pain that aroused him more than he’d ever imagined possible. He wrapped his hand around her other leg and locked them both around his waist. And then every pulsing inch of him was embedded inside her, blasted by the velvet clench of wet heat.

  “Okay?” he asked. Okay didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling. He was pretty sure the word for it hadn’t been invented yet.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Sweat broke out along his brow as he moved inside her. Trapped against the door by his body, her hips strained to meet his thrust for thrust. His brain started to implode. There was nothing but her heat and her eyes and the control she exerted over his entire being just by existing. He was sucked deeper and deeper into the vortex that was Mallory Rooney and he never wanted it to end. She started to come and every good thought or image he’d ever experienced coalesced in his brain and detonated like fireworks as she cried out, sobbing his name. Two more thrusts and her orgasm dragged him over the ledge. He came with an explosive crash that nearly brought him to his knees, a primeval shudder ripping through his frame, heart jack-hammering in his concrete chest.