For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1)

by Megan Mitcham

  No. She needed help with something else—the need raging inside her body— but she wasn’t about to ask him for that kind of help.

  “Uh-uh,” was all she could muster.

  Madelyn sat and sand rained from her body. She blew it from her face and brushed it with her bound hands before turning toward the water. Offering him her hands seemed more intimate than letting him rest in the junction of her thighs. So, she interlocked her fingers and watched the white caps glimmer in the moonlight.

  They sat side-by-side staring at the starry sky, the crashing waves doing her talking for her. They screamed her disbelief. They roared her outrage. They sang her desperation.

  “The cuffs were the point,” Nathan said. “If I could get close enough to cuff you, then he could take you. He sedates his victims with a shot of Versed. Traces of the drug have been found in every autopsy. We believe he hauls them to another location because there is so little evidence where the bodies are found. In that second location he takes his time.”

  “He rapes and tortures them, for hours. When he’s had his fill he takes them to a third and final location, where he kills them by hanging. He’ll use a tree, light pole, or flag pole. He’s not picky. But he doesn’t stop there. He cuts them open from end to end, removes their insides, and leaves them for all to see.”

  He turned to her. Stubbornly, she stared straight ahead, afraid the tears collecting in her eyes would spill over. Nathan’s warm hands settled around the cuffs. One at a time he released the lock, and then slid them from her wrists. They slid onto the sand.

  His thumb caught her chin and tilted it up to meet his gaze. “I’ll protect you. You don’t have to go to the safe house, but my team will set up a perimeter at your house and I’ll be your bodyguard. I’ve seen too many dead bodies at this sicko’s hand and I won’t stand idly by while he rapes, tortures, and murders you.”

  She couldn’t speak or she’d sob.

  “Madelyn,” he begged.

  She finally choked. “I…I have to think. I need some time to think.”

  “You don’t have time,” he growled.

  When her tears began their muted fall Nathan released her chin. She buried her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around her folded legs. The tears weren’t for her. They were for Nichole. They were for the other women who had suffered the injustices of the killer’s twisted mind.

  If she had taken all night to grieve, Nathan probably would have watched over her. His presence was unshakable. She only gave herself a couple of minutes, before lifting her head and clearing away the tears. She turned toward him. “Walk me home?”

  He didn’t speak, just stood and reached for her hand.

  They walked in silence until they reached the two-mile marker. Deacon wasn’t there digging for crabs. Her eyes searched the shoreline. No sign of him.

  Madelyn’s head snapped around. “Where’s my dog?”

  “There.” Nathan pointed to the palms.

  Under the palms was an unconscious mass of fur and muscle. Madelyn sprinted to Deacon. She placed a hand under his leg and searched for his heart beat. “What did you do?”

  “Only a fraction of what this killer would do to you,” he replied with a no-nonsense stare.

  She didn’t pay the comment its due attention. She focused on Deacon. His chest rose and fell and his heart drummed easily against her palm. She lifted his leg and released it. His big paw slapped down with no resistance. He was out cold.

  She stood and glared at Nathan. Then she added an evil smirk. “You’re carrying him back.”

  17

  Nathan was in shape, but hauling an extra ninety-five pounds over the sand for two miles took its toll. By the time he laid Deacon onto the plush dog bed in the corner of the living area, his mouth was dry and his stomach wept for sustenance. She hadn’t said much on the walk back. No doubt she was pissed, but hopefully she gave some serious thought to what he’d told her.

  Madelyn dumped the sand from her shoes and set them next to the front door. When she finally turned into the small house her gaze skated over his head. Yep, still mad. She headed for the fridge. The clank of glass bottles lit the air. Nathan almost groaned. He wasn’t above begging.

  As she rounded the corner, her sultry, sad eyes narrowed on him. She held out one of the two beers she held.

  He hesitated. “You slip something into it?”

  “No.”

  He reached for it, but she jerked it back. “I should knock you over the head with it though.” She shoved the thing at him and worked her jaw side-to-side.

  Nathan snagged it, twisted the top, and then handed it back to her. “Perils of the job.”

  Surprisingly, she traded bottles with him. He’d half expected her to remove the cap with her teeth, just to prove she didn’t need help.

  “You’re not leaving until he wakes up, which means you’re staying for dinner. So, go light the grill while I figure out what you’re going to cook.”

  “I’m on it.” He nodded—liking the idea of this domestic scene a little too much—and headed for the patio before she changed her mind. When he stepped into her bedroom his gate eased, allowing him to catalogue the nuances of her intimate space.

  A hint of lavender hung in the air. Stings of tiny lights hung above the patio and reflected an ethereal glow in the space. It lit heavily on a queen-size bed shoved into the corner of the small room. She’d look so damn good spread out on the fluffy white comforter, all pliant, and needy. But it’d take more to get her there than he could give.

  So, he adjusted his pants to accommodate his swollen cock, grabbed the knob to the back door, and twisted. Nothing happened. A satisfied smirk curved his lips. She did listen to him. At least a little. He flipped the bolt and made his way to the grill.

  About the time he got the coals lit and the edges charred white, Madelyn breezed through the door. She placed a platter of shrimp and vegetable kabobs onto the bistro table, and then disappeared into the house without a glance in his direction. He stared after her sweaty, sand coated form.

  The more he puzzled over Madelyn Garrett the more he wondered what he’d give—if he could—to be with her.

  Nathan watched the black squares turn white, the vegetable and shrimp sear, and brooded. If he lost focus of his goals, the bad guys would win. And no amount of lust could override his need to see sick sons-of-bitches like Famosa and the Field-Dresser rot for their crimes.

  The back door opened and closed again, but he didn’t turn around. He pulled the last of his beer and turned the skinny wooden spindles.

  “Why do you care so much?” Madelyn’s sultry voice taunted him, while her words hit a little close to the mark.

  “It’s my job.”

  Her arm brushed his, inciting the throb between his legs that had only grown more insistent. A beer bottle hung between her fingers. He grabbed the offering and prayed she’d retreat. The scent of her sweat overrode his hunger for food. He licked his lips to keep from licking her mouth. The mouth that had pulled him like a bull to a matador’s cape when he’d had her flat on her back, nestling his dick on the beach.

  “Not many people show so much dedication to their work.” The breath of her words danced over his bicep.

  “Not many jobs protect the innocent and see that the guilty are punished.”

  “Why is that so important to you?”

  His grip on the beer doubled and he couldn’t decide whether her proximity or the sensitive subject matter had him on edge. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Hum.” She stepped back. “I have plates on the table. Let me grab them.”

  “Hum?” He turned toward her retreating back.

  Her pony-tail gyrated with the bob of her head. “You have this unearthly calm about you, but you can be pushed just like everyone else.”

  “I don’t know that I like being lumped into the general population. Especially since you seem to have an aversion to them.”

  Madelyn shoved a plate at his middle and duck
ed around him. Her gaze darted high and low in front of the grill.

  “Looking for these?” He clamped the tongs together.

  “Yes,” she bit.

  Nathan reached over her shoulder, pinning her between him and the grate. Her breath hitched. He plucked two skewers from the low flame and set them on her plate. She stayed perfectly still as though he loaded her with dynamite instead of grilled deliciousness. He pulled the last three from the heat, heaped them on the plate, and then stepped back.

  “Shall we?”

  She walked to the table with a rigidity normally reserved for the dead. It loosened after gulps of beer and a few bites. “It’s very good. Thank you.”

  “That’s all you. I just heated it. But I have to warn you…” Her eyes shot wide. “If this is what I get for tranquilizing your dog, tackling you, and smashing your face in the sand, you had better keep a good eye out.”

  A genuine smile bowed her pretty mouth. Too soon it fell away.

  “You honestly don’t think Jim killed her. I get that. But when will you know for sure?”

  He tossed a pita triangle heaped with some sort of black spicy dip she’d added to the table into his mouth and chewed. His head shook before he could speak. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”

  “I trust him.” She hiked a thumb toward the unconscious dog in the house. “And he trusts me.”

  “Your trust is hard earned, and I can respect that. What I can’t understand, is why you’d risk your life when all the signs point to the Field-Dresser.”

  Madelyn pushed her half-eaten meal away. “Because I went with the superficial once and lost everything for it. I don’t have much to lose now, but what I do have I intend to keep.”

  Nathan shoved her plate back in front of her. “Eat. It’s not the husband. Not unless he’s the serial killer. And I don’t think he is. This guy is patient. Jim Gallow has a world of impulse control issues. But if you need actual physical proof, I’ll have it in a couple of days.”

  When he’d finished every bit of food on his plate and the tray of dip, she reached for the dishes. He caught her hand in his. “I don’t suggest waiting that long to go into protective custody.”

  It could have been a trick of the light, but he’d swear her pupils dilated. “Noted,” she breathed. He released her hand. She snatched the plate and stood. “I’ll go clean these up.”

  “I’ll take care of the grill.”

  “Thanks.” She ran like the mountain behind her house had just erupted. With a stack of breakables, the display made him chuckle.

  He dealt with the coals, cleaned the grate, and locked the door behind him, along with every window in her bedroom. In the kitchen dishes clanked and clatter and water drizzled from the spout. Deacon stretched his legs over the edge of his dog bed. Nathan sat next to the groggy pup. He braced his back on the tiniest sofa he’d ever seen and stroked the big guy’s scarred belly.

  Little by little the dog wiggled his way off the dog bed and to Nathan’s side. “Sorry for the fake out, buddy. Sometimes we all have to take one for the team.” He found the particularly sensitive spot at the top of Deacon’s sturdy chest and scratched. The big guy’s tongue lulled out the side of his head and groaned as though he’d found an unattended Christmas ham. “I suppose this’ll get us square?”

  Deacon lifted his head and plopped it on Nathan’s thighs. After a few wiggles the top half of the pup’s body fixed him to the floor.

  “Real talk. I like it.” Nathan scrubbed the dog’s head. “So, wanna tell me how to get Madelyn to trust me?”

  The mighty beast heaved a sigh.

  “Pray for a miracle? Yep, that’s what I thought.”

  The water in the kitchen shut off. Silence descended in the tiny dwelling. Nathan kept his mouth shut to head off any beating Madelyn would dole out if she heard him pestering the dog for information. A few cabinets opened and closed. The soft pads of her footsteps announced her arrival a few seconds before she appeared.

  She’d washed her face and let her hair down. Some clung to the tops of her breasts while the rest cascaded down her back. A huge smile parted her lips and warmed her somber eyes.

  Lord, he was in trouble.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was awake?” She skittered across the room and dropped to her knees beside him. “Hey, bud.”

  Madelyn leaned forward, cupped Deacon’s head in her hands, and lowered hers to meet it. Her hair draped her face. It forced a rush of air thick with her scent straight up Nathan’s nose. He ground his teeth to keep from groaning like a dog.

  She sat back, still holding Deacon’s head and smiled. “You have my permission to bite him,” she whispered.

  “Not a chance.”

  “You’re right, he wouldn’t.” Her gaze met his. “He likes you a lot and that’s out of character for him. He only appreciates a few people, but not this openly.” She gestured toward his current position.

  They shared a smiled that—despite its innocence—charged the air between them. This close, the pull grew bold. His fingers itched to tame her hair in his grip. Her gaze darted to his mouth, and then back up. His breaths came shallow, flaring his nostrils.

  Madelyn’s lips parted. She cast her gaze at the dog and gnawed on her cheek.

  “I won’t bite you, you know?”

  Her hand brushed Deacon’s fur in a light, distracted stroke. The caress transferred through the dog’s body. Nathan’s thigh tingled.

  “Would it sound crazy,” she whispered, “if I said I’m worried you won’t bite.”

  “Not if you explain what you mean.”

  She continued to rub the dog and drive him mad without a word.

  “I can bite…and make you like it.”

  Her cheeks flamed red. She zeroed in on him with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.” A sigh drew her shoulders. “I mean if you acted like most men it would be easier.”

  It was worth a shot.

  “Easier?” he asked, quirking a brow.

  “I wouldn’t feel bad about slamming the door in your face or telling you to fuck off.”

  “So, you haven’t told me to fuck off?” He grinned to lighten the mood. “I’d hate to be the bastard that got the blunt rejection.”

  The pulse in her neck made the skin just below her ear throb. One little kiss couldn’t hurt. Could it?

  Nathan sat forward, bringing their faces a breath apart. His hand released the prickly fur for more tender locks.

  “Deacon is awake, so you’re free to go.”

  “Do you want me to go?” He stilled, stared into her soulful eyes, and waited.

  “You should go,” she murmured.

  “Do you want me to go?” he repeated.

  A war raged in her flitting eyes.

  “Yes.” Her gaze met his. “I need time to wrap my head around all this. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me. I am a simple person. I lead a simple life. And all this…” She stood and raked her hands through her hair. “It’s just crazy. I mean you—the FBI here—Nichole gone, Jim, and your killer. It’s too much.”

  “It’s not more than you can handle. You are a strong woman. You just have to trust us to take care of the situation. You have to trust me.”

  “Trust doesn’t come easily. Not for me anyway.” She shrugged.

  “Me neither.”

  “I want to trust you.” Her arms crossed over her chest, plumping her breasts.

  But I’m a rat bastard with a fixation on your body that can’t be trusted.

  “But?” he asked.

  “But it’s hard to give up control. I finally have control over my life and here’s another man…” She ground her lips together. “You’re asking me to relinquish it. I…I need time. Lock me in here tonight and take a look around outside. You said yourself he strikes two weeks apart, so I have a little time. Just give me tomorrow.”

  He hoisted himself and Deacon off the floor. “Where do you want this lug?”

  “Will you put him on
my bed, please?”

  Nathan nodded and hauled the dog into her room. Madelyn stayed put. He laid Deacon on her plush comforter and rubbed his head. “You lucky bastard.”

  He returned to find her holding the same locked down—a.k.a. breasts out—position. “Hold out your hands.”

  She scrunched her face and cocked her head to the side.

  “Do it.”

  She huffed, but did as he commanded. And wasn’t that hot.

  He placed a walkie-talkie in her hand. “I’ll be close. You need me, for anything, use it.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Seriously, you think you hear something outside, you think you see something, don’t wait.”

  In the other hand he placed a Glock 27. “In case I’m not close enough.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you know how to use one of these?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “You want me to shoot you?” Her pretty mouth bowed, and not in a smile. “I took a gun safety course and shot nearly every day in Mississippi.”

  “That was a while ago.”

  Madelyn clipped the radio onto the waist of her shorts. She cradled the gun like a professional. Her small hands wrapped firm around the slide. One finger hit the slide lock. She stripped and reassembled the Glock in military fashion in under thirty second’s time.

  “Hot damn, I think I’m in love.”

  She held the pistol by her leg, covered her mouth with her other hand, and giggled. “I think you’re crazy. Truly.” Her head shook back and forth. “And now that I’m armed, don’t tackle me in the dark.”

  “Only if you ask.” He grinned and stepped around her slacked jaw. Before he let himself out he called over his shoulder, “Lock the door behind me.”

  18

  His large frame sat hunched over the sullied kitchen table. The last rays of sunlight dissipated from the shallow room. Cigarette smoke hung heavy, clouding the stagnant air, while fresh fumes constantly rose from the bidi laid on his linoleum-topped office space. A static-laced tune filled in the smokeless holes. The delicious and haunting voice of Billie Holiday diffused from the turntable speaker plopped in the center of the adjacent living room. Over and over she sang of the strange fruit and the blood on the leaves.