by Cynthia Eden
Samantha opened the door—and the executive assistant director was standing there, his hand poised to knock.
Because Blake was watching Samantha so closely, he saw the sudden tension that swept through her body.
But Justin Bass just flashed Samantha a broad smile. “Excellent job today, Agent Dark. Got to say, you really impressed me. I was starting to think all the talk about you was just hype, but you proved yourself.”
Blake found himself walking closer to Samantha.
Bass’s light blue stare drifted to him. “How’s this partnership working out?” He gave a low hum. “On paper, you two seemed to be very compatible. Different strengths, different weaknesses—opposites who should be nearly unstoppable when paired together.” But his expression was thoughtful as it lingered on Blake.
“The partnership is perfect,” Blake said, voice flat. His hand curled around Samantha’s shoulder. “My partner saved my ass today. I’ll be sure to return that favor for her soon.”
Samantha glanced back at him. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do that,” she murmured.
His lips hitched. “Hopefully.”
Bass cleared his throat. “Because there was a shooting... Well, you know how things work in the Bureau. There will be an investigation—just routine, of course—but, Agent Dark, you won’t be in the field again until it’s all concluded and—”
“I understand,” Samantha said quickly. “I didn’t want the case to end this way, sir. I had hoped to bring George Farris in alive.”
“Sometimes the perps don’t want that.” Bass’s gaze had suddenly gone distant. “And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.” Then he nodded briskly. “Today was a win—you saved Missy Johnson. So go home, get some rest, and I’ll call you when it’s time for you to get back in here and use that mind of yours to help us catch the next twisted asshole out there.”
Samantha brushed by him.
“Agent Dark?” Bass called, stopping her after she’d gone just a few feet. “I’m always curious... Once you get the profile in your head, once you know the killer, inside and out, how do you turn it off? Is there some kind of refresh button that you set in your head?”
She glanced back at Bass. “I wish there was. There’s no way to turn it off. Every profile stays with me. Just as every killer does.” She gave Bass and Blake a tight smile. “Good night.”
She walked away, her spine straight, her shoulders squared.
Bass didn’t speak until she’d slipped into the elevator. “You’ll have to answer questions about the shooting.”
“It was self-defense,” Blake said immediately. “He was aiming for her. She was just faster.”
Bass nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” But he seemed to be hesitating.
“Sir? Is there something else?”
Bass’s lips thinned. “Be careful with the way you watch her.”
Blake blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re partners. Only partners, understand?”
Then the executive assistant director walked away. Blake stared after him, aware that his hands had clenched into fists.
* * *
THE DOORBELL RANG, startling Samantha just as she was climbing out of the shower.
Who in the hell is that?
She toweled off as fast as she could. Then she jerked on a pair of jogging shorts, her bra and an old, faded FBI T-shirt.
The doorbell pealed again.
As she hurried down her narrow hallway, Samantha glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. Not a normal time for a visit, not by a long shot.
Her heartbeat kicked up. Was it Blake? Coming by to check on her one more time? Being the good stand-up guy that he was? Maybe she was warmed a little by the thought.
Maybe.
Don’t go down that path. It is the wrong path to take.
She pressed her eye to the peephole in her door. Blake wasn’t out there.
Another man was. A man with stylish blond hair, chiseled features and dark, deep eyes that were staring straight back at her. She fumbled with the locks, then swung the door open. “Cameron? What are you doing here?”
Dr. Cameron Latham. All-around genius, all-around playboy. One of her best friends...
And her former lover.
Definitely a path I won’t ever take again.
Cameron let out a long sigh. “I’m here because I had absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than to come by and drag you out of a...” His gaze darted to her wet hair. “Shower?”
She stepped back and glanced at his hands. “You have a bottle of wine.”
“Yes, it’s one of your favorite bottles.” He smiled at her and marched right into her apartment. He made himself at home, the way he always did, as he headed into her kitchen. He put the wine down and grabbed two wineglasses from her cabinet. “I figured you could use it tonight.”
She shut the door behind him and locked it. Then Samantha leaned back against the wood as she studied him. She and Cameron had met during their first year at Princeton. They’d both been fascinated with the human mind, both determined to unlock all the secrets that rested within a person. She’d gotten her PhD and then immediately joined the FBI, knowing that behavioral analysis—the behavioral analysis of predators—was the work that she had to do.
Cameron had gotten his PhD and gone off to rule in the hallowed halls of academia. He was currently the golden boy at Georgetown University.
She watched as he expertly opened the wine—very, very expensive wine because he had expensive tastes. “That’s your favorite, not mine.”
His mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “Is it? My bad. I must have grabbed the wrong bottle.” He sighed. “Oh, well, guess we have to drink it now. The things I do for my friends.”
Her lips twitched, but then she stared at him, feeling a heaviness in her heart. “You know, don’t you?”
He poured the wine. It was a dark red. Deep crimson, like blood. “I may have watched the news,” Cameron allowed. “I like to do that sometimes, you know. Stay updated on current events. It’s a quirk I have.” He lifted one brow at her. “A crime scene was featured on the ten o’clock news... Seems a very intrepid FBI agent stopped a serial killer tonight.” His gaze slid to her arm. “Got a war wound, do you?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. She’d taken off the bandage before she got into the shower. Barely a scrape, more of a bruise, kind of like carpet burn. Only...in her case a bullet burn.
He lifted one glass toward her in a salute. “You saved the victim. I think that calls for a celebration.”
She made herself walk toward him. Samantha pushed her hands down on the kitchen counter, flattening her palms and fingers. “I killed a man tonight.”
He put the glass of wine in front of her. She couldn’t look away from the bloodred liquid.
“Killed a man,” he said, his voice deep, but emotionless. His shrink voice. The professor voice. “But saved a victim. Do you not still consider that a win?”
She didn’t touch her wine. “It was my first kill in the line of duty.”
He didn’t speak. She could hear the ticking of her clock in the hallway. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time seemed slow right then, but when she’d shot George Farris, everything had been moving at super speed. The bullets had fired out of her gun so fast...
“How did it make you feel?” Cameron asked her.
Her eyes squeezed shut. “I shot him twice. Why did I shoot twice? Why not just once?”
“Maybe you wanted to make sure he was good and dead.” A pause. “Or maybe you liked the way it felt to pull that trigger.”
Her gaze flew open. “I did not enjoy killing him! He was going to fire at me! He would have shot me, killed me. I did what I had to do, I—”
He lifted his glass
—now half-empty to show that he’d certainly been drinking his wine—and tapped it against hers. “And there you go.”
She glowered at him. “I hate your mind games.”
“No, you love them. Because I’m the only one who can play these games with you. Just as you’re the only one who can play them with me.” He gave her a smile, one of his rare, real smiles. So much of Cameron was a trick—she’d learned that over the years. His real emotions were often carefully bottled away inside.
Buried deep.
Like hers, Cameron’s past wasn’t pretty. But they’d moved away from the blood and death from their backgrounds. They’d reinvented their lives.
“You were having yourself a pity party.” He took a long sip of the wine. “Unbecoming of someone like you. I was just reminding you of something you already knew, deep down. You didn’t kill for some kind of thrill.”
“Of course not,” she gritted out.
“You didn’t kill because it was easy.”
Her breath caught.
“You did it because you had no choice, so let the guilt go. It’ll wreck you if you don’t. For the record, I’m not sure if I would enjoy you wrecked.”
Her lips curled down. “I know you can be a smooth talker...”
“I don’t have to be smooth with you. You can see me for what I am, can’t you?”
She held his stare. “Yes.” Bright spots and dark.
He nodded. “Now, how about you drink that wine? Then you can tell me all about how you worked up that absolutely killer profile.” His smile flashed. “Sure looked as if Bass were having himself one hell of a time on the news. The guy loves a camera. He—”
Her doorbell rang again. The peal seemed to echo through her apartment.
Cameron’s smile vanished. “Didn’t realize you were...seeing someone, Samantha.”
“I’m not.” Dating wasn’t exactly a priority for her. “You’re the only asshole who comes ringing my bell at this hour.”
“Obviously, I’m not.” He put his glass down, and before she could move away from the counter, he was already marching for the door. “Let’s just see what other asshole is paying you a late-night visit.”
She spun around. It’s Blake. Blake. She knew it with utter certainty. She’d mentioned her new partner to Cameron a time or two, but she hadn’t gone into specific details with him. Normally, she and Cameron talked about everything. But Blake...
It’s private. He’s private. The way she felt about Blake wasn’t something she’d been up to sharing with Cameron. Mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to analyze her.
Ah, there you go, Samantha. Setting yourself up with a man you know you can’t have. That’s so classic of you. It’s a protective instinct, and you know it. You don’t want to risk actually giving your heart to anyone, so you focus on someone you can’t have. Self-destructive. You’ve got to stop that... She could practically hear Cameron’s voice in her head.
And she could see him opening her front door. “Cam, no—”
Too late.
Cameron frowned and said, “Who the hell are you?”
“About to ask the same question,” came Blake’s curt response.
She hurried toward them. Samantha locked her hand around Cameron’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Cameron, this is my partner, Blake Gamble.”
Blake’s gaze was on her hand. On the hand that she realized was clutching Cameron’s shoulder a little too hard. And her partner...he looked pissed.
Samantha swallowed and met his gleaming stare. “Blake, this is my friend Cameron Latham.”
“Dr. Cameron Latham.”
Her gaze jerked toward him.
Cameron flashed a shark’s grin as he offered his hand to Blake. “The partner... I was wondering about you.”
Oh, shit. She could feel her cheeks burn.
Blake took the offered hand, shook it once. But his attention barely stayed on Cameron for even a moment longer before that gleaming stare was back on her, raking over her body. “Didn’t mean to...interrupt.” Again, pissed was the word that came to mind for her.
“You didn’t.” She pulled her hand away from Cameron’s shoulder. “Cameron saw the news and he came by to check on me.”
“That’s what friends do,” Cameron murmured.
She rolled her eyes at him. Was he baiting Blake? Sure seemed that way. “Come inside, okay?” No sense having this chat in the doorway. She turned, not looking to see if they followed her. “I’d been meaning to introduce you two, anyway.”
Samantha heard the click as the door shut. The floor creaked behind her.
“I realized Samantha was working with a new partner,” Cameron said, “but she was being a bit...reserved with details about you.”
She sat down on the bar stool near her kitchen counter. “Do you want some wine, Blake?” Now she glanced at him.
“Looks like I interrupted,” he muttered. “Sorry.” His expression was guarded.
Cameron slapped him on the back. “I think you do deserve some wine. After all, you helped to save the girl today, too. What a noble thing to do. True blue.” His head cocked as he studied Blake. “Are you the heroic sort? I guess you must be...since you’re an FBI agent and all.”
“Cameron,” Samantha warned. “Trust me, he doesn’t want to be profiled.”
Cameron laughed. “Tried that, did you?”
Blake’s attention shifted to Cameron. “You’re a profiler, too?”
“Oh, good Lord, no. I’m a professor at Georgetown.” He shrugged. “But my PhD is in psychology, so I guess I do know a few things about the twisted paths that minds can take.” He smiled. “Samantha and I shared that passion, you see. We always like to know what makes people tick.”
“Do you now...” Not really a question from Blake.
But Cameron nodded. “Our minds are interesting. So complex. Take Samantha, for example. I know the way she thinks. Her first kill as an FBI agent. It wouldn’t have been easy for her. She would have blamed herself. Would have wanted to punish herself. Why didn’t she save George Farris? Why didn’t she aim for his shoulder or his leg? In that split second, why didn’t she make another choice?”
“You aren’t helping,” Blake growled.
Samantha’s stomach felt hollow. Why didn’t I?
Cameron blinked. “Samantha had to protect herself. Self-preservation is one of the strongest human motivators out there.”
She could hear the clock ticking again. The tension in the room was uncomfortable. Too high. Too thick.
“Samantha hasn’t mentioned your name to me,” Blake said suddenly.
Cameron’s eyes tightened, just the faintest bit. “Then you must not know her very well yet.”
Hell. This mess was the last thing she needed. “I’m tired,” Samantha said, rising from the bar stool. I will kick both of their asses out. After her day, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with testosterone overload. “Thanks for the wine, Cameron, but I’m really done for the night.”
He nodded. “Understandable.” He walked to her and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “If you need me, just call.”
Right. “Thanks.”
“I can see myself out.”
He always did.
Cameron gave a little nod toward Blake. “Agent...interesting to meet you. I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
“Count on it,” Blake said, the words almost a warning. He stood near the counter, just a few feet away from Samantha. He showed no sign of moving.
But Cameron left. He strode toward the door, even locked it behind him as he left.
Her breath whispered out. “It’s been a long day...” Samantha began.
“Yeah, I know.” His expression wasn’t as hard. No more anger. Just...Blake. “My place is two
streets over. I came by because I wanted... I needed to see for myself that you were okay.”
“I’m a lot tougher than I look,” Samantha said. “Promise.”
“I have no doubt about that. I was the one who was worried.”
“You don’t need to be.”
He moved closer to her, a gliding, stalking movement. Her shoulders tensed.
“You were involved with him.”
“My...you cut right to the chase, don’t you?” But then she waved that away. “My personal life really shouldn’t—”
“It’s in the eyes. The way a man looks at a woman he’s known intimately. The way he wants her.” Now his smile was mocking. “Trust me, it’s something other guys see.”
“Cameron and I aren’t involved that way, not any longer.” Not that she had to tell him this. But, well, just so they were clear. “He’s my friend. And he’s also a very good sounding board for me. When I have crazy theories, Cameron gets them.”
“But he doesn’t get you.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “There a reason you’re asking these questions?”
His hand lifted, as if he wanted to touch her. His fingers were long and strong and she tensed.
Then Blake dropped his hand. “You’re my partner. I care about you. I want you happy.”
Happy. Now, that was an interesting word. She tried to remember the last time she’d been truly happy.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight.” He rolled back his shoulders. “Didn’t mean to cross any lines.”
“Didn’t you?” she whispered.
His thick lashes lowered. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman quite like you.”
His response surprised a laugh out of her. After everything that had happened that day, Samantha was surprised she could still laugh. “Is that good or bad?”
His lips twisted. “Could be both.” Then his lashes lifted and he was staring into her eyes. So much emotion seemed to burn in his gaze.
She found herself holding her breath.
Blake lifted his hand. “Partners?”