by Cynthia Eden
George Farris had enjoyed carving up his victims so carefully. “Is that something George learned from you?” Blake asked her. “You taught him how much fun it was to cut up those women?”
Her smile stretched. “I taught him so many things.” But her eyelids flickered and the smile faded. “Then you took him away.”
“No!” Samantha’s quiet voice. “It was me! I did it. I’m the one who shot George.”
The redhead spun toward her.
“You want to make someone pay?” Samantha nodded. “Fine. Then make me pay. I did it. I don’t have a gun because my boss took it after the shooting. That’s the way things work at the FBI. That’s the only reason I haven’t shot you already. I just don’t have my gun.”
The woman took a step toward her. “You’re not getting out of here alive,” she said, the words barely more than a whisper.
“Of course we are,” Blake snapped back. “We’re getting out and we’re arresting your ass. You’ll go with us and you can enjoy some good quality time in a federal cell.”
Her head moved in a slow, negative shake. “It won’t be any fun without him. I won’t be able to watch his work.” Her shoulders sagged. “I couldn’t let anyone else find his prizes... That was why I came here. You both appearing...” Her breath rushed out. “That was pure bonus.”
If she thought going to jail was a bonus, fine. Whatever worked in her demented brain.
The knife suddenly fell from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She tipped back her head. “I’m ready.”
“Blake!” Samantha’s eyes were wide. “We need to get out of here...now.”
The redhead was laughing. Her eyes were still closed. Her head was tilted back as if she was just waiting for something to happen.
I couldn’t let anyone else find his prizes.
Oh, fuck. “Run!” Blake roared to Samantha.
She turned on her heel and took off. He barreled into the redhead, didn’t slow, just threw her over his shoulder and kept going. But his touch seemed to ignite her. She fought against him, twisting her body, punching his back.
He ignored her and rushed after Samantha.
The redhead screamed, “No!” She drove her fists into him again. He could see the screen door, still open. “No, no—”
Samantha had gone through the door. She looked back at him, fear on her face. She held out her hand, urging him on.
And he felt the explosion behind him. The house seemed to rock around him, and a ball of red-hot fire blasted from behind him. The force of the explosion lifted him up, throwing him through the screen door. The redhead was ripped from his arms as he hurtled forward. Then the ground came up to meet him as he slammed face-first into it.
The impact sent pain shuddering through him, but he shoved that pain right back. Blake started to roll over and—
Samantha was hitting him. Hard, over and over on his shoulders and back.
He grabbed her wrist, holding tight. “What the hell?”
Her eyes were big, so dark and deep. “You were on fire.”
He opened her hand, saw the blisters that were already forming there. He surged to his feet, pulling her up with him. Blake stripped off his still-smoldering coat and shirt and stomped at the flames.
The small house was totally engulfed. Broken glass littered the ground where the windows had exploded. The flames reached toward the sky, crackling and hungry.
But over those flames, he could hear laughter. His head turned and he saw the redhead. She was sitting on the ground, her arms curved around her undrawn knees. Her gaze was on the fire. She was smiling.
Slowly, he and Samantha stalked toward her. The woman had just planted a damn bomb—one that had nearly taken them all out, and she was just sitting there, laughing?
Oh, yeah, her lawyer will definitely be using an insanity defense.
When she caught sight of them, her laughter stilled. She looked at Samantha and sadness flashed on her face. “Guess I have to get you next time.”
The hell you will.
But Samantha shook her head. “There won’t be a next time for you.”
The woman rocked back and forth, holding her undrawn knees. “There will be. I’ll find you. I never forget. I never let go.”
Good to fucking know.
“Lady, you are under arrest,” Blake snarled.
Her gaze drifted back to the house. “No one will ever know now. His secrets are mine. My secrets are his. No one will know...”
But Samantha’s golden gaze gleamed. “Don’t count on it.”
* * *
LITTLE WAS LEFT of the quiet house on the cul-de-sac. As dawn rose the next morning, Samantha stared at the charred skeleton that remained of the home. Ashes drifted in the breeze.
The fire had been very, very thorough. The arson investigator had already told her he believed several explosive devices had been systematically placed throughout the structure for maximum impact.
Their arsonist—a fingerprint check had revealed her real name to be Nina Miller—had been very, very deliberate. She’d wanted to make certain that no evidence survived the blast.
And she’d nearly made sure that Blake and I didn’t survive, either.
But in the end, they’d made it out.
As Samantha stood there, a Mercedes-Benz slowly pulled around the cul-de-sac. She stiffened because she knew that car. It parked behind her smaller vehicle and, a moment later, Cameron unfolded himself from the luxury sedan and headed toward her.
“Went by your apartment.” He had a bag of doughnuts in his hand. “When you didn’t answer the door, I figured you’d be here.” He opened the bag and offered her a doughnut.
She took it. Was it odd to eat doughnuts at such a terrible scene? Maybe. But her starving stomach reminded her she couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d eaten.
Cameron leaned back against her car. His gaze was on the charred structure. “Cut that one pretty close, didn’t you, Sam?”
She had to swallow twice before she could force down the bite of doughnut. “Closer than I would have liked.”
He was still looking at the ashes. “I wouldn’t have liked it if you died.”
His words surprised a quick laugh from her. “Jeez, I don’t think I would have liked it much, either.”
Slowly, his head turned and his gaze met hers. There was no humor in his eyes. “The world would be darker without you in it.”
That just might have been one of the nicest things he’d ever said to her. “Thank you.” Cameron could be arrogant. He could be domineering. But...
He was also a friend, one who knew all of her secrets and still didn’t stare at her as if she were a freak.
And, even better, he didn’t stare at her with pity in his eyes.
“What happened to your hands?” he asked.
She looked at the bandages that covered some of her fingers. “Blake was on fire when he came out.”
He caught her left hand. His lips pulled down. “And you hurt yourself helping him.”
“He’s my partner.”
His fingers slid over her wrist, a nearly careless caress. Only, she knew Cameron never made any moves that were actually careless. With Cameron, everything was always carefully planned.
“If someone is going to get hurt,” Cameron finally said, “how about next time we let it be him?”
She pulled her hand away from his. “How about there’s no next time...and no one gets hurt?”
“Don’t think that will happen.” He shook his head. “Your line of work seems particularly dangerous.”
Yes, it was.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
She made herself take another bite of the doughnut. Then she had to ask him, “Are you...okay, being here?” Because
she knew about his past. The fire. The death. Ash drifted in the wind and it had to remind him of the darkness in his life.
The darkness that had changed everything for him.
“You’re with me.” His head turned toward her. “I’ve found that I’m often better when you’re near.”
Her smile came again. “You know, sometimes, you can really be charming.” And a good friend. She could use a friend.
They sat in silence for a moment, then he asked, “So what’s the woman’s story? You figured her out yet?”
“She has knife scars all over her body,” Samantha said. “They were discovered when she was booked.”
“Self-inflicted?” he immediately asked. “Or...?”
“Based on the angles, particularly the wounds on her arms, no, I don’t think they were self-inflicted. But I do believe she willingly received those cuts.”
“You think George gave them to her?”
Samantha nodded. “I think she asked him to, and I think she also asked him to start hurting the other women. She came to the house because she wanted to destroy evidence.”
He gave a low whistle. “Evidence that might have implicated her?”
“That’s what I believe.” She rolled back her shoulders. “But then Blake and I appeared, and her rage took over. It wasn’t just about getting rid of the evidence then.”
“It was about getting rid of you.”
Yes, that was what Samantha believed. “She wanted us to pay for George’s death.” And they almost had paid. The explosion wouldn’t have just destroyed evidence. It would have killed them.
His stare focused on the burned porch frame. “Pity nothing is left for you.”
“She doesn’t know nothing is left.”
He laughed. “Ah, Sam, you have such a fun mind. I love it when you go all twisted on me.” He pushed away from the car. “Going to lie to your prey, are you? Brilliant. Just brilliant.”
“I’m going to lock away a killer,” Samantha corrected. “Because that’s what I do.”
The wind blew against her face, tossing her hair over her cheek. His hand lifted and he brushed the lock of hair aside. “Yes, I guess it is.”
She moved away from Cameron. His touch didn’t feel natural to her any longer. No...it just...
He isn’t Blake. That wasn’t Cameron’s problem. It was hers. She’d deal with it, the way she dealt with all her problems.
“A serial-killing team,” he murmured. “Such an interesting element. I would love to interview her. I bet she’d make for a fantastic paper topic.”
“Maybe you’ll get the chance.” Her phone vibrated in her pocket, signaling she’d just received a text. “If they want any outside experts brought in, I’m sure you’ll be the first on the list.”
He always was.
She looked down at her phone. “I need to head down to the Bureau. Bass wants me to start the interrogation on Nina in an hour.”
“Because you’ve been cleared. A justifiable shooting. Never had any doubt.”
She glanced up at him. “Justifiable or not...” Her voice lowered. “It still gives me nightmares. It made me remember...too much.” The shadows that were in her own mind. The ones she worked to keep so carefully in check.
His stare turned solemn. “You know you can talk to me. I don’t judge you, Samantha. No matter what, I will never judge you.”
She knew that. But... I can’t say the same for Blake. If he learns all my secrets, what will he do? Things would have been so much easier if she could have just loved Cameron. “I need to go,” she said again. “Thanks for the doughnuts.”
She reached for the door handle.
But his fingers curled over hers. “It’s natural to feel guilt after taking a life.”
Yes, she got that. A normal, human reaction. That doesn’t make it any easier.
His breath whispered over her cheek. “What else do you feel?”
Her gaze cut toward him. There were some things that she couldn’t say, not even to Cameron.
But...
In his stare, she swore that...he knew.
“There was a rush, wasn’t there, Samantha?” he asked. “When you pulled the trigger... When you stopped that very, very bad man... You felt a surge of power, didn’t you? He wasn’t in control any longer. You were.”
Yes, she’d been in control.
“If you want to talk, I hope you know my door is always open to you.”
She did know that. She also knew she didn’t want to explore the darkness of her own feelings, not then. She understood killers.
Anyone had the potential to kill, under the right circumstances.
But liking the kill? That wasn’t something just anyone would experience. “Thank you, Cameron.”
He backed away. Samantha slid into her car, and a few moments later, she was driving away from the cul-de-sac.
She glanced in her rearview mirror.
Cameron stood in front of the burned house.
It’s just a house on a street. Just a house...
* * *
CAMERON WATCHED SAMANTHA drive away. He had no doubt that she’d get a confession. After all, Samantha was very good at her job.
Very, very good.
But he was worried about her. This had been her first kill as an agent and the shooting had stirred up her memories. She couldn’t keep her feelings bottled up. She needed to talk and to share.
She needs to tell me all the dark details.
He’d always known that Samantha Dark was like her name. She wasn’t meant for a normal life, that fake life of smiles and perfect days. There was more inside of her, a twisting, snaking dark, an understanding, even a need to explore the tainted side of life.
She hunted killers because her mind understood their motivations far too well. But on this case, she’d crossed a line. Not just thinking like a killer, but finally...
Becoming one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SAMANTHA SCHOOLED HER features before she opened the interrogation room door. She went inside with her spine straight and her shoulders squared. Her heels clicked on the floor.
Blake was already seated at the little table, his pose relaxed. Across from him, Nina Miller sat, a faint smile curving her lips.
Samantha smiled back at her.
For an instant, she saw Nina’s eyelids flicker. But then a mask seemed to fall over the other woman’s face. “Why so late to this little party, agent?”
“Because I had to stop by George’s place and pick up a few things.”
Nina smirked. “I don’t see anything...”
Samantha laughed as she slid into the chair next to Blake. “Of course you don’t. Evidence has to be logged. Analyzed. Studied ever so carefully.”
“Why would anyone want to study ashes?” Nina asked. “Seems like a waste of time to me.”
Blake leaned forward. “We have you on the arson, Ms. Miller. Arson and the attempted murder of two federal agents.”
Nina put her cuffed hands on the table. “How did I know you two were going to be there? I certainly didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” She blinked her eyes, appearing confused. “I mean...I just knew what a terrible, terrible man George Farris was...so I went to his house trying to banish that evil.” Her cuffed hands rose and she pressed her fingers to her temple. “I feel so...lost. I...I think something broke in me when I saw that news story.” Her hands fell back to the table and she turned her wrists toward her, staring at all the slash marks on her skin. “It reminded me of my past.”
The woman was good. Able to turn on and off her act at the blink of an eye. “You haven’t asked for a lawyer,” Samantha said.
Nina kept staring at her wrists. “I should, right? That’s what people do...but...” Her eyes sq
ueezed shut. “My mind is so foggy.”
Blake glanced at Samantha, one dark brow raised. She could read his expression perfectly.
Utter bullshit. Neither of them were buying Nina’s act.
“Do you seriously think we don’t remember the things that you said to us at George’s house?” Samantha asked.
Nina looked up at her. “I don’t remember. Maybe...maybe I should talk to a shrink. Talk to someone who can understand how my mind just...splintered...” A tear leaked down her cheek.
She started this act as soon as I mentioned evidence. Before Samantha had said the one magic word—evidence—Nina had been smiling that smug little grin. Samantha leaned toward her. She patted the woman’s hand, as if in sympathy. “You are talking to someone who understands. My PhD is in psychology—I totally understand all about the fragile state of the human mind.”
The faint lines near Nina’s eyes tightened.
“So feel free to tell me everything,” Samantha murmured. “Because I sure am ready to listen.”
But Nina jerked her hand away from Samantha’s. “You won’t know my secrets.”
Words the woman had said before.
“I found your secrets,” Samantha said. “Buried beneath the ash. Did you really think someone like George wouldn’t have put those pictures and flash drives in a fireproof safe? I found them beneath the floor of the room that once held Missy Johnson.”
Nina paled.
“You knew he was keeping evidence, didn’t you? His souvenirs. I mean, even if the kills were your idea, he liked to keep the memories close.”
Nina shook her head.
Blake settled back in his chair, his gaze drifting between her and Nina.
“You like pain, right, Nina?” Samantha asked.
Nina jumped to her feet. “How dare you—”
“Some of your scars are new, some are old. The old scars tell me that you started the pain a very long time ago. Was something bad happening in your life? Did you make the first cuts?”
Nina’s eyes glittered, but no real emotion showed on her face. Acting. Just going through the motions, trying to play us.