Caught in the Crossfire

by Nichole Severn

  She maneuvered around him, pointing down the hall toward her bedroom. Distance. She needed distance. The past eight hours had ripped her apart, but even with his attempt to piece her back together, the human body and mind could only take so much.

  “I think it’s best we get some rest before looking for Michaels, but you’re welcome to raid the fridge and the pantry if you’re hungry. Please, take whatever you need, and there’s extra bedding in the linen closet.”

  The apartment blurred in her vision as she escaped down the hall, her chest too tight, her head spinning. She forced herself to close the door behind her softly, then collapsed against it. She didn’t have the strength for this. For years, she’d helped her patients become stronger, better versions of themselves, helped them work through their trauma. Kate rubbed the base of her palms into her eye sockets. Why then couldn’t she help herself?

  She shoved to her feet. She needed to shower, drink a glass of water, get something to eat. There were people out there who needed her help, and she wouldn’t be doing her team or the FBI any good in this condition.

  Heading for the bathroom, she stripped out of her bloodstained clothing, then twisted the shower knob to hot. Steam filled the bathroom quickly, and she breathed a bit easier.

  Declan hadn’t done anything wrong. None of this was his fault. She needed to apologize to him, explain. They’d be working this case together. Despite her internal battle, he was as much a part of this as she was.

  In minutes, she toweled off and dressed in her favorite pair of sweats and oversize T-shirt. As she reached for the bedroom door, three knocks reverberated through her.

  “Kate?” Declan’s voice was a soothing remedy to the panic consuming her vision, and it took a moment to center herself. Of course, he’d come to check on her. From the moment he planted himself in that bullet’s path to save her life, he’d proven that part of her husband had survived the trauma. “You okay?”

  Hand on the doorknob, she put the armor he’d stripped back into place. The man on the other side of the door wasn’t her husband—never would be—and she had to accept that reality. They’d have to work together to find and question Michaels, she’d help him get his life established, get him out of that shelter, but that was as far as it would ever go between them.

  Kate swung the door inward, faced with the sight of shrimp linguine in creamy mushroom sauce. Her mouth parted as her stomach gargled with hunger pains at the aroma. “You finished cooking it.”

  “Didn’t want our hard work go to waste.” Declan offered her the plate, complete with a fork and a glass of white wine, the muscles down his arms bunching as he moved. That gut-wrenching smile did its job as his fingers made contact with hers. What was it about touching him that had her all twisted in knots?

  “Thank you.” Heat penetrated through the plate into her hand, but the sensation exploding from her chest demanded her attention. Nobody had ever cooked for her before. Her own grandparents who’d raised her had worked full-time and hadn’t had the time or the energy to do much else but provide packets of ramen noodles for Kate and her younger brother. But this...this wasn’t ramen.

  “Least I could do for you giving me a place to crash tonight.” Declan nodded and turned to head back toward the living room, but Kate took a step after him, her heart in her throat.

  “You don’t have to eat alone.” That sensation behind her sternum rocketed through the rest of her body as he slowed to a stop in the hallway. Ridges and valleys of muscle flexed along his back, then he faced her, blue eyes assessing every change in her expression. Looking for another crack in her armor? He wouldn’t find it.

  “I don’t want to complicate things between us more than they already are, Kate.” Rolling his fingers into fists at his side, standing there as though he were ready for battle, he looked exactly like the special agent she’d known him to be. Would she ever be able to separate the two in her mind? He closed the distance between them, one step at a time. “I don’t intend to start anything I can’t finish.”

  The tendons behind her knees weakened. Air rushed from her lungs. What did that mean?

  “I’ll give you one more chance to decide and be sure this time.” His voice graveled, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Her hold on the plate faltered as his exhale grazed the oversensitive skin across her collarbone. Why did it feel as though she wasn’t asking him to eat dinner with her but something far more dangerous? Far more tempting?

  “Ask me again,” he said.

  Kate rolled back her shoulders, leveled her chin. He’d saved her life back at the house, cooked her dinner, and she was an adult. She could take care of herself, protect herself. And maybe the thought of eating the pasta alone hollowed her insides a bit more now that their fates had intertwined again.

  She’d been alone for so long. Kind of felt nice to have someone else to talk to outside of work.

  “All right. Have dinner with me,” she said.

  His expression softened with a one-sided smile. Declan took the glass of wine from her, then threaded his free hand around hers. Instant warmth shot straight into her bones and counteracted the pain in her arm from the fresh wound. But this time, she didn’t flinch away.

  He pulled her into the kitchen, set her glass on the countertop and slid one of the two bar stools out for her. All of the mess from food preparations had been taken care of, the island cleaned.

  “You didn’t have to do any of this.” Kate took a seat on the bar stool, surprised to already find silverware laid out. As though he’d expected her all along.

  When had she become so predictable? Or was it the fact he seemed to read her better than anyone else ever had? Wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. They were going to be partners for the foreseeable future. Because as much as she hated to admit it openly, she had the feeling Michaels wasn’t going to be found unless he wanted to be.

  “No trouble at all, but for the record, you did most of the heavy lifting. The thought of deveining those shrimp makes me gag.” His deep laugh did funny things to her insides as Declan took a seat beside her, his body heat sliding up her arm. He lifted his own glass of wine, clinking it against hers. “To partners.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the clear crystal, the weight of his gaze on her the entire time. The decision had already been made. Her purpose—to bring the man who’d shot at them tonight to justice—would be greater than her pain.

  Kate clinked her glass against his and took a heavy sip. “To partners.”

  * * *

  SHE WAS ASLEEP in her bed—alone—her breathing heavy and slow.

  Declan skimmed his fingers down the door frame to her bedroom and shut the door behind him quietly before heading back to the living room. She’d fallen asleep on the couch as they’d watched some mindless television show, and he hadn’t been able to resist tucking her in for the night.

  She’d been pregnant. With his baby.

  Rubbing his palms down his face, he collapsed onto one of the too-white sofas. What the hell was he supposed to do with that information?

  He shouldn’t have pushed her for an answer. Should’ve minded his own damn business. Because the last thing he ever wanted was to see that woman cry again. Angels weren’t supposed to cry, yet every crack in her expression had gutted him from the inside. And he’d do anything he had to to ensure nobody hurt her. Himself included.

  “She doesn’t deserve what you’re going to do to her.” He’d only brought pain and suffering into her life. Staying longer would only destroy her more.

  Alone, in the dark, he took in the magical expanse of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Kate had an entire team to track down the bastard who’d taken a shot at her tonight. She didn’t need him. He wasn’t an investigator anymore and she had everything and everyone she needed to get the job done. All he’d managed to do was mess with her head. And that ki
ss... He was selfish for using her to prompt another set of memories.

  But she was the only tie to the past he had, the only one who could give him his life back.

  The tablet Sullivan Bishop had loaned him for the investigation brightened across the room with a silent notification, reflecting off the wall of glass in front of him. Shoving away from the couch, Declan crossed the room and unplugged it from the charger. An email forwarded by Blackhawk’s network security analyst to the in-box she’d set up for him and Kate’s company email. Could have something to do with their case.

  He pressed his thumb to the home button.

  The screen flashed white, taking him directly to the original email. From Special Agent Dominic. The attachments laid out all the evidence, the witness statements, crime scene analysis, everything the FBI had on the serial killer Kate had been asked to profile, the Hunter.

  Declan found himself tapping on each attachment, skimming over the details of all three victims and the scenes where they’d been left.

  Dense trees, thick dried grass, out in the middle of the woods. Off the trail so as not to be found easily. Only the killer knew how many more were out there, waiting to be recovered. No meaningful connection between the victims as far as the FBI had been able to tell. They varied in age, height, weight. Nothing similar but their appearance. Short blond hair, athletic, green eyes. His heart raced, and he swiped through the rest of the attachments to clear his head of the look in their eyes as they stared up into the sky. All three women looked like Kate.

  Declan sat in a nearby chair. Anchorage was as diverse a city as it could get. What were the odds the Hunter lured three Caucasian women to their deaths from the same location? Unless—

  “You know, a normal person wouldn’t stay up late to review photos of bodies.” Her voice penetrated through the thick haze the puzzle had built.

  He closed his eyes against a surge of regret. Hell, he hadn’t heard her approach, too embedded in the case. He got like that sometimes—invested—but now he understood why. He’d worked for the FBI. He’d hunted monsters. Standing, Declan faced her, his blood pressure spiking at the play of moonlight across her features. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. You were one of the best investigators the FBI has ever seen. I can understand the draw to solve one of their highest-profile cases.”

  The half smile on her lips warmed him to the core as she reached for the tablet. Taking it from him, she swiped her index finger across the screen to review the attachments.

  “Anything you think might help the investigation?” she asked. “Or did you happen to solve the entire case and identify the Hunter on your own?”

  Declan wiped his overheated palms down his jeans, studied the too-bright screen as she skimmed page after page. “I’m not an investigator, remember? You’re asking the wrong guy.”

  “First impressions. Tell me what you thought when you looked at the crime scene photos.” Green eyes sparkled in the glow from the tablet’s light as she hiked one shoulder in a shrug. Kate reached to the end table beside the chair he’d taken up and switched on a small lamp. What was this? Some kind of test?

  Okay. “The victims might’ve been hidden enough to keep them from being found too easily, but they were staged.”

  Something familiar took root from inside him, the need to solve the puzzle as if his life—or someone else’s—depended on it. His heart pumped hard behind his rib cage, adrenaline consuming him from head to toe. Declan stood and stepped close to her, his arm brushing against her uninjured side as they reviewed the evidence together. Her touch, like an anchor, kept him in the moment as possibilities of the way the killer hunted his victims played out in his head. He’d lure them in, maybe seduce them, then set them free in the wilderness. Had he given them a head start before he’d started the hunt?

  Declan swiped his index finger across the screen and landed on a single photo of one of the crime scenes. Focusing on the surrounding damp ground and not the body where most investigators started, he pointed to a small patch of bare dirt. “See here? There are no footprints in the dirt, nothing to suggest the grass has been disturbed around her. Like she fell from the sky. The killer brought them to those locations and left them to be discovered.”

  “They were killed elsewhere.” Kate nodded as she scrolled to the next attachment. “Makes sense. The lack of blood at the scenes backs up your theory. The victims had to have been placed after they were already dead a few hours, which means these killings were thought out. Meticulously planned ahead of time. The killer knew exactly where their bodies would end up, maybe even when they’d be discovered, because he picked the locations personally.”

  She was placating him. The excitement drained from his muscles, and he backed off a step. A small burst of laughter escaped as he ran a hand through his hair. The sting of his stitches pulled at him. “None of this is new information, is it?”

  “No. But it can’t hurt to have a second pair of eyes. There might be something in these files I’m missing that could help me build the profile on the guy.” She handed him the tablet, then headed toward the kitchen and flipped on the coffee maker. Pulling two mugs from one of the cabinets, she set them out as the sound of bubbling water reached his ears. Within a few minutes, she’d poured them two hot cups of coffee.

  Green eyes landed on him as she offered the second cup. “I will mention, however, that it took the investigating unit two hours to come up with the same theory that it took you two minutes to put together.”

  Surprise washed through him. Two hours? Seemed kind of obvious to him. He just had to look at the right evidence. Or had it been his past life as a serial crimes investigator coming into play?

  Liquid heat bled through the mug and into his hand. “Dominic barely just sent you the email. How do you know how long it took them?”

  “I’m in a group message with the BAU assigned to the case.” A smile thinned her lips as she leaned forward, one leg tucked under the other. Her robe shifted, revealing pale, smooth skin above her collar. Under her thin shirt, the scars interrupted that perfection, but they only made her more beautiful in his opinion. Stronger.

  She brought the mug to her lips, eyes on him over the rim. “You’re good at this, Declan. You always have been. Investigating is in your bones. There’s something still there and you know it.”

  There’d always been something, ever since he’d woken up in that hospital bed, that urged him to take a closer look, to solve the puzzles around him. Seemed the only puzzle he hadn’t been able to solve had been his past, but now he was starting to get answers. Because he’d found her. If he could get even an ounce of the life he’d had back, maybe the cold, gnawing hole of emptiness inside would heal. Maybe he could start over.

  He focused on the screen in his lap. “Tell me about the Hunter.”

  “My profile is far from solid. I only have bits and pieces right now.” She set her mug on the end table to her left and stood. “Besides, Michaels is still out there. We should be focusing on finding him. His sister took custody of him after his release, and there’s only one address on file for her. We should head out at first light. It’s about a two-hour drive.”

  “First impressions.” He echoed her own words back to her, drawing out a languid smile as he handed her the tablet.

  “All right.” Kate stared down at the screen but didn’t seem to see the words in front of her. Her bottom lip parted from the top, and everything inside of him heated in an instant. “I think he’s punishing her.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “The woman who broke his heart.” She turned the tablet to face him, but he couldn’t stand to take another look at the collage of all three victims. It was all too easy to imagine Kate—blond hair, green eyes—staring up at the sky, perfect sensual lips blue, unmoving.

  They’d just met. Sure, they’d been married, but as she’d pointed out, he w
asn’t her husband anymore. He didn’t know her, had no attachment to her other than the flashes of memories in his head. But the image of finding her as those women had been found initiated a violent chain reaction inside, starting with his head and working down to his toes.

  “He chooses his victims based on her appearance,” she said. “From the care he’s put into placing them, stands to reason he’s been intimate with them, maybe even dated them. He seduces his victims, then kills them, gently covering them in grass and foliage to protect their bodies until they’re discovered. He can’t bear to hurt the one person he wants to, so he replaces her with his victims. He takes his anger with her out on them, but the hurt never stops. No matter how many times he kills, her face is the one he can’t forget.”

  “Then if the FBI can find her, they’ll find their serial killer,” Declan said. “In a city of three hundred thousand people, should be no problem at all.” The excitement was back, stirring something deep within him.

  First thing first. They had a shooter to find. Declan clapped his hands then rubbed them together. “Where’s that address for Brian Michaels?”

  Chapter Six

  She couldn’t change the past.

  Hoping Declan’s memories returned—that her husband was still in there, waiting to reemerge—was more dangerous than being in Michaels’s sights again. She could heal physically. She’d done it before. But mentally? Kate adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. No. She’d lost him once. If she gave in to the hope buried deep down, she wasn’t sure she’d survive the second time.

  “You’re dead on your feet.” Declan’s familiar voice charged through her system inside the too-small cabin of the SUV. They’d been driving for two hours, yet every time he spoke was a new lesson in awareness. “Did you actually get any sleep?”

  “When you’re the possible target of a shooter, sleeping isn’t exactly a priority,” she said.