The Broken

by Shelley Coriell

  He rubbed at the space between his eyebrows. “Kate.”

  She knew he’d never admit it, but he was tired, too, tired of the investigation, tired of chasing evil. “Please, Hayden, just drive.”

  And maybe he was tired of arguing with her. He hooked their rental car off the highway onto the next dirt road. They followed a series of switchbacks that climbed a mountain thick with pines. As they rose, the night air cooled. Small pebbles pinged the underbelly of the car, a melodic night music. She lifted her hair, coaxing the air to massage the muscles along her neck.

  The movement felt deliciously good. The stagnancy of her days, the feelings of being trapped, the crazy hot-cold feelings for Hayden, all of it ceased to exist as the car ate up miles along the glorious back roads of the untamed wilds of northern Nevada.

  Until Hayden stopped the car.

  She frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “The road ended.”

  She looked up. Indeed there was no more road, just the shimmery blue-black waters of Lake Tahoe. Now that the car was still, she realized that the heat still clung to the night, and she realized exactly where they were.

  A laugh tickled the back of her throat. There was a madness to the laugh, an impossible-crazy madness.

  “What?” Hayden asked.

  The laugh bubbled out. “You honest to God don’t know where you drove us?”

  His face lined with agitation. It looked so good on him. “No, I was just driving.”

  “Well, Agent Reed, you drove us to Crawford Point.”

  “What’s so special about Crawford Point?” He jabbed the darkness with his hands.

  “This is Dorado Bay’s version of Lovers’ Lane. Ever make out in a car, Agent Reed?”

  His hands stilled. Technically, every inch of his body stilled. “No.”

  “Want to?” She’d meant for it to come out as a breezy joke. It hadn’t. A ridiculous breathiness clung to her words. The question was foolish, given that Hayden labeled her and filed her away in the witness-victim-who-needs-protecting category of his well-ordered brain.

  So call her a fool.

  Hayden stared into the blackness. “You’d run, Kate Johnson, if you knew what I wanted to do with you.”

  The air between them arced as if a storm had rolled in.

  “Maybe I wouldn’t.” They’d been dancing around a slow-burning fire for days. Technically, she’d been dancing, and he’d been trying to convince himself the fire didn’t exist. But she saw glowing bits in his gray eyes, like banked coals. “Maybe I’d want to stay right here.” In your arms. “Tell me, Hayden, what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

  He released the steering wheel but kept his hands suspended in midair. Then he reached for the gearshift as if ready to throw the car in reverse, but stopped. It was odd, seeing Hayden struggle.

  At last he unbuckled his seatbelt. His hands cupped either side of her face, and he pulled her toward him. His slate-gray eyes, the ones that followed most of her waking and sleeping moments, darkened and warmed. A heat of her own uncurled from her core, and she wanted to throw herself into his arms. But she’d done that already on the night they found Jason, and that got them nowhere. The next move needed to be his. He needed to go slow, to think things through, and she wanted him enough right here and right now to wait.

  He inched forward, his lips brushing her temple. “I think about kissing you here.”

  Her throat spasmed in a deep swallow, and she jammed her hands beneath her thighs.

  His feather-soft lips glided along her jaw. “And here.”

  She balled her hands into fists.

  His mouth slid along her neck. “And here.” He slipped her overshirt down her shoulders and rained a series of faster, firmer kisses there. Why didn’t he just run a match along her skin?

  “But most of all,” his lips hovered above hers, “I think of kissing you here.”

  A delicious surge of heat swelled inside her as their mouths collided. She unleashed her hands and dug them into the perfect folds of his hair. A very un-Hayden-like groan rumbled between them, and she slid her tongue along his lower lip. She tasted impatience, urgency. What happened to go slow? Laughter arched her neck.

  Right now she didn’t want slow either. She wanted her world rocking and spinning, wonderful movement, with Hayden at the wheel. He must have felt the same way, for his mouth pressed harder, and his tongue slid past her lips. His hands fell to her shoulders, where he pushed down the straps of her camisole. Her own hands dropped to his shirt, the soft-crisp Egyptian cotton silky between her fingers, his heart hammering against her palm. She tugged at the exquisite fabric.

  A bright light sliced between them.

  Hayden sucked in a breath and reached for the gun strapped across his chest.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday, June 15, 10:00 p.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  Put down the gun!”

  Blinded by the sharp beam of the flashlight, Hayden couldn’t see the body behind the light, nor did he recognize the voice, but he recognized the tone. He placed his Sig on the car dash. “Yes, officer.”

  Next to him, Kate giggled.

  “Step out of the car,” the officer continued. “Both of you. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Hayden’s back teeth ground down, and he raised his hands in the air, even though he needed to straighten things below. The officer opened the door, and Hayden stepped out of the car. Still fighting laughter, Kate exited the passenger side.

  “Now get on the ground, spread eagle,” the officer continued.

  Time to end this. “Get the light out of my face.”

  The officer did. Hayden blinked once. Twice. He studied the officer, a young kid with curly dark hair, a name badge that read K. Garcia, and a Dorado Bay police uniform. With his hands still raised, Hayden said, “Inside right pocket of my jacket. FBI.”

  The kid didn’t move.

  “Reach into my pocket, Officer Garcia. Take out the creds. Now.”

  The kid did as Hayden said, and when he opened the small wallet, Garcia swallowed hard. “Holy shit, sorry about that Agent Reed. We’re running extra patrols tonight, you know, the Butcher and all.” The kid ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, I can’t believe I actually got to meet you. Chief said you work for Parker Lord, the Parker Lord, and that you guys are all over the Butcher, going to get him any day.”

  Hayden held out his hand. “My wallet, please.”

  “Oh, here you go. Hey, really, I’m sorry. You can go back to”—he looked at Kate who slipped back on her overshirt—“to what you were doing. I mean, I…”

  “Thank you,” Hayden said with a dismissive nod.

  The dry grass crunched under Officer Garcia’s feet as he hurried back to his cruiser.

  The car pulled away, the spray of gravel loud in the silent night, but not loud enough to cover the start-and-stop laughter bubbling from Kate.

  He said nothing, his feet moving one step after another toward her.

  “Your hair’s sticking up,” she said as she ran her fingers along the sides of his head. The fingers lowered to his chest. “And your shirt’s untucked. Agent Reed, you are a mess. I’m afraid your reputation might be shot.”

  He ran the pad of his thumb against her swollen lips, against the faint red chafe along her neck. “What about yours?”

  Her lips twisted in a cynical arc. “Mine’s shot to hell already.”

  He reached for her hand and flattened it against his chest. “Do you feel that?” Could this woman, who felt everything so deeply, feel his heart threatening to burst out of his chest?

  Her sharp smile fell away, and she nodded.

  His other hand slid around her waist and curved around her hip. He pulled her to him, crushing her against his arousal, which hadn’t abated despite the appearance of Officer Garcia.

  This is wrong. She’s a witness, a victim of the vilest killer you’ve ever hunted. She needs your protection, not your bo
dy raging with hormones. The voice, his own, boomed in his head.

  But it’s right. Another voice, also his own, countered.

  “I want to finish this,” he said, his voice raw with truth and desire.

  “Me too.”

  He took a breath, lowered his lips against the top of her head, and said, “Not here.”

  They rushed to the car, and he drove straight to the cottage. No lazy meandering, no whimsical turns. As he helped her out of the car, he took her hands. “This is your last chance to say no.”

  “Why would I do that?” Her lips parted in a husky laugh.

  Because this was crazy. Because he was in the middle of the biggest case of his life. Because she was a witness. Hell, she was the target. Plus there was the issue of focus. When he was with Kate, he lost focus, his world became less orderly, and he drove without a destination.

  Logic dictated he shouldn’t be taking her to his bed.

  The hell with logic.

  He pulled her into the curve of his arm and rushed up the steps. He put his hand on the door just as something crashed inside the cottage.

  “Down!” Hayden pushed Kate to the floor and flung his body on top of hers.

  * * *

  “There’s glass at six and nine o’clock.” Kate swept the bits of broken vase littered across the living room floor.

  “Sorry, Katy-lady. Made a real mess, didn’t I?” Smokey pulled a hand across his lined face. “Guess I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “I agree.” Maeve carried a small trash can from the kitchen. “The plane got into Reno after eight. Then we got lost.”

  “You got lost,” Smokey said.

  “Using directions you got off the Internet.” Maeve held out the trash can, and Kate dumped in the glass from the vase Smokey accidentally knocked off the fireplace mantel.

  “I’m blind, lady. Why the hell are you having me get us directions?” Smokey’s lips dipped in a jagged frown, but he shot a wink in Kate’s direction.

  “We should have waited until morning to drive here,” Maeve added as she held out the trash can for the last dustpan full of glass.

  “And leave Kate alone another night?” Smokey flapped his lips in a growly snort. “I don’t think so.”

  “Joseph, she’s hardly alone.” Maeve took the broom from Kate. “Hayden’s with her. He’s keeping her safe.”

  “And a piss-poor job he’s doing. Took me less than two minutes to break into this place.” Smokey aimed a shaky finger at Hayden, who stood like a marble statue, his elbow resting on the fireplace mantel. “Hear that, G-man? Two minutes to jimmy the lock on the side door. Plus the alarm didn’t go off because it wasn’t set.”

  Hayden dug a fisted hand in his pocket. “Kate has been with me or my people the entire time she’s been away from you.”

  Yeah, she’d been with him all right, Kate mused, and if not for Smokey and Maeve’s arrival, she’d be even more with him right now. Heat surged from the V of her legs to her cheeks. But the man who’d been rocking her world in the front seat of a car was not the same one standing starched and steady next to the fireplace. Shirt tucked. Jacket straight. Smooth hair.

  Kate tapped Smokey’s forearm. “Clear. The recliner is two feet to your right.”

  Smokey stomped past her but didn’t sit. “Why the hell did you let her go on TV like that? Where’s your brain, G-man? Now everyone, including the Butcher, knows where she’s at.”

  “That’s the idea, Smokey.” Kate sat on the couch, her knees still wobbly. Hell, her world was still wobbly, thanks to Hayden.

  “The Butcher isn’t the type to take a sniper shot at Kate from far away, nor is he strong enough to take on me or any of my people,” Hayden explained in that clear, patient tone of his. “He’s physically and intellectually inferior. He’ll only get Kate if he finds her alone. And from here on out, there’s no way I’m letting her out of my sight.”

  But what about your hands? Kate wanted to ask Hayden. She still felt those hands on her skin and did a double-take on her arms and shoulders to make sure there weren’t fresh slash and burn marks striped across her flesh.

  Maeve took a seat next to Kate on the couch. “I told Joseph you were all right, but he insisted on coming. He threatened to hijack a plane if I wouldn’t bring him here.”

  “And don’t think I wouldn’t do it.” Smokey’s sightless eyes narrowed.

  Kate shook her head. It was crazy, but she could picture her friend hijacking a plane.

  “It’s late.” Hayden lowered his arm from the fireplace. “We’ll talk in the morning. Maeve, you can take my room. Smokey, we’ll put you in the spare.”

  “And you?” Maeve asked. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  Hayden didn’t look at Kate. “I’ll take the couch. I have work to do tonight.”

  Why did that hurt? Why the hell did it hurt that Hayden, when given the time to think and analyze, chose work over her? She knew him. She knew the kind of man he was. It shouldn’t hurt that he didn’t want to share her bed tonight, but it did.

  She showed Maeve and Smokey their rooms, all the while wondering if Hayden’s about-face had anything to do with the appearance of his mother-in-law. Was she a reminder of the ex-wife who had died just over two weeks ago?

  It doesn’t concern you.

  Thank you Special Agent Hayden Reed for that little reminder.

  The sheets cooled her heated skin as she slipped into bed. It was well after midnight, but Hayden sat in the living room working. She was so physically aware of him, where he was, how he moved. It was as if her nerve endings extended past her skin and reached out to him in some crazy out-of-body experience.

  I want to finish this, Hayden had said under the cover of lake darkness.

  Then why aren’t you here in my bed? she wanted to scream.

  Hell, this wasn’t her, sitting around and bemoaning the hand she’d been dealt. She threw off her bedsheet, but when she reached the door, her hand hovered above the handle. With a deep breath, she inched the door open a crack, a wedge of light cutting the darkness of her room. Hayden sat on the sofa hunched over his computer. His suit coat hung on the back of a kitchen chair, but his tie, this one with beautiful splashes of sage green and black, still circled his neck.

  Perfect. In any light he was so perfect it took her breath away.

  She flattened her hand against her throat, where her heart hammered, her fingers brushing the raised, jagged lines of her flesh. Her heart plummeted. For a moment, in the moonlight in the front seat of a car on a lane for lovers, she’d almost forgotten the scars existed.

  She closed the door, snuffing out the crack of light, and crawled into bed. Alone.

  * * *

  Hayden stared at his computer screen. And saw Kate.

  He closed his eyes. And saw Kate.

  He saw the heat in her face, the passion in her eyes, and the want on her lips. Which was all good and fine. He was a master observer, a man who saw everything. Felt nothing. Yeah, that was supposed to be him.

  The kicker was, he felt it. Felt her.

  Where was the dispassionate evaluator? Where was her protector?

  He’d disappeared. In the front seat of a car.

  He slammed his computer shut and bolted up. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he paced in front of the fireplace. What had he been thinking?

  That you want her. More than you’ve wanted anything. Or anyone.

  His feet almost stumbled. Whose voice was that?

  He started pacing again. It was someone who didn’t know what he was talking about.

  He wanted the Butcher, the man who had killed at least seven human beings in an evil, vicious manner, who had flaunted his victories in the face of a good and right world, who had mocked beauty and justice. The reign of bloodshed must end, and it wouldn’t happen as long as his attention strayed to Kate Johnson, which told him exactly what he needed to do next.

  He plunked back on the couch, his body a heavy hunk of lead. His e
yes ached, as if they’d been scratched by steel wool. He’d never been so tired in all of his life.

  He lifted the computer screen and went back to work.

  * * *

  Tuesday, June 16, 1:40 a.m.

  Dorado Bay, Nevada

  He sat at the chipped Formica table and sipped his coffee. He should be sipping champagne right now, but they didn’t have any at the Bear Down All-Night Diner, which smelled of rancid grease and overripe bananas.

  “Hey, cable guy, you want another piece of pie?” The bony waitress with the cadaver eye sockets flashed him her teeth and the inside of her thigh.

  “No thanks.” He waved her off. Why didn’t she just jerk up that short denim skirt and flash him her cunt and scream, You wanna piece of this?

  And for the record, no, he didn’t want pie or her cunt.

  At one time he had, a long time ago, before he’d learned to recognize these types for what they really were. And he’d gone on to kill many of them.

  The first one was a waitress much like this one. He was working as a dishwasher and screwed up the courage to ask her out. She said no. An unfortunate choice. She died behind the restaurant dumpster with a knife used to cut cherry pie. He masturbated with her blood.

  Others followed, eight to be exact, all waitresses or whores with hopeless eyes and hapless lives, like the waitress at the Bear Down—he squinted through the glasses he didn’t need—Mandy. Yes, like Mandy here who wanted to sell him pie and her body.

  Today he saw her for what she was, a twenty-something meth user with bad skin and an express ticket to an early grave. Certainly not worthy of him.

  He deserved better. He had better.

  He had Katrina Erickson exactly where he needed her, right here in Dorado Bay. Agent Reed had done his job and more. All he had wanted the FBI agent to do was find Katrina Erickson, but the man with the shiny badge had gone above and beyond the call of duty and brought her right here to his doorstep.

  And soon she would be at his feet, the blood flowing from her.