by Sandra Owens
“Swear?”
At least she’d gotten a slight lip twitch from him. She held out her finger. “Pinky swear.”
“Seriously, Taylor? What are we? Twelve?”
“Don’t be such a stick in the mud.” She wiggled her finger. One way or another, she was going to teach him to play. He curled his pinky around hers, but the gesture came with an eye roll. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Next you’ll be wanting to play hopscotch.”
“It could happen. So where do you want to go for dinner?”
“How about pizza and beer on my balcony?”
“That sounds perfect.” And it did. Much better than going out and having to talk to people.
“We need to make it early. I have to head over to Aces and Eights no later than nine when the bikers start rolling in. Alex will be there by himself until then. Why don’t you go home, change into something more comfortable? I’ll meet you at my place around five or so.”
“I think I will.” When Nate opened the door, Taylor put her hand on his arm. “Thanks.”
He paused, one foot already on the ground, his eyes searching her face. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” And she was. Talking things out with him always made her feel better. “See you in a few.”
He nodded, then exited her car. She watched him walk into the building, appreciating how his black T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Her gaze roamed down to his very fine butt. The man definitely wore jeans well. She sighed, then put the key back in the ignition. As she drove home to change, she wondered if she’d ever be able to tear down that wall. Unrequited love sucked.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“He claims he hasn’t seen her for three or four months,” Taylor said.
“When we told him she was dead, his reaction seemed legit. He was shocked, and then his eyes teared up.” Josh shrugged. “I’m leaning toward believing him.”
Nate hadn’t thought Hector Ramirez was their killer. Not that the man would hesitate to kill someone who did him wrong—even if he only thought they had—but he was a look-you-in-the-face-while-he-put-a-bullet-between-your-eyes type.
He glanced around the conference-room table where he, Taylor, Alex, Rand, Josh, and Rothmire were seated. The team assigned to this case was, in his opinion, the best of the best. The only one missing was Court. Besides being a wizard on a computer, he also had a talent for seeing patterns. Court and his bride would be back home Sunday night, and as soon as he was available, Nate would get him started on doing his magic.
Alex’s strength was his ability to understand a killer’s mind. His baby brother felt things too hard. Nate wasn’t sure how else to explain it than that. He attributed Alex’s compassion for suffering souls to the hurt their mother had put on Alex’s heart the day she’d left them. How that understanding worked for Alex, Nate didn’t have a clue, but that particular talent had helped them catch bad guys more than once.
As for Rand, his talent was his willingness to follow through on any task assigned to him, no matter how laborious, boring, or distasteful. Ask the man to interview one hundred subjects in a day and, by damn, somehow he’d get it done.
Then there was Josh Sheridan, their newest and youngest member of the team. He had a good head on his shoulders, but he was a little too eager to prove himself. He’d grow out of that soon enough, so it wasn’t anything that was worrisome.
Nate had always been honest with himself, and if he were asked what he contributed to the team, he would say it was his ability to see the overall picture, along with getting each member to do what he wanted. He also had common sense, something he’d decided too many people didn’t have, and if offered a choice between that and being the richest man on earth, he’d take the common sense.
Rothmire? The man was a people manager, one of the best Nate had ever known. Their boss recognized his agents’ abilities and gave them free rein . . . within reason. He was also loyal to his people, the reason every agent in the Miami office prayed that the powers that be never decided to relocate him.
And then there was Taylor, the smartest and most dedicated, and as deadly as any of them. As a rookie, without blinking an eye in hesitation, she’d put a bullet through the brain of a pedophile she’d caught raping a six-year-old boy when the man had laughed as he’d held a knife against the boy’s jugular. The woman was a true do-gooder, especially where children were concerned. She was Nate’s personal hero.
“Are we all agreed then that Ramirez isn’t our killer, although we’ll keep him on the list?” Rothmire said, bringing Nate back into the conversation.
Everyone nodded.
“Our man is much like a cockroach,” Taylor said. “He doesn’t like the light of day, but in the dark, he scurries around, looking for his next crumb to feed on. Hector’s a puppy dog compared to our killer.”
Nate glanced at her. He’d discussed all this with her last night over pizza and beer on his balcony, all the while reminding himself he would not kiss her again. But he wanted to. That one kiss had slayed him. It had put a knife through his heart because he’d learned the second his mouth had touched hers that he’d want to kiss her every day until he took his last breath.
“Hector said that he stopped seeing Alana when she started talking about being in love with him,” Taylor said.
Josh nodded. “He said that he didn’t think she was really in love with him, but that she saw him as a way to get off the streets. He went on to say that when he first started seeing her she was pretty and fun, but then chasing the dragon became her life goal. When the heroin and crack she was addicted to made her”—he made air quotes—“‘ugly,’ he had no use for her.”
“Nice guy,” Alex said. “Did he try to help her?”
That was Alex for you, wanting to see everyone happy. Nate raised a brow at his brother. “You know Hector. Is he really a nurturing type?”
“Guess not.”
Nate wanted to wipe that sad-dog expression from Alex’s face with a hug, but touchy-feely was not in his DNA. His baby brother needed to toughen up. Life was a bitch, a lesson Alex hadn’t learned.
Maybe that was his fault. He hadn’t wanted either of his brothers to be as numb to life as he was, so he’d done his best to help them believe they deserved to be happy. He loved the hell out of them, and no one had been gladder than he was to see his brothers married to women who loved them.
And love was obviously too much on his mind, considering how many times he’d just thought the word. He blamed his lovesick brothers for that. Seeing them happily married was putting stupid ideas in his head.
He stole a glance at Taylor, only to see her watching him as if she could read his every thought. That was the problem with having a friend who knew you too well, maybe even better than his brothers did. He blanked his face.
“We should have Harding’s autopsy report tomorrow,” Nate said. “The first two victims had been thoroughly cleaned before being dumped in the Everglades. I’m sure we’ll learn he did the same with her.”
“Yeah, he’s obviously bathing them to wipe away any DNA he might had left on them. If he had sex with them, he used a condom.” Taylor chewed on her bottom lip.
Nate wished she wouldn’t do that. For some odd reason, he found that sexy as hell.
She nodded, as if coming to some conclusion. “He’s not having sex with them. He’s purifying them.”
“Meaning?” Rothmire asked.
“Saving their souls?” Alex closed his eyes for a moment.
When Rand started to speak, Nate shook his head. They sat in silence, waiting for Alex to speak.
“He couldn’t save his mother, or sister, or maybe his wife . . . although that last one doesn’t feel right. Anyway, he couldn’t save someone close to him, so he’s atoning?” Alex gave a little shake as he opened his eyes. “Which is why he’s cleansing them and then marrying them, if only symbolically. Then he sends them off to heaven.”
Taylor spread out the pho
tos that had been taken before each victim was removed from the killer’s dumping ground. “Look at them. He’s made them brides. Their white dresses represent purity to him, and the wedding rings are symbolic. Marriage is a covenant based on religion. I think Alex is right. He believes he’s saving their souls.”
“We may find out differently, but my money’s on issues with his mother,” Alex said.
“Or he’s playing us, and it’s all just a game to him.” Nate believed Alex and Taylor were probably right, but they couldn’t get stuck on one theory and not consider all the possibilities.
“What do you want me to do?” Rand asked.
Rothmire stood. “I’ll leave you all to hash out assignments. Keep me updated.”
“Find any similar cases?” Nate asked Alex.
“Not yet, but I’m still looking.”
“Taylor, this afternoon, you and Josh can canvas the areas our victims worked, see if you can find anyone who saw them get in a car shortly before they disappeared. Maybe we can get a better description on the vehicle. Rand, you can give Alex a hand on the searches until Court gets back, and then we’ll put him on that.”
“We’re on it,” Rand said. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.” Alex, Rand, and Josh left, leaving him alone with Taylor. She lifted her arms in a lazy stretch. Involuntarily, his eyes strayed to her breasts, straining against her blouse. The woman was going to be the death of him.
Taylor hid a grin at seeing Nate swallow hard. She shouldn’t tease him, she supposed, but it was downright fun. “I need a workout before I head out with Josh. Meet you in the gym in fifteen?”
“Better not,” he muttered.
She stood, leaned across the table, and whispered, “Coward.” She knew exactly why he was refusing, and she also knew he couldn’t resist a challenge, so she walked out before he could respond. Lately, their workouts simmered with sexual tension . . . Well, they always had, but that tension had been growing.
After dropping her files on her desk, she grabbed her tote bag, then headed for the gym that was conveniently located across the street. Almost all the agents were members, and fortunately, Rothmire encouraged them to work out. He liked having his agents fit and healthy and considered their gym time a part of their working day.
When Nate stepped onto the treadmill next to hers twenty minutes later, she didn’t gloat. Well, she did, but only to herself. They ran for five miles, and then headed for the heavy bags. Since Nate was obviously not in a talking mood, she left him to his thoughts while they did their best to punch their bags to death.
“Ready for some combat?” she asked thirty minutes later. Their martial-arts sessions were when things got hot and heavy between them. Krav Maga was a self-defense system that had been developed by the Israelis, a mix of aikido, judo, boxing, wrestling, and realistic fighting, focusing on real-world situations. She shouldn’t find it sexy, and she didn’t, except when she was going against Nate. And then . . .
When she and Nate went at it, he had the strength and she had the technique. It was a battle between brawn and brain that somehow turned into a sexual dance every time they went up against each other. She had a theory about that. There was already off-the-charts chemistry—at least in her opinion—between them. Add aggression and adrenaline to the mix, and you had a potent brew.
She and Alex often trained together, as they were on a higher level than Nate and Court, and with him it was never sexual, which she found interesting. That told her it was because she and Nate had feelings for each other, even if he refused to admit it. With Alex, it was all about the technique, and she always learned something from him, as he was the best Krav Maga fighter she’d ever gone against. With Nate, it was like having sex with their clothes on. She grinned at that thought.
“What’s got you amused?” Nate said.
“You. Come on. I’m ready to put you on your ass.”
“In your dreams, tiger.”
He followed her to the private room they had reserved, both kicking off their shoes before they stepped onto the mat. “You’re the bad guy first,” she said. She pivoted, following his movements as he circled her.
Nate never came at her the same way in their sessions, always keeping her on her toes. Suddenly, he spun, kicking a foot out, doing his best to slice her legs out from under her. She did a flip, then rolled, coming up behind him and kicking the back of his knee. His leg buckled, but he managed to stay on his feet.
He faced her, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell was that?”
“Something I’ve been practicing.” She’d bought some gymnastic tapes almost a year ago and had been teaching herself some of the tricks that might prove useful. Today was the first time she’d felt ready to incorporate the moves into her training. She grinned. “Impressed?”
“Always,” he answered, and as she was preening he tackled her, taking her down to the mat.
“No fair. I wasn’t ready.”
“So the bad guy’s going to wait until you are?”
Well, she had walked right into that one. She grabbed his finger, bending it back, and as he tried to pull away, she wiggled out from under him—not that she wanted to, since she rather liked his body pressed against hers—and before he could react, she straddled his back, hooking her arm around his neck.
She put her finger against his head. “Bang. Another bad guy bites the dust.”
And just like that, he flipped her over his head. They fought and wrestled and did their best to kill each other for a good twenty minutes. When he had her pinned again, his body pressed hard against hers, she stared into his eyes, watching them darken.
“It’s a draw,” she gasped, sucking air back into her lungs. He was as turned on as she was, and although this was far from the first time that had happened, it was the first time he didn’t push away as soon as the sparks started flying. His groin was pressed against hers, and she could feel him growing hard.
“Nate,” she whispered.
His eyes glittered, anger dancing in them. “Damn you,” he said, then covered her mouth with his. As with the first time he’d kissed her, he wasn’t gentle. But she didn’t want tender. She wanted him out of control, and he was. As he explored her mouth, his tongue dominating hers, he rocked his hips against her. Her sex wept with pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her.
When his hand covered her breast, over her T-shirt, she wanted to rip the shirt off so he could touch her skin. Needing to touch him, she trailed her fingers down his back, over his spine until she reached the top of his workout shorts. She tugged his T-shirt free, then slipped her hands under it. He was hot, a furnace, and she was going up in flames.
Suddenly, he stole his heat away. Taylor stared up at him as he stood over her, panting as hard as she was. Nate was her best friend, and she knew how his mind worked. If she said one word about that kiss or tried to convince him to take what she willingly offered, he would dig in, more determined than ever to draw a line in the sand that he wouldn’t cross.
She scissored her legs around his, dropping him to the mat, then scrambled onto her feet. “I win.” As she walked away, she said, “I need a shower. Meet you back at the office.” With her back to him, she allowed herself a smile. She was breaking through his defenses, brick by brick by brick.
Once back at work, she grabbed everything related to their case—which she’d started thinking of as the Everglades Girls—and took the files to the conference room. She and Josh wouldn’t go out until later, when the creatures of the night started venturing out.
As she spread everything across the tabletop, she wondered what the press would call the murders when they connected the dots, realizing there was a serial killer walking the streets. It would be something sensational, like the Dead Brides or the Killer Groom.
Nate never returned, which didn’t surprise her. He was off somewhere doing his moody thing, but he’d get over it. He always did. She’d had two boyfriends in her life, one who’d
turned out to be a jerk, convincing her that he loved her, then disappearing after he’d taken her virginity. It had taught her a valuable lesson. She’d been almost eighteen then, and had learned never to trust a sweet talker.
Her second boyfriend had been a great guy. They’d met her second year in college and had been together for two years before the relationship began to feel more like they were just going through the motions. Their parting was amicable, and they still kept in touch with an annual Christmas email, updating each other with what was going on in their lives. He was married now, with two kids, and she couldn’t be happier for him.
The one thing she’d promised herself was that she would never allow herself to be helpless like her mother, pushed to the point where she felt she had no other choice but to sell her body. She’d studied hard, gotten a partial scholarship, and had worked a part-time job to get her degree in criminal justice. Her goal in life was to put away bad guys like the one who’d killed her mother. Someday, if luck was on her side, she’d find her mother’s murderer. Until then, substitutes would do.
So she’d loved a douchebag, and she’d loved a really nice guy in her twenty-eight years, but neither one had ever felt like her soul mate. Nate, though? He was a man she respected more than any other, and she could love him real hard if only he’d let her.
All she had to do was find out why he was resisting what was obviously between them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tonight belonged to the Cubanos Motorcycle Club. Nate sat at the Aces & Eights bar, nursing a beer while listening to the rumble of a few dozen bikes pulling into the parking lot. He hoped Hector Ramirez was with them.
As he waited for them to come in, he read the text from Taylor for about the tenth time.
Alex invited me to go riding with you guys on Sunday. Sounds like fun. What time should I come over?
Damn his matchmaking brother for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Unless it was raining or too cold, every Sunday he, his brothers, and their wives would ride somewhere for lunch. Court and Lauren wouldn’t be home until Sunday evening, so Nate hadn’t planned to go, giving Alex and Madison a day alone.