Chapter Eleven
Bounty hunters. He hated bounty hunters.
Grayson ground his teeth. His head pounded, jaw ached. At least the scum had cleaned up after themselves. Nothing left for the mortal police to investigate. Nothing to link Nika back to Reynolds’s or Rachel’s murders despite the fact the attack had occurred in her own damn apartment. Too close. The adrenaline rush had dissipated from his blood, but rage kept his body temperature elevated. He hadn’t been fast enough. If she hadn’t defended herself… His stomach lurched. Shit. He didn’t want to think about it.
“So are you going to tell me why those demons attacked us back there or tell me to keep driving again?” she asked.
He’d defied his orders. Gone back on the deal. He kept his eyes on the expanse of road ahead of them instead of her perfect fingers strangling the steering wheel. Less than an hour ago, she’d been his. Those hands had shoved his arousal higher than he’d ever imagined possible to the point all he felt, thought of, tasted, and smelled was her. He’d been so close to getting everything he’d missed as a mere mortal, but he’d screwed up. He’d bought this on them. Her lavender scent clung to his skin even after they’d stopped to buy him a new set of clothes. She hadn’t even questioned why he couldn’t swing by his apartment. Didn’t exist. No questions were for the best, but the suspicion in her sky-blue gaze hadn’t wavered.
Tree line rushed past them as they sped north. It’d been too long—years—since he’d been out here in the beautiful expanse of upstate New York. Couldn’t avoid it anymore. The bounty on his head had been set the second he’d chosen to fall into bed with her. No telling how many others had been sent to take them both out. No telling what she could do with her new set of powers. He needed more time. The cabin would give him that. “They came for me.”
“Because you’re investigating Isabel?” Her gaze swirled in his direction, but he couldn’t look at her. She turned back to the road in his peripheral vision, but the rock in his gut remained.
“Demons don’t take outsiders hunting one of their own well.” A lie. How many did that make for him? His mouth went dry. His instincts protested keeping her from the truth, but revealing why he’d been inserted into her life like a chess piece would make matters worse. She wouldn’t understand.
Her shoulders relaxed down away from her ears. “Makes sense. Guess they’ll do anything to protect her, especially if she’s the last Arch-demon like Jacob said. Maybe she sent them.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” He snapped his teeth together. Heat clawed up his throat as he turned his attention out the passenger side window and focused on picking out single trees in the green blur a few feet from the road. The truth had slipped so easily from his mouth. He could imagine the scenarios running through her head and the confusion darkening her eyes. Three seconds passed. Ten. The dread twisting his gut loosened the longer she didn’t answer.
“Well, who else would’ve sent them?” she asked.
Son of a bitch. His heart rate rocketed up a notch, but he could keep his cover. Had to. For her own safety. For…his sanity. He’d passed countless polygraphs in the middle of undercover cases. To survive. Sometimes even in the company of dirty cops and the government’s highest officials. He could hold up against her. But his lapse in judgment back at her apartment already proven he couldn’t. Inhaling deep, he emptied his lungs and met her gaze. “I’ve worked a lot of paranormal cases over the past year. There are too many possibilities to count. Any one of my suspects could have a grudge against me.” Truth. And that one hadn’t been so hard to spit out.
She spared him a glance from the road. Long enough to believe him? “Good point.”
Relief washed through him, clean and free. In the clear. For now. They drove in silence as small towns, streams, and orchards came and went. There’d been a time when he’d escaped this far upstate from the nightmares, violence, and bureaucracy of working for the FBI. No suspects. No reports to be filed. Just him, his truck, and his fishing pole. No one around for miles as nature protected him from the real world. Absolute Heaven. Grayson punched the button on his door and the window rolled down. Clean, crisp afternoon air assaulted his lungs and almost washed him clean of his sins as it had during his mortal vacations. A chance for renewal before he dived headfirst back into blood, victims, and killers.
A heavy dose of her sweet scent blew in his direction. She’d rolled down the driver’s side window. Nika smiled wide as the wind ripped her hair from her ponytail. Tendrils danced around her face, swaying, jerking, accentuating her features. She tried to keep them back and steer with one hand and his hands heated with the urge to twist themselves in the long strands. So beautiful.
And all his.
A howl penetrated through the ringing in his ears. The beast was awake, but neither talons nor teeth made an appearance. Instead, it stalked back and forth, eager to take what belonged to him. He reached across the space between their seats and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. Electricity bolted down his fingertips and into the palm of his hand. Sparks of energy sizzled under his skin and he swallowed hard. God, the things she did to him. How was it possible to want someone so much? Her blonde hair tickled his over-sensitized skin along his forearm as it floated midair. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, and his gut burned hotter. He’d already brought the bounty down on his head. No harm in pushing it to the limits. The second they reached the cabin, he’d have her all to himself. The sound of her small moans and the arousal in her wide eyes while he brought her to the brink had seared into the back of his mind. Again. He had to have her again. Forever.
Which was insane. How could he actually expect anything between them to work? She’d discover what he’d done, what he’d chosen to become in the false name of justice. And if she didn’t try to kill him first, she’d disappear. Then maybe try to kill him for tracking her down. A smile pulled at the right side of his mouth. Too easy to imagine. The smile disappeared as he stared out the windshield, hand on the back of her soft neck. The Deceiver feared what she could do once she utilized her full powers. What had he said? She had the power to destroy every being in the Afterlife. Including the Deceiver himself. Would that break the oath he’d signed?
“Is this it?” she asked, pulling him back to reality.
The SUV slowed to a crawl as they approached a small dirt turnoff headed off to the east. He dropped his hold on her and sat up straighter in his seat. “Yeah. Turn here and take it until the end.”
They bounced in their seats as the SUV climbed higher up the mountain. Thick, rustic trees surrounded them on both sides this time of year. Skiers took advantage of the rolling mountains in the winter, but only dirt and rock splayed out for the next mile as they closed in on the cabin. No reason for anyone to bother them out here. Not a soul for miles.
Movement registered in the SUV’s side mirror. His attention jerked to the mirror, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t picking up anything paranormal either, but the rush of paranoid adrenaline hadn’t left his blood yet. Must’ve been a bird or a deer. Common in this area. Especially with hunting season around the corner. So why couldn’t he take his eyes off the mirror?
“You okay there, Mr. FBI Agent?” Her voice penetrated deep into his bones and spread throughout his system. Heat, electricity, desire, it all flooded his system in a cleansing wave. Humor brightened her blue gaze as she smiled. “You look a little jumpy.”
Grayson cleared his throat, but the tightness that ran down his neck refused to release. Just a deer. Not the Deceiver. Not Isabel. Not a bounty hunter. Still, it wasn’t impossible. No point in turning her paranoid too though. Wouldn’t do them a damn bit of good considering why they’d come up here in the first place. Another lie left his lips. “A lot’s changed since I’ve been up here. Barely recognize it.”
The cabin’s outline bled through a line of trees up ahead and his back drained of tension the closer they got. Small, almost five-hundred square feet, i
t promised safety from the real world with two bedrooms, a single bathroom, and silence. Exactly what they needed for a night or two. The porch stretched along the front, door centered between two large windows on either side. Two chairs rocked with the slight breeze coming off the mountain.
She pulled the SUV a few feet away from the porch and slid the vehicle into Park. Craning her delicate neck upward, she studied their surroundings through the windshield. “Wow. It’s so secluded.”
Was that worry in her voice? “Not a neighbor or tourist for miles. No one will be able to find us here.” He shouldered the passenger side door open and stepped out into pure, clean nature. His dress shoes sank into the rain-damp soil as he shuffled to the back door and retrieved their overnight bags. “This bag weighs three times more than mine. What did you pack in here? Your entire arsenal?”
“And a toothbrush.” She closed the driver’s side door and headed around the hood to meet him. Hair tied back once again, she approached him as the detective he’d met back at her sister’s crime scene and not the woman he’d nearly claimed as his a few hours ago. Both mesmerized. Both tightened his gut and filled him with want. She wrapped her long fingers around the handle of her bag. Her skin brushed against hi, and her pupils dilated larger as her mouth parted. He’d felt it too, the instant frantic and sizzling energy. She licked her tongue across her bottom lip and smiled. “Why? What’d you pack?”
He let her take the bag. She lifted it with ease, the strong muscles he’d run his hands over earlier doing exactly as she’d trained them. “Two days’ worth of clothes, water, food, toiletries, two boxes of ammo, and the Berettas. Did you bring anything else besides firepower to contribute?”
“No. Wait,”—she held up a single index finger—“I have a granola bar.” She dug into her leather jacket pocket and produced the thin, wrapped bar with pride gleaming in her eyes. “It’s not even that old. Does that count?”
“Do you plan on sharing that if we run low on food?” He closed the small amount of distance between them. Her body heat created a slight protective barrier around her. Not enough to put him off, but they hadn’t come here to give into their unrequited desire. They had business.
“That depends.” She crooked her head to the side, but didn’t look away from him.
“On what?” he asked.
“Do I have to?” Her lips spread into a captivating grin and his heart stumbled over the next several beats.
He hiked his bag over his shoulder. A smile of his own took control of his facial muscles. God, he couldn’t get enough of her. Those eyes, that smile. The carefree expression her features took on when they bantered back and forth like this. “I promised to keep you alive. So you can keep your pathetic little granola bar. I’ll survive without it.”
“Good. You had me worried.” Shoving the granola bar back into her jacket, she spun toward the cabin, but waited until he’d caught up with her before going inside.
The porch protested under their combined weight as he reached for the cabin’s front door. Wood, moisture from the nearby stream, and pine assaulted his senses. The combination, fused with her lavender scented-shampoo, relaxed every muscle he owned. Forget tracking down Isabel. Forget his oath to the Deceiver. He never wanted to leave this place.
The front door swung wide. The front room with matching rustic furniture, a combined kitchen, and a short hallway with a bathroom leading back into the single bedroom greeted them. He stepped over the threshold, Nika right beside him, and nearly fell into the past. A time when the worst monster he’d ever seen didn’t have wings, powers, or held his soul as ransom. Just normal—serial killers weren’t normal—humans. He closed the door behind him and sealed them inside. Together.
“This is nice. Is it yours?” she asked.
“Used to be.” Before he’d died. Before he’d started hunting demons and angels. He breathed the scent of firewood and nature in deep and closed his eyes. Just as he remembered. When he opened them, she stared at him. “I used to come here to clear my head of all the horrible things I witnessed during my cases. I could pretend I was some regular Joe-Shmoe for a few days at a time and forget about the real world. Worked too. Every time.”
“Why did you stop coming up here?”
“Life got in the way.” More like death. Grayson unsoldered his bag and nodded toward the back bedroom. “You can go ahead and take the bedroom. Bathroom’s directly across from it if you want to freshen up. I can have some dinner, sans your sad, little granola bar, ready when you’re done.”
Another smile lit up her expression as she crossed the expanse of the front room. “Stop picking on my granola bar. It came from the 72-hour hit in the back of my SUV.”
“That’s my girl.” Desire roared hard and fast through his system as she froze mid-stride, her lips parted. He’d surprised her. Good. He tossed his bag on the leather couch he’d be sleeping on for the next couple of days and pulled at the zipper. The bedroom door closed softly, honing his attention on the thin wood that kept them apart. It wouldn’t be a challenge to stalk right through that door and take what the beast and his groin demanded. His erection pressed against the back of his zipper, but it’d have to wait. It was almost five o’clock and he’d promised her dinner.
He unpacked two of the meals and set about resurrecting the gas flow located on the side of the house. Stepping back into the expanse of forest and dirt, he crouched in front of the connection. Trees and wind shifted at his back as he reconnected the line. A twig snapped to his right. Awareness prickled at the back of his neck the longer he studied the tree line, like someone was watching him. He stood, but didn’t turn around. Son of a bitch. They weren’t alone. Someone—or something—had followed them up the mountain. Not a problem. He’d act none the wiser until he could search the woods himself after dark. Adding a few ruins on the windows and door wouldn’t hurt either. He rounded back inside the cabin as Nika stepped into the hallway.
Clothed in a thin black tank top and jeans, she radiated hunger from every pore. No guns, no boots, no leather jacket to keep her skin from him. The beast licked its lips at the sight of her stripped of her armor and weapons. He swallowed back the desire that kept rhythm with his heart rate and held up the two meals. “Dinner’s running a little late. Had to reconnect the gas line. Want something to drink while we wait?”
“No.” She tossed a yellow manila envelope at his feet, expression hardened, her previous humor gone. “I want you to tell me about this.”
The envelope slid to a halt at his feet, but he didn’t bend down to pick it up. It’d been over a year since he’d looked at its contents. He didn’t need to read over the case again. He’d kept the file here so he didn’t have to. So no one would have to. Didn’t do him a damn bit of good. He’d forgotten he’d hidden the case file and all the evidence up here. Grayson raised his gaze to meet hers. No point in lying now. She had the evidence. “Did you read it?”
“The whole thing? No.” She shook her head. “Just the part about how Special Agent Grayson Wyatt was stabbed twenty-one times by his own suspect last year. But that’s not even the best part.”
He sensed the next words out of her mouth and curled his fingers into his palms.
She notched her chin a bit higher, never letting him out of her sight. “Grayson Wyatt was declared dead. So who the hell are you?”
Chapter Twelve
“I need to know, Grayson.” The gun at her back warmed with the small trickle of sweat that fell down her spine. Her hands twitched at her side. How fast would she have to move to wrap her grip around the steel? Would it be fast enough? “That report accounts everything I saw in my dream, down to what you were wearing. I watched him stab you like I was actually there. How are you still standing here after you were declared dead?”
He considered her for a long moment, too long, and the instinct he’d try to sugar coat his answer or lie to her completely chased away the desire she’d felt seconds before. When he’d called her his girl. “What you saw
wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.”
The slight tremor in his voice hit home. Up until this point, the big, bad FBI agent had been everything she’d needed for protection and quenched the sexual desire boiling beneath her skin. A frosty ache developed around her ribcage. Another lie. Despite having spent the last two days together and him shove her over the edge of pleasure, she didn’t know him at all. “Then what? It was some kind of vision?”
“Yes.” His jaw locked tight. Setting down their dinners on the nearest section of countertop, he dropped his hands to his sides and faced her. He’d never looked so defeated. The lines between his eyebrows deepened, only coldness and stone in his jade-green eyes. His harsh exhale reached her ears. “You’ve heard of the Warehouse Butcher? The serial killer who got away last year?”
Flashes of her nightmare inside the abandoned warehouse crossed her mind. Short breaths were all she managed as she nodded confirmation. Each inhale stretched the dry skin crusted over her wound, but she wouldn’t fidget to escape the reality of that dream. Turned out, it wasn’t a dream. She’d witnessed every detail of the Butcher’s MO without so much as going near the case, yet it’d been spelled out clearly on the case file she’d thrown at Grayson’s feet. Every detail. Every piece of evidence collected. All right inside that envelope she’d found at the bottom of the shallow closet in the bedroom. “You were assigned to the case.”
“Took me nine months to catch up with him. Seven victims had died under his knife and I’d finally located the bastard, but I knew something wasn’t right.” The anonymous tip. Pain ripped across his features as he slammed his fist down onto the countertop, but not from his hand. She recognized regret when it stared her in the face. The tendons along his neck sharpened. He wouldn’t look at her, too angry, too…lost. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Sympathy urged her to close the distance between them, but she rooted her bare feet to the floor. She knew all this—she’d lived all this—but he hadn’t gotten to the good part yet. “He attacked me from behind. By the time he called the FBI to brag about his latest attack, I was dead. He’d wrapped my body in some butcher plastic and started hunting down his next victim.”
His Seductive Target (Afterlife, #2) Page 12